Once Upon a Time 1. The Mug

Humming to herself, Emma begins to unpack the box of dishes in the kitchen, listening to Henry try to explain to Killian what an Xbox is from the living room. As much as Killian has tried to adapt to modern technology, she is afraid that this might be the one to make his brain finally explode.

His exasperated tone makes her chuckle. "Lad, I've fought kraken with less tentacles than this."

Henry laughs and tells him to come back after he's untangled the miles of cords and wires in front of them.

Killian happily leaves the boy to his task, shaking his head in annoyance, and makes his way over to Emma's side. His arm snakes around her waist as he nuzzles sweetly into her neck. Knowing she is well hidden from Henry by the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, Emma turns in his arms and captures his lips with her own. Surprised at her willingness for only a moment, Killian's arms pull her in tighter as he steps between her legs to press her back into the kitchen counter. Emma relished in the electric pull between them, losing herself in the heat of his mouth and the feel of his hook sliding beneath the hem of her shirt. Killian nudges impossibly closer, making sure Emma felt exactly how much he was on the same page as her at the moment. If it wasn't for Henry's exasperated sigh from the other room, Emma might have found herself scarring her son for life in a few moments. Leaning back, she returned Killian's darkened gaze for a moment before reluctantly giving him a light shove to put more appropriate space between them. He had obviously anticipated this move though, as she came crashing into his chest thanks to the hook firmly wrapped around her belt loop.

"Killian!"

"What, love? You really should be more careful." The wink he gave her caused the damn butterflies in her stomach to stir up like a tornado. He dislodged his hook and gave her one more quick peck before moving across the kitchen and away from temptation.

"You are…"

"A pirate, love." With that, he turned and sliced his hook through the tape of the nearest box on the counter.

Emma turned back to her box, attempting to shake the lustful thoughts from her brain and get back to the task at hand. She busied herself with unpacking the plates Mary Margaret had gifted her and Henry, explaining that she should have something from her family to help make her new apartment feel more like home. The delicate china with the blue forget-me-nots weren't exactly Emma's style, but there was something about them that just made her heart tighten a bit. She removed the newspaper carefully and placed them in the sink to be rinsed before they would find their home in the cabinet above the stove.

She finished with her box and turned to see how Killian was faring with his. She found him standing over the box, with his hand inside, but not moving to remove whatever had captured his attention. Moving to his side, she took a deep breath when she saw what his hand was grasping. Reaching inside, she put her hand around his and lifted the object from the box with him. When he finally looked up and she saw the look on his face, she knew without a doubt that she loved this man and she would endeavor to make sure he knew it every day forever.

In their shared grasp was a simple white mug with blue trimming along the rim. Adorning the side, the word "Captain" was painted in strong letters in the same dark blue. Emma took the mug from his hand and placed it on the shelf, directly next to her black one and Henry's Batman mug he used for his hot cocoa. Anyone except the two of them wouldn't understand the meaning behind this moment, but two lost souls who never thought they would find a home had found one with each other.

Killian looked longingly at the shelf, reaching for Emma and pulling her into his side.

"Emma…"

Emma reached up and cupped his cheek, turning his face so she could look him squarely in the eye.

"I'm in this for the long haul, Killian."

Killian had never told her about his conversation with Neal that evening at Granny's, so to hear his own words reflected back at him was as much surprising as completely expected. He and Emma were so similar in so many ways, with their fierce dedication to hold onto the things they loved most being their strongest connection.

Taking advantage of his loss for words, Emma leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Plus, you still owe me that coffee."

With a wink that would rival Killian's best, Emma sauntered to the living room to help Henry with his task.

Killian finally found his voice and hollered, "Wouldn't that require a second date, love?"


	2. The Confession

He's pretty sure he just heard her giggle. Searching his memory, he can't remember a time when that sound has come from her lips. It warms his heart to hear it. He can see her smile from across the room, big and bright and full of life. He's wanted to see her smile more and now…he's lost count of how many he sees in a single day. Sometimes he catches her smiling to herself when she doesn't think anyone is looking. She'll be lost in thought and he'll wait until he sees the slight upturn of her lips before tearing his gaze away. He can't help but be transfixed by her in these moments, as this happiness is all he has ever wanted for her.

Her physical affection is even more surprising. She's been a bit prickly in the past, something she's remarked on about herself more than once. He can remember a time when she would turn on her heel and walk away before accepting a comforting embrace, retreating behind her walls and hiding her heart away. Now, the hand holding, hugs, kisses given freely in public, are all common occurrences. She reaches for her brother every time he enters her orbit, cradling him closely and showering him with butterfly kisses. She's even been connecting with her mother more. Late night chats over cocoa, wine when the conversation calls for it. He had to sleep alone one night after finding them passed out together in Emma's bed amongst a pile of their dresses.

Her magic doesn't scare her anymore. He smiles, remembering the tiny stars she created that glow in her brother's room at night above his crib. After Henry tried to fly using only happy thoughts _and no pixie dust_, she healed his broken wrist without a second thought or a call to Regina. She doesn't use her powers as a crutch, but as a tool only when her wits and inherent strength aren't enough. When her magic is still surging from her palms after overuse, she doesn't retreat and hide, but holds _his_ hand and_he_ brings her back down. _He_ grounds her.

A second giggle shakes him from his musings. He watches as she bestows _him_ with a kiss to the cheek before settling back to her work. _He_ saunters past, giving his customary nod, before making his way to the exit of the station.

"Killian."

The pirate stops and looks back, obviously a bit surprised to hear the use of his given name.

"Yes, _David_."

He walks over to the pirate and steels himself for the confession he knows he needs to make.

**"****I've never been happier to be wrong about something in my entire life."**

Killian looks him in the eye and they share a long, silent conversation. Flashes of heated words and accusations in the Neverland jungle are replaced with the memory of a fireside chat and heartfelt declarations. They both glance to Emma and then back to each other. This time Killian's nod is one of understanding and acceptance.

"Me too, mate…me too."

David gives him a friendly pat to his shoulder, before grasping it a bit more firmly to get his attention.

"If you hurt her, Snow will kill you. She's been aching for some target practice."


	3. Swimming with the Fishes

It's a blissfully quiet day in the Sheriff's Station for once and Emma is finally getting a chance to catch up on all of the paperwork left over from the Shattered Sight nonsense. Who knew that dwarves could do that much damage in such a short amount of time? Just thinking about the mess Sneezy made in the flower shop was enough to turn her stomach.

She noticed Killian had moved from his perch on her desk to the window, looking out over the town with a furrow to his brow.

"Hey, you okay?"

Shaken from his thoughts, he looks back with a smile. "Aye, love, just thinking…"

"About?"

"Well, honestly, about what I am to do with myself now."

Emma rises at this and makes her way over to her pirate. "What do you mean?"

Turning to her and pulling her closer with his hook in her belt loop, "Now that I am a permanent resident of this cursed little town of yours, I need to find myself an occupation. I can't just while away the days watching you work…_as much as I might enjoy the view_."

"Killian, don't you think that villain wrangling is enough work? The next one is bound to arrive any day now. Besides, I don't think we have a very active piracy trade here." That earned her quite the smirk and a pull on her belt loop to bring her closer. Emma couldn't help the urge to lean in to give him a quick peck on the lips.

Quick never seemed to work whenever they connected though as she felt Killian's tongue nudging against her lips. She had to pull back before they gave the entire town quite the show from the window they were still in front of.

Resting his forehead against hers, Killian let out a small sigh. "Love, I'm used to rising before the sun, working long hours, leading a crew… I miss the routine of it all and the feeling of a good days work after a long day."

Emma took a long look in his eyes and felt her heart twinge a bit as she came to a much overdue realization. "Killian, have I ever really thanked you for everything you have given up for me?"

"Love, what I have gained by being a part of your life far outweighs anything I left behind."

Emma leaned in to rest her head on his chest where his newly returned heart beat steadily. Reaching down to grasp his hand in hers, Emma breathed, "I love you so much."

It wasn't the first time she had said it, but every time she did Killian felt his heart race just a bit faster. "I told you I would win your heart, love. It just took a bit longer…and more realms and curses than I envisioned." He interlaced his fingers with hers and brought their joined hands to his lips. "My love for you knows no bounds, my love."

They stayed there for a few minutes, just holding on and relishing the moment of togetherness.

Reluctantly, Emma leaned away and looked out the window. "So…what job might be fitting of Captain Hook here in Storybrooke? Hmm…Oh, wait. You know what? There is a job open over at the docks. Our harbormaster up and disappeared on us a while back. No idea what happened to him, actually."

Killian reached up to scratch behind his ear, forgetting that his hand was still in Emma's. The movement drew her attention to his suddenly guilt stricken face.

"Killian? What is that look for?"

"Well….I think your harbormaster is swimming with the fishes."

Emma pulled away and put her hands on her hips. "What the hell are you talking about? He's dead? How do you know this?"

"No, love, he's not dead. He's _actually_ swimming with the fishes." Killian paused, reluctant to tell this tale, but knowing he had to finish it now. "When Cora and I originally arrived in Storybrooke we were met at the docks by your friendly harbormaster. Cora, being the oh-so-friendly witch that she was, turned him into a fish."

"Oh. My. God. Killian, why didn't you tell me about this?"

"Sure, that would have been quite the conversation. Hi Emma, remember me from the beanstalk? I'm here to kill Rumpelstiltskin and oh, by the way, your harbormaster is now a trout."

They locked eyes at that and both burst out laughing simultaneously. Could their lives be any weirder?

"Okay, so Harbormaster is out. Hmm…. I guess we could use another deputy here, but that would mean David and I would be your boss."

Killian chuckled to himself. "And that would be different than any other day, how?"

Emma walked back over to her desk and rifled through various drawers until she found what she was looking for. Finding her old deputy badge underneath a stack of noise complaints from The Rabbit Hole, she crossed the room back to Killian's side.

Holding the badge out to him, "This would make it official."

Killian took the badge and looked back to her. "I guess I really am one of the good guys now, huh?"

"Yeah, but Killian…you get all of the early shifts."


	4. The Gift

_A/N Yes, this is a Christmas fic. I had originally posted to my tumblr in December, but I wanted to move everything over here. :)_

Since arriving in Storybrooke, Emma has had many firsts. There was the first time she broke a curse. And the first time she slayed a dragon. Oh, and the first time she got sucked into a portal. And, the time she sailed a pirate ship into one. The time travel portal, ice wall, Wicked Witch, evil imps who shall not be named…all firsts she hopes to never have a second of. But then there was also the first time she hugged her parents. And the first time she realized she loved Henry. The first time she held her little brother and realized she had the family she had dreamed of for so long. And then there's Killian, the first man she has let into her heart since Neal. These firsts she wouldn't give up for the world.

Standing in her parents' loft on Christmas Eve, Emma mentally added tonight as yet another first she would cherish. Her first real Christmas. Sure, she and Henry had years of fake Christmases thanks to Regina's curse, but those don't _really_ count. And before that, well, Christmas wasn't a holiday much celebrated in her various foster homes, orphanages and youth hostels. Tonight, with everyone she loves all together, Emma finally understands what all of the fuss was about. It's been about a month since Gold was banished over the town line and things in Storybrooke have been blissfully peaceful. It seems as though whatever big bad was around the corner got a bit delayed upon arrival, which no one was complaining about. Emma and the rest of the town were all relishing the quiet moments, as they have all learned to do whenever they can.

Sipping her eggnog, Emma takes a quiet moment of her own to just observe the scene in front of her. Mary Margaret was on the sofa with her brother, attempting to wrangle him into the reindeer suit Belle had given him for Christmas. Henry and David were contemplating the star that would adorn the top of the tree, but couldn't decide the best plan of action without a ladder. Killian stood by the two, failing to untangle a string of Christmas lights, hopelessly tangling them further with his hook. The whole tableau was something straight out of a cheesy Lifetime Christmas movie, but Emma didn't care. She was soaking in the sweetness and feeling her heart grow lighter with each new holiday tune blasting over the stereo.

"Hey guys, why don't you let me help." She made her way to her trio of decorators and waved her arms to have them step aside. She closed her eyes and let the happiness inside her take over. Her magic pulsed brightly from her palms and with a flick of her wrist the lights untangled themselves from her pirate and wrapped in perfect spirals down the tree. The star lifted gently from Henry's fingers and made its way to top where it settled in perfect alignment. With a final burst of magic, Emma gave the star a faint glow from its center, casting golden reflections about the room.

She opened her eyes and found herself in a huge Henry bear hug. "Mom, you know you are seriously the coolest, right? Er…hey, don't tell my other Mom I said that."

"It'll be our little secret, kid." Henry bounded back to David and they took on the task of getting the tree skirt in place.

Killian made his way to her side and draped his arm loosely around her waist, pressed a light kiss to her temple and whispered in her ear. "You are so beautiful when you use your magic, love." She leaned further into his side at that and they stood there together simply enjoying the lights and the moment.

Before long it was time to sit down for dinner and everyone crowded around the small table to enjoy Mary Margaret's Christmas Eve feast. The conversation was lively, full of tales of past holidays in the Enchanted Forest when Charming and Snow were young as well as some of the fake memories Henry still had from their time in New York. They were happy times for him, even if they weren't real. Killian was quiet for the most part, laughing at the occasional anecdote, but not contributing much to the conversation. One thing she had learned about Killian is that once he let the Captain Hook bravado fall, he was a more reserved, contemplative man than she ever would have guessed him to be. She sensed that he was also still a bit uneasy within the Charming Family dynamic as well, which she could understand. There was a time when he was not the man he is now and he surely remembers being punched in the face in this very kitchen by her father in the not too distant past. Now, he was a guest at his table and dating his daughter. No one could blame him for being a bit off kilter. Heck, she still felt off kilter at times. It's been a crazy few years. Emma sought Killian's hand under the table, causing him to wink and give her hand a squeeze in return.

After dinner, Emma offered to help David with the dishes while Mary Margaret put Neal to bed. Emma spotted Killian on the sofa, instructing Henry as to how to put together the train set that would run around the base of the tree. It was such a sweet domestic moment that Emma found herself daydreaming of what a life with Killian would be like. Would he want to be around for Henry as a father? Does he want kids of his own?

"Emma, the water's about to run over the side of the sink."

Fumbling to shut of the faucet, Emma blushed and went back to the task at hand. "Sorry, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay over there."

Glancing over his shoulder at his grandson and Killian, David gave a small chuckle. "I think Hook can handle putting together a train set. He used to captain a pirate ship, so that should be a piece of cake."

"Yeah, but I remember the crib assembly debacle all too well. I learned that day that highly capable men can still get flustered by simple directions."

David gasped at that. "You wound me, Emma."

She flicked some suds his way, which led to an all-out water fight before they were both through. Dishes eventually washed, Emma found that she really needed to change her soaked through sweater. Making her way up to her room she was surprised to find Killian standing at her window looking out over Storybrooke.

"Hey, I thought you were helping Henry with the train set?"

"Love, we finished that about 20 minutes ago. It was really quite simple." Emma couldn't help but be a bit proud at that and made her way over to Killian at the window. As she drew closer, she could see the furrow to his brow and the faraway look behind his eyes.

Emma reached up and smoothed her fingers through Killian's hair, feeling him lean a bit into her palm. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, love. Just feeling a tad bit overwhelmed. It's been a very long time since I've been around a family like this."

Emma turned his face towards her with the palm that was now resting on his cheek. Looking him in the eyes for a moment, she leaned up and brushed a feather light kiss to his lips. "Stay here a minute. I'll be right back."

Emma grabbed a new sweater out of her wardrobe and snuck out the door to change in the bathroom. Before heading back to her bedroom she ran downstairs and grabbed a small gift from under the tree. Her family looked at her from the sofa where they were now huddled together watching a holiday movie on TV.

"Um…we'll be back down a bit later. I want to give Killian his present early…and in private."

David choked on his eggnog, causing Emma to realize just how her last statement had sounded. "Oh god, that is NOT what I meant."

Before she could embarrass herself further, Emma sprinted back upstairs and quietly shut the door to her bedroom once she was inside. Killian was still at the window, but the melancholy expression from before was now replaced with a look of amusement at Emma's bright red face and lack of breath.

"Sorry, things got a bit…embarrassing downstairs. I really need my own place."

Killian's bright eyed grin and deep chuckle brought Emma back to the present moment. Reaching behind her back, she held out the small wrapped box towards him.

"Merry Christmas, Killian."

The shock that reflected on his face was enough to make Emma's heart hurt a bit for him. Like her, holidays have been few and far between and gift giving an even rarer occasion. She mentally made a note to find ways to give him little gifts more often.

"Love, you didn't have to get…"

She interrupted him before he could finish. "I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to."

Emma made her way over to him at the window and placed the box in his hand. He looked at her with slightly misted over eyes and used the tip of his hook to slice gently through the wrapping paper. Lifting the lid, he found inside what looked to be a charm. Lifting it out of the box he gasped a bit when he realized that it was a perfect replica of the compass he and Emma had retrieved from the beanstalk. But …it was only the left half of it.

"Emma, I…"

Reaching up, she placed her fingers to his lips, stopping him from saying anything else. With her other hand she reached under the collar of her sweater and pulled out the necklace she was wearing around her neck. Hanging from the chain was the right side of the compass. Looking up at Killian, she found him focusing on her with so much awe and love that she was the one who was starting to feel overwhelmed.

Emma took a deep breath and said what she needed to say. "I used to wear the keychain Neal gave me to remind me never to trust anyone again. And I didn't…for a very long time. That day on the beanstalk you scared the hell out of me. I wanted to trust you, but my fear of being hurt again won out and I am so sorry about that. However, that compass brought me home and…you followed. You've come back for me so many times and forced my walls down brick by brick. You made me want to trust my heart to someone again, Killian…to you. I'm going to wear this to remind myself that trusting my heart to you will always lead me home."

Killian's resolve finally broke and his lips crashed into hers, his arms almost crushing her in the strength of his embrace. Passion, love, acceptance…everything they were feeling at the moment, could be felt from the fusion of their lips and the melding of their bodies from chest to knees. Killian pulled away first, after taking a shaky breath he leaned his forehead to hers, while still holding her as close as he possibly could.

"Emma…I am having trouble finding the words to express everything I am feeling at the moment. Well, no, actually, I think the perfect sentiment would be…I love you. You know that I do, but I needed to say the words out loud. My love for you has changed my life, Emma. I promise to cherish your heart with every part of me from now until forever."

Emma couldn't help the tears that were now rolling down her cheeks and Killian reached up and brushed them away gently with his thumb. He knew she wasn't ready to say she loved him yet, but he didn't need her to. The way she was looking at him and the words she had already said tonight would keep him going for a few more centuries. He leaned down and pressed another lingering kiss against her lips, but pulled back before either of them could get carried away.

"As much as I would love to spend the rest of the evening here in your bedchambers, love, your family is probably wondering what has kept us for so long."

Emma chuckled at that. "Oh, I know exactly what they are thinking, trust me."

Emma turned to lead him from the room, but he clasped her wrist and turned her back to face him. Seeing his new charm on the end of his hook, he reached it towards her. "Love, can you put this on my necklace for me?"

Shifting her arm so she could clasp his hand that was holding her wrist, she laced her fingers with his. He felt a slight tingle in his palm and watched as the charm slid off his hook and attached itself to his necklace. With wide eyes he watched as both his charm and Emma's began to glow and a single beam of light stretched from hers directly into his. He could feel warmth radiating from the charm against his chest and then the light faded and everything felt normal again.

"Love, what was that?"

"When Elsa and I were practicing spells I learned a few new ones. I just enchanted the charms so if we are ever separated, all you have to do is hold it in your palm and think of me and it will guide you home….to me. Mine will do the same."

Killian raised their linked hands to his lips and placed a kiss to her knuckles. "You are bloody brilliant, Emma. Have I told you that lately?"

"Oh, only three times today, but a lady can never get too many compliments…"

Burying his face in her neck, Killian proceeded to whisper as many flowery praises as he could think of between nibbling kisses to her pulse point. Needless to say, it was another twenty minutes before they rejoined their first Charming Family Christmas downstairs.


	5. Unlikely Allies

_A/N: I've had this ficlet rolling around in my brain and just had to get it out. Apparently I have a mighty need for some Snow/Killian bonding in 4B. No Emma in this, but she is mentioned._

* * *

There's stillness at this late hour that is equally calm and foreboding, making him more alert as he makes his nightly rounds. The sounds of his footsteps are all that can be heard, outside of the occasional rustle of leaves or scampering of a cat in the alley behind Granny's. As he surveys the silence he hopes for another night of nothing, not content until he's sure, before he'll finally succumb to his slightly lumpy mattress back at the Inn.

His ears perk up suddenly at the unmistakable sound of a car rumbling around the corner, leaning into the side of the building to stay hidden, instantly on edge as he waits to see the owner of the vehicle. The appearance of Mary Margaret's station wagon couldn't have been a bigger surprise. She appears to be alone and not in any hurry, which somewhat alleviates his initial worry that something has happened. His curiosity, however, is indeed engaged and he steps into the streetlight to catch her attention.

She smiles as she sees him, slowly rolling up to where he's standing on the sidewalk. She has to unbuckle her seatbelt so she can lean across the vehicle to roll down the window, giving him time to do a quick scan of the car. Baby Neal is in the back seat, his chubby fingers wrapped around the half full bottle in his mouth.

"Killian? What are you doing out so late?"

He steps forward and leans down, giving her a look of confusion. "Your highness, I must ask you the same thing, especially since you have the little prince out with you. Can I be of assistance?"

Mary Margaret gives him an obviously tired smile before shaking her head.

"Oh, no, we're okay. The little _devil_ back there just wouldn't stop fussing. I read in one of my parenting books that sometimes babies like the feeling of a moving car, that the motion will calm them somehow. I figured I'd give it a shot."

Killian looks fondly into the back seat, a wistful smile taking over his features. "Aye, I can understand that, milady. I must admit that it took me a while to learn how to sleep on a bed without the roll of the waves underneath me. The stillness was, I don't know, challenging."

When he turns his attention back to her he sees that Mary Margaret is looking at him with a contemplative expression, almost as if she's trying to read him somehow. The two of them had never spent any time alone, both of them slightly unfamiliar with how to go about a conversation without Emma or David as a buffer. He looks back at Neal, wondering what he should say to break the silence that has fallen between them.

Suddenly, she's leaning forward and Killian feels the passenger door pressing into his thighs, realizing she is attempting to push the door open from the inside. He steps back slightly and she looks up at him.

"Keep me company?"

Placing his hands on the door, he gives her a quick nod, before sliding in next to her and closing the door behind him. He notes the tiny unicorn hanging from her rear-view mirror, tiny prisms dancing from the streetlight on the corner reflecting on the glass charm. He feels as if there must be a story behind its presence, but doesn't ask.

"So, Killian, you never answered me as to why you are out and about at almost 2am."

The car was moving again now, slowly rolling down the empty street. He contemplates how to answer her question without revealing too much. He'd been able to keep his fears from Emma, not wanting to burden her unnecessarily unless there was a reason. Glancing over to Mary Margaret, he could see she was patiently waiting for an answer. He hopes he can somehow evade this line of questioning altogether through deflection.

"Just out for a stroll. I've always been a bit of a night owl."

"Killian, are you forgetting that we spent many nights together in Neverland? You were usually quick to fall sleep, but always the first to rise. I've also seen you pass out on our couch before 8pm on more than one occasion, so why don't you try again?"

What was it with the women in this family? They were too perceptive for their own good. He turns to look out the window, knowing he was caught, hoping he can find the right words to explain.

"Aye, my apologies… I was, well, keeping an eye on things, I suppose. It's been a bit too quiet lately and I don't want any of us to be caught unawares."

"You're worried Gold will come back."

She really cut to the quick. He was reminded of the Snow White he had encountered during his fateful trip to the past, her forceful nature and directness something he definitely admired, even if it was directed at him at the moment. Realizing she wouldn't settle for anything but the truth, he forged ahead.

"I can't let him hurt Emma. Or anyone she loves. He'll never be gone from our lives; I've fought him far too long and know how his evil mind works. With Belle still here, I know he won't stay away a minute longer than is necessary."

His fist was clenched at this point, determinedly staring at his hook in his lap. Mind reeling back to stupid deals and lies and pain, wishing that the Crocodile would prove him wrong, knowing that was a fools thought.

Mary Margaret's soft touch to his wrist pulls him from his internal darkness, realizing suddenly that the car was stopped and she had turned in her seat towards him.

"Killian. Look at me."

Unable to not abide her wishes, he straightened and met her gaze.

"I don't know if you've spoken the words to my daughter yet, but I know that you love her. And that love makes you want to protect her above all else, including yourself and your own safety. I admire you for that, but you need to stop. You're part of a family now, Killian. We look out for each other. Doing things alone isn't in the cards for you anymore, do you understand me?"

He was dumbstruck, completely overwhelmed by many things that she had just uttered aloud. Unable to find the words to respond, he forced himself to nod his acquiescence. She was apparently satisfied with that, as without another word she was turning back forward in her seat and pulling the car back onto the road.

"Now that we've settled that, what else shall we talk about, Captain?"

And that's how it began. Captain Hook and Snow White could be seen on many a night after this one, huddled together in her station wagon, patrolling the streets of Storybrooke with a sleeping toddler in the backseat.


	6. hooks & hands

_One-shot inspired by the 4X12 promo __pics__.The hook holding was just too much for me to handle._

* * *

"Hey, are you okay?"

Her quiet voice shook him from his internal musings, realizing suddenly that they had already arrived in front of his room at the Inn. He tore his gaze from the cause of his contemplative silence, her hand that was still wrapped casually around his hook. Seeing her green eyes looking at him with concern, he forced a smile and attempted to keep his jumbled mess of thoughts from her.

"Of course, love, why?"

As she has taken to do, she lifted her free hand up to cradle his cheek, her head cocked slightly to the side as she gave him a look that clearly said that he wasn't getting away with hiding from her. Not saying anything further, she kept him locked in her gaze in a silent conversation of understanding and patience. He didn't know how to voice what was bothering him, as it wasn't exactly clear in his own head, really.

Dropping his gaze back down to his hook and her hand, he let out a small sigh before attempting to find the words.

"It's _this_, I guess." He gestured towards his hook with his head, still not able to meet her eyes. "I'm not sure how to feel about you holding it. I'm sorry, Swan, it's really hard to explain."

She dropped her hand and he swore he could feel the loss, despite the lack of any real connection to the metal and leather to his actual nerve endings. Before she could misunderstand him, he reached out with his right hand to grasp the hand she dropped, pulling her forward slightly. He knew he had to quickly find a way to express what he was feeling before he hurt her. This new intimacy between them was so new and he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize it.

"Swan, I never imagined that you'd ever look at my hook as something to hold as if it was a part of me. When you reached for it at dinner I, well, I think I stopped breathing. I'm feeling simultaneously elated and ashamed at the same time and it's driving me a bit mad, to be honest."

"Killian, look at me."

He did. As soon as he had his cobalt eyes focused on hers, she reached for his hook again and brought it up between them.

"This _is_ a part of you, Killian. I held it because it felt natural for me to. Honestly, I didn't really think about it before I did it. Do you not want me to?"

"God, no, love. That's not it. Bloody hell, I'm making an arse out of myself here. I'm just not used to viewing my hook as something…_good_. No one I care about has ever touched it the way you did tonight."

Emma's slight chuckle was surprising and it was his turn to look at her with confusion. "Really Swan, what about that was funny?"

"I'm sorry. It's just..well, it's not the first time I've held it, Killian."

"I bloody well think I'd remember something like that love."

He felt her lean a bit closer to him and he watched as she began to trace her fingers along the curve of his hook that was still raised between them, her eyes turning seductive as she did so. Suddenly he felt lightheaded and hazy, as if he was reliving a memory that felt more like a dream. His heart began to race as she stepped forward, trapping his hook between her breasts and his chest. Her breath was warm on his neck as she leaned forward, her lips grazing his ear as she spoke.

"I have a confession to make…"

"Most women do." Wait, what did he just say? Those words came from his mouth without thought, making him feel as though he was outside of his body and someone else was in control altogether. Not that he was minding, however, as whoever was pulling the strings was making this quite enjoyable for him.

Emma pulled back suddenly and gave him a knowing look. "So, you do remember?"

"Lass, I have absolutely no idea what is happening right now or what I am supposed to be recalling, but I don't rightly care as long as you keep whispering in my ear like that." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she stepped further back, placing her hands on her hips.

"Damn, I was hoping I'd sparked your memory just now. Your former self holds too many of our firsts, Killian. First time we met, first drink together, first kiss. It's damn frustrating."

Sudden awareness overtook him at that, and he huffed in frustration. He wondered if there would ever be a time when he would stop being jealous of himself.

"Bugger, this all happened during our journey to the past with _him_, didn't it love?"

"Yeah, back at the tavern while I was keeping you, er _him_…occupied."

"Bloody hell." He reached up and scratched behind his ear, feeling even more out of sorts now than he had when this whole conversation started. A sudden realization hit him and he looked at Emma with an incredulous look.

"Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that even when you were with him, when he was still dangerous, you didn't hesitate to reach for the hook?"

He waited as she looked at him thoughtfully, her eyes darting between his hook and his face. She stepped back towards him again before speaking.

"Killian, I am only admitting this to you because I think you need to hear it _and_ so we can put this whole matter to rest once and for all. There's just something…sexy about that damn hook, okay? So stop being weird about it and get over here and kiss me."

He only allowed his shock to set in for a second before grabbing her and hauling her towards him. Obliging her request for a kiss, his lips sought hers as he wound his arms around her waist. She angled her head, prompting him to deepen the kiss, their tongues slowly caressing as her grip on his arms tightened in response. She slowly eased the pace of the kiss as she moved her hands from his arms up to cradle his face, giving his lips a few slow nips before stopping to lean her head back slightly to look him in the eyes.

"You know, Killian, there's one first I'd _really_ like you to remember."

"What might that be, love?" He really hoped she was meaning what he thought she was, but he didn't want to make any assumptions.

"Well, I was promised a _nightcap_ by a devilishly handsome pirate many, many years ago and I thought it was bad form to keep a lady waiting?"

The look of mischief on her face wasn't quite masking her obvious nervousness at her rather forward proposition. He straightened so he could ease his arm between them, reaching his hook towards her for her to grasp. When she did, he stepped to her side and turned to unlock his door. Once it was open he gestured for her to enter with his right hand, bowing a bit at the waist as he did so.

"Aye, milady, bad form indeed. It would be my honor to fulfill that promise, my love."


	7. I'm here

_J__ust a little post 4X12 ficlet. I loved seeing Emma supporting Killian and I needed more…_

* * *

He isn't there. He'd been there every morning at this same time for the past few weeks, but today, he wasn't there. She waited, her hip resting on the cold hood of the bug, eyes searching the street in front of her, attempting to ignore the panic rising in her chest. He was always there. They never spoke of it. He was just there one morning, greeting her with coffee and a kiss, starting their day together. It became a routine, one she had grown to love, much like him. But he wasn't there.

She calls his phone and it rings and rings and rings. He had never learned how to set up his voicemail and she kept on forgetting to show him how. He was always there, so it never seemed all that important. She pushes herself from the hood and walks slowly towards the library, feeling cold without him by her side, his smile not there to warm her from the inside as it always seemed to do. The missing weight of his arm around her waist was making her feel as if she would float away like a boat without its anchor.

She sees Belle and her steps quicken, desperation beginning to take hold as she meets the librarian's questioning eyes. His presence was a part of Belle's routine, too, a newly forged friendship built out shadowed hearts and overwhelming regret. The brunette gives her a tremulous smile, opening the door to invite her in, neither speaking their fears aloud. He wasn't there and they both need him now.

They find him together. The research board on the floor again, photos and notes scattered about the foyer, pins crunching under their shoes as they walk. The trail of books leads to his sleeping form, head buried in his elbow amidst a pile of old tomes, pages crumpled and wrinkled in anger and frustration under his fingers. The photo of the old man's house is displayed in front of him, looming as a reminder of what he has still failed to achieve. She feels Belle's hand touch her arm and she turns, seeing her nod before disappearing to the back of the library, thankful for the silent understanding of who he needs now.

His hair is soft under her fingertips as she strokes him gently, kneeling down to press a light kiss to his forehead as he begins to stir. His eyes open slowly, the dancing brightness she's accustomed to seeing in his blue depths is muted, searching for something she hopes he can see in her. He lifts his head, leaning into her palm as she cups his cheek, frustration and fatigue pouring out of him in waves. She stands, holding out her hand to him and waits. The waiting is new for her, but she does it, for him.

His eyes turn back to his task, fingers gripping the edge of the table, knuckles turning white with the force of his grasp. His sigh is long, but he stands, knees cracking and leather rustling as he stretches. He takes her hand, his gaze locked to their entwined fingers as he allows her to pull him in her wake out into the street. The sun is bright and he hides his eyes behind his wrist, the metal of his hook reflecting the rays of the morning light like a beacon. Her arm is tight around his waist now, and he grips her side like a lifeline, allowing his body to sway into hers as she leads him. She's always leading him.

She pushes inside his room and steers him towards his bed, peeling his jacket from his shoulders as he finally lifts his gaze to meet hers. There are always new emotions when he looks at her now, the strongest he believes his love, but he's still afraid to hope. This time he sees strength. It's not the savior strength that comes naturally to her, but strength for him, for them, silently asking him to let her take his burdens as her own. He wants to. He will.

She pulls back his covers and he sits, toeing off his boots before sliding under the sheet she is holding up for him. His head rests on the pillow and she sits by his hip, her fingers once again finding their way to his hair as he looks at her with tired eyes. She smiles a small smile and he feels another piece of his heart fall back into place. Lifting his hand from under the sheet, he stills her hand in his hair, pulling her palm to his lips. He leaves a small caress there, before pulling her down, silently asking for what he needs and hoping she understands.

She does. Her boots end up beside his on the floor as she curls against his side, his hand still clasped with hers between them on the small bed. Her lips find his forehead as he begins to drift to sleep, her whispered promise the last he hears before she enters his dreams.

"_I'm here."_


	8. thank you

_The filming spoilers from 4X20 prompted this little fluffy ficlet. I have a mighty need for something like this to play out…_

* * *

She hasn't spoken since her whispered _"Let's get out of here…" _back in front of Granny's as she led him from the gathered chaos of townsfolk to the quiet solitude of the docks. He can sense there's something she needs to say, but for now she seems to be content clinging to his side like a lifeline, her hand pressed so firmly over his chest that he wonders if there will be a permanent mark there on his skin. It would be fitting, as there is a permanence already existing in the heart beneath, for her and her alone.

Her head shifts slightly and he can feel the sweet press of her lips to his neck as she nuzzles even closer, her nose cold against his jaw and her breath warm against his throat. He wants to ask her if she is alright, but he senses that she needs the silence, so he waits. There is a certain irony to their location now, wrapped up in each other's arms in the same spot where she told him that she was planning to take Henry back to New York, that her home wasn't here, not with him. The magnitude of how much has changed since then is staggering, his arms tightening around her as he lets that memory be replaced by this one.

"Thank you."

He is startled by her words, spoken quietly into his neck, her hand now moving from his heart to cradle his cheek as she seeks his gaze. There is nervousness behind her expression, but he can see a gentle determination as well and other emotions he only ever imagined her showing him in his dreams.

"For what, love?"

Her hand moves from his cheek to his hair, her fingertips lightly tracing the shell of his ear as she leans a bit closer. Everything about her a distraction, but he wills himself to let this moment play out, only allowing his grip to tighten on her waist in response.

"For being patient with me."

"Swan, I would wait…" Her finger stops his lips from moving and she shakes her head. She's not done. He nods and she traces his bottom lip lightly with her fingertip before moving her hand back to his jaw, her thumb caressing lightly along his skin.

"You know better than anyone that I don't excel at expressing my feelings, but I need you to know… " His heart is in his throat as he watches her steel herself, her eyebrows furrowing in frustration as she tries to speak the words he's needed and longed to hear. He could help her, say them first to give her courage, but he selfishly longs to follow her as he does in most things.

She closes her eyes briefly and sighs, her hand moving down to rest on his chest, his body swaying towards her on instinct. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead and leans back, giving her an encouraging smile when she looks up at him again.

"I just missed you so damn much and I was only gone a day and dammit…I haven't had enough experience being in love and I just don't know what to say."

His eyebrows shoot up and his mouth opens slightly as the realization of what she has just confessed passes between them. He feels her fingers grasp his vest, breaking him from his stunned stupor and he moves, leaning forward until his lips are just barely caressing hers as his hand moves up her back under her jacket.

"I love you too, Swan."

She pulls him forward and the world around them disappears. The sheer volumes of words unspoken pass between their lips as they kiss, centuries of pain evaporating around him as he allows himself to finally believe this is real. She pulls back slightly and he feels her reach down to pull his arm from around her so she can grasp his hand. His breath catches as she places his palm firmly against her heart. Her eyes meet his and he can feel his own heart begin to fall in sync with the rapidly beating pulse under his fingertips.

She smiles as she leans closer, her nose brushing his as she removes all remaining distance between them. "It still works."


	9. of rubies and regret

_I had this idea pop into my head, probably brought on by the Killian angst coming our way. So, here's a little bit of angsty fluff. Is that a thing_

* * *

"Swan, can we swing by my quarters before heading in? The little prince left his mark on my shoulder it seems, and I would like to change my shirt."

Emma couldn't help but smile at the memory of seeing fearsome Captain Hook burping her little brother over his shoulder when she came down the stairs at the loft this afternoon. She had stopped in her tracks and just watched him slowly soothing and cooing, turning in slow circles in the kitchen under Snow's watchful, and somewhat wistful, eye. She met her mom's gaze from the stairs and they had shared a quiet moment, Snow looking pointedly at Killian and back to her, not even attempting to hide a hopeful smile. Emma had darted her eyes away from her mother as her cheeks had begun to blush, her mind overrun with images of tiny bright blue eyes, unruly black hair and chubby fingers grasping curved steel.

"Love?"

She smiled up at Killian, realizing he was still waiting for her response at the side entrance of Granny's.

"Sorry, of course. We can't let Killian Jones be seen in public in such disarray. You have a reputation to uphold." She quirked her eyebrow at him and squeezed his arm as he laughed, his long strides now leading her up the back stairs to his room.

"You know me too well, Swan." She felt his lips graze her hair lightly before he withdrew his arm from her grasp, unlocking his door and stepping to the side to usher her in. Crossing the threshold she realized that this was the first time she had actually been in here. She's become intimately acquainted with the wall outside of his room on more than one occasion, but his _infuriatingly_ gentlemanly ways always stopped him from leading them to the privacy of his room. Silently wishing Belle and Will weren't waiting for them in the diner, she pushed away the rising desire to help him remove that shirt and not find another one until tomorrow morning.

"Be ready in two shakes, love." She watched as he stripped off his jacket and moved to unbutton the ridiculous number of buttons on his vest. Knowing she needed to distract herself from the show unfolding in front of her, she turned to his dresser, stepping closer to examine the various keepsakes he had on display. She recognized the telescope, having seen him use it on the Jolly and in Neverland, but not since their return from the past. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing that was because of her. Beside the telescope was a small piece of leather she hadn't seen before, her fingers reaching out to run along the embossed letters, wondering if it belonged to him or Liam. Her heart told her it was the latter, seeing as how well cared for it was. She made a mental note to ask him about it another time, desperate to get to know him better, continuing her journey of scaling his 300 year old walls.

Her gaze fell on a small metal tray with nothing in it but a gold ring, one she immediately recognized from their first date, the red ruby catching the light from the lamp on the edge of the dresser. It was small; obviously a woman's ring and she wondered if perhaps it belonged to Milah.

"It was my mother's."

His quiet voice from behind her startled her, his arms moving to wrap around her waist as his chin rested on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snoop. I'm just curious to know you, all of you."

His arms tightened at that confession and she wound her fingers through his hand on her waist.

"I believe it was her engagement ring, but that is just conjecture. She wore it on the traditional finger, so I always assumed it was from my father. One evening as I sat by her bed she took it off and pressed it into my palm. I was still a wee lad, but I knew that she wasn't long for the world and she was giving me something to remember her by. She didn't say anything, just held my hand with the ring inside it until she fell asleep that night."

Emma's heart was breaking for him as he spoke, willing herself not to cry for him, but to be his strength as he had been for her so many times before. She could feel his heart beating fast behind her and the ragged timbre of his breathing as he pressed closer to her.

"You wore it on our first date."

She felt his breath on her neck as he exhaled, could feel his smile form as his dimple pressed into her chin.

"Aye. When I was getting ready that night I felt as though I was finally finding my way back to the man I could have been, someone my mother would have been proud of. It felt right to wear it on my newly restored hand."

His arms loosened and he began to step back. "If I would have known how wrong I was, I never…"

She refused to let go of his fingers, stilling him in his tracks so he couldn't retreat from her. She turned, keeping his hand firm in her grasp as she took in his defeated stance, his head turned away from her and his mother's ring.

"Killian, please look at me." His eyes were cloudy when he complied, sadness and regret clear on his face as his centuries old self-loathing reared its ugly head once again. She stepped forward, reaching her thumb up to gently rub at his temple, attempting to ease the tension with her touch.

"I'm going to continue to say this to you in hopes that one day you will believe me. That hand was cursed and if I ever see Gold again I will force him to admit that to you. If that day never comes, you'll just have to learn to agree with me and move on."

She let go of his hand so she could wrap her arm around his waist, waiting until he did the same before she continued. "You're a good man, Killian. I'm lucky to have you by my side and I know your mother would be proud of the man you have become."

His body fell into hers at that, arms tightening around her as he pressed his face into her neck. She held him there, slightly rocking as her fingers wound into his hair, his lips finding her shoulder in a gentle caress. After a long moment, he lifted his head slowly, turning so he could capture her lips with his own, shreds of sadness escaping with each gentle caress and breath shared between them. Her hands cupped his cheeks as she tipped on her toes to kiss his forehead, causing a small laugh to escape his lips. When she looked back down he was smiling a small smile and she knew she had won this battle, but the war within him was far from over.

"Do you like rubies, Swan?"

Her eyes widened briefly before she could find the words to reply, wondering if she was catching the true meaning of his question. In that moment, she realized that she hoped she was right and that one day that ring would find a home on her hand, placed there by her soft-hearted pirate.

She returned his smile with one of her own, reaching for his hand again to lace their fingers together. "Red just happens to be my signature color."


	10. hold my hand

_Another fluffy ficlet (I know, not surprising) inspired by all the the hand holding._

* * *

When they meet for breakfast, she reaches for his hand to lead him into their booth and doesn't let go until their food arrives, sometimes reaching for him between bites of her pancakes. Her fingers tangle with his before the door closes at their backs as he leads them past the outdoor furniture to walk her to the station to start her workday. There's reluctance to her letting go as she bids him goodbye in her office, her grasp tightening a bit before she relents and her hand pulls back to her desk. When he brings her grilled cheese at lunchtime she lets the sandwich grow cold in the bag while she sits, talking with him as her fingers trace circles on his palm. In the evening when they are bundled together during their stroll back to the loft, her hand somehow finds its way inside of his pocket, her warm palm covering his underneath the leather.

As the days go by, he begins to wonder if there is something she is trying to communicate to him with her touch, the feel of her hand a welcome, albeit unexpected, constancy in their courtship. Being a man of only one, there are times when her obsession with his hand becomes a hindrance, but he'll never admit this to her. He spent so long being pushed away that he would rather wait for her to release him than ever pull back on his own. He knows that may be a weakness, that his love for her holds too much power, but he has come to terms with that fact. On the rare times that he is first to reach out, he watches her expression every time, never failing to see a slight look relief and something else he can't quite ascertain.

They are sitting on the couch in her office one night, his hand tucked into hers as she looks over a file, his eyes searching her face as he tries to summon the courage to ask her, his curiosity finally taking over his fear of setting off her insecurities.

"Swan, can I ask you something?"

Setting down the file on her lap, she turns to face him, giving his hand a light squeeze. He barely holds back a flinch, her action behind the question he needs to ask.

"It's not that I mind, love. In fact, I quite enjoy it, but I was wondering about the hand holding." His chin drops a bit as the urge to scratch at his ear becomes unbearable, the lack of his hand once again becoming an issue. "Have you always been so fond of it, love?"

He looks up at her, finally, terrified of how she might react. She doesn't move to release his hand, which is a good sign, but she isn't meeting his gaze either. He sees a slight tint appear on her cheeks, and he knows she is embarrassed. Tightening his grip on her fingers, he slides a bit closer to her on the couch, the movement prompting her to finally look up at him. She looks him in the eye for a moment before she smiles, a small, shy smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"The first time I held your hand it was so I could betray you. I know we've never really spoken of that moment, and I don't know if we need to now, but it's something I think of often. Now that things are different, now that _I'm_ different, I hold your hand as a reassurance of _us_. I guess I hope that the more I hold your hand like _this_, I might be able to forget about when I held it in fear. I know that sounds silly…"

He doesn't let her finish, too overwhelmed by the words she has spoken and all that it means for him to have heard her say them. His lips press firmly on the smooth skin at the top of her hand that he has lifted to his mouth, followed by feather light caresses to her wrist, leading to a gentle exploration of the crease of her elbow with the tip of his tongue. He lifts his head, now nose to nose with her, his hook pressing gently into the small of her back to bring her closer as he leans in to capture her lips with his own. He can feel her sigh of relief as she responds, her confession blooming between them like a sunflower seeing the first gentle rays of the sun on a warm summer morning. As the minutes, _or hours_, pass as they embrace, he thinks that if she allows it, he will hold her hand until the end of his days.


	11. in repose

"Hey, are you ready to…?"

She stops, noticing that he is asleep, the book he had been reading resting on his chest, the pages crumpling a bit between his fingers. His long legs are slightly bent at the knee, pressed up against the back of the sofa, leaving a small amount of room for her to sit on the edge of the cushion below his hip. She settles carefully, not wanting to wake him, instead wishing to observe him in his quiet slumber. In Neverland he never really slept, merely dozed between guard shifts, body always tense and alert like a cat ready to pounce without warning. But now, he was defenseless, _peaceful_.

He looks years younger like this, the worry lines smoothed, the tense set of his jaw relaxed and the slight curve of his lips forming a gentle smile. She itches to reach over and trace his lips with her fingertips, curious if he would instinctively lean into her touch if she was to press her palm lightly against his cheek. In the past few weeks they had settled into a new place, full of casual touches and absentminded kisses, their bodies craving the simple contacts they had both been missing for so long. In repose, would he still reach for her in the same way?

As she watches him sleep, she silently hopes that he is as happy as she is in their life together as it is now; a partnership that's strengthens as each day passes. Her heart begins to race as she contemplates all that he means to her, all that he has become for her, her strength and her comfort, her best friend and confidant, the man she has somehow fallen completely in love with. She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, willing the fear at this realization to not take hold. She doesn't want to run anymore, not from him, from them.

When she opens her eyes again she sees that he is now awake, his eyes searching hers as the worry lines on his face begin to appear again. He begins to shuffle as if he is going to sit up and she places her hand over his chest to stop him, gently prying the book from between his fingers so she can set it on the floor. She pushes lightly on the side of his hip until he catches on to her intention, his body shifting further into the back of the sofa to make room for her. She can feel his eyes on her as she leans down to unzip her boots, his hand now resting lightly atop her thigh, his fingers flexing slightly against the denim.

She turns back to him and smiles, shifting her position to her other hip so she can stretch out beside him, his body molding to hers automatically as if they had done this many times before. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder as her arm reaches for his from his side, tucking his hook under her palm over his heart. His free hand on her waist tightens as their legs tangle together in the tight space, sparks igniting as new, undiscovered contacts are made for the first time. She can feel his racing heartbeat begin to slow as she relaxes further into his arms, his hand now holding her firmly against him with a gentle pressure between her shoulder blades. Tears start to form behind her eyes, suddenly overcome with emotion at the comfort of being held by someone who loves her, realizing he hasn't known this feeling in more years than she has been alive. She leans in to press her lips softly against his neck at the exact moment she feels his caress her forehead, unsurprisingly that in this, as in all things, they fall perfectly in sync.


	12. save me

_A/N: I had a really long day and needed to unwind with some writing. This is angsty to start and is a bit of speculation on my part based on various filming spoilers for 4X16 and next week's promo. So yeah…spoiler alert._

* * *

There's a depressing irony to this moment. Before she stepped foot in this town she was alone and now, after years of trying and _hoping_ and finally accepting she wasn't alone anymore, she found herself here. Completely and totally….alone. Her parents, thought to be carved out of heroic stone had proved to be made of lye, crumbling under her fingertips like poison underneath the smooth, white surface. Henry, he doesn't need her anymore, not really. She barely sees him and when she does, he's got his head in that damn book, searching for someone else's happy ending. And _him_, he was the worst of all. He'd come back for her so many times, led her to believe that no matter what he would always be there. But where was he now? Nowhere. He was gone. He wasn't different. Everyone always leaves.

The town feels deserted, just like her heart, cold like the bench underneath her legs. It's late, far past the witching hour. Witch. Is that what she is, what she should be? It would be easier. Darken the edges of her magic and she could slide into the night, without a care, no one expecting her to save the day. The tingle in her palm at that thought is powerful, addictive. Every other villain in this town gets to use the excuse of a broken heart for their badness, so why couldn't she. Her heart was more than broken. She'd never felt like this before, this emptiness, this anger. How could she give someone so much power over her? Fucking pirate. He promised he would win her heart, and he did, that bastard. But he didn't protect it. He didn't protect himself. His need to make amends had cost him his life, his _survivor_ status not meaning much in the end. His death only further proving that being good is a wasted endeavor, one for the foolish and naive.

The ghostly sounds of footsteps on the pier are torturous; knowing that no one is there, no one will be there again. It's not until the cadence stops that she looks up. Her eyes are wild as she takes him in, fearful that he is a specter, here to taunt her further into the depths of despair. But then he speaks.

"Swan?"

She stands slowly. She thinks to herself that if he is a phantom, she may not care, as long as he is here for her, to take her away. He steps forward, his hand reaching towards her, and she is unwilling to hope but needs to know. The very real feel of his fingertips grasping hers snaps her like a sail in a strong gust of wind, surging her forward until she is collapsing into him. He's here. He's alive. Her arms tighten around his back like a vice, afraid if she lets go he will disappear, that the darkness will continue to descend and take her with it.

She's crying now, her tears collecting in the space where her cheek presses against his neck. She whispers to him, her voice wrecked by her sobs, hoping he can hear her, know her.

"How?"

She feels his lips press lightly to her shoulder as he pulls her tighter, a shudder wracking his body as he tries to find his own composure.

"Ariel. She saved me."

She lifts her head from his neck at his response, her eyes searching the depth of his gaze for a moment before pressing her forehead against his. She feels the calm that his presence always brings to her begin to take hold, taking a few deep breaths to let the emptiness in her heart fill back up with him.

"Killian, I think she may have saved us both."


	13. you, just you

_A/N: Wanted to write a little something with Killian comforting Emma after she learns the secret her parents have been keeping from her. Need more intimate moments for these two…_

* * *

The only solace she can find in this moment is that she finally has someone to go to. She doesn't have to deal with this on her own, not anymore. So, between body wracking sobs, her knuckles find their way to the hard surface of his door, softly knocking. It's late, very late, but she needs him now. The sound of her phone buzzing incessantly in her pocket is like a knife in an open wound, causing her tears to cloud her vision once again.

Through watery eyes she realizes that he is there, reaching for her, his hand wrapping around her neck and guiding her into his arms. She collapses into his bare chest, the little strength she had holding her up finally gone, her world seeming to be spinning wildly under her feet. She's thankful for him, needing him to be her compass, hoping to find some sense of direction here in his arms. She knows that _he_ is real and she can trust him, imperfectly perfect as he is.

His voice is soft and tentative when he finally speaks, obviously needing to know what is wrong, but not wanting to push her.

"Emma, what is it? Are you injured, is Henry…your parents, are they all okay?"

The mention of her parents sets off another sob and she can feel his arms tense around her, his concern for her family just one of the many things she loves about him. She straightens slightly so she can look him in the eye, needing to calm his fears, somehow explain that while she is physically fine her world is crumbling from the inside out. She forces herself to settle a bit as she gazes at him, her hand finding his cheek, attempting to pass back some of the comfort he's providing for her.

"No one's in danger, they're all fine. I'm just a huge mess right now and I….." Her shoulders slump as her grief begins to take over again, her hand falling to his chest in defeat.

His lips brush lightly on her temple as he draws her close. "What do you need, Swan?"

"You, just you."

"I'm here, love. Come, let's go inside."

His arm is strong on her waist as he leads her into his room, stopping her just inside so he can close the door and turn back to her. She feels naked suddenly, standing there baring her broken soul to him a_gain_, all of her walls beginning to build themselves back up around her. Thankfully, he knows her so well at this point that he can see this all happening. She feels the cold steel of his hook and the fingers of his hand as they slowly work her coat from her shoulders, the heavy weight falling from her a relief as he tosses it onto the chair. His hand finds hers and he guides her to his bed, waiting until she sits. His hand finds her hair again as he leans down to press a soft kiss to her forehead before he crouches down at her feet.

A tear escapes as she watches him lean down to remove her boots, his hand kneading her muscles as he works the leather down her calves. Boots removed, he stands so he can sit next to her, pulling her close as soon as he's settled. His body is so warm, soothing her with every breath he takes, with every brush of his fingertips around her waist.

"Do you want to talk about it, Swan?"

"Yes, but not tonight. Can we just sleep? I'll tell you everything in the morning,"

"Of course, whatever you need, love." His lips ghost along her hairline briefly as he rises, and she watches as he crosses to the small closet in the back of the room. She allows herself a moment to take him in, the muscles of his back rippling as he moves the hangers to the side in search of something. She's never seen him in this state of undress, his legs clad in dark loose pants, leather brace dark against the pale skin of his arms, redness peeking between the straps from long years of wear.

He turns finally, holding up one of his old pirate shirts, her cheeks reddening a bit she thinks of the thin material that had taunted her for so long. Now, everything he had been barely hiding behind too few buttons was on display for her, the dark hair of his chest framing well sculpted muscles begging to be traced by her fingertips. That would be for another night, however, one when she wasn't falling apart.

"Here, love. You can sleep in this if you like?"

The fabric is soft and worn under her fingertips as she takes it from him, the material gathering in her lap as she smiles in thanks. Always the gentleman, her pirate, he crosses around to the other side of the bed to let her change outside of his gaze. She sheds her sweater and pulls the shirt over her head, the scent of him enveloping her as she slides her arms into the sleeves. Standing quickly, she pulls off her jeans and places her clothes on the chair with her coat, his shirt long enough that it falls just to the middle of her thighs.

"Come to bed, Swan."

She turns to see that he has settled on the far side of the bed, holding the covers up for her to join him. Without hesitation she switches off the light and slides onto the mattress, practically crawling into his body as she molds herself as close to him as she can get. His chest hair is soft under her cheek, the sound of his heart beating a strong rhythm by her ear, reminding her again of how close she came to losing him those many weeks ago. She wills herself to not think on that tonight, knowing it would set off another round of sobs if she did.

Instead, she leans up from his chest to look up at him, his gaze tender as he takes her in. She reaches up, her hand wrapping around his neck so she can pull his lips towards hers. She kisses him slowly, softly, relishing the intimacy of the moment between them. She grazes her fingertips along his jaw once before pulling back and settling back down on his chest, barely catching his slightly dazed expression as their lips parted in the darkness of the room.

"Goodnight, Killian."

"Goodnight, my love."


	14. afterwards

_Here's a little post confession ficlet to add to the other awesome ones that have already been written…_

* * *

His barely contained tears began to spill onto his cheeks as he feels her lips begin to tremble under his, a few lifetimes worth of emotion forcing their way to the surface. He holds her tighter, kissing her deeper, memorizing every word she is saying to him with the slide of her fingers through his hair and the heat of her palm on his chest.

A gentle sob escapes her lips and he moves his lips to her cheek, kissing her tears from her skin before leaning back to look at her. Her jade eyes are rimmed with red, watery and still wide with in-credulousness that he could truly love her as he does. He vows to himself that if the fates allow her to stay in his life that he will endeavor to love the lost girl from her soul for good.

He feels her fingers tighten in his hair as she moves forward, her hand wrapping around his neck as she leans her head to his chest. The wool of her coat is rough under his hands as he holds her close, her hair soft against his cheek. He allows a few more tears to fall now that she cannot see. The soft rise and fall of her chest against his begins the calming, her grip on his back loosening as she relaxes.

Not wanting to, he knows they must go, leave this den of darkness before his enemy is back and the demons in his heart claw to the surface again. His lips brush the side of her head softly as he pulls back, her hand stilling him as she threads her fingers through his with a strength he has come to love about her. Her gaze is strong and steady when he looks up, her tears gone and a look of determination shining back at him. As he has grown accustomed, her words are not necessary. He can read her like the open book that she is.

_You won't lose me, Killian. You're my happy ending, too._


	15. yes

A nearby call of a seagull and the gentle rocking of the ship begin to creep into her consciousness as she slowly rouses from her slumber. Opening her eyes, she's careful not to move and wake him, wishing for a moment to watch him sleep. His arm is still protectively wrapped around her waist, his leg wedged between hers on the small bed. Peering up from the pillow they are sharing, she takes in how long his eyelashes are, the hints of auburn peeking through his dark locks in the early morning light, how his scar makes his face somehow more impossibly beautiful. She curses the fates for having another crisis be the reason for her being here with him now, but she is thankful that she is.

She thinks back to the early morning when they arrived here, many hours of searching for the author for naught, parting from her parents in strained silence. He had led her here without words spoken between them, knowing what she needed, being her strength when hers was beginning to fade. She can still feel the tingle from where his lips had soothed her tears, the press of his strong arms holding her tight until fatigue and his presence eventually calmed her to sleep.

Unable to resist any longer, she lifts her hand from his chest to slowly trace his scar with her fingertip, watching as his eyelashes begin to flutter against his skin. His arm tightens around her waist as he leans towards her, his nose brushing lightly against hers as he begins to wake. Overwhelmed with the tenderness of the moment she leans in, tucking in closer on the pillow to gently brush her lips against his. His lips part slightly in a sigh under hers as he responds, kissing her back slowly, his hand moving to her hip to pull her closer. She runs her hand from his cheek down his neck, grasping as she loses herself in the feel of his mouth and the taste of his tongue. His thigh presses gently against her center and she gasps slightly, her other hand trapped between them gripping his charms tightly in her palm.

His breathing is labored when he pulls back, her name escaping his lips as he kisses her forehead before shifting up on his elbow to look down at her. There is a question behind the passion in his gaze, one that has a complicated, yet quite simple answer. _Yes._ Yes, I want you. Yes, I need you. _Yes, I love you_. She wants to say the words aloud, but they are stuck in her throat. She wishes she could give in to this moment with him, truly be with him here, ignoring everything else crumbling around them outside of his cabin. Frustration begins to take over and she can feel the burn behind her eyes as she closes them. The pad of his thumb is there to catch her single tear, his hand having moved from her waist to cup her cheek. She feels the pillow dip as he settles back down to face her, his fingers soft against her cheek as he once again sooths her with his touch.

Scooting down a bit so she can tuck her head under his chin, she wraps her arm around his waist and settles as close to him as she can get. His lips brush against her hair he shifts, pulling her against his chest as he moves to lie on his back. Sliding her hand into his open shirt to rest her hand on his chest, she listens to the water lapping against the ship in the same rhythm as the heart beneath her palm.

His softly spoken query breaks the gentle silence. "Are you okay, Emma?"

She presses a soft kiss to his chest and holds him a bit tighter before answering.

"Yes."

As she lies there in his arms she knows in her heart that as long as he is with her, she always will be.


	16. to the end of the world

_Set sometime in the not too distant future..._

* * *

She wakes to an empty bed, the sheets cold where he should be beside her. The water lapping against the wood at her back makes it impossible to hear if he is in the room with her, the sliver of light from the moon the only break in the darkness of his cabin. Pulling back the thick covers of his bed, she pulses a small light in her palm with her magic to give her a guide, her eyes searching the empty room in vain. She spots his long duster on a peg and grabs it, wrapping it around her to stave off the chill that will encompass her as she climbs to the deck in search of him.

As her bare feet touch the cool deck, she spots him immediately, his dark form leaning against the mast facing towards the open ocean. As she reaches his side he turns, his eyes wide and wet, tears threatening to fall as he looks upon her. Her heart breaks for him, not knowing exactly what is causing his pain, but sure it is a long past memory of loss that finds him often in his slumber.

He reaches for her and she moves quickly, pressing against him as she wraps her arms securely around his waist. She leans her nose against his neck, her lips caressing the underside of his jaw as he rests his head against hers. She doesn't speak, knowing he will share when he is ready, _if_ he is ready. They have learned to not push at times like these. The strength they find in each other's arms are enough, words not always necessary to navigate through these moments together.

She can feel something underneath his palm that is now resting securely against her back. The outer edges form a familiar shape, the metal of the circle adorning the leather cool against her skin. She knows immediately what is troubling him. _Liam_. The loss of his brother weighs heavy on him, especially now that he has found his way back to being the hero Liam always knew he could be. She wishes she could bring his beloved brother back to him, if even for a day, give him time to say goodbye. But she knows that magic such as that is nearly impossible and the price would be more than either of them are willing to pay.

So, she will hold him tighter. She will love him stronger. _She will go to the end of the world for him_.


	17. When did you know?

_So, I wrote this little love confession drabble (__just for us__) a while back and my muse decided to write more of it in my head as I was driving to work today. I'm going to include the initial drabble at the beginning as a reminder. I rewrote it a bit to match the tense of the continuation…_

* * *

"You snore."

"I most certainly do not, Swan."

Emma cuddles deeper into his blanket as she laughs into his chest. Her fearsome pirate is embarrassed about his sleeping habits and it is the cutest thing ever.

"It's okay, Killian, no has to know but me."

He heaves a deep sigh, his fingertips resuming their slow slide along her back, reaching the nape of her neck before slowly moving back down her spine.

"Fine, then it's only fair that I should know something about you that no one else is privy too."

"I love you."

"I knew that already, love."

Silence falls between them again, Killian's hand pausing its movements on her spine, his fingers tapping an absentminded rhythm lightly against her skin. She lifts her head to look at him, catching a somewhat faraway expression on his face, his gaze locked on the ceiling above them.

"Killian, what is it?"

His hand begins to move again before he looks back down, his blue eyes softening as he looks over her face, a small smile quirking his lips before answering her query.

"I was wondering…when did you know?"

She knows what he is asking, knows that he deserves the answer, wishing she could have told him then, that moment being one of her biggest regrets.

Shifting so she can face him, her chin comes to rest on her arms as she settles on his chest, hooking a leg between his as she snuggles closer. His fingers move to her hair, sliding between the smooth strands as he waits.

"Earlier than you probably think."

"Well, Swan, I started falling in love with you from the moment we met, so I have you beat regardless."

His cheekiness earns him a cold foot to the calf, causing him to jump a bit as his chest rumbles underneath her, laughing softly at himself.

"If you're quite done…"

"Sorry love, please continue."

"Well, I do think it was a gradual thing, but there is a definite moment where I knew." She can feel her cheeks heat up, not embarrassed by this confession, but talking of feelings a new thing for her, something he has been making easier for her every day.

The gentle stroking of his fingers along her scalp calms her, reminds her that she is safe here in his arms, that he loves her, _every part of her_.

"It was when I was being forced over the town line, thanks to Pan's curse. I felt my heart drop to my feet when you began to walk towards me to say goodbye, every step you took like a kick to my stomach. I wanted you to touch me, but at the same time, not, as if you did I don't think I could have let go. I had to choose Henry, but there was a big part of me that wanted to choose me, choose _you_. I even thought for a moment that I should just grab you and kiss you until the magic washed over us, hoping that True Love's kiss would break the curse and I wouldn't have to leave you."

Suddenly she finds herself on her back, Killian's lips hot and needy, consuming her, his emotions escaping in a rush of passion and need. Returning his kiss greedily, she takes what he is offering her with his lips and body, allowing some of her regret to slowly fade with each touch. Finally breaking from her lips, his eyes fill with unshed tears as gazes upon her, his thumb pressing at the dent in her chin before he leans in to brush his cheek lightly against hers.

"Sorry, love, you just have no idea what it means to me to know that I wasn't alone in my feelings back then."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I was… I don't know. Scared…heartbroken….overwhelmed. I didn't think about the fact that you were, too."

He lifts his head from her cheek, his eyes searching hers for a moment before brushing his lips against hers again briefly, nudging her nose playfully as he leans back again.

"It's okay, love. But next time there's a curse coming, feel free to kiss the living daylights out of me. If it doesn't work, _which I deem unlikely_, I assure you it will still be worth it."


	18. a few planks of wood

_Just a little bit of Killian pondering his true home after the return of the Jolly. Wrote this before the most recent episode, but forgot to post it here!  
_

* * *

His ship changing hands a decision made, a necessity, a trading of his home so she could find her way back to hers. His love for her, overwhelming and seemingly unrequited, was strong enough for him to make that choice, the bean in his palm now a beacon of the next chapter of his long life. Knowing that he was adaptable, he hoped to find home wherever she was, however long it took for her to let him in. And gradually, she did, and he felt grounded in a way that he had never felt before. Being grounded for a sailor should be the opposite of what he would desire, but, alas, he couldn't deny that he was content, happy even, a feeling he thought was lost to him forever.

And then the Jolly was back. Roaming her deck and his cabin again made him feel buoyant, giddy almost, like the youth he was when he first stepped foot on her those many years ago. _But something was off_. That first night back _home_ in his cabin he laid wide awake for hours, unable to find comfort in the gentle rocking, the creaking of the enchanted wood loud in his ears instead of soothing. He chalked it up to his fear for Emma, the conversation with the sea witch weighing heavily on his mind, the need to see her, hold her itching underneath his skin like a wildfire. He can't remember succumbing to sleep; only recalling the nightmares that plagued him, of black waters ripping Emma from his arms, hearing her cries as she disappeared into the darkness. He woke before dawn, tangled in his covers that now felt scratchy to the touch, his pillow soaked in sweat, panic running through his veins.

He escaped the suffocating confines of his cabin, hoping the fresh air on deck would soothe him, shake the melancholy that was beginning to settle into his bones. The sunrise breaking the horizon cast a glow everywhere it touched, his fingers rubbing together unconsciously as his mind found its way back to Emma and how her golden locks reflected the rays of the sun that first morning in the Enchanted Forest. Much like an avenging angel, full of light and good and fight, she had bewitched him from that first moment. But now, there was a darkness threatening to steal her light, her goodness, and he found himself sprinting from his ship towards her home.

Finally, her lips pressed lightly to his throat, his face buried in her hair at the crook of her shoulder, he found peace again, there in her kitchen, in her arms. And later, after tears and revelations, hours of fruitless searching, he found himself in his old home, the gentle rocking and creaking boards once again soothing. The blankets were no longer scratchy, but soft under his fingertips, his pillow feeling cool beneath his cheek. As Emma shifted in sleep in his arms, he pressed his lips lightly to her forehead, the truth of the difference between this night and the last overcoming him as slumber approached. His heart was tethered to hers so strongly that he knew, with absolute certainty, that his _true home_ was now forever in her wake.


	19. a choice

_Set post "_Sympathy for the De Vil"…

* * *

He's not getting through to her. His comforting touches, soft smiles, words of gentle encouragement, none of it easing the weight off of her shoulders, the vacant look behind her eyes. She's retreating to a place he knows well, a place he cannot see her go, but he feels helpless to save her. He knows she needs to find forgiveness, for her parents, but more importantly, _for herself_. The blood on her hands won't wash away until she allows it, but she won't, forcing him to watch it seep into her skin like a poison.

Standing outside the loft, he doesn't feel the rain as it begins to fall, his body leeching of warmth as he feels her pull further and further away. The light in her window illuminates, her shadow casting an eerie glow, projecting the outline of the savior while hiding the broken angel she has become. He can feel her searching for him from the glass, her pained eyes pleading to him, for what neither of them knows, but he moves anyway.

Long strides lead him up the stairs and into the loft, not allowing the pretense of a knock, knowing he would enter regardless. David looks up from the crib in the corner, a moment of understanding passing between them briefly before Killian directs his attention where it is needed, upstairs. The lack of the door to Emma's quarters gives him less time to rethink, squaring his shoulders as he turns the corner to face her. She's standing at the window still, her eyes on her hands instead of the street below. The slight clenching and releasing of her fist breaks him, knowing she is replaying the moment at the cliff over and over in her already fractured mind.

"Swan."

"I know. I had no choice." Her voice is shaky, on the verge of breaking, but he knows he has to do this, for her, for them, for everyone.

"No, you did."

Her head snaps up at that, her eyes wide, incredulous the best description of her expression from across the room.

"What?"

It takes every ounce of strength he has to not cross to her, fold her in his arms and hold her, press her cheek against his neck instead of what he is doing now.

"You had a number of choices, Emma, and you chose to kill her. The sooner you accept that, the better it will be for you."

"I can't believe you're saying this."

"Don't misunderstand me, Emma, I am not saying you made the wrong choice, but it was still a choice. As far as you knew in that moment, Henry was in danger of being killed. You acted as any mother would have, you protected your son."

He moves a few steps closer, her eyes still weary and her confusion as to his behavior evident in her closed off stance.

"You're being manipulated, love. Gold is pulling the strings, wanting you to feel out of control, as if your choices are not your own. But they are, Emma. So you need to choose. Choose to face this as what it was, a horrible moment of violence against someone you loved, a choice you made to defend a life. Choose to forget about being a hero, or a villain, or even the Savior and just be _Emma_. Be the perfectly imperfect woman I climbed the beanstalk with, the survivor whose heart is so pure that no one can take it, the mother who boarded a ship with her enemies to save her son from Pan, the light that has filled my life with meaning again after centuries of nothing but darkness…Choose to come back to me, Emma."

His throat feels hoarse, his lips dry and eyes stinging from not breaking her gaze as he said his piece. The tears streaking her cheeks cause his heart to ache until he sees the slight rise of her shoulders, the release of her fists as her hands fall to her sides.

"It was a choice."

"Yes, love."

His restraint breaks and he crosses to her, her arms wrapping around him as tightly as his cling to her. She doesn't cry, just breathes in tandem with him, allowing his belief in her to fill the cracks she has allowed to open in her heart. They remain there together, the light from her window casting a new shadow, one of two souls who chose to stop running and find strength in each other's arms.


	20. and I, you

A/N: Felt the need to write a little pre-finale fluff ficlet. Here's my take on an extended version of the scene at the docks in Mother.

* * *

"Do you want both those to be failures?"

She lets her gaze fall back to the horizon, the truth of his words washing over her like a blanket, heavy and with a lingering sense of shame at her own behavior, her stubbornness.

"No."

The gentle slide of his hook along her back his only response to her admission, the silent comfort he provides something she never thought she would have, but finds herself craving more and more with each passing second he is in her life. Never having her own _someone_, her own person whose happiness is so intertwined with hers she sometimes feels overwhelmed by the power she holds. But, in times like this, she's learning to allow herself to sink into the simple joy of being loved so openly and powerfully, her walls beginning to feel like clouds on the verge of letting the sun break through and light her way.

"Shall we go and find your parents, Swan?"

His voice is soft, not demanding, simply letting her know that he will be here with her if she wants him to be. And she does, _always_. She settles on always in her mind instead of forever, knowing she will want him continuously, not for whatever set amount of time fate allows them to be together. The whims of the author and Gold have yet to play out, an imminent danger set before them yet again, one bound to test everything and everyone she loves.

She looks to him now, the slight breeze lifting his hair and the cold tinging his cheeks with red and she wonders if she has ever seen anyone more beautiful than him. Beyond being the most handsome man she has ever met, it's the man beneath that takes her breath away, one who has almost drowned in the depths of darkness and emerged as her savior, her light when the world begins to dim. She reaches her hand up to trace the scar along his cheek, his eyes fluttering closed at her touch as he leans slightly into her fingers.

"I'd like to stay here a while longer."

He turns his head slightly so he can brush his lips against her palm, opening his eyes as he reaches up to cover her hand with his.

"As you wish."

Unable to resist any longer, she leans in to kiss him, needing the feel of his lips against hers despite their cold and chapped skin. Their mouths warm together, the heat of their breath and sudden closeness of their bodies as he draws her closer leave the cold in the world outside, nothing but love and passion and longing remaining. Her mouth parts under his as she breathes his name against his lips, her arm around his waist holding him tightly under his jacket as she tries to get as close to him as their position will allow.

His forehead comes to rest against hers as he breaks the kiss to breathe, his gaze falling to his fingertips as they reach up to trace the pad of her kiss swollen lips.

"I missed you, love." The words escape his lips on a ragged whisper, emotions boiling under the surface that she knows he thinks she isn't ready to see, but feels nonetheless. Pulling her hands from inside his jacket she gently cups his jaw, lifting his head so he can see the truth of the words in her eyes as she speaks them, strong and sure.

"And I, you."


	21. she loves him

_A/N: just a little extended missing make-out session on Emma's bed from the finale. So, yeah…here's some fluff._

* * *

She loves him. The look in her eyes when he died, the desperation in her voice as she tore into the loft in search of him, the light behind her eyes as she launched herself into his arms, _and the giggles_, oh…they are a dead giveaway. Her confession of thanks, while not what he expected _(or dare dreamed) _to hear, merely a placeholder for what he knows she wanted to say, content in waiting until the time will be right. But now, with her forehead pressed against his, knees pressed tightly against his waist, all he can think of is how much he wants, no, _needs_ to kiss her.

His fingers still tingling somewhat from her fierce grip as she held him against the bed, he runs his hand along the length of her thigh until he finds her waist under the leather, pulling her closer as he angles his head to slant his lips over hers. Her response is immediate, her hand on his neck gripping tightly as she anchors herself, her hips sliding forward to rut against him in such a way that he begins to feel much like the deckhand version of himself, completely in awe and absolute putty in the hands of this woman.

The taste of her lips, newly wetted by her tongue mere minutes before, sweet and intoxicating as he loses himself in the warmth of her mouth, desperation for more than their current location in her bedroom with no doors allows surging steadily through his veins. Always the pirate, he decides to test her willingness to push the boundaries and begins to lean back, tugging lightly on her lower lip as he urges her to follow, hoping she will let him lead _(just this once). _He barely quells his groan of pleasure when she does, her chest falling against his as they settle back on the mattress, the sound of leather sliding against leather as she shifts above him loud in his ears.

His hand at her waist moves higher, pressing at the space between her shoulder blades as he takes her lips again, coaxing them lightly until his tongue meets hers in a sensual slide, both exploring newly uncharted waters in their slow burn of a love affair. Unable to quell the desire to move, he lifts his hips beneath her just enough to brush against her, the contact making her gasp against his lips as she presses back down in return.

"Emma…"

Her lips slide against his again, silencing him, stoking the fire burning under his skin as she moves above him, slowly as if she is savoring every push and pull. The scratch of her fingernails against the back of his scalp feels so good his neck arches in pleasure, his mouth breaking contact with her lips as his head pushes deeper into the pillow under her hand. Her lips find a new home on his jaw, nipping and soothing as she works her way across, the press of her nose against his ear sending shivers down his spine.

"Emma? Hook? We…uh…we've got a few things we still need to take care of!"

He groans against her cheek, the sound of David's voice from below like a splash of cold water over them both.

"Love, your father is really not my favorite person of late."

She laughs as she slowly rolls off of him to settle beside him on the mattress, her hand searching for his to hold between them, a moment needed for both before they should be in the presence of others.

"Well, at least you get to hold his killing of you over his head for the rest of our lives."

"Aye, there is that."

"Killian?"

"Swan."

"Please make fun of him for the eyeliner, too."


	22. a promise

_here's a little post S5 TLK (we all know it's coming) speculation fluff for you..._

* * *

Her lips, still tingling from the magic, press into his neck as she collapses fully into his arms. Her fear of being ripped away again clear in her fierce grip around his back, _"I'm sorry"_ and _"You saved me" _escaping her lips between sobs, making him want to kiss her again to stop her from falling further apart.

Keeping his hook securely around her waist to support her failing strength, he moves his head back slightly, leaving light kisses along her cheek until he is nose to nose with her, silently imploring her to open her eyes and look at him. When her eyelashes slowly flutter and her teary eyes meet his he almost breaks, the vibrant green looking back at him so full of life and love that he silently vows to protect her from darkness ever touching her again as long as he lives.

Tracing the tracks of tears from her skin with his thumb, he smiles softly at her, coaxing a small smile in return with a upturn of his eyebrow.

She moves to speak and he shifts his thumb to cover her lips, shaking his head slightly.

"Sorry Swan, it's my turn."

Seeing the slightly defiant narrowing of her eyes at being shushed he knows that his Swan is back, his fears of never seeing _her_ again finally fully escaping his tired bones.

Parting her lips slightly with his thumb, he leans in close until he is a breath away from kissing her, but far enough to keep her gaze firmly locked to his.

"I love you, too."

His mouth finds hers before she can respond, her breath escaping against his lips as he loses himself in her, caring naught for the onlookers waiting for their turn to welcome The Savior back home. Her hands reach up to cup his face, trapping the tears he didn't realize were falling against her fingers, her lips strong and sure as she returns his kiss just as passionately. They cling to each other there in the street, holding on to this good moment as long as they can before reluctantly pulling back, knowing she has others who love her just as much she needs to see.

It's only later, sated and wrapped up together on the verge of sleep in his cabin, does he find the courage to whisper his request to her in the blissful quiet.

"Swan?"

Snuggling closer into his chest, she mumbles a quiet "Hmm?" against his skin.

"I love you."

"I know. I love you, too."

"Can we vow to tell each other this every night?"

Her head shifts slightly until he feels her chin dig lightly into his chest, her eyes searching for his in the dim candlelight.

He sighs and closes his eyes, trying to find a way to explain his reasoning for this, too many memories of those words being the precursor to loss and pain. The sudden warm touch of her hand on his cheek soothes his haunted thoughts, the gentle press of her lips against his a comfort he wasn't sure he would ever have again after centuries of loneliness. Her kiss is soft and slow, telling him that she understands without words. There, in the quiet of the early morning, a silent vow is made, a promise to speak of their love often, a love strong as the magic that binds them… _forever_.


	23. a chance to change

_Here's a bit of Deckhand Killian helping Emma find her new outfit on the Jolly in the finale. (Missing Scene/Canon Divergence)_

* * *

"Can I ask you a question? You trusted me with your life just now, why?

"It's complicated, might take a while."

"My schedule's pretty clear."

"Okay…let's first work on your fighting skills. Then we've got to help Regina stop that wedding."

Wedding? Regina? He has no bloody idea what this beautiful siren is speaking of, but there's a pull deep in his belly telling him that none of that matters, the only thing of importance being her and what she apparently needs of him. Since the moment she crashed against him in that tower, her green eyes looking up at him as though she was seeing heaven itself, her body warm as she pressed fully against him, he's felt for the first time as though his life may just have a purpose after all.

"As you wish, milady."

They're close enough that he can see the flecks of blue amidst the jade of her eyes as she looks upon him and he can't be sure if it's the rocking of the boat or a purposeful act, but she's suddenly swaying towards him. Her gaze has moved to his lips and everything around him begins to dissolve in a haze where she is the only thing in clear focus. When his hand still holding his flask between them brushes lightly against her breast he freezes, the beaded material of her dress tickling his skin for a moment before he pulls back, his ears burning from the blush brought on by such an intimate contact.

"Apologies, lass, I didn't mean…"

Her hand on his chest stops his rambling and he looks up at her, her soft smile and slight blush so add odds with the fierce woman who just taught him to slay a dragon that he can't help but feel a bit off balance.

"Do you think there might be something on board that I can change in to, pants perhaps?"

"Aye, we've had a few female crew members over the years. There should be some leftover clothes down below. I can show you?"

"I'd like that."

"Hey, everything okay up here?"

Emma's hand falls from his chest at the sound of her boy's voice, the loss of her touch breaking the spell that has fallen around them and he turns from her, in need of a moment to clear his throat and adjust his leathers. The helm provides a brief relief as he presses against it with his hips, pretending to focus on setting their course at the wheel as Emma's crosses to Henry to fill him in on the adventure he missed while down below. Cursing himself as he tries to calm his arousal, something usually reserved for the overly attentive tavern wenches his crewmates like to torture him with, never finding the courage to bed any of them no matter how willing they appear to be. Now, as he watches Emma from over the helm, he can't help but think that the most lurid of couplings with those other women would undoubtedly pale in comparison to a mere kiss from her glorious lips.

"Killian, Henry will keep an eye on things up here. Can you show me where those clothes are?"

Henry is at his side in a flash, reaching out for the wheel with excitement in his eyes.

"Keep her steady, lad. You see that port in the distance? That's where we're headed. Your mother and I will be right back."

"Aye, Captain!"

Killian feels the pull to correct the boy, but Henry's already turned to the wheel and Emma is waiting for him by the hatch that leads below, so he simply shrugs his shoulders and crosses to meet her.

"After you…."

She smiles again and his stomach does a turn, his pull towards her growing stronger every time she looks at him like that, making him want things he never dreamed he could have. He's so lost in thought that he nearly collides with her when she comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, the wood of the Jolly gaining another gouge as he anchors his hook in her to gain his balance.

"Which way? It's been a while…"

"Wait, you've been aboard the Jolly before?"

"Ah, yeah…I told you, it's complicated."

His mind is racing with thoughts of her being on board before with Blackbeard, stinging jealousy wrapping around him like a kraken's tentacles.

"Killian? What's wrong?"

He takes a deep breath and straightens his back, refusing to look in her the eye as his emotions continue to spiral out of control. Turning, he moves down the hallway towards the chest outside of the captain's quarters where he knows the clothes are stored, needing to be free of her presence before he makes a bigger fool of himself.

"Nothing lass, simply wasn't aware you were so acquainted with the Captain."

The feel of her hand on his elbow stops him and he closes his eyes, knowing if he turns to face her he will reveal himself as the lovestruck fool he is, an idiot caught up in the ridiculous fantasy of a more fulfilling life than the one he leads.

"I thought Henry explained?"

"Explained what?"

"Who the true Captain of this vessel is."

_Getting __**you**__ your ship back…_

Her meaning hits him like an anchor to his chest, daring to believe that the lad had spoken true and in this other reality he really is _a Captain_, and Emma, might actually be acquainted _with him_. When he feels the loss of her hand he turns, desperate suddenly to see her expression and hopefully find some truth in this madness somewhere in her eyes.

"Blackbeard?"

She takes a step closer and he can't help but hold his breath as he waits for her response, feeling as though he is standing on a precipice wherein she lies on the other side just barely out of reach.

"No."

Daring himself, he closes the distance between them until she is merely a breath away, her gaze locked with his as her breasts brush against his chest as she breathes heavily between them.

"Who, then?

Her small hand wraps around his hook at his side and lifts it to her chest, holding his arm between their bodies and the cold steel against her heart.

"Captain Hook."

She speaks the words with the hint of a challenge in her voice; as if she is daring him to be this other man instead of the coward he has always known. Looking in her eyes and seeing the hope there, the belief in him and all that he can be, he wonders if he just might have the courage to finally fight for what he wants.

"This Captain Hook, what is he like?"

"When we get to port, I'll try to show you."

His body feels like a sail caught in a strong wind, taught and strong, energized for what lies ahead in this grand adventure Emma has set before him.

"Well, love, let's find you those clothes so this training can commence, posthaste."

He steps back from her and she stumbles forward, his hook still in her hand having pulled her towards him during his retreat. She releases her grip, somewhat reluctantly by the look on her face, and makes to straighten her skirts with her hands as a blush tinges her cheeks.

"I bet you're more used to helping women out of their pants, not into them?"

He's confused as to her meaning at first and then realization sets in, setting his ears aflame as he turns from her to lead them down the hallway, his methods of flirtation rusty at best.

"Uh, I suppose so…"

Groaning inwardly at the chuckle he hears from behind him, he picks up the pace to the chest, relief escaping him on a sigh when he reaches it and pries open the wooden lid.

"Give me a moment and I'll attempt to find something worthy of you."

"Anything will do, as long as there's no corset. Those things are torture."

"You're discomfort is a cross I'd be willing to bear."

"What?"

Eyes wide in shock, he looks over his shoulder at her, mortified at what he has spoken aloud, preparing to attempt to make amends for his wicked tongue.

"Apologies, Emma, that was bad form, indeed."

She's smiling at him, perplexing considering his transgression, and he begins to feel off-kilter again, as if he is somehow missing the punchline of a joke he knows he's heard before, but simply cannot recall.

"No, it's fine…you, it's just…forget it, too hard to explain."

Convinced that being confined in this small space with her is doing a number on his already addled brain, he diverts his attention back to the chest to find her appropriate attire; the sooner he gets back into the fresh air above undoubtedly better for them both. Spying the deep blue leather vest near the bottom of the chest, he rummages until he finds pants to match and the finest shirt of the bunch, hoping the sizes will be close enough for Emma's comfort.

Her hands brush his as she steps to his side to take the clothes from him and he feels a jolt of something akin to longing pass through his veins. The look she's sending his way seems to hold a similar sentiment and he grips the chest to stop himself from rising to his feet and sweeping her into his arms.

"Thanks, I'll, uh…just go and change. I'll see you back on deck?"

She's turns and disappears into an open cabin before he finds his voice to respond, probably a good thing considering what he was contemplating doing just moments before. Pushing the lid of the trunk closed, he turns and leans against it for a moment, rubbing his eyes with his hand until white spots replace the visions of Emma stripping down naked just mere steps away. The dress, with all its fabric and billowing skirts, did little to mask her obviously trim form and his imaginings of her creamy skin on display as she changes has him hardening again at the thought. He's still there, fighting to regain his control with his hand still over his face when he hears shuffling behind the door in which she disappeared, prompting him to make haste back down the hallway and back on deck before she emerges and catches him in this state.

Henry's still at the wheel, having navigated them quite masterfully towards the port, pride at the young lad's obvious sailing prowess blossoming in his chest.

"Well done, lad."

"I learned from the best."

He's about to say something to the boy in return when the hatch from below opens and Emma climbs on deck, stealing his breath and tying his tongue into an expert sailor's knot. The leather of her vest is like a second skin, tight across her waist and falling to the middle of her hips, which are on delicious display thanks to the rather snug fit of her pants. He can't remember those clothes looking quite as sinful on the previous owner, but perhaps it just took the right woman wearing them for him to notice. She winks at him across the deck before turning her back and lifting her arms to gather her hair, the rise of her vest at the motion revealing the full curve of her firm backside, and he can't help but think that she is teasing him on purpose. Feeling the need to hide his growing reaction to this woman behind the helm yet again, he turns to Henry and barks out an order that seems appropriate for a first mate to abide, sliding behind the wheel as soon as the lad has vacated the spot.

As he watches Emma and her son move about the deck, working the lines in preparation for docking, he allows himself a moment to imagine what his life would be if this was _his_ reality. A beautiful and powerful woman by his side and a son, eager to learn and possibly look to him as a father, all sailing the seas together in search of adventure. It's a dream for him, yes, but perhaps there is another reality where dreams really do come true…


	24. she loves him most

_A/N – just a baby bit of fluff…_

* * *

She loves him in the early morning, all gruff and cuddly, seeking out her warmth as he pulls her deeper under their blankets, refusing to fully wake. His fingers free of rings and chest bare of necklaces, just him and his skin and _his everything_, all for her as the sun begins to rise and the world slowly comes to life.

She loves him when he surprises her, grilled cheese delivered with a kiss, the leather of her bug mysteriously polished until it gleams, her favorite Chinese food and her favorite pirate waiting for her after a long day. His eyes sparkling azure, alight with happiness at being the reason for her smile, making her want to smile all the more.

She loves him when he's brooding, all darkness and angles, silent for days as ghosts mingle with memories and melancholy settles in. His cheeks are rough with course stubble against her fingertips as she runs the sharp blade along his cheek, the soft skin she leaves behind a promise of a new day.

She loves him most on days like this, after a long day at sea with his chest puffed proudly as he stands at the helm, salt tinging her lips as she seeks his sun kissed cheek. His hair, usually meticulously coiffed, is windblown and in disarray, the dark locks falling into his eyes making him look younger and her feel more carefree.

When the sun setting on the horizon begins to cast them in silhouette behind the sail, she finds his lips, slightly chapped and warm against her own, her kiss bestowing a promise to love him always.


	25. my heart is in your hands

_Here's a missing scene from "There's No Place Like Home" in Season 3, cause we all know they had to sleep by the fire together that night. (p.s. a lovely reader reminded me that Killian was wearing a fake hand at this point, not his hook. So, consider this a slight canon divergence as well.)_

* * *

"Looks like we're back on track, love."

"Yeah…"

Her eyes fall to her hands, fingers rubbing where her mother's ring had rested only hours before, the same woman who looked at her just now as if she was but a stranger. A sob is threatening to wrench from her throat and she knows if she meets Killian's openly loving gaze again she'll lose it, and she just can't fall _completely_ apart, not now. Her skin still tingles from where his glove had wiped away her tears, his willingness to touch her in that way signaling that he's also noticed the shift in the delicate balance of their relationship. As much as his comfort feels right, she'd rather hide behind their current crisis than deal with the jumble of emotions he's making it harder and harder for her to ignore.

The leaves and branches of the campsite crunch under his boots as he moves away and she finally looks up, watching as he crosses to the wooden cart and climbs inside. She can hear him talking to David, but can't quite make out what they are saying from this distance. The last lingering raindrops hiss as they hit the charred logs in the fire as she walks closer, warming her hands in front of the flames after pushing the woolen cloak from her hair. Smoke tickles her throat as she breathes in, fatigue and the stress of their journey beginning to settle in as she narrows her focus to the dancing yellow and gold shooting embers into the night.

"Swan?"

Her heart clenches at the tentative tone in his voice and she turns quickly, plastering a small smile so as to not make him feel even more off balance, even if she herself is teetering. He's holding two lumps of burlap in his hand with a heavy fabric draped over his arm, his expression bordering on sheepish.

"David suggests we camp here for the night. I thought these might make the ground a bit more comfortable if we are to get any sleep at all."

The lack of innuendo in his suggestion merely adds to the tension between them, giving her nothing to rebuff or scoff at, sincerity and apprehension harder to respond to.

"Shouldn't one of us keep watch?"

"Seeing as she is rather nocturnal, Ruby's already offered. I daresay she's the best guard dog we could ask for, love."

A hint of a smirk curves his lip at his own joke before he turns to set the burlap bundles down on the log. He shakes the fabric out away from the fire and she watches as dust and straw fly through the air, small pieces landing in his wet hair and under the high collar of his coat. Her fingers itch to reach out and remove it, give in to the desire to wind her palm around his neck and let him pull her close, but she can't. _Not yet._

When he lays the fabric a few feet from the fire she can see that it's larger than expected, plenty of room for them both to lie down and still maintain a bit of space between them. The pang of regret at this realization brings a blush to her cheeks, making her hastily look away from him as she moves to the log to pick up one of the burlap sacks. She's surprised to find it relatively soft, packed full of straw and bundles of dry leaves.

"Might not be the most comfortable pillow, but hopefully better than the wet ground?"

She can feel the all too familiar burn of tears behind her eyes at his thoughtfulness, his constancy, his frustrating inability to give her reasons to continue to push him away.

"Thanks."

Forcing herself to meet his gaze across the fire, she sees his expression change as he takes in the full weight of what she's whispered, the azure depths of his eyes brightening much like the glow of the flames between them. His slight nod brings a small smile to her lips and she reluctantly looks away, reaching for the other sack before joining him by the fire. Dropping the burlap onto their makeshift bed, she moves to sit, but hastily stops herself. Reaching over, she plucks the straw from his hair, noting how his breath catches and his lashes flutter, his body swaying towards her almost imperceptibly.

"You had this…"

Tossing the bit of straw into the fire, she averts her gaze, but feels his still on her, warming her more than the heat of the fire ever could. She moves to untangle the rope at her throat, planning to use her cloak as a blanket when the fire inevitably goes out in the night. Cursing under her breath at her inability to free the knot with her slightly shaky fingers, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves. She flinches when his hand suddenly covers hers, but doesn't step back, slowly opening her eyes to see that he's standing only inches from her with his hook slightly raised between them.

"Need a hand, love?"

The chuckle escapes her lips unbidden, his smile widening and eyebrow lifting as they both allow a moment of levity to crack, but not quite break the tension that has settled around them.

"Please, but don't just rip it, I need to be able to wear this again tomorrow."

"I can be delicate when the need arises, Swan."

Rolling her eyes to avoid his gaze, she lifts the fabric slightly from her chest to give him better access to the stubborn knot. His breath caresses her cheek as he steps closer and she's thankful he can't see the goosebumps erupting on her arms at his proximity, hoping he can't hear the quickening beat of her heart. Her eyes dart to his lower lip trapped beneath his teeth in concentration as he digs the tip of his hook into the tightened rope at her neck, wishing it hasn't been so long since she's had the pleasure of that lip sliding against her own. His knuckles brush her throat as he frees the now loosened knot, hook and fingers gingerly gripping the fabric to work it off of her shoulders. The intimacy of him undressing her, albeit just her cloak, rips her from her trance and she stiffens, his arms falling swiftly from the garment as he steps back a few steps.

"Apologies…"

"No, I…"

"Let's just get some sleep."

Her rejection has obviously burned his tongue, his words short and clipped as he shrugs out of his own jacket and stretches out on his back on his half of the fabric, his faraway gaze fixed on the stars overhead. Cursing herself once again, she moves to mirror his position, careful to keep her distance as she shuffles to find comfort on the hard ground. The crackling of the fire and the sing-song of nearby crickets attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence that has fallen between them, each second feeling like an hour as she desperately searches for something, _anything_ to say.

"I'm sorry, Swan."

Softly spoken, his words startle her all the same, unsure as to what he has to apologize for considering all he has done for her the last two days. Turning her head, she sees his gaze has shifted to his hook now resting in his hand, gold reflecting off the silver from the now dying fire.

"For what?"

"I let you get taken by Regina, left you alone. All to find Snow, just to let her leave us and almost get herself killed. I wish I could have spared you, no matter that it wasn't real. No one should have to bear witness to someone they love perish like that. _No one."_

Unable to hold back, her fingers curl around his now whitened knuckles still gripping his hook, a small gasp escaping his lips at her touch as his head falls to look in her direction. His expression is one she knows well, loss and regret, loneliness in search of salvation, a small glimmer of hope and so many questions.

"Killian…"

Slowly pulling until he lets go of the metal, she threads her fingers through his and softly places their joined hands on the ground between them. His hand tightens until their palms are pressed as close as possible, the callouses on his skin comforting in ways she can't quite explain as his thumb softly caresses the back of her hand. Wanting desperately to give him more than this but knowing she can't, she turns her head away and closes her eyes, pushing down her own cravings to curl up against him and fall asleep in his arms. The silence falls again, heavy still, but for different reasons now, reasons she knows she will have to face before too long. _But not tonight…_

As the moon shines between the trees and the owls begin to howl, she finally drifts to sleep, her hand still wrapped up in his keeping her warm as the fire burns its last. She doesn't hear his ragged breathing or feel the tightening of his fingers as he whispers by her side, "I almost lost you, too."


	26. morning coffee

_This is set the morning after Emma returns Killian's heart at the end of 4A._

* * *

For more years than he can count, Killian Jones has cursed the sunrise. Loathing the amber glow as it begins another day filled with sorrow, unrequited vengeance, self-loathing, nothing and no one of worth in his life, preferring the darkness of night and the comfort of shadows. But that was before. _Before Emma._

Waking before dawn, heart miraculously beating safely in his chest, he stands at the open window and waits, impatient for this day's sunrise in a way he finds unfamiliar. For once, he welcomes the warmth, the light and this still somewhat strange world bathed anew where he's found a home, a purpose,_ love_. There is still much to be said, truths to be told, but for the first time in what feels like eternity, there seems to be time. No second of which he wishes to waste, not today.

The morning chill hits him as he exits the back stairs, his long jacket collecting dust in his closet more appropriate for this weather, fear of becoming the man who wore it for centuries too strong to seek its warmth. The leather he wears now suddenly too hot as he turns the corner and his soul's set afire, the sight before him almost knocking the wind from his lungs.

_Emma._

She glows, not from magic, but from the sun's rays alighting her hair, the brightness of her smile, both shy and full of something that looks a lot like love. Her gloved hands hold a coffee in each, steam escaping the lids as she pushes herself from her position leaning on the hood of her car. Stopping in front of her, he feels suddenly unsure. His fingers itching to touch, lips tingling in hopes of a kiss, eyes searching hers for a sign of how to proceed.

"Hi."

"Hello, love."

He barely registers her hand holding the coffee towards him, too engrossed in the pink tinge rising on her cheeks and her tongue darting nervously to wet her lips. She's just as unsettled as he…_but she's here._

"I was hoping you'd be up early as well and might want to join me for a coffee?"

"Aye, I've been up for quite some time. I was, well, coming to see you."

Reaching for the cup, he covers her hand with his, the leather smooth under his fingertips as the heat of the coffee warms his chilled skin. Her gaze falls to his lips at the contact and he takes that as the invitation he needs, pulling the cup from her fingers and setting it on the roof of the car he steps off the curb and into her space. Almost nose to nose, he watches her eyes flutter shut as his hand curls behind her neck, her breath warm and sweet caressing his lips. Blood rushes behind his ears as his mouth covers hers, determination to keep the kiss soft and gentle almost faltering at the feel of her palm covering his cheek pulling him closer, her lips moving perfectly in tandem against his. Somehow having freed her other hand of her own coffee, it finds its way against his chest, pressing with purpose against him where she had replaced his heart just the night before.

Assured that she can feel the racing beneath her palm, his fingers weave in to her hair at the nape of her neck, holding her in place as he releases her lips and presses his forehead against hers. Emotions he can no longer contain make it hard to breathe as he tries to collect his thoughts, the live-wire that is his body humming everywhere they touch, desire, contentment, fear…all churning in his gut and fighting for dominance. The light touch of her thumb running along the scar of his cheek startles him slightly, his hand in her hair loosening as he releases a heavy breath against her lips.

"We should probably talk."

Hope unfurls in his chest like a flower in the spring soaking up the sun at her words, his darkness creeping further into the shadows as his heart seeks more of her light. The lost girl whom he's loved for so long, who's fought her feelings and turned her back on him so many times, she's really stopped running.

Lifting his forehead from hers, he tries his best to convey how much her being here means to him with the sincerity of his smile and the warmth of his gaze.

"Aye, love, there's much to say."

"No time like the present. Join me for a walk?"

Leaning back in, he brushes his nose lightly against hers and leaves a feather light kiss to her cheek before finally releasing her neck and stepping back up onto the curb.

"It would be my pleasure, milady."

The slight roll of her eyes at his old fashioned expression isn't missed as she turns to gather their coffees again, confusion evident on her face as she turns and holds the two cups up in front of her.

"I'm not sure which one's yours anymore."

Motioning for her to hand one over, he smiles against the cup as he takes a sip, flinching at the overwhelming sweetness and unmistakable hint of cinnamon that hits his tongue.

"This one's yours, Swan. How many sugars are in that concoction?"

"Four. Why, too sweet?"

"For me, aye. But, it's good to know how you take your coffee…for future reference."

Reaching out, she exchanges her cup with his and he sees her watch him as he takes a quick sip.

"Well, yours is black. I asked Granny."

It is indeed, and by some form of magic, still hot.

"I wonder if there is anything in this town that woman doesn't know?"

"I doubt it."

Her free hand falls to her side between them as she joins him on the sidewalk and he can't help the pang of longing he feels, wishing to curl fingers no longer there around hers as his hook hangs heavy from his wrist. But then, she's suddenly pressed against his side as she hooks her arm around his waist, her gloved hand seeking and finding the warmth of his jacket pocket. Cocking her head to look at him, she gives him a small smile and nudges his hip with her own.

"To the docks?"

Winding his arm around her, he settles the curved side of his hook against her waist and presses a light kiss to her temple, taking a brief moment to breathe her in before they take their first steps, together.

"Aye."


	27. sharing stories

_Just a ball of fluff set in the happy six weeks between 4A and 4B, with a sprinkle of Captain Cobra Swan for good measure…_

* * *

At the end of their second date, she's the one to ask for another, her smile as wide as his when he had done the same after their first. She reminds him of her invitation to come over and watch Netflix, an activity that at the time still a mystery, but will eventually become one of his most cherished of pastimes.

The first night, they're seated shoulder to shoulder on the couch in the loft, Emma's portable magic box on the coffee table in front of them as she tries to explain the rather complicated technology this Netflix entails. Realizing she may grow weary of his inability to grasp this realm's magic, he merely nods as if he understands, making a note to seek out young Henry for a lesson the next day. He's proven quite helpful during their weekly sailing trips, doing his best to explain electricity and cell phones, microwave ovens and even airplanes, a contraption he hopes to never need the aid of. The swell of the ocean beneath a sturdy boat sounds infinitely safer than a flying metal bucket, no matter what engineering has supposedly mastered its buoyancy.

He couldn't tell you the name of any of the stories Emma chooses to watch, the flashing pictures and franticly paced dialogue often a bit much for him, but being next to Emma for this prolonged stretch of time manages to make it all worthwhile.

The second time she invites him upstairs and they stretch out on her bed, the movie she chooses this night is one filled with fantastical characters and singing, the story of a young princess fighting her way through a labyrinth to save her younger brother from a seductive king's grasp. Finding himself completely engrossed in the vibrant images, he almost flinches when Emma covers his hand with hers, embarrassment tinting the tips of his ears as he tangles their fingers together and her head falls to his shoulder. The end of the film comes too soon, both for the entertaining story and the simple intimacy of feeling her hand warm in his with no intention of letting go.

After a long day at sea with Henry, the three of them curl up one night to watch something together, but to this day he has no memory of what. Neither he nor Henry make it longer than ten minutes, the sun and fatigue sending them both deep into slumber, Henry's head in Emma's lap and Killian's pressed into the side of her neck. When he wakes, Henry has retired to his bed and Emma is curled up against his side on the couch, her arm tight around his waist and her legs draped over his lap, her warm breath caressing the skin of his throat as she sleeps. It's this night that he decides that of all of the modern inventions he has come to love, Netflix has moved to the top of his list.

They are thankfully back in Emma's bed the first time he sees a love scene, the intimate act on display reminding him of some of the more raucous nights at port with his crew, the warmth of Emma's body beside his and the lustful images before them sparking urges their slow courtship has yet to afford. Her hand in his tightens and he presses his leg more firmly against her thigh, the quickening of her breath finally giving him the courage to seek her gaze. Want is evident in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks, slight nervousness lingering as she digs her teeth softly into her lower lip. She begins to mumble something about actors and how it's not real, but his focus has shifted to the movement of her mouth, his brain no longer comprehending words as he leans over in desperate need of contact. Blessedly she doesn't withdraw, instead curling her free hand around his neck to hold him in place as their mouths speak volumes, lips hot and greedy as their kisses become more adventurous and demanding. Things could have progressed further, but her leg shifting to get closer knocked the screen off the end of the bed, prompting him to hastily pull back in fear that the noise alone might prompt her father to come up the stairs at any moment. He's not quite sure that his burgeoning friendship with David would survive such a sight, and loathe as he is to admit it, he values the respect he's earned from the man.

The amorous activities of that previous encounter set a lofty bar, but tonight is shaping up to be his most enjoyable of all of their Netflix dates, and they have yet to watch a thing. She had arrived a short time ago, all prepared to finally introduce him to one of her favorite shows, something with zombies or some other manner of undead creatures having taken over the world. Just as they were settling in, the storm that had been raging all day finally took its toll, wiping out the power in his room at Granny's and throughout the rest of the town in one fell swoop. With her father on the way to power up the generator, the two of them are now left to wait, the single candle by his bedside casting a soft glow, the quiet only interrupted by the occasional spark of lightning from his window. After a few moments of silent indecision from them both on how to proceed, he finally takes charge, patting the space beside him as he suggests they play a game.

With Emma curled against his side, his arm tangled in the hair falling at her waist and his hook held firmly between her fingers, they talk. Twenty questions turn in to thirty until they both lose count, giving them an opportunity to finally get to know each other in ways there was never time for before, both of them taking back all of the moments previously stolen by crisis and tragedy. He finally learns everything that had transpired with Neal, what it was like for her when she first arrived in Storybrooke before she believed and her conflicted emotions when finally finding her parents after so many years alone. She listens as he opens up about Milah, quietly telling her the bittersweet tale of their romance and the regrets he still clings to in regards to Baelfire, the blame he feels for depriving him of a mother of his own. He tries to speak of Liam, but the words get caught in his throat, her gentle kiss to his temple as she moves to hold him reassuring him that she is okay with waiting for another time for that story.

They eventually fall asleep in each other's arms, legs tangled and bodies pressed tight, contentment and a new sense of understanding pulling them closer until it's hard to know where one begins and the other ends. They're awoken briefly when the power surges to life and his room is cast aglow, the too bright light quickly extinguished with a sleepy snap of her fingers before she snuggles back against his chest. His smile against her hair is the last he remembers as he surrenders to slumber with her, happiness he has never known filling his dreams with visions of a future he finally has the courage to hope for.


	28. overdue truths

_This came from a tumblr prompt and is set during "Lily" right after Emma and Regina leave in the bug. If you've read the previous chapter, you know that I have a headcanon that Emma told Killian all about what happened with Neal during the happy 6 weeks. Needless to say, if you are a Neal fan, feel free to skip this one._

* * *

Standing there watching Emma's bug drive away, Killian can already feel the dread begin to settle deep in his gut, his trust that Emma will make the right choices battling with his knowledge that circumstance never seems to fall in her favor.

"Henry, why don't you head over to Granny's? She's probably ready for someone to reprieve her from babysitting duties."

Henry shrugs and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his jacket, his eyes searching Snow's for the reason she's sending him away before looking to David and then over to Killian.

"Uh, sure, see you at the loft later?"

Seeing as Henry's question is pointedly directed at him, Killian chest warms at the obvious affection growing between him and the boy, the fatherly tug he feels growing stronger with each passing day. Loving Emma has brought many wondrous things to his long life, but perhaps the most cherished being the burgeoning family surrounding him at this very moment.

"Of course, lad."

Nodding back over to Snow and David, Henry rocks on his heels for a brief moment before setting off in a quick jog towards Main Street, bottled up thirteen year old energy taking him out of sight in mere moments.

"Killian, do you think she will be okay?"

Snow's voice is quiet, broken, not fitting the spitfire he has come to both respect and, well, _fear _during his somewhat tenuous acquaintance with the woman. The deterioration of her relationship with Emma has taken its toll and more than anything, he wishes he could provide some solace, anything to help bridge the gap that only seems to be widening between his Swan and her mother.

"Aye, I have hope that she will be able to fight the darkness better than I was able. She's proven stronger than most of us on more than one occasion."

"I know…you're right. I just feel so…"

"Helpess."

David's interjection sounds as pained as his wife's, his gaze focused on his hand clutching Snow's as if he is using her as a lifeline, Emma's distance obviously affecting him just as deeply.

"I know the feeling, mate. I do wish she wasn't heading back to _that_ city. I fear there are many jumbled memories, both good and bad, awaiting her there."

David nods and a small smile cracks Snow's forlorn expression as they begin a leisurely stroll together back towards the loft.

"She was happy there with Henry. As much as I missed her, I'm glad she had that time with him. It's too bad Henry missed that year with his father, though."

Killian doesn't know what to say to that, so he remains silent. His own regrets concerning Neal and the truths he's recently learned of the man's time with Emma make this a conversation he is not keen to be a part of. Anger at Neal's betrayal and abandonment of Emma is still too raw, as is the guilt he feels, wondering if his own part in Neal's life played any part in him making such a selfish decision.

"Hook, are you alright?"

Too many years spent living off of his tumultuous emotions has left him with a rather lackluster poker face, and the Prince, too observant for his own good has obviously seen right through him.

"Apologies, mate, but Neal is not a topic I wish to discuss."

His attempt to continue them on their path is thwarted with a soft hand to his elbow, Snow's gentle touch so unexpected he nearly stumbles.

"Killian, is there something we don't know?"

In all honesty, he is unsure as to the level of knowledge Emma's parents have in regards to Neal and he can't help but feel nervous at perhaps divulging secrets not yet shared. But Snow's wide eyes pleading for answers are exceedingly hard to resist, the sweep of her chin and determined expression so like Emma's it sometimes takes his breath away.

"Alas, I'm afraid so, milady. I know you and Emma were friends back, well, before she knew who she was. I had hoped she would have shared more of her past with you then, but I'm afraid I may be mistaken?"

"All I really know about Neal is they were no longer together when Henry was born, that something bad occurred and Emma wasn't happy to see him again when she found him in New York. She seemed to warm up to him rather quickly, though, so I assumed they worked through whatever had gone on in their past?"

While he does believe that Emma came to a certain understanding with Henry's father before his passing, the pain he could see on her face when she told him of their history made it quite clear that their issues were never more than glossed over.

"My belief is she was putting on a brave face for her boy's sake. And to be honest, the short span we had with Neal was a stressful time, between Neverland and the missing year and the one day he was back here in Storybrooke. There wasn't much time for the two of them to really, truly reconcile. It would have taken much longer, as we all know, for Emma to truly begin to trust him again."

"Hook, what did he do to my daughter?"

David's patience has obviously waned, anger and concern sparking behind his request as his hand goes to his hip, seemingly searching for his sword in which to rest his curled fist and finding naught but his belt to grab hold.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Killian turns to face the couple as he searches for the words to perhaps ease the blow of truths Emma has been holding from them for far too long. He silently hopes that he will be forgiven for being the barer of them, both by her parents and more importantly, by Emma.

"He abandoned her. Left her to take the fall for his own crime while he ran away to some other land, Canada…I believe. She ended up in jail, pregnant and alone, with nothing but that bloody car to greet her eleven months later. Henry was born while she was still serving her sentence. Hence why she gave him up, impossible for her at 18 to believe that she could ever provide a life worthy of him, not by herself. "

Snow's mouth has dropped open in disbelief and David, he appears to be in a state of shock, his mouth in a thin line and completely unmoving, not even to blink.

"But why, I thought…didn't he love her?"

"Milady, I, don't confess to understand his decisions myself, but apparently August convinced him of it. He found Neal and told him of Emma's destiny, that he needed to leave her so she could fulfill it and break the curse. Emma believes that it was really fear of his father finding him that was Neal's true motivator though. His love for her, as real as it may have been, wasn't strong enough for him to stay."

Killian cringes as a tear falls to Snow's cheek, hating that he is responsible for adding to her sadness, but thankful that she knows the truth. David finally moves, reaching for his wife to tuck her against his side and press a kiss to her temple, his eyes faraway and slightly misty as well. Reaching into his jacket, Killian retrieves his flask and offers it to the couple, not surprised in the least to see Snow be the first to reach for the strong liquor. While she drinks, David finally finds his voice, regret tinging each word as they resume their slow walk towards home.

"To think, we both pushed her to be with Neal after Neverland, never really asking her what she really wanted."

"I did the same, mate. Emma doesn't even know this, but I made a promise to Neal to step back to give him a chance to be a family, completely disregarding Emma's wishes in the process."

Snow passes the rum to her husband who takes two rather long drags before reaching over to pass it back to Killian. David doesn't let go when Killian's fingers wrap around the flask, prompting him to look up and meet the Prince's rather steely gaze.

"It seems we all should learn to trust Emma to know her own mind and make her own choices. She chose _you_ in the end, a decision that has obviously made her quite happy."

The weight of this moment brings both men to a halt, both sharing a long overdue nod of understanding and acceptance as Snow looks on with a small smile.

"Thank you, Killian."

Finally having the flask back in his palm, Killian tucks it back inside his jacket and looks over to Snow, curious as to what exactly she is thanking him for.

"For what?"

"For loving Emma enough to fight for her."

Sure that the tips of his ears have gone crimson at her words, he can't stop his hand from reaching up to scratch at the back of his head, or the slight dip of his chin as he searches for the right words to respond.

"I'd lay down my life for her, your highness."

The tense bubble is broken after that and they reach the loft only a few minutes later, Killian leading the group up the stairs with Snow and David a few steps behind. So lost in thought he only catches the end of their quietly spoken conversation, but can't help but smile at what he does hear before leaving them in the stairwell to hash out their newest dilemma.

"He's still a baby, David, he can learn a new name. Plenty of people choose to go by their middle names nowadays."

"But Leopold…not sure if that's a better choice?"

"It was a perfectly good name for my father!"


	29. Always

_The came from a prompt for me to write a missing scene from Emma and Killian's date explaining how she ended up wearing his jacket. _

* * *

She's making him nervous. Something about that realization manages to calm the butterflies in her own stomach, at least to a more balanced flutter instead of the swarm she's been dealing with since first opening the door and seeing him look like _that_. And the hand, _his hand_, wrapped up in hers as they weave their way out of the restaurant, it's both somehow anchoring and setting her adrift at the same time. She doesn't know if she should talk to him about it, get the whole story of how he got it back and what it means to him, too afraid of drudging up painful topics on this, their first real date. Instead, she chooses to focus on the warmth of his fingers, the press of his ring against her knuckle and the way his thumb moves in a circle against her skin every time he catches her looking at him. And yeah, that's happened more than a few times tonight already.

The cool breeze coming in from the water rustles her skirt as they step outside, prompting her to step a bit closer to his side as a shiver courses down her bare arms.

"Let's get you to the car, love"

Her mind and body react simultaneously as her hand grips his just a bit firmer and she looks from her bug over to him with a genuine smile. She's not ready for the night to be over, not quite yet.

"I'd rather walk, if that's okay?"

His eyes go a bit wide at her suggestion, looking pointedly at her bare arms and down to her heels, a look of incredulousness taking over his features as blue meets green once again.

"In those shoes, Swan? It's at least a mile back to the loft."

"Oh these things, they're nothing. The ones I wore to the _other date_ you witnessed put these to shame. I'll be fine."

He leans in slightly at that, voice low, his warm breath caressing her cheek resulting in a shiver that has absolutely nothing to do with the cold.

"I never should have doubted your abilities, love…"

Drawing out the last word, his lips brush her temple in a feather light kiss, a barely perceptible touch gone too soon as she finds her hand suddenly free from his grip. Something in her gut stirs at the loss, a need she's already feeling all too keenly, the pull of him stronger now that she's stopped pushing him away. Her arms move instinctively to cross over her chest in defense against the cold and maybe other things she's really not ready to name. Looking over at him she realizes why he's let go and that stirring in her gut, well, it's turning into a damn cyclone now and she mentally prepares herself to be swept away.

His new jacket is now in his hands, _both of them_, as he holds it up towards her with a devilish smile, not managing to completely mask the tinge of insecurity still lingering behind his eyes.

"Milady…"

The act is so overtly romantic and his words so old fashioned and she…_god, she loves every second of it_. She may be "The Savior", fierce and strong, but that doesn't mean she can't enjoy when a man who knows she is but still wants to treat her like she's soft and gentle, if only for a short time on a quiet night where no one else can see. Turning slightly, she lets him help her work her arms into the jacket, immediately soaking up the warmth of his body still clinging to the soft leather. His chest comes to rest lightly against her back when he pulls the collar closed beneath her chin, the scruff on his cheek brushing against her neck as he takes every opportunity to invade her space now that he's catching on that he's welcome to do so.

"Such a gentleman…"

He releases a long breath on a quiet chuckle before stepping back a step, his arms sliding down hers from behind before stepping back to her side and extending his hand once again.

"_Always."_

They share a smile full of memories as her fingers stretch past the too long jacket to mingle with his, their now chilled skin warming as palm meets palm. He leads them off the curb and they fall into a slow pace, perfectly in sync as always, neither in a hurry to reach their destination.

"I like the new jacket."

"Aye, but I must admit it looks far better on you, Swan."

She can't help the playful nudge to his ribs at his flirting, his tug to pull her closer a welcome retaliation.

"How did you manage such a perfect fit with the short notice?"

His slight flinch is hard to miss with her pressed against his arm and she stops their stroll to look over at him, curious as to his odd reaction to her rather innocent question. The nervousness is back in his features, this time in full force as he refuses to meet her gaze, instead focusing on the streetlight turning red in the distance.

"Killian?"

He doesn't look at her when he responds; speaking with a careless nonchalance she's all too familiar with.

"You have quite the talented tailor here in Storybrooke."

_Lie._

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she lowers her voice to a more soothing tone, hoping to coax him out of whatever is causing him to hide the truth from her.

"Hey, look at me."

It takes another brief moment, but he complies, the look in his eyes reminiscent of their day in the woods looking for Zelena, raw and open, his heart fully on display.

_If it can be broken, that means it still works._

She's about to speak when he moves a step closer, his free hand lifting to hook lightly under her chin as his eyes set firmly to hers.

"I've been procuring new garments for weeks, Swan. It didn't feel right to wear them until I was sure you wanted me to stay."

So many things bubble up in her at once, regret, sadness, fear, hope, love…everything all jumbled in a ball pressing against her breastbone trying to escape. She wants to say something, needs him to know, but she can't find the words, or her breath. Releasing his hand, she closes the last bit of distance between them as she wraps herself around him in a hug, the warmth of his throat against her cold nose sending tingles of awareness all over her body. He wastes no time in pulling her closer, one hand tight around her back as the other cups the back of her head, his fingers tangling gently in her ponytail.

Taking a deep breath, her lips brush against his skin as she finally finds her voice, realizing it's really only two words he needs to hear.

"I do."

"Good."


	30. this thing

There's this thing he does…

She'll be lost in the taste of him, the heat, drowning in the intoxicating depths of want that's beginning to feel endless whenever he's near. And then he'll pull back. His lips, warm and well used, wetted by her tongue will be pulled…just out of reach. She'll chase, _like always_, and he'll just wait…in the space between. Their shared breaths fully charged, overflowing with possibility, words unspoken – too delicate,_too real_.

Sometimes he'll stop there. His eyes slowly tracing the path of his thumb as he brushes her lower lip, or the dent in her chin, his rings cold against her skin as he moves to cups her cheek. The blue of his eyes brightening at the sight of her amused smile, somehow knowing she wants to ask, _but never will_.

Other times, it's merely an intermission, a moment taken before coming back for more, more confident, more insistent – _more, more, more_. She's often left breathless, kissed so thoroughly her legs want to crumble, the intensity of him without restraint overwhelming…_addictive_. The pull of her hair caught in his rings ought to be painful, but it never is – the more tangled and twisted together the better, _never enough_.

Her favorite is when she does it back. The curve of his lips and the nip of his nose, all of his tells that he knows what she's about before he sets out to chase, to play the game. Her fingers will find his collar, or sometimes his neck, pulling him closer as she pulls back – the air jungle thick, static crackling with…_anticipation_. Sometimes giving in and other times not, knowing next time she can choose differently, winning either way.

It's just this thing…this thing that they do. This thing that she loves. And she knows he loves it, too.


	31. message received

_**Missing scene prompt for Emma's reaction to hearing Killain's message...**_

* * *

Her fingertips dig lightly into the centuries old leather wrapped around her as she leans back, pulling a content sigh from the pirate behind her, his arms tightening as she settles against his chest. Neither of them moves to speak as the campfire warms their slightly chilled skin, the sand beneath soft and welcoming. She settles her head in the crook of his shoulder, dimples kissing as they sit cheek to cheek. She needs to bring up Belle finding her phone, the voicemail she's finally heard, the staggering revelation of just how devoted this man is to her. But she waits. She deserves this blissful moment, _they both do_.

"I take it back, Swan. You do know how to plan an evening out."

Chuckling softly, she finds his hand beneath his coat, his long duster he wore because she told him to "wear something warm". It wasn't until he showed up at her door wearing it did she realize how much she's missed seeing him like this, the pirate swagger the long leather provokes, the memory of her grip on those lapels as she gave the first piece of her heart to him back in that place. He's given up so much of himself, _for her_, to be a man he still doesn't see as worthy enough to be by her side. Her blindness almost took him away from her, forever. She's can't let that happen ever again.

Determined, she focuses on the gentle tide of the ocean beyond their campfire; his fingers tangled with hers the anchor she needs to say what needs to be said.

"Belle found my phone today."

Her body lifts as a deep breath fills his lungs, the implications of her statement obviously not lost on him, obviously filling him with unease. His breath releases slowly, catching and lifting the tendrils of hair along her cheek as he begins to speak.

"Emma, I…"

"Wait, please?" Her plea is spoken quietly as she turns her head to try to face him, impossible really in the position they've worked themselves into. Leaning in to her, she can feel him nod as his jaw presses against her temple; the unmistakable flutter of the muscle there painting a perfect picture of what his expression must be. Not wanting to subject him to more stress than necessary, she plows ahead with the speech she rehearsed quietly in the bathroom before their date.

"We've already talked about everything that happened and I don't want to dig all of that up again. But, what you said in that message, Killian…you didn't fail. You've never failed me, _not once_. I've never had someone put me first, not in the way that you do. And I'd be lying if I said that it doesn't overwhelm me knowing that you'd always lay down your life to save me. But you make me feel like I matter and I guess I just need you to know that…you matter, too, _to me_…just as you are. We're in this together now, you and me."

She has to take a calming breath. This is the closest she's come to telling him how she feels and even though she knows it's not enough, it's a huge step for her. Now that she's spoken, she needs to see him, read the emotions he's never been good at hiding on that beautiful face of his. The fact that she has rendered him speechless has definitely not gone unnoticed. Sliding forward slightly, she lets his hand fall to her side, his fingers reaching back out for her his only reaction yet to her declaration. As gracefully as she can manage, she turns her body until she's kneeling between his legs, using his thighs to steady her as she sees the look of awe that has taken over his features.

Settling his hook against her waist, he straightens until their faces are mere inches apart, his hand finding her cheek in the gentlest of touches as she watches him blink the mistiness from his eyes. His forehead comes to rest against hers and she hears "_Swan", _whispered softly on a feather soft caress of his breath across her lips. Before he can speak further, she curls one of her hands around his lapel and smiles against his mouth, moving her lips against his in a conversation where words are no longer necessary. His hand slides into her hair, steadying her as he leans into the kiss, his cold nose pressing deep into her cheek as his lips begin to warm her from the inside out.

The gentle cresting of the waves, the crack and pop of the fire, the soft breaths of lovers, all creating a perfect symphony for this long awaited quiet moment. The stars above shining brightly for these two once lost souls, who while falling in love with each other, may have also begun to love themselves.


	32. stay

_Set in the 6 weeks between 4A and 4B_

* * *

The booms of canon fire bounce around his skull, rapid, succinct, and bloody loud. Burrowing further beneath the covers he tries to drown out the echo, but cringes as the blankets hit his overwarm skin. His attempts to kick the offending fabric to the floor only manage to tangle his aching limbs. The battle with the blankets finally pulls him to the surface of his fevered dream as his actual surroundings coming slowly into bleary eyed focus. He is not on his ship. There is no chaos taking place overhead. And the canon fire is simply a soft knock on his door, growing more persistent by the second.

"Just a moment!"

There's a gravel to his voice to add to the pain in his throat, his own words too loud to his ears. Moving with as much speed as he can muster, he extricates himself from the bed, pausing for a moment as the room begins to spin. Reaching blindly, he finds his discarded shirt on a nearby chair and works it over his arms. Lacking the energy for more than that, he moves slowly towards the door, his hand attempting to tame his sweaty hair into something less wild than he imagines it must be.

Emma's boots come into view as he cracks the door and he takes a deep breath, hoping he can summon enough strength to get through this and be left alone to his misery.

"Swan, always a pleasure."

He watches as her eyes flick distractedly over his bared chest, the pink of her cheeks likely mirroring the fevered flush of his own. When she finally catches his eye he lifts a knowing eyebrow, even in sickness unwilling to let such a moment pass without reaction. Seeing Emma Swan flustered doesn't come along often and he wishes he was in a better state to enjoy it. Her fingers reach out for him briefly, but then pull back, finally settling on her waist as she smiles and shakes her head as if to clear her own thoughts. He moves to speak, but realizes he knows not what to say. Luckily, she spares them both from another second of uncomfortable silence.

"I've been knocking for a few minutes, are you okay?"

_No. I'm dying actually._

"Sorry, love, you caught me sleeping."

"At one o'clock in the afternoon?"

"Aye…I just…"

His mind has gone completely blank, no excuse anywhere near the tip of his tongue. To top it off, a wave of dizziness chooses this very moment to make an arrival, causing him to sway slightly on his feet before ungracefully leaning his weight against the doorjamb. She notices. _Of course she notices._ Her eyes go almost comically wide as her hands finally leave her waist, settling gently on his forearm and his cheek.

"Hey, what's going on? You look…sick. Are you sick?"

Speaking is hard, especially with the cool skin of her hand feeling like a balm against his skin, genuine comfort and concern evident in her eyes and in her touch. He doesn't know what to do with this, _with her_. Conquering illness on his own the only way he's known for centuries, never even allowing his crew to see him in a state such as this. It's a weakness, one he isn't ready for Emma to witness, as much as part of him is aching to let her.

"Nothing to worry yourself over. Just a headache. I'll be right as rain tomorrow. I'll sleep it off and see you tomorrow at breakfast, Swan."

Moving her hand from his cheek, she gently brushes his hair from his forehead before dropping her hand back to her side. Her eyes tell him all he needs to know, that she's registered his lie, that knowledge twisting a knife deep in his gut. She loosens her grip on his forearm and he reaches for her hand, watching as her eyes move to their now interlaced fingers. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze before meeting his eyes again, her expression noticeably lighter as her lips curve into a small smile.

"Okay, I'll see you later."

"Aye."

He aches to kiss her, alleviate the tension, but he knows he can't. She parts with another smile, leaving him alone as he has wished, the reality of it feeling all wrong in the wake of her absence. Stripping his shirt once again, he collapses back onto the mattress, not even bothering to cover himself with the blankets as his fever pulls him back under.

He dreams of heat, the sun unrelenting as he struggles to navigate alone, the too dry wood beneath his feet groaning with each pass of his boots along the deck. Sweat soaked and lonely, he trudges ahead, the destination unknown and seemingly farther away as the hours pass on the open water. The relief of a summer squall comes suddenly, drenching him to the bone and cooling his sun chapped skin. Each soothing raindrop clearing the humid fog from his brain, relaxing his muscles as he lies flat on his back letting the rocking of the boat comfort his weary soul. The breeze ruffles his hair, gentle ministrations feeling much like the stroke of a lover, fingertips and a gentle palm. It's that touch that wakes him, too familiar, better than any dream he's ever known.

_She's here._ Emma is here, perched at his hip with her palm against his forehead keeping a cold cloth in place as her fingertips brush softly in his hair, the same soft smile she left him with still settled upon her lips. He's too shocked to speak, but tries to move and is stilled by the gentle pressure of her hand and the thick blankets he finds himself wrapped up in.

"Shhh, just rest and listen."

She speaks quietly, obviously aware now of how sensitive he is to sound, her words both tentative and strong (_much like Emma herself)._ Without the energy or the will to argue, he relaxes back against the pillow and nods slightly for her to continue.

"So, over on the table there you've got some soup from Granny, books from Belle, a few of Henry's favorite X-Men comics, and a pot of Mary Margaret's miracle tea. David's watching the station to free me up to play nursemaid. I can leave you alone to deal with your _headache_ and take all of this stuff with me, or you can ask me to stay and let me help you get better. It's completely up to you. I know how hard it is to let people in, but you're not alone anymore…if you don't want to be."

Somehow in the midst of her speech he found himself falling even more in love with her, which until this moment he wouldn't have deemed possible. She's more than he deserves and everything he will ever desire, including the extended family she's unabashedly welcoming him into. It takes considerable effort, but he manages to free one of his arms from his cocoon and reaches for her free hand fidgeting nervously on her knee. She releases a long breath when their palms meet, her fingertips moving softly over the marks left by his heavy rings. He waits until her eyes find his again, the open affection she's making no attempt to hide giving him the strength to find his voice through the pain in his throat and the ever fading loneliness in his heart.

"Stay."


	33. cleansing

_Here's me trying to find a quiet moment, as I love to do. (post 5X01 ficlet)_

* * *

A gentle knock breaks the silence of their room and her fingers clench, reflexively holding on in case someone is here to take him away. She focuses in, preparing herself to fight on her own, knowing deep down that she won't succeed. His arms loosen but don't fall away, his nod to the intruder felt against her cheek.

"Emma, she's drawn you a bath."

_No! Please…I can't be alone._

She presses herself tighter. Wishing she could crawl inside. Knowing he's strong enough, _he's her choice_.

Warm fingers slide against her cheek, gentle, determined, begging for a response.

"Emma, love…"

Breathing out against his throat, she leans into his hand, lifting her chin to find the concern in his voice swimming in his eyes. If he's to help, _to save_, he has to know. She has to tell him, now.

"He'll come back."

"Who?"

"Rumple, or the Dark One, in my head…all the time."

His fingers curl behind her head as his eyes narrow, confusion furrowing his brow as he tries to comprehend.

"I'm sorry, Emma, I don't…"

"The Darkness, Killian, it's trying to guide me from the light. But, you, you and Henry, you keep it away. Or I do, because you're here, like this. Touching me…"

She sees as understanding settles in, from the slight drop of his jaw to the darkening of his eyes, mist filled and wide as their gazes lock. The implications she's already considered and she knows he will, too. His lips find hers and it's like a shower of light, filling the corners, swallowing the dark. It's magic, but it's hers, or his, something somehow belonging to them both. It's not a cure, or even an answer, but in this moment, _it's enough_.

Gentle fingers find flushed cheeks as soft words make solemn promises. Fears, they're left unspoken. His hand finds hers as he steps back, pulling her behind him as he slowly guides her across the room. He waits by the door…for her to choose. She does, without hesitation.

The room is small, but the tub is big, steam mingling with the heat from the candles aligned at the edge. His hand falls from hers, but immediately finds her waist, sure fingers beginning to loosen the knot in the tie below her breasts. Muscles aching with fatigue, she lets him help pull the shift over her head, nerves nowhere to be found as she's left bare, body and soul. His eyes don't leave hers as he leads her to the edge of the tub, fingers held tight as she sinks in to the warmth of fragrant lavender and vanilla.

As he kneels, she frees his hand to cup his cheek, knowing she needs to maintain contact as he reaches for the sponge. Tears form behind her eyes as he begins to cleanse her skin and the intimacy of the moment settles in, the reverence in his touch like nothing she's ever known. Her eyes find his when the sponge brushes the apex of her thighs, finding him looking back with awareness but no innuendo. He simply continues his task, dirt falling from her skin with each gentle stroke. Dropping the sponge, he runs his hand up her arm until his fingers slide into her hair, doing his best to gather the knotted tresses in his palm.

"Lean back, love."

A deep sigh falls from her lips as her head sinks beneath the water, relief flooding her body at the firm massaging of his fingertips along her scalp. The weightlessness of the water is addictive, freeing, allowing her to pretend she is unburdened, if only for a moment. Gentle pressure beneath her neck wakes her from her daze, her eyes opening slowly as she turns to regard him once again. He's smiling, but it's stinted, mostly masked worry lingering at the edges she knows he hopes she doesn't see. Sitting up slowly, she reaches back to twist the water from her hair, the slide of his hand along her back keeping their contact intact.

Reaching for the towel on the small table by her elbow, she takes his arm as he helps her gingerly rise to her feet, the cool air immediately adding a chill to her skin. She's barely out of the tub with the towel wrapped around her before she finds herself back in his arms, his slightly damp shirt pressed tight to her cheek. He'd been the one to hug her this time, desperation evident by the force of his embrace and the trembling of his lips against her head. His voice is ragged, barely holding back tears as he whispers, "you keep away my darkness, too."


	34. promise me

_Set right after Arthur declares his belief in Regina as The Savior at the end of 5X02. Killian goes after Emma and they speak of what is true and promises are made. I need this before what we see happening in next week's episode._

* * *

Caring naught to hear any more from this King as he speaks of Regina, _The Savior_, he sidesteps the royal to go after Emma, the only true savior of them all. She had retreated back down the steps only moments ago, sadness in her eyes and the unmistakable signs of defeat weighing her shoulders. Not wanting to call attention to her, he follows the ivory trail of her dress around the stone corners in silence until she steps out into the moonlit courtyard. He finds her, stoic and staring at Merlin's entrapment, the crooked branches casting shadows on her alabaster face.

She doesn't flinch at his touch, her senses obviously keenly aware of his presence. The cool skin of her cheek along his neck sends a slight chill down his spine as he pulls her close, tucking her against his chest as his lips fall to rest against her hair. There's a gentle pulse emanating from her palm where's she's clutching tightly to his back, the remnants of her magic he tried so hard to stop her from using. How will he stop _The Savior_ from trying to save, hold her back from causing her own undoing?

"Killian?"

Her jade eyes, now clouded by hints of gray, are looking up at him, searching and seemingly memorizing his every feature. His cheeks warm at her perusal, unaccustomed to her newly completely unguarded affection. When he moves to speak, she silences him with a soft kiss, a gentle press so unlike the desperate assault from before that he can't help but feel a bit unbalanced. She reaches her palm towards his cheek as she pulls back, but stops before touching his skin as her eyes dart from her hand to his face and back again.

"Tell me that you love me."

Stunned, he tries to find the words, shown but so far unspoken for reasons he can't seem to conjure. She's frozen with her hand in mid-air and eyes locked on his, the only movement her teeth as they close over her bottom lip. Knowing not why she needs to hear this now, he relishes this chance to finally lead with his heart with more than his actions.

"I love you, Emma Swan, from the depths of my soul."

Her hand closes over his cheek at his words and he feels the spark, strong at first touch and then not, slowly fading until all that is left is the soothing warmth of her skin. A solitary tear falls as she closes her eyes, caught by his thumb as he moves to mirror her with his palm. The weight of the moment settles around them as they lean into each other's touch, neither speaking, merely allowing a moment to feel, to cherish.

The gray is gone from her eyes as she seeks his, the vibrant green now clear and full of light. Her gaze falls to his lips and he closes the distance to kiss her, deepening the contact until the thrum of her heart matches the rapid beat of his own. The press of her fingertips against his neck spurs him on, desperate for her to feel the depth of his love with every caress of his tongue, every gentle moan rumbling from his throat. His body is taught with arousal with her pressed so close, his arm around her back slipping lower to keep her hips aligned in a dangerously perfect fit.

Her lips pull from his and he moves in to chase, stopping only when he hears his name on a soft whisper. His resolve bends, but doesn't break at the sight of her kiss swollen mouth, forced to hold firm at the sudden seriousness of her expression.

"Swan?"

Her hands move to his cheeks, holding him in place as she keeps him locked in her gaze.

"I need you to promise me something."

"Anything, love."

"If we fail and I succumb to the darkness, don't succumb with me. Love me enough to fight me, push back and make me find the light again. I think you might be the only one who can."

Her words are like a dagger to his heart, sharp in their accuracy as he knows them to be true. This conclusion she's reached is one he's known since the moment she vanished, his role solidified as the blackness tore her from his sight. His centuries long journey with the Dark One has led to this. He will not fail her, or more importantly, will not let her fail herself.

"I promise."


	35. the dress

_I had a lot of feelings after that 5X03 sneak peek. This is set in the future, post-Darkness, as Emma deals with the repercussions of what occurred when she was the Dark One._

* * *

She can't bring herself to touch it. Just seeing the pale fabric turns her stomach sour as memories of what she did, how she manipulated him, _them both_, it's too much. She wants to set it aflame, rid the fibers of her shame in embers…if only that would make her forget. This, it's just one of the many things she's ruined, forever. Pressing her palms against her eyes she tries to calm her thoughts, wishing she had something that was new and unburdened. Everything in front of her, her leather jackets, jeans and blouses, are all from the Emma she was, the Emma she may never be again.

Opening her eyes, she reaches out to push the offending garment to the back of her closet and out of sight, knowing it will never be fully out of mind.

"Perhaps you should put it on?"

Startled, her fingers snag in the collar of the dress as she turns towards this voice, finding him leaning against the wall at the entrance to her room. His hair, still long and unkempt, falls slightly over his eye as he regards her with a soft smile. She can't believe his suggestion, is incredulous as to why he would even want this, this reminder.

"I can't."

Pushing himself off the wall, he takes a few steps closer, walking slowly as if she may get spooked if he approaches her too quickly. It's been this way between them for weeks, his usual confidence shaken as she tries to find her place, _again_.

"You _can_, love. I think it might help."

She turns her back to him before he reaches her, not wanting him to see the tears building behind her eyes. They share a deep breath when his warmth surrounds her, his chest rising and falling against her back as he wraps his arm around her waist.

"I've ruined it."

The vice around her heart constricts as he lifts his hand from her side to touch the fabric, ring laden fingers gently tracing the embroidered flowers along the bodice. She sees no hesitancy in his movements, only reverence as he gently pulls it from the hanger to hold in front of her.

"Not ruined, Swan, merely tarnished. I think we might be able to bring back some of its shine."

His scruff scratches her cheek as she turns to face him, needing to see the hopeful gleam she knows she will find in his eyes. It's there. He truly wants this, perhaps needs it as much as she, _maybe more_.

"Okay."

Her lips tingle as he brushes his lightly against hers, the dress in his hand ending up draped over her shoulder as he steps backwards and back out of the room. Alone again, she doesn't give herself time to change her mind, stripping out of her jeans and sweater in haste. Ignoring the prickles of fear as she shimmies into the dress, she zips the back and shakes out her hair, thinking this time she'll forego the ponytail.

The wood of the stairs is cold on her bare feet, but she needs to get to him and shoes will just take too long. She can't do this alone. She needs to see the forgiveness in his eyes so maybe, _just maybe_, she can start to forgive herself. She finds him in the living room, his back facing her as he adjusts the volume on the music he's selected from Henry's iPod. The song is one she knows well, a favorite of Henry's, despite it being written before he was born.

Killian turns as the vocals break through the synthesizers, fear at his reaction despite this being his idea causing her to freeze in her tracks. She doesn't miss the initial pursing of his lips as he takes her in, knowing this is as hard for him as it is for her. But then his eyes meet hers and all she sees is love and understanding, trust that she still doesn't truly believe she deserves. She moves as he does, meeting him halfway until they are almost nose to nose with her toes brushing the tips of his boots.

"May I have this dance, my love?"

After taking a deep, calming breath, she slides her hand around his back and lifts her other into his outstretched palm.

"You may."

And they dance. They dance until the rustling of her skirt as she moves no longer makes her cringe and the bodice ceases to constrain her breath. They dance. And somewhere along the way, the dress, it takes on a new life, polished to a new shine with every step they take.


	36. steady course

He's thankful for the window ledge to support him, the will to keep standing fading as soon as she's gone. Part of him aches to bellow his rage into the empty cabin, swipe his hook across the table and send the remnants of her charade crashing to the floor below. The man he used to be would indulge this pain, let it seep into his bones and spark the villain he's constantly fighting to leave behind. But he is not that man, not anymore. And Emma, _his Emma_, she just gave him the one thing he needs. _Hope_.

All it took was the tiniest flicker, the downward turn of her mouth, her steadfast gaze broken as the lost girl once again reflected in her eyes at his refusal to declare his love. Of course he loves her. _Emma_. But he will not give that love to The Dark One. Vowing to hold fast against her desires to have both, she will have to choose between his love and the darkness. He's come too far. _She's come too far_.

For the first time in centuries, he finds himself thankful for The Crocodile. Having chased the bastard for so long, he knows The Dark One's tricks, has learned to parry and evade. He's seen the manipulation of Belle, how the fierce grip of power can override even the truest of love. If holding back that love is the only way to break through, he will do that, for Emma.

Folding the tablecloth over the plates, he carries the bundle up the stairs and onto the deck, not stopping until the entirety of "their date" is tossed into the sea. He will not linger here, will not let the pain in his heart steer him anywhere but back to shore. He has a mission, clearer now than before, and he knows just the thief to help.


	37. touch me, heal me

_Having been held so far away for so long, I envision Emma needing to revel in touch after she's freed from the darkness. (I'm still dying from last night and how much they love each other and how they can't keep their hands to themselves) _

* * *

She wonders if he notices. _He doesn't say, but she feels he does._ The answer doesn't matter much, because it's what she needs. She knows he will always give her this, and will let her take in return.

While caught in the dark, her loved ones first instinct was to recoil, protect, her touch dangerous and full of lies. He'd allow moments, granting access to his hand, _his lips_, briefly given and quickly taken away. His promise to always fight for her was hard to see when she was so entrapped, so lost and so alone. In the end, she had to choose, and she did. She chose herself and their love, proven true by the shape of a sword and the beat of their hearts.

Now, she's allowing herself to take back what she was denied. To revel in the sheer joy of touch, the tenderness, the love that can be conveyed in a gentle brush of skin or the press of ankles hidden beneath a table. It's not overt, but casual, though in her head it does feel a bit calculated. She can't stop her eyes from scanning whenever he approaches, searching for new options, unexplored places she can has yet to reach, to connect.

When they're in public, it's the soft skin along his wrist or the dimple in his cheek she somehow manages to deepen beneath her thumb. She cherishes every tangle of fingers or gripping of elbows, brief presses of lips and heads rested on shoulders. Her mood brightens just by the pressure of his hook on her back as they find themselves standing side by side.

Alone, she finds his treasures. Her lips now know the shape of the hollow of his throat, her nose the underside of his jaw. She has left no inch of his collarbone unexplored, greedily tasting the salty warmth of his skin with her tongue. Her hands have brought him to life and beyond, no barriers between her palm and the strength of his desire no longer held back. Every hidden place she finds he reveals, open and welcoming, as he reciprocates in kind.

She knows how warm his mouth can feel, slowly tracing the path of her spine or furiously sucking a mark into the soft skin of her thigh. The complexities of his fingertips are well studied, at once soft against her breast can turn bruising when wrapped around her hip as exploration inevitably turns to need. His wrist, uncovered and scarred, has steadied her through passion, anchoring her close as their bodies danced and worshiped and eventually fell.

The darkness, it left a bruise, deep and slow to mend. But his touch, it heals her and she hopes hers does the same. _He doesn't say, but she feels it does._


	38. dreamcatcher

_I couldn't stop thinking about that script tease and the knowledge that Emma and Killian have spoken so much about their pasts. I wrote my headcanon about them learning about one another in the happy 6 weeks in an earlier chapter, so here's a bit of a continuation…another story shared._

* * *

Closing a laptop with your feet is a bit harder than she would have imagined. Thankfully, her boots are on the floor, giving her the use of her toes to push down the screen with as little movement as possible. Not wanting to wake the pirate currently snoring softly against her ear, she finally manages her task, hoping if one of them kicks it during the night at least being closed it will fare a better chance of not breaking. There's little doubt in her mind that she'd have trouble finding anyone in Storybrooke with the faintest knowledge of laptop repair.

She'd seen the dark circles under Killian's eyes earlier, could see sleep had been eluding him of late even if he hadn't spoken of it. They both have demons, loved ones lost and bad choices made, all perfect ingredients for the subconscious to create nightmares where waking is the only escape. Shifting on the pillow to look at him now, she hopes he is dreaming of happier things, perhaps of sailing the open seas or well…maybe of her.

Not often having the opportunity to appreciate his perfectly sculpted face without prompting a saucy response or knowing look in return, she takes this opportunity openly stare. She notes the lack of worry lines as she brushes his hair from his forehead, the ruddy blush to his cheeks and the slight upturn of his lips in what could be called a smile. He is well and truly out, not even stirring as she curls her hand lightly around his neck and nestles deeper next to him on the pillow. She allows one last look at his long lashes and his full lower lip before reluctantly closing her own eyes, finally giving in to the gentle pull of slumber by his side.

/

On any other morning, being woken from such a blissful dream would have set off his temper, but not today. The swell of the tide beneath his feet and the warmth of the sun beating down on his chest, as perfect as that felt, neither compare to waking in the arms of the woman he loves. He only hopes the rapid beating of his heart doesn't stir her, seeing as her hand somehow found its way beneath his shirt and is currently pressed distractedly against the bare skin of his chest. Allowing himself one indulgence, he curls his hand further around her hip, his fingers finding and pressing against the soft skin of her lower back. It's only the biting of the inside of his cheek that stops the groan as her thigh shifts, finally settling against where he's already half aroused. Having her here like this, it's all he's ever wanted and bloody torture at the same time, torture he'd succumb to willingly any time she were to ask.

With his eyes clenched tight, he desperately tries to think of _anything_, anything other than how he wishes he could roll them, press her into the mattress and wake her with his lips on her skin and his hand…

"Good morning."

Her face is still pressed into the pillow, but her eyes are open, his smile being met with a sleepy one of her own. He should really tell her how beautiful she looks, but he can't seem to find his voice, perhaps due to the fact that his heart is currently lodged in his throat. Leaning forward, he captures her lips in a soft, lingering kiss, eventually pulling back just enough to stay nose to nose with her against the pillow.

She blushes as she extricates her hand from inside his shirt, his protest at that action dying on his lips as her fingers come to rest along his cheek. The movement of her thumb beneath his eye is so tender, as is the expression on her face as she seems to be giving his face a thorough once over.

"You look like you slept well."

Pulling her body closer with his hand at her back, their legs tangle beneath the covers as he answers, "Aye, better than I have all week."

"No nightmares, then?"

Of course she would have known, somehow sensed he'd been troubled, unsettled by unpleasant memories coming to him in his sleep. Living as long as he has and losing so much, nightmares had become a steadfast companion, usually chased away by his rum or the morning tide. He really shouldn't be surprised that Emma would find a way to keep them at bay as well. She was his savior, after all.

"Only happy dreams, love, made even more joyous upon waking with you in my arms."

Embarrassment has her leaning further into the pillow, his Swan still not quite capable of dealing with his directness when speaking of his affection. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to her forehead and another to the tip of her nose.

"I've heard tales of people lighting candles at night to keep the nightmares away, but I'd say you make a more alluring dreamcatcher."

It's impossible for him to miss how her body suddenly tenses and he can feel the panic begin to rise in his chest, knowing something he has said was apparently very, very wrong. Leaning back again so he can see her eyes, he cringes at the sight of hers clenched shut and the slow retreat of her hand from his cheek.

"Emma, love, what is it?"

Her hand falls to his chest, but she doesn't pull away further, instead feeling her fingers grip his collar as she slowly opens her eyes. He can see the beginnings of tears swimming there, but stubborn as she is, she is not letting them fall.

"Sorry, it's just…. Neal gave me a dreamcatcher once, or we found one and he said I should keep it. It wasn't a candle though, it's, well…hard to explain. I'll show you a picture later.."

Her words trail off and he watches as her eyes fall to her hand, staring intently at her fingers holding on to his shirt.

"Sorry, this isn't a good memory for me, after everything…"

Rolling to his back, he pulls her with him until she's tucked beneath his chin, holding her just a bit tighter when he feels her release a heavy breath against his throat. Slowly, he runs his hand along her spine and lets the silence fall, giving her time to come back to him when she's ready, feeling steady in the knowledge that she will.

It's not long, less than a minute really, when she pulls back enough to whisper, "I like the memories I'm making with you."


	39. holding on

_Future fic set in the 5A finale, speculation based on filming spoilers and headcanons. _

* * *

Her fingers begin to tremble as the moment approaches, slightly weakening her firm grip as she presses the metal deeper into her palm, desperate to memorize its shape as she did his face, his hands, his lips. Closing her eyes, she forces herself to focus on the incantation and feels her lips begin to move around ancient words, their meaning unknown yet the most important she's ever spoken.

Regina's voice is echoing hers from somewhere behind her and Gold is stepping to her side with the dagger, the sight of which threatens to break her concentration. Her battered soul rested along those jagged edges not long ago, only returned to her thanks to the love and sacrifice of the man she's here to save.

Fate expects her to let him go, add him to the list of loves lost, but fuck fate. She's done playing by the rules of someone else's game, one she never asked to play and is tired of losing. Come hell or high water, _knowing her luck it will be both_, she's holding on. She won't lose him.

"Ms. Swan, are you ready?"

Without further hesitation, she tugs hard until the chain around her neck snaps, not even caring about the burn against her skin and only that his ring is cradled safely in her palm. Deep crimson clings to the blade as she looks over at Gold, the irony of him being the one to have to supply the blood for this spell too ridiculous to fathom. Killian would be rolling his eyes if he were here to see this. He won't believe her when she tells him.

Placing the ring in Gold's outstretched palm, she meets his gaze with unwavering strength and certainty.

"Bring him home to me."


	40. One

_I got this idea in my head about how Killian craved his other hand for their date and how maybe, after time with Emma, he may begin to think differently._

* * *

There was a time, with her, that he wished for two, thinking that his one was not enough. But in this moment, with her tucked in close, his fingers entangled in the silky strands of her hair and his thumb tracing the curve of her neck, he realizes he couldn't have been more wrong. His one, it is blessed, as it has the pleasure of every touch, it doesn't have to share.

One thumb gets to wipe away the tracks of her tears, tug at the corner of her lips as they kiss, dig into her side until her laughter fills the air. One palm will forever lead her in dance, in passion, in steadiness and comfort. She will cling to his one set of fingers, when she's happy or in pain, or to pull him closer if ever he drifts too far.

His one hand keeps all of her secrets, has memorized the fullness of her breasts and knows just where to find the sensitive curve at the back of her thigh. Only five fingertips can sense when soft is not enough, have perfected her rhythm and get to revel in the beauty of her release. Tiny scars mar the skin above the knuckles of his one hand from where she's held on too tight, half-moons he cherishes, especially when brushed lightly by her lips.

One palm felt the racing of her heart as she first confessed her love, the frantic beating beneath her chest as the blackness quickly stole her away. But, it also welcomed her home, found its way back to press tight against hers and fought to never let her go.

Two was for his life before, when he wished for it all and ended up with nothing. With Emma, his one, it's everything and more than enough.


	41. unexpected consequences

_Headcanon about what might be happening on Sunday with Killian and Emma and Zelena where he's clutching his chest. (based on CTV promo and filming spoilers)_

* * *

"What the hell is happening?"

Uncertainty begins to crack her façade as she watches him clutch his chest, a reaction she wasn't quite expecting from Zelena's tethering spell, the obvious pain on his face making her begin to worry that placing her trust in the green one might have been misguided. One look at the witch answers that quickly, as for once, she's been stunned into silence.

Killian falls to his knees, the agony on his face all it takes to finally break her as she moves to the floor to cup his head between her palms.

"Killian…I'm sorry, I don't know what's happening."

As he lifts his head and their eyes lock, Emma feels the first tug, a pull deep inside as if some magical force is clutching at her soul. She tries to pull away but his hand grabs at her wrist, her pale skin bruising under the force of his fingertips as he struggles to keep her by his side.

She feels the moment it happens. The tug turns into a rip, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as both pain and a sense of lightening occurs almost simultaneously.

He collapses, finally releasing her wrist as he crumples in a heap by her knees, the frantic rise and fall of his back as he breathes the only signal that she hasn't lost him, not completely. She reaches for him and almost recoils when she feels the change in the fabric beneath her fingertips, his leather gone and replaced with something else, something stiff and abrasive. His head lifts and her hand does fall in shock at what she sees, or rather, what she doesn't. Midnight has replaced day. Darkness has shrouded the light in his eyes.

"Emma?"

"Well isn't this just lovely. Two Dark One's for the price of one."

The air snaps at the force of Emma's turn towards Zelena, the wicked glee on the witch's face as she looks down at them setting Emma's blood to a near boil.

"What did you do?"

"Me, oh, this wasn't me, dear, this was all you. I should have seen this coming, but, considering I was really only concerned with myself, I didn't give the two of you that much thought. Don't you see, Emma, Excalibur is whole. The pointy little tip of that sword is the dagger of the Dark One and you, well, you just had me tether your True Love to it. Your mother and father may share a heart, but you and your pirate, you get to share the darkness."

"Bloody hell."

Her attention is drawn back to Killian and they simply stare at one another, so many things being said without words spoken, the entirety of all that has happened sparking between them like a live wire. Neither notice, nor care, that Zelena has disappeared, the green smoke signaling her departure dissipating in the thick air around them the only evidence she had been there at all.

His hand covers hers on the cold floor and she finally breaks, hot tears softening the sharpness of her cheekbones as she cries for what she has done, both to him now and everything before. She barely registers her body being tugged up until she finds herself standing, blessed warmth finally seeping into her bones as he wraps her tight in his embrace.

She doesn't know what this will mean, if this will change anything she must do, but in this moment she doesn't care. She's not alone anymore. When he pulls her head gently from his chest to slant his mouth over hers, she lets him, allows herself the comfort of the love pouring from his lips with a hunger matched only by her own.

She can't help but begin to believe that they can figure this out together, that somehow they can save everyone _and_ themselves.

The Dark One lies. The Dark One tricks. What she doesn't see is that it can also trick itself.


	42. parting clouds

_I was challenged to write a 5 minute fic, and I can never resist writing quiet moments of comfort. Set somewhere in 5B… (based on lots of spoilers, so skip if you are spoiler free)_

* * *

She can see the adrenaline fading as his eyes meet hers across the deck, fatigue now casting shadows on his too thin face as he motions his head towards the hatch. Nodding briefly, she watches as he accepts one last brotherly pat on the back from David before excusing himself to retire to his cabin. Snow appears at her side as if by magic, the two women exchanging knowing smiles before her mother somehow manages to usher the party-goers back onto the dock, their protests drowned out by promises of more food and drink at Granny's. The raucous cheers and laughter of Killian's "Welcome Home" party now replaced by the gentle creaking of the ancient wood beneath her feet and the soft lapping of the tide against the hull.

Her lungs sing at the lack of soot as she takes a deep breath, the cool clarity so unlike the air of the Underworld where they had barely rescued him from. It finally hits her now, the knowledge that he is safe and a mere few feet away where she can touch him, kiss him, love him in life instead of only in her dreams. Her feet move in sync with her heart as she practically stumbles down the stairs, the desperate need to be with him stronger than any magic she's ever possessed.

He looks so tired, sitting on the edge of his bed in just his trousers with his head bent low and his breathing ragged and shallow. As she crosses to stand before him, he lifts his head and she sees the tears, the oceans of his eyes overflowing in heavy streams against his cheeks. Rough stubble scratches her skin as he burrows his head between her breasts, his arms tightening around her waist as she runs her fingers soothingly through his too long hair. She doesn't speak, just holds him tighter as his tempest slows, a gentle peace settling deep in her bones at the knowledge that they've made it through another storm.


	43. a homecoming

_Just a little mid or post 5B forgiveness and fluff. (spoiler alert) I love that we have such complicated, imperfect characters in Emma and Killian. It makes delving into their love story so much more rewarding._

* * *

He can't help but notice how her pace has slowed, each step closer to the home he chose for them seemingly more difficult than the last. By the time they reach the white picket fence she stops completely, her hand he's been clinging to now trembling beneath his grasp. It feels as if all they have been through has led them to this moment.

The tearful apologies, desperately given forgiveness, while true, haven't fully mended the wounds inflicted. But, he would be a hypocrite of the highest order if he couldn't find it in his heart to forgive, for he knows the power love can hold over you, how decisions made when blinded by it can haunt you and change you in ways you could have never imagined possible. And he knows his own atonement is far from over, the mere thought of the vengeance fueled words spat at her while he fought the demons once again send an icy chill up his spine.

But, the future he can have with Emma, the life they can build here, for him, it's more important than anything that has happened in the past. It doesn't escape him that in reality, he has no idea how to do this, the idea of creating a home with someone as foreign to him as it is to her. He can only hope that she will trust that, one step at a time, they will figure this out together.

"Emma, let's go home."

Flickers of the lost girl he knows so well linger in the jade depth of her gaze as she turns to face him, the tightening of her hand in his evidence of her attempt to keep the rest of her walls from rebuilding around her still fragile heart.

"You're sure?"

He smiles then, full and wide, full of as much reassurance he can muster, his own fears fading slightly as her lips begin to curve in response.

"Aye."

In perfect sync, they push the gate open together, some of the tension around them lifting when she doesn't hesitate as he leads them up the stairs to their front door. Turning towards her, he can't help but do his best to further lighten the mood and make sure this memory is a happy one, for them both.

"You know, love, I never did see the bedroom. If it's decorated the same as the living quarters, I will insist we add a bit of flair."

She laughs, and he swears it is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

"Oh really, Captain, what did you have in mind?"

Moving with a speed he's quite proud of considering he's spent a considerable amount of time of late chained up in the Underworld, he sweeps her off her feet in a move that feels vaguely familiar. Her surprised laugh and the feel of her arms holding tight around his neck jolts him from his reverie and he leans down, capturing her joyful smile with his lips in a kiss he hopes leaves little to the imagination as to his intentions. The fervor of her response nearly buckles his knees, her taste intoxicating, her passion overwhelming as need and love mix in a heady rush of desire.

His words caress her lips as he speaks, unwilling to break their connection now that he has it back.

"The sight of you on our bed, completely ravished by your pirate, would be a good start."


	44. the highs the lows and the in between

_This came out of nowhere in my brain and I just had to go with it. A little mid-post 5B moment (spoilers), where Emma comes to an important realization. _

* * *

Cold sheets brush against her fingertips as her sleepy reach finds his side of the bed empty, his absence immediately sending prickles of worry tickling up her spine. Moonlight casts their bedroom aglow as she searches for and shrugs on one of his shirts, the lingering scent of him engulfing her as she quietly goes in search of her pirate.

Her arrival is announced by the creak of the floorboards as she steps into the front room, but he doesn't turn, just keeps his eye pressed to the telescope aimed at what she knows is the tumbling sea. Hating her tentativeness, she lingers before approaching, the edges of their hard fought reunion still feeling too jagged, too fragile. She knows she has his forgiveness, but she can't help but think that he still needs more, that she has more to give.

"Emma…"

His voice, thick with sleep and quiet contemplation, is her siren song, beckoning her to take those last few steps into his arms. The warmth of him surrounds her, the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek calming her frayed nerves as his chin settles softly atop her head. She wonders how long he's been down here, if watching the tide come in and the waves crest has provided him any solace from whatever was causing him distress. Selfishly, she wishes he could find that solace with her, but she knows that there is more that he needs, _that he wants_.

It's that thought that has her lifting her head from his chest, a realization she knows she is coming to far later than she should have, but hopes it isn't too late.

"Killian, what do you want?"

His fingertips tense against the small of her back at her question, and hers itch to smooth the furrow that has settled between his brows as he looks down at her with unmasked confusion.

"Love, what do you mean?"

Giving in to her need to touch, she reaches up to cup his cheek and waits until the soothing caress of her thumb along his scar begins to soften the worry behind his eyes.

"When you chose this house, this beautiful, perfect home for us, I thought it was just you wanting to give me something to hold on to, a future with you. But, I can see now, this place, it's giving me answers to questions I've never thought to ask. So, I'm asking now, what do _you_ want, Killian…with us, in the future? What will make you happy?"

He averts his eyes from her for a moment and looks towards the telescope, the flex in his jaw all she needs to see to know he's fighting his own walls from encroaching, walls she's not paid enough attention to as he's worked so hard to crumble her own. Home, family, future, words that are just as foreign to him as to her, have rolled off his tongue with ease these many months, but only because they haven't been directed back at him.

"Emma, being by your side is all I need, it's more than I deserve."

Using the hand still against his cheek, she turns his face back towards her, this time gripping his jaw so he can't look away.

"That isn't true and you know it. You and me, our future we're building here, it has to be an equal thing. It can't just be about me anymore. I love you for getting me to this place, but now that we're here, we have to take these next steps together. So, please, what do you want?"

His forehead meets hers and his eyes close, clouding the storm brewing in the endless depths and her gaze fall to his lips, seeing them quiver slightly as his emotions come bubbling to the surface. When he speaks, it's on a whisper, a secret passed from his heart to hers.

"I want…to wake up every morning with you in my arms, to one day hold the hand of our child in mine, to fill this home with laughter and love so bright that darkness can never again breach these walls. I want to grow old, _finally_, with you by my side. That's what I want, Emma. And I'm bloody terrified to truly wish for it."

Her tears began at his mention of their child, hot droplets coating her cheeks and now his as she crashes her lips against his, her kiss somewhat sloppy in her desperation as she tries to communicate without words. She tells him, by the shudder in her breath and the pull of her lips, that she wants what he wants, and is just as scared as he is to want it. His hand, steady and strong as he guides her head to deepen the kiss, is his answer of understanding, the breath they both take before diving back in their promise to face their fear and reach for their happy ending, together.


	45. endgame

_A/N: Basing this on speculation that Killian is tricking the Darkness. And…I'm sorry. (angst ahoy and spoiler alert)_

* * *

She holds many memories, the threads in her sails marking the passage of time, each splinter and crack a piece of his story, his life and more often, his loss. The identical grooves along her side are worn down, shiny and smooth from fingertips tracing their path, mournful remnants of the final journey of his first love and his brother before her. Jagged lines mar the helm, his failed attempt to erase lessons given to a childhood forever lost.

Centuries of pain, once lessoned by Emma's grace, surround him again as the table beneath his palm crumbles like paper, the ancient wood no match for the power coursing jagged through his veins.

"_I want to hurt you like you hurt me."_

He wants to scream, tear down the world for what he's done and rip away the devastation inflicted behind Emma's eyes at his viscous words. Words he knew he had to say, to make her believe, to let go and reclaim her rightful place. Only he knows the truth in them, who, or more precisely,_ what_, the words were actually directed towards.

This Darkness, this monster living inside him, manipulating, calculating, doesn't know his plan, the endgame it cannot see coming. He gave in for a time back in Camelot, his insecurities finding voice in his rage, against her. And she bore it, accepted it, and accepted _him_ as she laid her trust in his hands, given along with her love and a promise for the future. A future that will never come to bear…

While his memories are crystal clear, his actions are cloudy, questionable, disjointed and barely hinged, all moves played out with one explicit purpose. His destiny will finally be fulfilled.

He will destroy the Darkness. He will save Emma. He will die.

These three things he knows with clarity.

He can only hope that she will one day forgive him, forgive herself, and let herself love again.

For he will love her always, to the end of the world or time.


	46. a request

_(SPOILER ALERT) Fluff inspired by the news that Liam will definitely be back in 5B and the subsequent headcanon that took hold of my brain. This is total fluff, cause I don't know about you, but I really need it right now._

* * *

Her heart aches for what is to come, a loss he must endure again in order to follow her home, a goodbye he never should have had to say once about to be repeated. She gives him space, watches as a hand to the shoulder turns into a full embrace, larger hands gripping the material between his shoulder-blades. Tears build behind her eyes and she turns to David, catching an unexpected tenderness in his expression, a longing almost or at least an understanding as he looks on at the brothers' farewell. An unruly mop of hair brushes her cheek as Henry leans in to her side and she smiles over at him, thankful to be at the end of this long journey with all of her loved ones intact.

"Emma?"

Killian's fingers suddenly find hers, still tentative, _too tentative_, only tightening when she does so first. His eyes are misty and red, but soft, matching the gentle smile she's surprised to see curving his lips.

"May I speak to you a moment, love?" He pauses and looks over to Henry and the two of them share a look that she can tell means something of import to them both, ending with a slight nod of heads before Killian's attention is back to her.

"Sure."

There's nowhere to really find privacy where they are, but Killian finds a large tree, gently pulling her behind it until her back is facing the rest of the group. When he releases her hand, her fingers reach for his lapel, unabashedly unwilling to break contact now that she has him back again. The sudden warmth of his lips and the brush of his nose against her cheek signals that he is of similar mind. His kiss is soft, sweet, and too short as he pulls back and finds a home for his forehead gently resting against hers.

"Emma, I, have something to ask of you, something I am not confident you are ready for."

The heart inside of her chest, the one he shares, he must feel the rapid rhythm, the answer to what she knows comes next. She's not afraid, not anymore, and she's more than ready.

"Killian, look at me."

He does as requested and she sees the nervous hopefulness swimming in his gaze, his ability to communicate volumes with his beautiful eyes telling her more than any words he may be about to say. But, she still needs him to hear them.

"Ask me,"

The short breath he inhales signals his surprise at her directness, but he recovers, quickly reaching for the ring still hanging from the chain around her neck. They're close enough for him to hold it up, the ruby red stone the color of her jacket, of their love.

"Emma Swan, would you do me the great honor of accepting my hand in marriage?"

The river of tears she finds herself unable to quell makes it hard for her to speak, but she somehow manages a "yes" before she's hauling him back towards her, trapping his hand against her chest as kissing him becomes more important than anything else in the world. It's only the need to breathe that causes her to pull back, her kiss swollen lips smiling at the sound of his contented sigh and the slide of his fingertips beneath the curve of her breast. He doesn't need to speak for her to know what he's itching to say. _("Pirate, love.")_

Sliding her hands down to his waist, she leans back enough to let him free his wandering hand, her arched eyebrow meeting his as their shit-eating grins find their mirror.

"I'm glad you asked, but I have to wonder why you felt this was the right place? We could have done this at home, you know?"

His head ducks slightly and she sees him suck the inside of his cheek between his teeth, if his hand were free she's expect a scratch behind his ear to soon follow. He's still nervous, but she can't quite fathom why.

"Well, there's actually a second question I still need to ask, love."

"Okay…"

"I know this is the least romantic place in all the realms and it is far from where I've imagined this to occur, but, I was wondering if you might be open to us being wed here…now?"

Her jaw drops of its own accord as she furrows her brow in confusion, trying to find a reason why he would be requesting something so… And then it hits her, hits her with a force that almost steals her breath from her lungs.

_Liam_. He wants Liam to be there, be _here_ to see him finally get his happy ending.

"I'd like him to marry us, Emma."

She hears the hitch in his voice, feels the trembling of his hand at her waist, and sees the hope reflected back at her in his eyes. It's all of these things, and more, _so much more_, that prompt her into action. With an imperceptible flick of her wrist, his ragged clothes are replaced by his Camelot attire, her jacket, sweater and jeans by the white gown from the ball, in her hair rests a crown of frothy pink Middlemist flowers.

He's stunned into silence, his eyes darting everywhere all at once as she steps back and gingerly pulls the chain from around her neck. The clasp comes loose and the ring slides into her palm, happy to part with it only because she knows it will shortly be hers once again. Holding the ring towards him, she waits until his stupor fades enough for his palm to align beneath her outstretched fingers.

"You'll be needing this, I presume. Henry will make an excellent ring bearer. My father, I'm confident will be honored to act as Best Man since your brother will be performing the ceremony. He loves you as much as I do, just don't ask him to admit it."

The ring lands in his hand and he moves in to kiss her, but is stopped by the press of her fingertips against his lips.

"Sorry, Killian, you have to wait until Liam says, "You may now kiss the bride."


	47. first things first

_The Savior saved, the heroes won. But that picket fence life, it still needs some mending. A little post Underworld future ficlet..._

* * *

From the moment she decided to save him, that was it, it was her endgame and nothing else mattered. She would succeed. And she did, they all did. There was nothing in her plans beyond this moment, this breath, the two of them occupying the same space again without the weight of chaos. _Well, not exactly_. That nebulous future, the one first spoken of by him, and then her, that thing she had been desperate to live out with him, that's what comes next.

At least she thought it was.

The walls of this house, the one he chose, are closing in around them where they stand, a mere two feet inside the door. Not _literally_, but with the tension thickening by the second, they might as well be. They'd had their passionate embrace in the Underworld, tear soaked and overwhelming, but it left them raw, wounds left open in desperate need of mending. Hating that small part of her that still aches to run, she digs in her heels, and drops his hand. They need to talk. His silent agreement comes in his slow walk to the sofa, his weary eyes imploring her to follow. She wants to run. She doesn't. Not this time.

Never from him…_never again_.

It isn't pretty. Its ugly tears, his, hers, _theirs_, spilled through anger and sadness, disappointment and regret. Fragile cracks widen, allowing the spilling of truths, spoken this time from a place of unwavering love instead of the encompassing darkness from whence they were first voiced. It's that love, that indescribable connection that sees them through the other side of it. Yes, they have _the_ magic now, or always had it, True Love, _officially_. But it isn't that. It's something stronger, which she knows is crazy, but she feels it.

It's the way he's believed in her from the first moment they met. And the way she felt a piece of her life fall into place when he challenged her on that damn beanstalk. It's how he always stayed by her side, even when she was walking away from him at every turn. And it's how he made himself better, because she never doubted that he could, and eventually he believed. It's their friendship, a true partnership that has crossed realms, time, the living and the dead. They are unbreakable. The greatest evil, it tumbled them into darkness, but together, they reforged the light. That's magic, to be sure. But it's something else, something undefined, something that tells her that even if magic didn't exist, that if they'd met in a seedy bar in Boston, he'd still be her forever, and she his.

Now, facing him on their couch, both of them all out of words, nothing really left to be said, she finally finds peace. The walls begin their retreat and the sun finds its way through the blinds, his beautiful eyes catching the warming rays as he takes her hands firmly in his. Her smile is short lived, but only due to the welcome strength of his kiss. There's passion in this embrace, too, but it's different. It's happy, it's uninhibited, it's Middlemist flowers and pretty pink dresses, sweet pecks on the cheek and bundled together walks in the moonlight. It's watching him bond with her son, and annoy her dad, and slowly win over the heart of her mother.

She's put her trust in him, and he in her, and once again he was right. A future is nothing to be afraid of.


	48. second chances

_Future fluff and kissing, that's all this is…Happy Sunday!_

* * *

There's a slight ache between his shoulder-blades, a gentle protest of muscles overworked. It's a feeling he welcomes, knowing it was a day well spent, another day he never thought he would have. As he peels his waistcoat from his arms he spots a small tear and smiles, remembering the fish hook that had made it and the boy who had caught him. With the town in relative peace, Blue had asked Killian for help with the older Lost Boys still in the fairies' care. They needed a purpose, a guiding hand. Forever the Captain, he had put them to work, overseeing their new jobs _(for which he saw them receive a fair wage)_ cleaning and repairing the abandoned boats littering Storybrooke's harbor. Today, while on a break, he found himself teaching the boys how to fish with this realm's modern rods, an endeavor that ended with a pirate on a hook and a dock full of much needed laughter.

Setting the garment aside for mending, he unclasps his belt and removes his hook, leaving him in just his denim and untucked shirt. Thoughts of a shower linger until he hears the door below open and close, his need to welcome her home now the only thing on his mind. In just his socks, he makes little sound as he moves down the stairs, only catching her attention from where she's just settled on the couch when he's a few steps from the bottom. Her smile, so different now, full of love and home, but always slightly tinged with relief, draws him to her side like a moth to a flame.

"I brought Granny's"

He doesn't spare a glance at the takeout containers as he leans down, his hand curling around her head to steady her as his lips find hers in a kiss. The exquisite feel of her mouth, warm and welcoming, it breaks something in him open wide, a sudden need to never find the end of this kiss, to live in this moment as long as time will allow. Her fingers move to cling to his shirttails, pulling him closer until his knee finds the edge of the couch between her thighs. A soft sigh parts her lips and his tongue sweeps inside, the first spicy taste of her stoking the ever present flame of need deep in his belly. He wants _that_, too, but for now, he _needs_ this, the simple perfection of lips against lips.

When her hands come up to wrap around his neck, he somehow knows that she understands. She holds on tight as he changes their position, her lips claiming first the second she's settled on his lap. He knows she can feel him throbbing beneath her legs, but she doesn't take advantage, moving only her mouth against his and her fingers through his hair. Feeling dizzy with sensation, his arm holds tight to her back, his hand cupping her cheek as he moves to take back control of the kiss. Always his perfect partner, she relents, slowing her lips in sync with his, lengthening the time between shared breaths.

On the next one, he pulls back, his hand holding her close so she doesn't retreat. With closed eyes and noses pressed, he tries to put to words how much having her here with him like this means.

"Please grant me this indulgence, Emma? I didn't get enough time to love you _before_ and can't bear to waste a single moment of the second chance I have now."

He can hear the desperation in his voice, fear at being ripped from her again ever present, even now.

"Dinner can wait. I need this, too."

Her lips are demanding as she recaptures his mouth, her own desperation curling around his tongue and scratching against his scalp. A groan of satisfaction rumbles from his chest as his head falls back and she sinks in, his fingertips seeking the soft mass of her hair tumbling all around them.

They wake in the morning on the couch with kiss swollen lips, love bites peppering exposed skin and hunger rumbling loudly in their bellies. Their cold grilled cheese dinner ends up in the trash and they almost make it through breakfast, half-eaten pancakes left in favor of syrup filled kisses and roaming hands. He knows her lips are as bruised as his, but he just kisses her again and again. Soft and breathless, their lips lay claim to another moment of their second chance at love.


	49. snow day

_I'm in the middle of a blizzard, so here's a little snow-inspired future ficlet._

* * *

"Swan?"

Her lips curve into a smile against the soft plush of the blanket pushed all the way to her nose at the sound of his sleepy voice seeking her out. Waiting until she hears his bare feet hit the bottom of the stairs, she waves her hand over the top of the back of the sofa to reveal her whereabouts.

Ring-free fingers take hold of hers before she can sink her hand back into her cocoon, her already chilled skin warming from his touch and the ever present affection in his gaze.

"What are you doing down here, love?"

His voice is deeper in the morning, gravely and completely unguarded. She wonders sometimes if she loves him most when he first wakes, but knows in reality she's just falling _more_ in love with him on each new dawn of this life they have embarked on, together.

"Look outside…"

There's a giddiness simmering in her chest as she watches him shift his attention to the window, her smile widening as his eyes register what has happened overnight and his jaw going comically slack.

"Bloody hell…is Elsa back, or do we have another ice queen on the loose?"

"I wish it was Elsa, but no, just a snowstorm."

Obviously sensing the hint of longing in her voice as she spoke of her friend, she feels Killian's fingers tighten around hers as he continues to take in the sea of white that has overwhelmed over their landscape.

"I don't recall ever seeing this much snow in all my years."

"I'd try to explain global warming to you, but…"

"Warming? But, it's snow…and I'm bloody freezing?"

She really doesn't have it in her to give a lecture on climate change. What she wants is to burrow against his bare chest beneath her fuzzy blanket and kiss those adorably confused lips between naps and Netflix binges. It's time to introduce her pirate to what it means to take a snow day.

Giving his hand a small tug, she lifts the side of her blanket up in invitation.

"It's pretty cozy under here, care to join me?"

His head dips down to brush his lips over the back of her hand before he releases it, the sweet gesture still managing to rise a flush in her cheeks despite the many places on her body those lips have explored in far less innocent endeavors. As his pajama pant clad legs come into view by her head, she presses against the back of the couch to give him room to stretch out beside her. Free of his brace, the smooth end of his wrist comes to rest between her shoulder-blades as he folds her up in his arms, the soft hair on his chest tickling her nose as she finds a comfortable position. Once settled with the blanket covering them both, she presses a smile into his collarbone and lets her gaze fall back to frosted edges of the window as her fingers trace snowflake designs on his bicep.

"I hope you didn't have any plans today."

His fingers slide further into her hair at that, gently moving between her curls as he so loves to do.

"Nothing that could top this, love."

Lifting her chin, she sees him looking down at her and it only takes a quick glance at his lips for him to meet her halfway. Not needing more than this, they share a sweet, gentle kiss, lingering for only a moment before reclaiming their previous positions. As his hand continues its path amidst her tresses and her fingers cling tight to his side, she can feel her magic begin to tingle to life beneath her palm. The love she has inside, it's too much to contain.

His arm tightens around her back as his skin soaks up the warmth of her light, his hand in her hair never faltering as he continues to stroke, never flinching. As the last flicker subsides, she feels his lips press a soft kiss to her forehead and his soft whisper of "I love you, too."


	50. a kiss can say more than words

_**Prompt: Do you think you could write a lil drabble about what happened after the cs kiss in 4.03?**_

* * *

"If there's one thing I'm good at, it's surviving."

Her lips curve into a fraction of a smile at his words as the burden of her worry for him finally spoken aloud falls from her shoulders like a heavy shroud. With eyes, reddened with unshed tears, she sees the moment his devotion turns to determination, the scuff of his boot along the pavement between them the only sound he makes as he moves.

She never knew how much could be communicated through a kiss before him. But as his lips claim hers, she can feel the words he longs to say.

_I love you._

_I'll never leave you._

_Trust me._

Feeling unburdened and safe in his arms, for the first time she lowers her walls enough to really listen. Obliging her need to get closer, she seeks his waist beneath his jacket, his hand in her hair tightening as her fingernails sink into the worn leather at the back of his vest. Tiny pinpricks of heat spread from the cradle of his fingers along her scalp, every single one of her nerve endings beginning to spark with awareness as his mouth urges hers to follow into a deeper conversation.

The first brush of his tongue against hers feels like a question, the curling of hers into his open mouth an answer enthusiastically given. A groan of satisfaction from deep in his throat joins the sounds of leather moving against leather and the rumbling of tiny pebbles rolling beneath her boot as his arm around her waist lifts her to her toes. Her surprise pulls her lips from his on a slight gasp, giving them both a moment to breathe before she leans back in, not ready to stop speaking now that they finally started.

Pulling his lower lip between hers, she does her best to say as much with her kiss as he has with his. She holds on tighter than before, her palm sliding lower to the curve at the small of his back to hold him steady as she seeks the taught strength of him with the cradle of her hips. They both gasp at first contact, the evidence of his arousal fitting against the warmth pooling between her thighs both too much and not enough at the same time. His thumb is slightly rough by her ear as he pulls her back towards his mouth, her hand that had been gripping the leather at his side seeking and finding the curve of his jaw as the kiss resumes in earnest.

"Hey, Mom!"

She's so absorbed in the kiss that she doesn't even hear Henry calling from the top step of Granny's. It's Killian's sudden retreat from her lips, one she chases blindly for a moment, and Henry's voice, only closer this time, which finally prompt her to move. Killian's arm tightens for a brief second before releasing her waist, his rings catching a few strands of her hair as she steps too quickly out of the tangle of his embrace.

"Uh…hey kid?"

She feels like a teenager who's been caught making out with her boyfriend, which isn't too far from the truth, if she were to allow herself to think of her relationship with Killian in any sort of traditional terms. But when the man whose tongue was just down her throat is dressed in head to toe leather, with a hook for a hand, traditional just isn't a word that comes to mind. Glancing quickly in Killian's direction, she sees that he looks to be as off balanced as she is with the pointy tips of his ears a deep scarlet and his usual steely gaze directed at something near the toe of his boot.

Henry's voice is a bit unsure as he speaks again, making her feel even more embarrassed and dizzily off-kilter.

"Um, I was wondering if I could get a ride with you back to the loft?"

"Sure, I was just…heading there…"

Henry cuts off her rambling by turning towards Killian, the mischief she sees in his eyes signaling a scheme already forming in her son's entirely too active brain.

"Hook, are you coming with us?"

Her eyes widen at the suggestion and she moves to speak, but Killian beats her to the punch.

"No, lad, I'll be heading upstairs to my quarters. I bid you and your mother goodnight."

Killian's eyes meet hers over Henry's head as he bows slightly at the waist. She wishes she knew what to say, what to do, but she's completely frozen with indecision. The smile he bestows before he turns to walk away tells her he understands, or at least, that's what she hopes she's seeing.

"Hey, I'll call you if we find the Dairy Queen."

His stride falters slightly at her words, but he doesn't stop, sending his reply over his shoulder as he disappears around the back of the building.

"Aye, love. _I'll_ be sure to answer."

She can hear the hint of sarcasm in his voice, a gentle rib at her not picking up his call from earlier in the day. He'll never know that she plans to keep that voicemail forever, his frustrated grumble too adorable to ever delete.

"Mom, you ready?"

_Oh yeah, Henry._

"Let's go, kid."

It's not until they're both buckled in and her bug has rumbled to life does Henry finally speak.

"So, you and Hook…"

"I meant to talk to you about that."

"Mom, I'm pretty perceptive. I knew something was going on with you two."

"I know, it's just…I'm not sure…"

"You're dating."

"Well, no, I mean, we haven't, not yet."

God, she can't even formulate proper sentences. She's really not good at talking about her feelings and discussing something like this with her son, totally unchartered territory.

"He's waiting for you."

That statement has her pulling to a stop. Turning in her seat, she meets Henry's all too knowing gaze, the sheer depth of truth her kid has just spoken making the slightly chilly air feel heavy and charged with possibility. Henry's smile, full of reassurance and understanding, manages to make him look far older than his 11 years.

"It's time for another mission in Operation Cobra, Mom. You need to ask Hook out on a date."


	51. sunshine and rain (spoilers)

_This Underworld reunion headcanon has been plaguing me for weeks and I finally had a chance to put it to words. This is based on various spoilers (A&amp;E saying that 5B will be reminiscent of S1, the CS filming spoiler in the rain, etc…)._

* * *

After the first few days, he stopped trying to leave. Each step leading him right back in, facing the same walls, entering the same empty rooms, grew heavier with the weight of hopeless eternity. This warped version of the home he'd chosen, once a bright possibility had become his prison. The door opened to a familiar view, white picket fence, short clipped grass the color of her eyes, but it's all an illusion. Some dark magic, or oncoming insanity (probably both) has him trapped, the outside turning in each time he's attempted to cross the threshold.

It's at the end of the first week that he notices the pattern. The rising moon, ever changing in life, is frozen in death. Curved into a crescent, the shadows have yet to shift, the stars, the clouds, each night the same as if time has yet to pass. But the sun always ascends, shielded from view by the gloomiest of clouds, waking the same birds, at the same time, on the same tree. The world here, under, it's his worst nightmare. An endless loop spent in what was to be their home, alone, forever.

Three weeks in, he stops looking out the window. He's lost all belief in ever seeing anyone again. No one has passed by on the street, not at dawn, or midday, dusk or any time in between. The telescope is there, but like everything else, with blackened lenses, is only there to taunt. It matters little, as the ever present fog makes it impossible to see more than a few feet past his fence. _Their fence_. No, it's only his now. It was never theirs anyway. It was his idea, and then hers, now his.

He stops counting days. The bed upstairs becomes his sanctuary, spending days under the covers in and out of sleep, hoping to find her somewhere in his dreams. When he wakes up warm, he knows she's been there, even if he can't remember. His eyes crack open to bone chilling cold more often than not, the black quilt he's burrowed beneath like ice and his muscles painfully cramped. Its torture, but he takes what he can get, never knowing when the warmth will finally be gone, only that one day it will.

This morning he's warm, so blissfully heated he fights to stay under, refusing to open his eyes. He's sure he's won the battle when he hears the birds, their morning song something new, too alive to be real. Lost in his dream, his eyes open to the bright rays of the sun, impossibly peeking through the crack in the curtains. Reaching out, he flinches at the heat beneath his fingertips, the dark fabric of his quilt having soaked up the heat of the incoming light. Unused muscles strain as he moves to stand, joints cracking as he crosses to the window to draw back the curtains to view the world his subconscious has created.

Heavy droplets are falling on the grass, that rare magical mix of sun and rain, where it feels like everything is possible. The fog has lifted and he can see for miles, even swears he can spies movement in the distance, a passing car, smoke in a neighboring chimney. Curiosity leads him down the stairs and to the front door, wondering if his dream world will finally let him leave. Closing his eyes, he turns the knob and pulls the heavy door open and stands there just for a moment, listening to the blissful sound of the raindrops hitting the porch. It's as beautiful as anything he's ever heard, until…

"Killian!"

The red of her jacket is the first thing he sees, the vibrant color almost painful to his eyes after too long in his shadows. But then he sees her face, her tears evident even with rain plastering her hair to her cheeks, her lips trembling in wait of a response.

No sound comes when he tries to speak, his throat dry and clenching, the sight of her even in his dreams a blessing and a torture. Swallowing hard, he tries again.

"Emma?"

The sound of her name from his lips has her running towards him and he towards her, the fact that he's able to leave the house barely registering as her arms come around him and he's crushing her with the strength of his embrace. He knows this is just a dream, that she isn't actually here, but she feels…_she feels so real_. Leaning back, he threads his fingers through her wet hair and guides her mouth to his and nearly cries at the first touch of her lips. Rain is soaking them to the skin, but he's like a man possessed, desperate to keep kissing her, afraid she might disappear. She starts to pull back and he can't help it, he grips her tighter, tries to kiss her harder.

"Killian…"

"No, please…don't go, not yet…"

His fingers tangle further in her hair as he stumbles forward, but her hands at his back fist into his shirt and she gives a forceful tug. His forward momentum halted, she brings one of her hands to his face and pushes his rain soaked hair from his eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere, Killian. We came to take you back home."

He begins to shake his head to refute her, but then he feels it, the hum of her magic pulsing against his cheek. The raindrops glitter in the space between them as they catch the light from her palm, and in that instant, he knows this isn't a dream. Reaching up to cover her hand with his, he leans forward to rest his forehead gently against hers.

"Emma…_how_?"

"I'll tell you everything once we get back to the group. Let's get inside and dry off, and find your hook…and your shoes."

Looking down, he can barely see his socks through the grass and mud, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he laughs. Emma looks at him with a confused smile, but soon joins him, laughing along with him as they run hand in hand back towards the house. As they reach the threshold he stops, the reality of stepping back inside again ending the happy moment almost as soon as it began.

"What is it?"

"Before you got here, I couldn't leave this house. Each time I tried, I'd end up right back in the hallway like some bloody labyrinth with no way out."

Her fingers tighten around his and she steps inside in front of him, urging him to follow with a gentle nod of her head.

"You got out today. Things are changing, Killian…"

"Because of you, Emma."

"Maybe…I don't know?"

It's the tinge of insecurity in her voice that leads him forward, his basic instinct to always support her stronger than his fear. His feet leave mud tracks on the hardwood as he steps inside to face her, his free arm pulling her close so he can press a kiss to her temple.

"I believe in you, love."

She relaxes against him and they just hold one another for a long moment, their wet clothes dripping in puddles at their feet. Finally feeling like himself once again, he can't help the next words that seem to fall from his lips all of their own accord.

"If I'm wrong, Swan, we'll just be stuck in this house together forever, with a very large bed."


	52. cleansing (part 2)

_Future fic set after Emma finally finds Killian in the Underworld..._

* * *

Silence descends as the door closes behind Snow, leaving them alone in this Underworld version of the home they were meant to share. As she looks around at the gray tinged walls, his fingertips, sticky with his own blood, tighten against her knuckles as if he's afraid she will let go. Doesn't he know that there's nothing that could rip him from her side, not now, not ever again?

She turns to face him and cups his cheek, thankful for her magic's ability to heal his wounds, the physical ones they can see at least. The blue of his eyes are vibrant against the sea of red left behind, no longer swollen but still full of so much pain.

"Do you have the energy to walk upstairs so we can get you cleaned up?"

Leaning further into her hand and closing his eyes, he gives a slight nod of his head in response. Anger boils hot inside of her at seeing him so broken, but she knows he doesn't need the fire of Emma the Savior tonight. _He just needs Emma._

He leans heavily against her as they climb the stairs, following her lead to the bathroom, the master one he's never seen. When he doesn't remark on the size of the bed as they pass it, it really sinks in how bad of shape he's in. Bloody and battered, his clothes fall one by one against the once white tiles, his hook and brace falling with a thump atop the pile. When he's completely bare he reaches for her, shaking fingers tugging lightly at her beanie until it slips from her hair and onto the floor. Hating the vulnerability she sees in his eyes as his fingers clasp the lapel of her red jacket, she steps a foot closer and helps him shrug it from her shoulders. She hears the shaky breath he releases as the leather hits the floor and it almost breaks her.

As quickly as she can, she sheds the rest of her clothes, keeping her eyes locked to his until she's stripped to the skin. In this breathless moment she suddenly realizes that it's only with Killian that she still feels strong without her armor. She silently hopes she can share some of that strength with him tonight when all she wants to do is collapse in his arms.

Reaching down, she takes his hand in hers and leads him towards the shower, not letting go as she adjusts the knobs and waits for the water to warm. As steam begins to fill the room, she urges him beneath the spray and he lets out a deep sigh as the hot water hits his skin. Stepping as close as she can, she tilts his head back and runs her fingers through his hair, his blood finally leaving his body in swirls and rivers around their toes. Just as she begins to turn to grab the shampoo, his arms clamp around her waist and he pulls her in close. It's not until his chest is pressed tight against her breasts does she realize he's crying.

When her palm comes up to hold the back of his head, he breaks fully as his sobs wrack his body and his tears begin to cleanse them both. She wants to cry with him, until his lips begin to move against her cheek and she hears the words he's struggling to say.

"You shouldn't…not for me… don't deserve…"

It's all a jumble, but she gets his meaning and she can't bear to hear another word. With both hands she lifts his head from her shoulder, making sure his face is out of the stream of water so he can see her clearly. His eyes, now bloodshot from his tears, open slowly but widen as he undoubtedly sees her expression of fierce determination.

"Killian, if it was me, you know you'd have done the same thing. It's my turn to fight for you."

"But, Emma…what if you never get home?"

Removing her hand from his jaw, she reaches down to pry his arm from around her waist so she can grab his hand and press it over her steadily beating heart.

"I know you hate when I use expressions from my world, but you're just going to have to deal with this one. Home is where the heart is. When you left, you took mine with you. Here, now, with you, I'm finally _back_ home."


	53. arm in arm

_Just a baby bit inspired by the __CS filming photos__ from last night, but not set in that moment, instead some random time in the future._

* * *

They've done this, walking together and talking, since the very beginning of their relationship from distrustful foe to forever companion. Their journeys have covered the tree lined paths of the Enchanted Forest to the thick jungles of Neverland, the depths of the Underworld to every corner of this mystical town they now call home. Each step taken has been a thread that has woven their bond into this unbreakable force, an oceans deep love bound by desire, friendship, understanding and respect.

Fears have been forced to the surface, bluffs called, fights won and lost. They've concocted plans that have failed, prevailed, twisted and crumbled, together in partnership no matter the outcome. It's why they still make time for this, sometimes as dawn breaks the horizon, or after a late lunch with greasy fingertips clasped without care. But this time is his favorite, just past midnight when the rest of Storybrooke is abed and it feels as though the town is quieting just for them.

It's been months since the last crisis, making him slightly weary of impending doom, his eyes constantly scanning for Grumpy around every new corner. The prevailing feeling, however, is one of contentment and perhaps, on this night, a bit of youthful recklessness. He hasn't let them get far, the scrape along his knuckles from the last wall he pushed her against a less than gentle reminder of his antics. The sweet chocolate flavor from the shake she'd refused to share lingers on his tongue, the remnants melting now on the sidewalk behind them. He hadn't meant for her to drop it, truly. His need to kiss her had simply overwhelmed her coordination, her protests turning to sighs against his unhurried exploration of her lips.

Now, back on their path to nowhere in particular, all he can think of is finding the next corner, some secluded nook where he can kiss her again. He looks to her to gauge her mood, hoping to see a similar inclination. He's momentarily distracted by tip of her tongue disappearing between her lips, the sheen of moisture left behind making her bottom lip glisten deliciously in the glow of the streetlight. Their eyes meet briefly as her gaze falls reflexively to his lips in return, this dance one they've mastered (perfect partners and all that). This time he lets her take the lead.

The knowledge that Granny could sniff them out at any moment only charges the air around them, doesn't deter him from cupping Emma's breast over her shirt the second her thigh pushes between his legs. At some point they'll go home, bring this evening to its proper conclusion in their bed, but for now, this is all they need. Other nights they can deal with sacrifices and declarations, true love confirmations and resurrections. Tonight, he just wants to kiss her senseless and steal a few touches, revel in her desire to do the same. With her teeth nipping at his lower lip and his hand sliding further towards the gentle curve of her backside, he refocuses his mind on the task at hand. Aiming for love marked skin and clothes slightly askew, he twists them until her back is pressed to brick, adding another to the growing collection of scrapes along his knuckles.

Later, _much later_, with bodies spent and consciousness fading, he feels the ghosting of her healing lips along those same battered knuckles. He stops her before the last mark disappears, whispering that some scars are worth keeping.


	54. glimmer of hope

_Underworld reunion spec ficlet..._

* * *

He's always thought himself to be strong of will; having lived as long as he has one must be. But facing this River of Lost Souls, he can't help the feeling of longing to give in and finally be rid of this torture. He could endure this torment if he was indeed mindless as Hades has promised, stripped of all thoughts of the ones he loves…the _one_ he loves most.

_Emma._

The flicker of fight left within him bears her name. Even now, as his consciousness fades and the tingling of his limbs settles into numbness, that tiny flame manages to burn on. From the sliver of sight remaining behind his swollen eyelids he can just make out the ghost-like figures swirling in the putrid water below. Some seem to be calling to him for help, others offering an invitation.

As everything extinguishes to black he wonders if he will remember her, if there is in fact a dimension where he will not know the love of Emma Swan and love her in return.

_This question is not allowed an answer._

It's all light, blinding and beautiful and for a moment he believes that he is in the arms of an angel, his long, torturous life finally having found its end.

He's not wrong, about the first.

Cradling him tight is _his_ angel, his Emma, his Swan. The light is emanating from her palm as it hovers over his face, each merciful second providing a clarity of vision as the swelling begins to subside. With limbs still like dead weights and a throat too worn to speak, he clamps his eyes on hers in a silent, desperate plea.

The salt of her tears heal the cracked skin of his lips as she complies, the warmth of her mouth against his bringing life into his bones and a pulsing surge in his veins. He doesn't know if it's magic, True Love's kiss or something else. All he knows is he finally has the strength to lift his hand to her cheek, the voice to breathe her name against her lips.

They stay there together even as a steady rain begins to fall, the fate of his soul firmly back in the healing hands of his savior, never to be lost again.


	55. the end or the beginning

THE END OR THE BEGINNING…

_A/N: I really meant to write fluff, sorry. Some angsty spec fic ahead for 5X15..._

* * *

She's a realistic person. Not one to get caught up in fanciful notions or sweeping romantic moments no matter who her family may be, Snow White and Prince Charming and the fairytale of it all. More of a _prepare for the worst, don't expect the best kinda gal_, she'd felt herself ready for any possible outcome.**  
**

She was wrong.

Finally alone with him, she had hoped for things to change, his distance, his sadness, and worst of all, his silence. But since they've been sitting together on this couch, she can count the words he's said to her on one hand. "Go ahead, Swan." _Well, less than one hand_.

With brows furrowed tight, he watches the movement of her hand as her magic does its work, healing and cleaning and setting things right with each pass of her fingers over his skin. When his eyes shut and she feels him lean a bit into her palm, she soaks up the contact, unconscious or not, he's seeking her out and she needs it more than he must realize.

It's over too soon and not soon enough, her magic not powerful enough to heal the wounds inflicted beneath the surface of his newly restored skin and mended leather.

"Killian, please talk to me."

"I don't want to hurt you, Swan."

"Whatever you need to say, I need to hear it. I can handle it."

_Lie._

The heavy knock on the front door feels like a stay of execution.

Killian rises with her and she protests, but he shakes her off, mumbling something about needing to move around and not feel so confined. The hurt she feels at that is hard to ignore.

Although somehow familiar, the man towering in their doorstep is a stranger, but not for long.

"Liam…"

Too shocked to find her voice, she steps aside and watches as the two brothers move together to clasp arms, the younger incredulous and the older brimming with a confidence she can't help but envy right now. She can hear them speaking, but her eyes are glued to Killian.

His smile is so pure and full of everything she's been hoping to see from him since his rescue, transforming him even more than her magic from moments before. But this smile, it's not directed at her.

As Killian embraces his long lost brother, an unwelcome, foreboding uneasiness begins to flutter deep in the pit of her stomach. She wants to be happy for this reunion, for Killian, for Liam who will finally be given a chance to have a proper goodbye with his brother before they leave the Underworld.

She just wishes she could escape the feeling that she may be facing Killian's reason to stay.

/

He isn't, not really. He's just another choice. And standing here as night falls around them, with tears falling from her cheek, she finally realizes what she has to do. She has to let him choose.

She tells him she loves him.

She tells him she's sorry.

She tells him she understands.

It's breaking her apart from the inside out as each word passes her lips, but he she can see in his eyes that he knows she is speaking the truth.

He doesn't reach for her as she leaves. One step turns into two, into four, into ten, until she's running, running until her tears can't be distinguished from the rain slashing against her cheeks.

With no real destination in mind, she stops.

She waits.

/

She feels it before she knows, a tug on the tether that's been guiding her down here, to him. It's a tug, but not a pull, a silent nudge in the right direction.

So she begins to walk. One step turns into two, into four, into ten, until she sees him. And he sees her. And then they're running, finally back in the same direction.

He tells her he loves her.

He tells her he's sorry.

She tells him she understands.

It was all about choice and when given the chance, he chose her.


	56. kiss me again

_Because that kiss was perfect, but I still wanted more…my take on what happened after. (5X15 spoilers)_

* * *

"Wait, wait…"**  
**

His smile widens as she whispers in the limited air between their lips, hoping he understands her request as he leans back in to kiss her again. As her hand on his elbow urges his arm back around her waist and her mouth opens beneath his, he feels himself sinking into the surreal reality of having her back in his arms. Emotions he's finally allowing to unfurl are now pouring out in waves, but his love, his everything, his Emma, she stands tall against the tide to welcome him home. He's so overwhelmed that he knows he should take a breath, but he can't stop his lips from moving against hers, not when she tastes so real and so full of light.

There is no room for darkness between them anymore.

She gives his lungs a reprieve as her lips pull back, his leather caressing hers creating a faint crackling sound as they sway and tilt, always forward, ever closer. The sudden press of her hand against his cheek causes his eyes to flutter shut, the warmth and love he feels in that simple touch something he feared would be forever lost. Her thumb presses with purpose at his temple, creasing his skin as she urges his eyes to open and once again find hers.

"I'm sorry, Killian."

He doesn't need to ask to know what she means. This moment can't be taken away from her by him protesting, asking why, or declaring that she has nothing to be sorry for. They both do.

"I'm sorry, too, Emma."

He knows there is more to say. Perhaps, one day, when they aren't fighting the ruler of the Underworld, or whatever villain has set out to uproot their lives, they'll have time. For now, he just needs this, a moment to hold the woman he loves and the strength she gives as she holds him in return.

For now, this is more than enough. He'll be damned if he doesn't make the most of it.

With renewed purpose, he leans back in until her lips are a mere breath away and her hand is buried back in his hair, anticipating what's to come with the gentle drag of her fingernails against his scalp.

"I love you, Emma."

"And I love you."

He kisses her this time with all the passion he can muster, groaning as she accepts the first sweep of his tongue and her fingers tug lightly at the shaggy ends of his hair. It's only the knowledge that Henry could come upon them at any moment that stops him from turning and pressing her against the sheet covered furniture at his back to ease the ache having her so close has wrought. His entire being pulses with a sudden need to seek comfort in her body in desperate hope of erasing memories of the torture he's had to endure.

There'll be time for that, he has to believe, he has to hope.

Her hand slides around his waist inside his jacket to grip the material of his vest, her fist pushing down against the small of his back as she leans her hips just a fraction of the way forward. It's too much, too many points of contact. Pulling his mouth from hers on a heavy breath, he folds her up in his arms and buries his nose deep in the side of her neck. As he wrestles with his control, he feels as she begins to soften against him. Her fist, unfurls, fingers widening and sliding up to settle along his spine in a gentle hold. Moving his fingers from his grip at her waist he reaches up to mold his hand against the soft skin at the back of her neck beneath the golden curtain of her hair.

He would swear that time has come to a stop, that the world has paused it's turning to allow them this one, peaceful moment.

This is how Henry finds them. His presence becoming known not by some annoyed remark at finding his Mom in an embrace, but instead at the light touch of his hand to Killian's arm. When his eyes meet the boy's, there is a moment shared there, too. A moment wherein Killian finally allows himself to hope, no…_to see_ how much love Henry holds for him as well.

He doesn't pull Henry into the hug, no matter how much his open emotional state has him wanting to. It's a near thing, though.

A very near thing.


	57. sharing the burden

_Because all of the little touches and hand holding and just…the constant contact between these two just speaks to my soul…_

* * *

The walk back to the loft is a quiet one, with David obviously lost in his own thoughts and Regina leading the way with Henry on her arm. They're a rag tag bunch; a bit beat up by all that's transpired so far, but reinvigorated in a way by Snow's departure and her unwavering faith in this family and the mission ahead.

_Family…_ It's something he isn't used to having, but he's quickly beginning to realize how much he's needed to find himself as part of one. The burden he carries for the decision all of these people made to come down here to save him is still heavy, at times so oppressive he has to fight to keep his composure intact. Thankfully, the weight feels somewhat lightened since being able to thank David and their shared plan to find a way to get Snow back home having succeeded. As he looks ahead he wonders if perhaps some of it has actually been shifted to David's shoulders instead. Letting someone share your burden…where has he heard that before? He is apparently slow at learning to take his own advice.

"Thank you…"

At the soft sound of her voice, he looks to his right to see Emma peering up at him with that lone tear she can never seem to hold back adorning her cheek. Luckily, he knows happiness to be the cause of it this time around. Releasing her hand, he snakes his arm around her back to pull her into a hug. The fluffy cuff of her hood tickles his nose until the strength of her returned embrace knocks it from her head to fall back along her neck and over his arm. He takes a deep breath of the cold air and holds on tighter, thankful that she seems to crave these moments of comfort just as much as he. It's a needy thing, the slide of her fingers between his or the press of her hand in the crook of his arm, the warmth of her body resting against his on the small sofa in the loft or in her bed during their futile attempts at sleep. His heart, not really there in his chest, it just aches for her touch.

Perhaps it isn't an ache? Despite not really believing yet that he wholly deserves it, he's come to terms with the fact that Emma Swan is his True Love, in that magical way that he's still trying to understand. And this knowledge has made him ponder what that really means, how her heart is now, possibly, somehow sustaining them both. So, perhaps this pull is his soul simply needing that heartbeat, a desire to share in the rapid thump when she's afraid or the quiet thrum when things are calm? All he knows is he doesn't truly feel whole when she's not there by his side. And though they haven't spoken of it, he can only imagine how torn apart and empty she must have felt after he died, leaving her alone and without her other half. It was torture for him, more painful than anything Hades had inflicted.

He needs to say the words more, so he does.

"I love you."

With her cheek resting beneath his chin, goosebumps erupt in the wake of her breath caressing his bare throat as she reciprocates with her own declaration of, "I love you, too."

He continues to hold her a moment longer before pulling back to seek out her lips for a soft kiss. It's a quick and gentle touch, but he swears he feels a flutter where his heart should be when she kisses him back.


	58. sun-kissed

_happy future, sun-kissed Jolly Roger cuddling..._

* * *

She can feel the subtle change in the breeze the closer she to gets to the water, the salty air a scent she's come to love thanks to a certain pirate. Despite being early summer still, the lack of clouds gives nowhere for the bright rays of the sun to hide. Given how brutal the winter can be here she can't help but cherish these warm months, especially when things are quiet. By things, she means villains, ne'er-do-wells, wicked witches and psychotic headcases.**  
**

Three weeks and none of those have made their appearance known…yet. She's determined to enjoy the reprieve as long as it lasts.

Knowing Killian was planning to let the sails out to breathe, she still finds herself awestruck at the sight of his ship in all its glory, the ancient beauty as intricate and journeyed as the man who captains her. Expecting to see him somewhere on deck, Emma is surprised to be met with only the sounds of the water lapping against the hull and Killian nowhere in sight. The wood of the gangplank seems to creak with awareness as she steps across it, as if the magical ship is welcoming her aboard. Her Captain has certainly trained her well.

Kicking off her sandals on deck, Emma looks around once more before making her way to the hatch, hoping to find him somewhere down below. The wood beneath her feet on the stairs is almost slick with wear, edges worn down to curves, something she's familiar with herself. As she steps into his cabin she sees the shirt he was wearing when he left this morning draped over his chair, the old pirate one she told him would be too hot today that he wore anyway. Looking to her left, she finds her mark. With one leg falling off the side of his bunk and his mouth hanging slightly open, he is deep in slumber.

As she draws nearer she can see the sun-pinked glow of his cheeks and nose, as well as a triangle of red along his chest from where his skin was exposed thanks to his barely buttoned shirt. Captain Hook, the most fearsome pirate to ever sail the high seas, is gloriously sunburned. Sunburned and completely adorable. Crossing the rest of the way to his bunk, she leans down to grab his ankle so she can lift it back onto the bed and hopefully make enough room so she can climb up and join him in his sun-induced nap. He stirs a bit at her touch, but doesn't wake, a testament to how much he obviously overworked himself today. With his hook and brace already removed before he collapsed on the bed, she wraps her hand around the edge of his wrist resting atop his stomach as she curls up against his side on the entirely too narrow bunk.

It's as she's running the pads of her fingers along his scarred skin that he finally wakes, his surprised grunt short lived and quickly replaced with a contented sigh. Lifting her eyes to his she sees he's barely conscious, his lids drooping heavily and a soft smile of hello curving his lips. She leans in to press a light kiss to his shoulder and smiles against his too hot skin when he drops a kiss of his own to her forehead.

Not wanting to disrupt this quiet moment, she makes a mental reminder to teach him about sunblock later (the sun here must be stronger than it was in the Enchanted Forest, climate change and all that). For now, she's just going to let herself while away the rest of the afternoon here, next to her pirate who's already fallen back asleep.

An hour or so later when she wakes to his pink-tipped nose and sun-chapped lips trailing down between her breasts, his fingers slowly unbuttoning her shirt to further his path, she decides that perhaps she will just have to while away the entire night here as well.


	59. treasures

_Just a warm, snuggly blanket of future fluff for your Saturday reading…_

* * *

There is little sound to be heard beyond the occasional drip of wax hitting wood, tiny sparks popping from the near burnt down wick by their bedside. Shadows from the flame dance along the planes of her back, golden waves caressing the ivory curves. He can't help but wonder if she is in fact an angel, a guardian sent to guide him towards the light, this perfect creature who chose to stay once her mission was fulfilled. From all he's seen, he can't rightly disregard the possibility.

Her skin is still warm to the touch, the flush of spent passion lingering beneath his fingertips along her spine. Pressing his palm flat, he lets his hand rise and fall with her deep breaths of slumber, hoping not to wake her with his need to touch. He rarely falls asleep first, not wanting to miss the moment she succumbs. There is something intoxicating, fulfilling, knowing he is the one she has chosen to share her life, to share her bed and her home. In breaking down her walls, she exposed his, helped him see that he is worthy, that he can hope and dream and want the life she's offering. Ever the pirate, he has taken it.

His treasures are no longer of silver and gold, rubies or emeralds, unless you count the sparkling green of her eyes or the kiss swollen red of her lips. His bounty is now made up of moments, this one no less spectacular than the last. A pirate captain who once craved adventure, now marks his conquests by days free from harm, nights such as this with soft breaths and hands reaching towards him in sleep.

The last flicker of the candle sputters out and he closes his eyes, his hand curving about her waist as he places a soft kiss to her forehead facing him on their shared pillow. She stirs only slightly, her arm tightening around his scarred wrist she has cradled against her side. The action threatens to unravel him, tears of unbidden happiness prickling at the corner of his eyelids at her utter acceptance of all that he is, all that he was, all that he has yet to become.

Having been granted a second chance by the Gods themselves, he reaffirms his vow to be the man they saw, the man she helped reawaken from his slumber. As his body relaxes, he knows his heart is wide awake, his soul cleansed along with the lives saved by his actions below. As sleep pulls him in its grasp, he whispers his love for her into her hair, hoping she will hear the words somewhere in her dreams.


	60. proof of life

His lips are raw, the back of his ear scratched, the line of his cheek bruised, all welcome remnants of the fervor of her embrace and the kisses that followed. Looking at himself in the mirror of his old rented room, he takes stock of the scars, proof of life he is still reeling in the face of. He's here, in Storybrooke, mere feet above his love, his Emma, his friends and his family. Reaching her side would only take a few strides, not the will of a God or some magical miracle. He hopes she is standing tall, the weight of all she takes upon herself undoubtedly heavier than it has any right to be. Her wish to have his return remain between them tonight is right, considerate, but he can't help the ache knowing she is so close and yet still out of reach.

He will wait for her. He will try to rest.

Peeling the wet clothes from his skin he lets the black fabric fall to the floor, wishing he had one of Regina's fireballs to set the clothes aflame. The wet mass of his darkness ends up in the wastebasket by the bed to be disposed of at his earliest opportunity. Drying himself with the hand towel resting atop the small basin sink, he winces as new bruises are discovered, finger shaped marks along his ribs and bicep. He can't help but wonder if her body is similarly marred, a line along her back from where his hook held her too close, roughened skin along her throat from the brush of his beard. Injuries once made with fists and jabs now left in the wake of overwhelming joy. He smiles as he thinks of how much he prefers the latter.

Plugging the talking phone in the electric socket by the bed, he faces it so he can see the display before sliding beneath the cool sheets. It hits him again that he is back in a place where she could call him if she needs him, that he could be there in a moment's time. Thoughts of time and realms and white lights and Emma begin to mingle as he drifts off to sleep, the many days without slumber finally taking its toll.

He barely stirs at the rumble, the chain on the lamp vibrating against the base and the wood behind his head creaking in distress eventually urging him back into consciousness. It takes a moment for him to register that something is amiss, but the yells begin to filter from below and he's on his feet in a flash. He's in a fresh pair of pants and working his arm through a shirt when his phone begins to buzz, sending him vaulting across the mattress towards the sound.

"Emma, love, what's happening?"

"I don't know. Regina and I are going to investigate. I think your resurrection can't be kept between us anymore. I need your help."

/~/~/

It's two more days, one new realm and two portals until he sees a bed again, this time with Emma pressed tight against his side. Sleep comes to them both only after he worships her as he has longed to do, soothing her now healing bruises from their reunion with his lips and words of passion whispered into her skin. The irritation left behind on the sensitive flesh between her thighs, that may become a permanent mark, the taste of her a new found addiction more potent than the strongest of rum. The half moon shapes gouged into his neck he will wear with pride, formed by her fingernails as she repeatedly fell apart against his tongue.

These scars, and the many that are to come, he sees as evidence of a life well lived, a body well loved. His only wish now is to keep one piece of themselves untouched, their hearts, the scars upon which their love has managed to heal not in need of reopening.


	61. family reunion

_Let's consider this an insert in the time jump from the previous fic. A nonnie asked for Killian's reunion with Henry, Charming and Snow_

* * *

In his haste to get down to the diner and be of assistance, he somehow manages to forget that the sight of him may be a bit of a shock. The one benefit of said shock, however, is the chaos that had woken him from his slumber has now transitioned to awed silence as the residents of Storybrooke gape at him with slack jaws and hands covering mouths.

One voice, a quiet one, is the one to break the silence.

"Hook?"

The tears Killian can see in Henry's eyes as the lad moves cautiously towards him seem to be fresh, making him wonder if they are perhaps for him, more likely for the father figure he has just lost.

"Aye, lad. Emma and I had hoped to reveal my…well, my resurrection at a more appropriate time, but the situation at hand…"

The unformed thought spilling from his lips is halted by Henry, the ball of emotions being held back by the teenager spilling out on a choked sob, sneakered feet rushing suddenly forward until he collapses against Killian's chest in a fierce hug. Never having shared more than a friendly knock to the ribs or ruffle of hair with the lad, the surprise at such an action nearly steals the breath from Killian's lungs. At thirteen, Henry has seen more loss than ever should befall a person, and has handled it with maturity and strength well beyond his years. His breaking point, it seems, has finally been breached.

Killian knows not what to do beyond returning the embrace, his hand reaching out to cradle Henry's head gently against his chest.

"I'm so sorry, lad, about Robin. It's bloody unfair."

Henry's voice cracks as he responds through his tears, speaking so quietly Killian knows the words are only meant for his ears.

"Magic isn't what I thought it was. I'm tired of it causing so much pain."

What is he to say to that? He has thought the same about magic for centuries, loathing the darkness and the man who wielded it's powers. He's felt that same darkness permeate his skin, the liquid fire squeezing through his veins and falling from his lips like venom in words aimed at the person he loves most. But, he's also seen the beauty of Emma's magic, the light and brilliance of all that can be accomplished when that power is held in worthy hands. In this moment, however, even with his own resurrection a form of magic in itself, he knows Henry just needs someone to let him know it's alright to be angry and question his faith.

"I understand, Henry, I truly do."

Just as Henry begins to pull back, Killian finds himself face to face with Snow, her own tears falling upon her porcelain cheeks as her hand comes up to cradle his stubbled one. She doesn't speak, instead communicating with her eyes how relieved she is to see him, her trust in the power of True Love being upheld. Henry shuffles from hugging Killian to clutching his grandmother and Snow drops her hand in order hold the lad even closer to her breast. Looking over Snow's head, Killian spies Charming stepping around her, his strong arm finding Killian's bicep with a grip so fierce he knows there will be a bruise left behind.

"Killian, how are you here?"

"Zeus. He sent me back to Emma as a reward for helping to defeat Hades. I think you're stuck with me for the long haul, mate, if even the ruler of the Gods has blessed my relationship with your daughter."

David still hasn't let go, but his fingers relax as a smile curves his lips and his eyes fall to his wife and the young lad in her arms.

"I think it's about time for me to bless it, too. I know you'll make me live to regret saying this, but it's good to have you back…_mate_."

Sarcasm just doesn't seem to be appropriate at the moment, so, with zero reluctance he opts for all of the sincerity he feels in his heart.

"It's good to be back, David. It's good to be home."


	62. we are going home, all of us

_**Some promises just take a little longer to be fulfilled.  
**(future fic based on a headcanon I really would love to see happen)_

* * *

They still travel in a pack, she notices, the oldest at the front and the youngest trailing behind. Their clothes are less shabby and clean and their hair free of knots, happier, but not quite happy. As their small smiles greet the nuns ready to usher them back to the convent she feels her heart drop deep in her stomach. It's not a new thought, but one she's tried to push down and explain away with the constant turmoil that is her life.

She'd coaxed them to help in return for something all children want. But, when push came to shove they'd all ended up in Storybrooke's version of a orphanage, the nuns doing their best to be the mothers Emma had promised them. Perhaps it's time to make good on that promise?

/

Killian joins her the next day, sitting beside her in the bug to watch the boys walk together again from the schoolyard. When Emma's eyes turn to him she's not surprised to see the glossiness of his eyes or the regret furrowing his brow. They've both been here before in one way or another, but he's been an orphan and created one.

This has to be something they both want, something they are both ready for.

His hand reaches for hers over the console and she weaves their fingers together, squeezing until she can feel the quickened pulse of his heart in his palm. He's scared, but so is she. When he turns she can see the decision in his eyes before he speaks.

"Aye."

That's all it takes. One word. One word to set the path of their joined lives down a new path, one that feels inevitable somehow.

/

Henry is ecstatic. Teenage angst forgotten for a moment, the sigh of relief she expels turning into a laugh as his arms come around her in a fierce hug. Killian gets one, too, much to his wide-eyed surprise. Henry's more than happy to see his ever expanding family tree gain a new branch.

/

Even in a tiny, magical town like Storybrooke, it takes a bit of time to sort something like this out. The nuns are meticulous with their paperwork, endless interviews and in-home visits to make sure their house is suitable. Emma has to stomp on Killian's foot to stop him from rolling his eyes at The Blue Fairy's high and mighty speech about "creating a safe environment" for the child. She could really use some self reflection time, but her shadiness is something to be dealt with on another day.

/

It's all worth it when Benedict, Benny for short, steps in between her and Killian and looks up with a timid smile. He's the young lost boy who'd told Emma back in Neverland about Pan's _Thinking Tree_, the one she'd looked in the eye and made that promise almost two years ago.

It's not the promise, or a sense of obligation that has brought her here, though. It's the smile she readily returns, the hand Killian settles on the young boy's shoulder, Henry's excitement as they pull up to the house, her parents waiting in the kitchen with hot cocoa (with cinnamon), the feeling of completion when that mop of brown curls settles his head back on their couch and his shoes fall to the carpet.

_He's home._

Killian's arm comes around her and she leans into his side, his lips whispering, "I love you, Swan" against her temple. Her fingers curl around his hook to pull his arm more firmly around her waist as she leans contentedly back against his chest.

"I love you, too."

/

Henry chuckles at Benny's blush at overhearing the loving sentiments of his new parents behind the couch.

"Don't worry, kid, you'll get used to it."


	63. hot buttered rum

_I'm supposed to be writing something else, but I couldn't focus, so here's some hot buttered fluff… (set in a happy future, cause we know the current plan for hot buttered rum probably got interrupted)_

* * *

His toes are warming in front of a roaring fire, with his love tucked in against his chest and his mouth watering from just a sniff of the spicy sweet aroma coming from the mug in his hand. _This_ is his definition of a perfect moment.

So of course, a mere second later, it spectacularly falls apart.

Emma's sudden hacking cough has her lunging forward, knocking his mug from his hand and its contents straight into his lap.

"Bloody hell…love…are you alright?"

Ignoring the mild burning sensation between his thighs, he presses his hook to Emma's back and leans in to try to ascertain her discomfort. As he gets closer he realizes that her cough has quickly transformed into a laugh and she's trying, and failing, to hide it.

"Emma, what the devil is going on with you?"

There's no anger in his words, merely confusion and a bit of mirth as the situation has definitely veered into ridiculous territory.

Emma's head turns towards him and she almost gets a word out, but then he watches as her eyes fall to his lap and she's lost to her laughter once again. The mug still somehow balanced between her hands is upright, but not for long if she isn't careful. Part of him aches to reach out and grab it before she ends up in the same state as he has found himself, but a much bigger part just wants to sit back and watch her laugh.

So he does. With wet pants and an exponentially widening smile, he luxuriates in the beauty that is a happy Emma Swan. Radiant is the best description of what he sees, all flushed red cheeks and hair tumbling about her in wisps of curls and waves. As the bright green of her eyes finally meets his he mentally stows away this moment as one he will forever cherish and call upon to lighten future darker times.

"I'm sorry, I just…Killian, how much rum did you put in this?"

"Exactly the amount called for in the recipe, darling. I am rather meticulous, as you well know."

If it was actually possible for her cheeks to redden further, he'd wager they would as she clearly caught on to _exactly_ all the ways she would know.

"Did you use my rum or yours?"

"Love, you did not procure rum. I maintain that you were swindled into buying colored water from the thief running The Rabbit Hole. The drink that you are holding and I am currently wearing was made with the finest rum to sail the seventeen seas."

"Don't you mean seven seas?"

"Not with the number of realms I've visited and the years I've been alive. Seventeen is on the low end of my estimations…"

"I forgot, you're like 400."

Too amused to argue at the additional century she has laid upon him, he takes this opportunity to lean in and cup his hand over the top of her mug and pull it from her hands.

"I'll be more than happy to finish yours if you can't handle it…"

Her eyes track the rim of the mug as he lifts it to his lips and the tip of her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip as he takes a hefty swig. It burns his throat as it goes down, the spicy liquor perfectly balanced with the buttery brown sugar. Warm fingers press down on his arm just as he goes for a second sip. Steadying the mug, he shifts to accommodate his love moving astride his lap, obviously uncaring about the rum from his jeans seeping into her thin leggings. She makes a flirty show of grabbing her hair and gathering it over one shoulder before closing her fingers over his on the mug.

"How about we share?"

Too affected by her nearness to form words, he helps her lift the mug to her lips and takes a big gulp of air as she opens her mouth to take a small sip. Her nose crinkles adorably as she drinks and he falls in love with her all over again. A grunt of protest escapes his lips as she pulls the mug fully from their joined hands and places it behind her on the coffee table, both because he wanted more of it and because he thought for a moment she was abandoning her perch on his lap. Thankfully, the latter does not come to pass.

When she leans back in she comes even closer, the tip of her nose just brushing his as her fingers link behind his head.

"Not your favorite drink, Swan?"

"It's okay, but I have a much preferred way of tasting my rum."

His "do tell" doesn't make it from his lips as they find themselves suddenly occupied by a demanding and toe-curling kiss. If Emma Swan wants her rum with a side of Killian Jones, he's more than happy to oblige.


	64. the illusion of perfection

It's in the way he laughs just a little too loud. And how he doesn't complain when she has grilled cheese three nights in a row. She sees it in the spotless sheen of their kitchen counter, the trash bags never hitting more than half full before they end up in the outside bin. But most of all she sees it in his eyes, in the tiny slips when he doesn't realize she can see. When he stops trying so hard to make everything perfect and takes a quiet, calming breath.

He's scared. He's fighting against the hands of her fate by trying to control everything within his grasp. He's exhausted.

Finding him in the kitchen she's not surprised to see the meticulous placement of the plates in the dishwasher, all aligned with precision without a speck of food to be found. His back is to her at the sink, his hook hanging by his side as his hand scrubs with the sponge at something by the drain she can't even see. Reaching around him, she presses her chest along his back and absorbs the startled tightening of his muscles at her sudden appearance. He relaxes almost immediately, but not completely.

"I'm almost finished, love."

She presses a light kiss to the back of his neck as her hand slides down his arm and gently pries the sponge from his fingers. He grunts in protest when she tosses it on the counter, but she weaves her fingers between his and he falls quiet. She holds him like this for a minute, with one arm tight around his waist and the other cradling their joined hands against his chest and she feels a little part of her start to fall apart. She wants to cry at how unfair this is, curse whatever prophecy set her on this path. But she needs to be strong right now so he doesn't have to be.

When he begins to turn in her arms, she lets him and soon she's tucked up against his chest and his hand is in her hair as the day old scruff beneath his jaw tickles her forehead. Her heart breaks a little as he practically folds his body over hers, the breath he expels against her shoulder like a levee failing in an overwhelming storm. He doesn't cry or even speak, just surrenders to the strength of her spine and the love she holds in the arms wrapping him tight. She whispers "I love you" and his fingers disappear further into her hair and his hook digs just a little too hard into the small of her back.

When he eventually pulls back she doesn't let him get far, chasing his lips for a quick kiss that he deepens, eventually dragging her from the kitchen and upstairs to their room. The dishwasher stays open and the trash doesn't get taken out and for the first night in weeks Killian falls asleep first.


	65. never letting go - spoilers

_Missing scene ficlet from Emma's first night home, right after Killian comes back inside from David shrugging of his help with harsh words. (very mild M rating)_

* * *

He's thankful for the door at his back keeping him steady as a lightheadedness overcomes him at the whiplash of emotions hitting him all at once. It was just a few minutes ago when he'd looked around the kitchen at the family sipping at their glasses, smiling and hugging, realizing that he no longer felt like an outsider. There were no sidelong glances his way during that toast, no raised eyebrows from Regina or scoff from David, just a loving look from Emma as if he was the most important one in the room. He's was in this. He had a home, a family larger and more complicated than he ever could have imagined. He finally felt like he had a place in it.

But the words David has just spoken has simply reminded him of how far off he is from ever deserving any of it. Killian's past is something from which he will never escape, but he'd hoped David had seen his attempts to change. Shaking his head, he tries to remind himself that David is on the edge of delirious, overtired and scared. Lashing out is an understandable response in these circumstances. He's certainly done his fair share of that. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs for a moment before letting it out slowly through his nose, a trick he'd taught young sailors feeling their first bout of seasickness on choppy waters. The future he wants, the one taking shape around him, in this house, in every one of Emma's smiles, he'll weather any storm in order to grasp it. Tomorrow, he will step into that tempest, one way or another.

Leaving his coat on the hook and his boots by the door, he heads up the stairs, pausing on the landing when he hears Emma's voice drifting quietly from Henry's room at the end of the hall. The door isn't closed, but he senses the need for privacy and leaves them to their conversation. Once inside the master bedroom, he closes the door and begins to undress, dropping his dirty clothes in the hamper in their impossibly large closet piece by piece. He will do laundry tomorrow, he thinks, wash everything from the time Emma was away as if that can erase the feelings of having her gone. His hand reaches out to feel for the box hidden in the pocket of his leather duster, needing a tactile reminder of all he is fighting for.

He makes quick work of his nightly routine, clearing the kohl from his eyes and brushing his teeth. The cinnamon flavored toothpaste Emma prefers still not something he's quite used to, but it's a far cry better than the chew stick he'd used for centuries on his ship. Emma still isn't back in their room by the time he's slipping into bed, but he's content to wait. The French translation of "The Thousand and One Nights" sits on his nightstand, but he's already read Aladdin's story so many times that he could probably recite it word for word.

Emma appears just as he's pondering reading a different tale in the heavy book and he lets it fall back to the table, returning her smile as she pushes the door closed behind her.

"Sorry, Henry's still a bit ruffled by everything. I'm going to take him out tomorrow, just him and me for some mother-son bonding time."

She looks a bit apologetic, so he does his best to quickly reassure her.

"I think that's a fine idea, love. I'm sure the lad would like to spend some time with his Mom that doesn't involve anything life-threatening."

He winces at the words, but she doesn't see it, as she's just stepped into their closet and out of sight.

"Well, we're going canoeing, so I can't make any guarantees."

"Lifejackets please, Swan."

Her grumble of _"I know, Captain"_ sets his cheeks into a wide smile and he leans his head back against the headboard as flurries of anticipation tingle beneath his skin. This is the first moment they've had alone since her return and he longs to feel her in his arms and say things only meant for her ears to hear. When she reemerges from the closet she's in one of her overlong nightshirts, the material so thin he can see her every curve as she moves towards the bathroom. He has to grip the sheets to stop from himself from vaulting from the bed to follow. As the sound of her brushing her teeth filters through the door, he turns to look at her pillow, remembering how he'd held it against his chest as he'd tried to sleep the previous night. The absence of her like a puzzle missing its central piece.

"Hey, you okay?"

Doing his best to unknit his brows, he nods at her as her hand reaches to turn off the bathroom light and she finally makes her way to their bed. He's so anxious that he lifts the quilt and sheets for her, earning him a shy smile as she crawls in beside him on her knees. Those same knees end up on either side of his lap as they both move at the same time, her hands gripping his cheeks as he steadies her waist. Her kiss is like magic, each brush of her lips releasing tendrils of worry and longing from his soul. The skin of her back is covered in goosebumps beneath his fingers and he shudders against her mouth, her responsiveness to him never failing to surprise even after all this time.

Her head dips slightly and he takes a breath as their lips part, her nose now pressed to his as she speaks on a quiet whisper.

"I'm so happy to be home."

"Aye, I missed you, my love."

He has more to say, but she kisses him again. It's not until she's beneath him, skin to skin and heart to heart do the words finally come. He whispers "I love you" against her lips as he moves within her, slowly, with such tender care that he hopes she can feel the depth of his meaning with each gentle slide of his body over hers. She clings to his neck as she climaxes, her sob muffled by her lips against his skin and his own heavy breaths. His release soon follows, slow and steady until the last of his energy is spent and he turns to his side so he can gather her tight against his chest. Emma's asleep within moments, the quick tingle of her magic cleaning their skin the last thing he feels before her gentle snores fill the quiet of their room.

Not wanting to move and wake her from her much needed slumber, he holds on tight, determined as ever to never let her go.


End file.
