Once Upon a Time 1. Butterflies

**AN: So I've _kinda_ developed an obsession with writing Captain Swan. I decided that this will be my place for posting one shots and drabbles for the two of them. Many chapters will be a little out of date, since I wrote a lot of drabbles after episodes at the beginning of season 4 which I've only just started to finish. Ratings will vary among chapters, but anything explicit will have a warning in advance. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**  
**(This first one takes place during 4x04, as a filler to Emma and Hook's evening.**)

* * *

As far as first dates go (and Emma really didn't have much expertise on the subject), it was a really, really good one.

It was all so teenagerish, actually-from David's over-protective-dad schtick to Mary Margret's incessant snapping of photos- but if Emma was being honest with herself, she did kind of get a kick out of having over-bearing parents for Hook to fend off (about a dozen years too late, but it was something, anyway).  
And Emma _felt _like a teenager, complete with the stomach flips when Hook flashed her a cheeky smile or touched the small of her back (It was the closest Emma Swan would ever really get to butterflies).

After dinner, Hook suggested a walk on the beach (seemingly spontaneous, but Emma suspected it was all a part of his grand scheme) and Emma came to discover a shocking yet simple truth: Captain Hook (fearsome pirate) was a romantic. And Emma Swan (total flight risk) really, really liked him for that.  
The stars had come out, the sun long since gone, and Emma was reminded briefly of Neverland as her and Killian strolled through the sand. She mentioned this to him idly, and a wicked grin crossed his face.

"A one time thing, was it?" he teased, and Emma cringed, never expecting that those words would come back to haunt her.

Emma resisted the smile, but it won out after a moment. "I guess I've changed since then." she muttered, half amused and half sincere, as Killian squeezed their entwined fingers.

"We both have, love." he agreed. Emma glanced at him for a moment, but his eyes were on the shoreline. They walked on in silence for a while, content, until Emma gave an involuntary shiver as the sea breeze washed over them. Ever the gentlemen, a frowning Killian shrugged out of his jacket before holding it out for her. Emma bit back a comment, couldn't stop herself from thinking of how very cliche it was, and pushed her arms through the sleeves.

"Thanks," she said instead, a smile still curling at her lips (the jacket smelled faintly of him, sea salt mingling with the scent of leather). Hook flashed a grin of his own at her before reclaiming her hand.

They made lazy conversation, neither paying an excessive amount of attention to the words when their company was particularly distracting. But as they neared the rocks running the perimeter of the beach, Emma heard the unmistakable melody of a song playing. She stared at Hook, recognizing the tune after a moment. Emma didn't for the life of her know how he'd managed it, but the bastard had rigged the song they'd danced to in King Midas's castle.

And Hook was positively smirking (the smug son of a bitch) as he held out his other hand to her. "May I have this dance, Swan?"

Emma couldn't help but laugh (when would the cheesiness _end_?), and the beginning of a protest was on her lips when Hook swept her up into his arms. Their chests pressed together, their hearts beating impossibly to the same rhythm.

And it was all so terribly _corny, _and _ridiculous, _because all Emma could think of was her first and only dance at a royal ball, and how-like that night- she truly felt like the princess she'd been intended to be. That in and of itself was enough to make Emma want to cringe even harder, but damn it if she wasn't nearly floating as Killian twirled her around and around.

It was easy- alone on the shore, with no one but her _totally insane_ pirate to see her- for Emma to welcome the sickening romance of the evening. With Killian's hand tight on her waist and eyes insistent on hers, Emma let herself embrace the (screw it, she'd earned the right to a little cheesiness) butterflies.


	2. Pillage and Plunder

**AN: A little follow up to the last chapter. This was more of what I wanted for the end of their date, simply because I live for over-protective-dad! Charming. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!**

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"Will you go out with me again?" Killian murmurs, eyes wide and blue and expression nervous in a way that does things to Emma's heart. Things which have her torn between wanting to tease him and wanting to kiss him senseless.

She decides on the latter, though, again taking in his innocent expression before pressing their lips together. It's answer enough, she's sure, as they release each other's hands, the need to pull the other closer overwhelming. Emma feels Hook's hands (_hands_, both of them, she was still thrown by that) dig into her back and she doesn't resist the shiver of pleasure which goes through her. The kiss had started out innocent enough (at first it's exciting and sweet like Emma in a pink dress and a ponytail and Hook bringing her a rose and offering his jacket) but then it's suddenly something else as Emma tugs on the tough hairs at Killian's neck. Suddenly there's teeth and tongues and a low grunt caught in Hook's throat. Emma feels her back hit the wall with a not-so-gentle thud and pulls Killian even closer.

And Emma no longer feels like the giddy teen going on her first date, instead like how she actually was at sixteen, with hurried fumblings and making out in places they shouldn't be making out in. She can only imagine her parents right now, waiting on the other side of the door, hearing their daughter _pillaging and plundering_. And Emma knows they should stop before David comes and finds them in their rather compromising situation, but Hook's kissing a trail down her jaw and her better judgement goes right out the window.

They're both breathing heavy, and then Hook crushes his lips back to Emma's with renewed fervor. Emma's certain that her parents must hear them now (they're being so _loud_), and her rational side knows this is going to end badly, with her father initiating a sword battle or something equally ludicrous. But her will power is nothing when up against Killian's lips-warm and soft and _perfect-_or his teeth now nipping below her ear. It's starting to feel impossible for them to separate, until the apartment door is thrown open, and then they break apart immediately, as if David had turned the hose on them. As it is, he's standing there with every bit of fatherly bluster; arms crossed over his chest, bringing himself up to full height, a sharp glare aimed at his daughter and her date.

And it's unbelievable (just like the rest of this ridiculous evening) to the point that all Emma can do is (barely) bite back a laugh. Hook, however, isn't doing quite as well. He makes a poor attempt at a cover-cough, making David's eyes narrow infinitesimally. Emma again feels sixteen under his menacing (mortified) gaze.  
But beneath her embarrassment is something pleasant and warm, due to a father's love and a pirate's kiss. Emma feels the stupid grin on her face before she can stop it, earning an even sharper look from David. "Um." Emma says, quickly forcing the grin from her lips.

David cuts a glance to Killian. "Thanks for walking her home safe, Hook." he says pointedly. "But you should be getting back to Granny's."

Emma resists the urge to elbow her father, settling for a scoff of protest, and it's her turn to glare. "_David_." she says harshly (the spitting image of her mother), the use of his real name letting him know he'd stepped over the line. Hook looks really quite amused (he was probably pleased with himself, the bastard), unfazed by David's anger.

Emma barely keeps in a groan of annoyance (_I'm an adult_, she keeps protesting to herself) as she turns back to Hook. "Goodnight, Killian." she deadpans, and-angry at David, infatuated with Hook-leans up to kiss him once more.

They carefully ignore the strangled sound David elicits behind them. Emma shrugs out of Hook's jacket once they've parted, the kiss brief but leaving them both a little dizzy again. "Goodnight." Killian echoes, taking his jacket. "Night, Dave." he adds mischievously, quirking a brow. Her father doesn't respond, and Hook offers a final grin at Emma before retreating down the stairs.

Once she's sure that Hook is out of earshot, Emma rounds on David. "Seriously?" she demands, venom in her voice. "I'm an adult." she says as she pushes past him into the apartment, but the words are dangerously close to being whiny. Snow's waiting on the couch, a pleasant smile plastered on her face. Emma shoots her a glare as well, forgetting that it's not her mother whom she's annoyed with.

"I told him not to." Snow offers as David comes in behind Emma.

"I'm glad you enjoyed your night." David says to Emma, meeting her still narrowed eyes. "But I didn't need to hear just how _much _you enjoyed it."

Emma groans, embarrassment resurfacing with her irritation. "I can't believe you." she gripes at David, who looks far too pleased with himself. "I really need my own place." she grumbles as she stomps up the stairs. As she prepares for bed, Emma hears her parent's muttering about her looking _happy _and Hook being a changed man. "I can hear you guys!" she informs them grumpily, aware that she's throwing a temper tantrum, and is conscious yet again of feeling like a teenager.

And she practically _was _a teenager; the one she should have been, making out against the front door and being busted by her dad, storming off to her room in a huff. It should have bothered her more than it did, but it was kind of...nice, if she was being honest. There was a goldmine of missed oppurtunity being made up for, here. And Emma had earned this, too; parents to wait up for her at the end of the night, a father ready to strike at the first threat of their daughter's virtue (as if). Emma would never tell them (or anyone), but she sort of liked just having someone _care enough _to ruin her date.

(But there was no way she was letting this happen again, and Emma resolved to look at those apartments Henry had found first thing in the morning.).


	3. Sacrifices

** AN: I hope everyone enjoyed/is enjoying their holidays!**

**Here's a possible first "I love you" scenario. Set at an undetermined point in the near future, maybe after a battle or something along those lines, when Hook does his usual self-sacrificing-for-Emma's-benefit thing. (Chances are there will be a lot of speculation chapters like this one, because I have far too many ways in which I picture their first I love yous). As always, thank you for reading!**

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When she finds him, he's got a flask in his good hand and a serious look on his face. A look which falls away the second she spots Emma and breaks into a smile. "Swan!" he greeted, standing to meet her halfway. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

And she wants to be calm, but she's just not _used _to this. She's never had someone put her first, never had people who loved her enough to make such great sacrifices for her. At least, before the curse had broken; afterwards, all at once, Emma was surrounded by people who loved her. She'd finally been given a family, those willing to put her before themselves...and perhaps no one moreso than Hook.

He's a pirate without a ship, for Christ's sake. He had given up the Jolly Roger, his _home (for God knew how many years)_, just to help Emma return to hers. He'd gone to incredible (though at times drastic and misguided) lengths to be a better man for her, and no words would ever be sufficient to express her gratitude for that. And tonight, like so many times before, he'd put her well being above his own; and yet, this time it was different.

Hook was still staring at her, concern now etched on his face. "Swan?" he repeated, reaching out to her. Emma relaxed the moment his hand touched her arm, his hook resting gently on her waist. She could see the gears working in his head, worry that the battle hadn't actually been won yet. "What is it?"

Emma gaped at him, feeling (and probably looking) like a fish out of water. "I..." she muttered, her chest tight, as if the air had been knocked from her lungs. She couldn't speak, could hardly move the amount necessary to bring their lips together. But when she did, Emma kissed him fiercely, pouring all of her thanks into it- all of _her _into it. She gripped Killian tightly, pressing them impossibly close together while his hand tangled in her hair. He was bewildered but nonetheless enthusiastic, only breaking the kiss when they were both panting for air.

"Don't mistake my curiosity for disapproval, love," Hook breathed gruffly, forehead against Emma's, "But why such fervor?"

Emma tried to slow her heart rate, to get a damn grip on herself. But she'd never felt so much for someone as she did in that moment, pressed flush against Hook's chest, their breath mingling in the space between them. She didn't know if she ever would again.

"I love you." Emma said almost inaudibly. She stared at Killian's lips before allowing her eyes to drift up to his. He looked dazed, tightening his hold on Emma, as if worried she might float away otherwise. Hook stared at her as though he couldn't quite believe she was real.

"Emma," he exhaled, closing his eyes. Her name fell from his lips with that same careful reverence it usually did, like it was something sacred. "I have loved you since that damn beanstalk."

"That long?" Emma joked weakly, still shocked by her own declaration. Hook grinned, opening his eyes to hers. He moved his head back to fully take in the sight of her.

"Not quite." Killian admitted with a small grin. "But there's something about a woman leaving you chained up in a giant's lair..."

"Killian." Emma said, mock-disapproving, and nudged him playfully. She was unable to take the smile off of her face.

"In other words," Hook said, relenting, "it's about bloody time."


	4. The Heart of the Matter

**AN: So here's a little extended version of the scene in the clock tower. I wanted to do a chapter to explain why Emma would have gone all the way to Granny's before returning Killian's heart and to fill in the time between their kiss in the hallway and Emma's talk with Regina. (It turned out more angsty than I intended, but I hope you enjoy.)**  
** Also: Happy (belated) new year!**

* * *

She sprinted for the clock tower ahead of her mother, the only thoughts Emma could register being _Killian _and _danger _and _have to hurry_. When they had finally burst through the doors, it was worse than Emma had anticipated. "Gold!" she cried, taking in the scene: The dark magic from something unknown, expanding over their heads like a galaxy. Killian, staring at her with relief and horror. And there, clasped in Gold's hand, his heart. "Stop!" Emma pleaded, true fear coursing through her.

And Emma didn't stop to think; all she knew as she raised her hands was that she needed to save Hook. But Gold was quicker, his spell paralyzing Mary Margaret and Emma, leaving them immobile but still forcing them to watch the nightmare unfold.

Emma tried fruitlessly to move, to break against the magic which bound her, to do _anything _that would be of use. Everything in her was fighting, trying and failing to save Killian. Even as she struggled, all Emma could do was look on, heart in her throat as Hook's was squeezed in Gold's hand. She felt Killian's gasp of pain like her own heart was being torn from her chest, because she was losing him, and he'd _promised_\- he'd told her he would survive-

And she thanked God for Belle in the next second, Emma making a break for Killian the second Belle and Gold had disappeared with a puff of smoke. The pirate had his heart in his hands, looking at Emma with gratitude and fear. She wondered what had him still looking so crestfallen...he was safe, they were all safe...  
But then she was kneeling beside him, only capable of focusing on the fact that he was _alive_. "Are you okay?" Emma demanded, searching his face. Hook smiled despite himself, though something dark still lingered in his eyes.

"Aye." he affirmed, eyes roaming her face. "Thanks to you, Swan."

Emma shook her head. "Belle's the one who saved you." she corrected. Killian didn't offer a response, only lifting his heart up in Emma's line of sight.

"What do you say, love? Want to put this back in its rightful place?" His gaze was steady as Emma hesitated. She didn't want to risk messing it up and causing some kind of damage. She looked down at her mother, still waiting downstairs (probably trying to subtly give them a little privacy), and then back to Killian.

"Maybe we should find Regina." Emma urged, glancing uncertainly at his heart. "She knows how to do this better than I do."

Killian looked put out by the idea. "Come now, Swan." he coaxed, sweeping back her hair with his hook. "I trust you with my heart. It belongs to you, after all."

Emma smiled despite herself, a little embarrassed as she hoped her mother hadn't heard that last part. "Yeah, well," she muttered, pulling Killian to his feet as she stood upright, "I'd still feel better if Regina at least explained how to, first."

Killian sighed, following Emma as she made her way to where Snow waited. "Is there a wrong way to return a heart?" he argued.

"You really want to risk it if there is?" Emma challenged, raising her brows at him. Killian smirked, relenting, as the three of them made their way out onto the street.

* * *

After Regina had explained the process (which was very straightforward, Hook had smugly pointed out), he and Emma found themselves in the back hall of Granny's. They faced each other, Emma looking on edge while Killian smiled (too serenely for a man whose heart was out of his chest).

"You could just hold onto it for me, love." he jested, indicating the pulsing heart in Emma's hands. She glared at Killian slightly, still concerned she might damage him somehow.

"You can do this." he encouraged, becoming sincere. "Just be gentle-"

He broke off with a groan as Emma shoved his heart through his chest. She felt a tingling sensation through her fingers, then the unmistakable pull of magic. She hurried to tug her hand back out. "Sorry." she said immediately, looking into Killian's stern face, "I just thought if I did it quickly it might be like ripping off a-"

Killian didn't let her finish, his pinched expression turning into one of reverence before he pulled her to him. As he backed her into the wall, hand trailing down her side, Emma couldn't believe that she hadn't realized something was wrong sooner. Because _this _was right, this was Killian, and over the last few days there had been something distinctly not Killian about his kiss. It seemed that the man really put his heart into it.

They parted briefly, noses brushing, as Killian sighed. "I told you, Swan." he murmured, opening his eyes to hers, "I'm a survivor." And Emma felt her lips curl up looking at Hook's own smile. She felt safe for the moment, whole in a way she hadn't in a long time. The content feeling vanished when Killian's eyes darkened again, his body going rigid as he pulled back from Emma.

"What is it?" she questioned, looking at him bizarrely. His heart was back in his chest and Gold had been stopped, so what could possibly have him so on edge?

Killian sighed, knowing he was going to ruin the bliss of his survival. But with his heart returned, Hook knew that he owed Emma the truth after all the havoc he'd reeked doing the Dark One's bidding. "Swan, there's things you don't know about. The Crocodile didn't just take my heart without reason- I'd made a deal with him, for-"

"Your hand." Emma finished. She was nodding, untroubled. "I figured. But it's okay, it's over now. " She reached for him, but Hook stepped back, pushing through what he needed her to hear.

"There's more." he insisted, feeling sicker by the second. All he had wanted to do was be whole for her, be redeemed, yet all he'd managed was to make matters infinitely worse. Emma deserved the truth now, even if it meant he lost her because of it. "The fairies-I'm responsible for that. The Crocodile made me ensnare them in the bloody magic hat. He needed their power to cleave himself from the dagger, and it's my fault they were captured."

Emma reached out to press a palm to Killian's cheek. He leaned into the touch despite himself, raising his troubled eyes to look at her. "But that wasn't you, Killian." Emma reminded him gently. "Gold had your heart, you couldn't have refused even though you wanted to. We understand that, okay? We'll fix whatever we need to."

He wanted to trust her words, but Hook couldn't allow himself to hope when Emma still didn't know the entire story. "Maybe so." he said, moving away from Emma's touch, "But I caused harm before he had my heart. I knew that he was lying to Belle about the dagger, and foolishly thought I could trap him into a deal." Killian paused, wishing he'd never made the damn bargain in the first place. Emma stared at him, waiting expectantly as he continued. "The Dark One had me believe that my hand was cursed. He claimed that because it belonged to the man I once was-" He despaired, knowing now-after all he'd done-that he was still that man. "-it would cause me to lose control." He watched Emma, could see her connecting the dots with his strange behavior the evening of their date.

"Of course, it was a trick. When I wished to remove myself from the infernal hand, he convinced me that only his magic could take it back. I made the mistake of agreeing to another deal."

"Killian." Emma said, shocked by his hurried confessions. She took his face in both hands now, commanding him to focus. "What did you do?"

Killian looked stricken, eyes sweeping over Emma's face. He knew it was likely the last time he would have her so close. "I followed him to a house inhabited by an old man. I held him down while the Crocodile took out that damned hat-" he broke off, remembering the scene with horror. Why hadn't he known better than to threaten the bloody Dark One? "And the man vanished." Killian finished, guilt filling him. "Afterwards, the Crocodile returned my hook and informed me that the hand hadn't been cursed to begin with."

"It was all in my head, Swan." Hook insisted, taking her hands from his jaw. He felt wrong recieving her touch. "I did that to a defenseless man, all for my own benefit."

It was Emma's turn to look stricken. She released Killian's hand, but didn't move away from him. "If you still had your heart, why didn't you tell me then?" she demanded, the knowledge that he'd lied to her hurting more than anything else.

"I would have." Killian promised. If he had to lose Emma, he at least wanted her to know that he'd tried to be better. "But the Dark One had a security tape of us in the old man's house. He'd erased himself from it so that it only incriminated me." Killian stared into Emma's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Emma."

She kept his gaze for a long moment, silence stretching out as Hook wondered what Emma would do next. He wasn't prepared for the way she grabbed at his collar, pulling him into a kiss. She clutched at him as if her life depended on Killian's lips. He let himself return her affections for just a second before trying to push Emma back.

"Love," Killian muttered around her lips, "We should discuss-"

Emma broke away from him sharply. Her eyes were wild, tears pooling in them. "Discuss what, Killian?" she demanded, horrified when her voice wavered. She just wanted to forget about this, to return to their blissful reunion instead. "The fact that you lied to me, and because of that I almost lost someone else I care about?"

"I wanted to be a better man for you." Hook said weakly, meeting her watery eyes. "I thought that having my hand, being whole, might mean I was deserving of you. Evidently, my plans went awry."

"The next time you do something stupid to be a better man," Emma said harshly, "Think about the fact that you already are one."

Killian considered the woman before him. He had just admitted to assisting Gold and entrapping an innocent man, yet Emma's words didn't sound like a goodbye. "Swan, I acted on my own accord. Thinking my hand was cursed gave me permission to act as the cruel pirate again- It's clear I've changed about as much as the Dark One has."

Emma rolled her eyes. "You're not gonna convince me that the Captain Hook I chained to a beanstalk and the guy that I'm standing in front of now are the same person." she declared. She was pissed, and she was hurt, but she still knew that Killian was a changed man. Whatever mistakes he'd made (whatever ones he would make), Emma believed in his redemption. "I know you wouldn't have used the hat unless Gold had leverage. So whether he had your heart or not, the things you did weren't really _you_."

Killian blinked, wondering why the devil she was trying to defend him after what he'd told her. "If you truly believe I'm a changed man," he said carefully, trying to understand the woman he usually read so easily, "then what has you upset?"

"I'm not _angry _because of what you did." Emma corrected, as if he should already know as much, "I'm angry because whatever _motivation _you had- It doesn't change the fact that you almost broke your promise." She went on more quietly, "You promised me you'd survive."

Killian was still bewildered by the way Emma so easily dismissed his actions-did she truly have that much faith in him?-but seeing the hurt in her eyes made him relent. Killian placed his hand against her waist, hesitant to move closer. Emma relaxed into the touch, though, giving Hook the confidence to bring her into his arms. "And I did survive, love. Regardless of any altercations, I'm fine."

"Barely." Emma protested. "If Belle hadn't been there to save our asses, Gold would have crushed your heart." She shook her head to push the memory away. "Jesus, Killian. From now on, you can't be keeping secrets from me."

Hook could feel the relief course through him; she still wanted him, in spite of his mistakes. "I promise you, Swan, nothing but honesty." His heart thumped as she smiled up at him. It felt right when he kissed her again, both apology and thanks on his lips.

"Unless another foe gains possession of my heart." Killian joked, earning a stern look from Emma before she pulled him back in.


	5. Declarations

**AN: This is just a quick (slightly M-rated?) follow-up to my last chapter, because of course Emma wouldn't just leave Hook after he nearly died. As always, thanks for reading!**

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They're laying in his bed at Granny's, arms and legs tangled together, Emma's bare back against his bare chest, when she turns to him and brings up the thing which had been bothering her all evening.

"When we kissed at the station-when the curse was about to hit...You already knew you were going to die." she says, eyes somehow still bright in the near-dark of the room.

"Aye." Killian confirms after a long moment of looking at her, though it's not a question. Emma turns to lay her chest against his, facing him with a dark expression.

"I can't believe I didn't figure it out sooner." she says, and Hook feels the guilt set in immediately. "I _knew _it, too. I _knew _there was something off-"

"Don't berate yourself, love." Killian interrupts gently. "Please." He runs his good hand through her hair, which is hopelessly tangled, and Emma's face softens. "None of the guilt is yours to bare in this circumstance. I was a fool to trust the Crocodile." He can sense the protest as it forms on her lips, so he kisses her, not wanting to ruin the blissful atmosphere as he had earlier. Killian had admitted to all of his transgressions, and yet, miraculously, Emma is here in his arms. He's still amazed by that-the woman's absolute and unyielding faith in him-and humbled, as well. To love Emma, to (perhaps?) be loved by her; it was a form of magic in and of itself. It was something to celebrate rather than spoil by arguing about (now moot) points.

Emma shifts on top of him, straddling his lap now as Killian pulls her tighter into the kiss. They had yet to leave his bed-their gratitude and their relief at having Killian's heart returned landing them there an hour ago-and Emma knew that soon enough they'd be expected by Snow and the others, but the need to stay there for just a while longer was too great. Honestly, now that Emma knew _exactly how good _things between them could be, she didn't expect to be leaving Killian's bed too often in the next century or so.

Killian brushes his hand down Emma's spine, making her shiver and arch herself into him. She cranes her neck as Killian blazes a trail of kisses from her jaw to her breasts. She shifts again, granting him the space to slide back into her, giving a small gasp at the sensation. Emma raises and lowers herself a few times, smirking when Killian gives a low grunt, before the smug look is wiped from her face with a sharp thrust from the pirate. He flips them over, gaining the upper hand, not that Emma can find it in her to object. Killian thrusts deeply, then moves agonizingly slow, making Emma bite hard on her lip to keep from crying out. (It was a burden of being at Granny's, where the walls were thin and where the whole town seemed to be, but one they were willing to bare).

They move gradually for a while (unlike their first encounter just an hour ago, which had been heated and needy and completely _wanton_), until the urgency is overwhelming them both and they take up the rapid (_perfect_) pace again. Emma turns them back over with some effort, pressing her palms to Killian's chest as she rocks against him. "Emma," he hisses, and she loves the way it-her name, her real name, not 'love' or 'darling' or even 'Swan'-sounds falling from his tongue. The friction is just right, and he's hitting _that_ spot, and Emma can barely stand it as Killian grabs for her hips, fire pooling low in her abdomen-

They finish with muffled moans and a final roll of Emma's hips, and she falls against him, laying there for several minutes before rolling off and onto the mattress. Her heart's still pounding (and so is his, a thing which he'd never quite appreciated before) when Killian turns his head to look at her.

"I love you." he declares-sounding more like a vow than anything else-and he'd promised himself he wouldn't say it after sex, wouldn't allow Emma to think it was the heat of the moment, but she was watching him, laying beside him with her hair a mess and face flushed and green eyes dancing- still impossibly bright in the dark. He needs her to know he means it, despite his ill timing, despite the fact that she is naked and beautiful and sharing his bed. He had fully intended to let her say the words first, to wait until Emma was comfortable enough to say them. But he had loved her for so long now, and so much, and he needs Emma to know that above all else, he will never go where they cannot go together.

She considers him for a moment, and Killian can see in her eyes that she's caught off guard. But then Emma kisses him, long and slow and tender, with hands on his jaw and smile on her lips. She doesn't verbalize the return of his sentiment, but the gesture makes things more than clear. It's not the response he'd hoped for, exactly, but it's something (progress, Killian thinks; while it may not be a declaration neither is it an exit strategy). Emma's whisper of _be patient_ echoes in his ears, and Killian decides that this _something _is good enough for him.

When they part, she keeps watching him, silent as she considers how vulnerable Killian is under her gaze. He only allows himself to be defenseless like this with her, Emma realizes, and sees Killian as he is: the former villain, desperately wanting to be redeemed. And his attempts were misguided (he was an _idiot _to think she cared whether he had a hook or hand or none of the above), but they were for her.

He was not perfect and he never would be, but Emma loved him (though she couldn't say so quite yet)- deals with Dark Ones aside.


	6. Resolutions

**AN: So I'm obviously late to the party with this one, but I couldn't resist the urge to write Captain Swan on New Year's.**

**Thank you to everyone that's reviewed/followed/favorited so far!**

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She was awake before him, for once. Emma propped herself up on one elbow, considering the (usually rises-with-the-sun) pirate still asleep beside her. It wasn't that it was late, actually, but that Emma was up far earlier than she was accustomed to. Typically, she rose when the sun was already shining brightly through her window, turning to meet Killian's long-since opened eyes.

Today, though, she was up at what was barely dawn; the first few rays of sun were just peeking over the horizon. Emma hadn't intended to be awake at this hour, but the excitement of what the day (and night, to be more specific) entailed had kept her from sleeping very restfully.

It wasn't that she had always been a huge fan of New Year's. In fact, for most of her life she'd dreaded the holiday (it was hard, as an orphan, to get into the spirit of a holiday dedicated to friends, family, and hope for the future), finding copious amounts of alcohol to be the only highlight. Now, though, Emma could get into the spirit. She allowed the excitement to wash over her, knowing the day would be spent with the family and friends she had once yearned for (and would never need to again).

This year had been a good one, though (ice witches and curses aside), especially as it drew to a close. Storybrooke had been particularly quiet these past few weeks (a very long calm before the inevitable storm), and Emma was enjoying it as best she could. There was always danger lurking around here, but Killian had been right to suggest that they savor the quiet moments. And this year, she'd had her parents, her son, and her pirate there every step of the way; in quiet moments and loud. Emma wanted to celebrate that, just as much as she wanted to kiss the year goodbye. While there had been many good things about this past year, for the first time in her life, Emma felt ready to embrace the one that would follow. She knew that whatever it brought, she'd be prepared with her family by her side.

A family which had begun to include the man beside her, now stirring awake with all the grumbling of her teenaged son. "Swan?" Killian asked immediately, voice low and hoarse as he blindly reached for her hand.

Emma took his searching fingers in her own, a small smile crossing her lips. "I'm here." she assured, amusement and something sincere coloring her voice. It was still new, waking up with him there, first thing. _Her and Henry's _new apartment had quickly become _their _new apartment. Killian opened his eyes at last, peering up at her. A laughed bubbled out of Emma at the sight of her clearly still sleepy pirate. "Shouldn't you be used to waking up at this hour?" she teased, squeezing his fingers, "To 'swab the deck', or something?"

Killian snorted at that, turning his face back into the pillow. "Your realm has spoiled me, love." he explained, voice muffled. "It appears I've lost my touch, no longer having a purpose for waking at the crack of dawn."

He looked back her, eyes narrowing. "And why exactly are you up, Swan?" he questioned, suspicious of the gleam in Emma's eyes. "While I may not rise as punctually as I once did, I'm fairly certain I've always woke before _you_."

Emma smiled again, an irrational glee filling her. "Too much excitement." she said, pressing a kiss to Killian's lips. She laid back down beside him, the grin still on her face.

"I can see that." Killian quipped, amused. "And what occasion is it which has you so eagerly awake?"

Emma released his hand, moving closer until she was nestled against his chest. Killian had a fleetingly moment of appreciation for how affectionate his Swan was in the morning. "It's New Year's Eve today." she explained, tilting her head up to him.

The words gave him some inkling of what the holiday was in celebration of, though Killian didn't quite grasp the reason for Emma's giddiness. "And there will be a celebration, I presume?" he asked lightly, curious about the festivities but not wanting to appear entirely clueless.

"Yes, there will be a celebration." Emma confirmed with another bright smile. Killian grinned in return, finding her enthusiasm infectious. "Most of the town's going to be at Granny's tonight for the party my parent's planned." Seeing the questions beginning to form on Killian's lips, Emma went on, "New Year's is a big deal in this world. People dress up, go out with friends and family, and get wasted. Then at midnight, there's usually fireworks or confetti or something big like that. Couples kiss as a way of bringing good luck for the new year."

Emma could see Killian considering this information, smirking at the last part. He decided against asking what confetti or fireworks were, presuming he would find out later that evening. He couldn't deny that he liked the sound of drinking and kissing, though. "In that case," Killian said warmly, "I do look forward to ringing in this new year with you, Emma."

She grinned at the sound of her real name, moving back slightly to bring their lips together. If the the night ended as well as it was starting, Emma could already call this holiday a success.

* * *

"Are you nearly ready, Swan?" Killian asked gently, entering Emma's bedroom at Henry's prompting. The two of them had been waiting in the living room for twenty minutes by that point, impatient to get to Granny's and let the evening begin. "The lad's getting restless-"

He stopped upon seeing her, leaning into the mirror before turning to face him. "Well?" Emma prompted, smirking at Killian's slack jaw. She'd worn the red dress specifically with him in mind, calling their first dance to back to memory. She'd even gone as far as to do her hair up as it had been that night, pulled back into an intricate bun. She was pleased with herself now, seeing his reaction; Emma had wanted Killian to remember the evening as she did, as one of the fonder memories of their year. (The plunging neckline and low back had just been an added bonus).

"You do cut quite the figure in that dress." Killian said after a moment's hesitation, collecting himself enough to cross the room. Emma smirked at his words and he pulled her into his arms, kissing her in spite of the bright red lipstick she wore.

"There's one more thing." Emma said, squeezing his arms as she pulled away, turning back to the mirror. She plucked something off of the dresser beneath it, presenting it to Killian. It was a thin silver chain from which hung a swan-shaped charm, embedded with a small ruby. Killian recognized it as the necklace he'd given Emma as part of her Christmas present, and felt his heart warm. Wordlessly, Emma turned her back to him, craning her neck meaningfully.

Killian placed the chain around her, clipping the necklace together before pressing a kiss below her ear. Emma whirled back around, offering a tiny smile. "Now I'm ready." she said, making her way to the door. Killian caught her arm with his hook, gently pulling her back.

"Just a moment, Swan." he requested, looking at her seriously. Emma raised her brows expectantly as Killian reached behind her, tugging the pins from her hair. She felt the blonde locks tumble down her back and looked questioningly at Killian.

"Much better." he said simply, quirking a smile before exiting the room, leaving Emma to wonder for a moment why she found the gesture so charming.

* * *

"Well, it's fair to say that the she-wolf has outdone herself." Killian complimented, taking in the sight of the diner along with Henry and Emma. The place had been decorated extravagantly by Ruby, both colorful lanterns and white lights left over from Christmas strung all around. The room was awash with silvers, whites, and golds-from the candles on each table to the streamers and stars hanging from the ceiling.

The restaurant was nearly filled, most of Storybrooke's patrons already in celebration mode. Emma spotted her parents, seated at their usual booth with Ruby and, to Emma's pleasant surprise, Belle. She pointed them out to Killian and Henry, the latter saying something about finding Regina and taking his leave. Emma frowned slightly at Killian. Regina had been in mourning, having lost Robin once again, and while it was hardly Emma's fault this time around, she still felt the guilt creep through her. Emma hated the idea of Regina spending the holiday alone with her misery, and hoped silently that Henry would convince her to join in on the party.

Killian rubbed his hand along her back soothingly, leading Emma to the table where David and Mary Margaret sat.

"Belle," Emma said immediately after scooting in beside her mother, "I'm so glad you decided to come out tonight." Since banishing Gold, Belle had withdrawn from everyone, even leaving the library unopened while she mourned the (for lack of a better word) loss of her husband. Emma was pleased to see her out with friends, evening looking a little happy, and wished the good mood would rub off on Regina.

Belle smiled, though it didn't completely meet her eyes. "I'm glad I did, too." she agreed, glancing around the table. "Ruby was rather persistent, and I'm...actually having a nice time."

"You deserve it." Emma said sincerely, touching Belle's hand for a moment. Emma would always be grateful for what the woman had done. Had it not been for Belle, Killian would not be sitting with them now.

Belle nodded, a little embarrassed, as the others recalled her heroism. Everyone in town appreciated what she'd done about Rumple, and acknowledged how hard a sacrifice it had been. Sensing Belle's discomfort, Ruby changed the subject.

"Snow." she said pointedly, "You were just about to tell us your resolutions."

Killian glanced between the two brunettes, quirking a brow before looking at Emma for explanation. "New Year's resolutions. You make a sort of list of things you want to accomplish in the New Year."

"Or things you want to do differently." Snow added helpfully. She looked down at Neal, somehow asleep in her arms despite the noise. "For example, one of my resolutions is to be a better mother."

The others looked at her, a bit surprised. David touched his wife's arm, concerned. "You're already the best mom Neal could possibly have."

Snow looked sheepishly at Emma, the meaning of her words becoming evident. Emma felt her face heat up, knowing how guilty her mother still felt for how she'd acted the day Emma's magic had gone haywire. The memory didn't bother Emma too much anymore, but hearing Snow acknowledge it did make her feel better.

"What about you, Charming?" Ruby asked after a moment, switching her eyes between her friends.

David was thoughtful for a moment. "I'd say my biggest resolution is to keep the town safe." he admitted, placing a hand on his son's head. "I don't want anymore curses in 2015."

"Good luck with that one, mate." Killian scoffed, drawing the table's attention.

Ruby smirked. "Then what's you resolution, Captain?"

Emma looked at the pirate, curious herself. She hadn't thought much about her own resolutions, having never really made any in the past.

"Appreciation." Killian said grandly, hardly missing a beat. "There's always some bloody threat looming over this town, and I resolve to enjoy the quiet moments in between." He shared a loaded look with Emma, tucked into his side, and winked.

"Emma?" Ruby was about to ask, but was interrupted when Granny summoned her to help fill the drink orders. Emma was relieved, not sure what her answer would have been. It was something to think about, though. What _did _she want to do differently?

The night passed in a blur of noise and drinks, Emma rather enjoying the company of her tipsy pirate. She was rather enjoying all of it, actually, which was a welcome surprise. She moved around the room, mingling with everyone and even partaking in a few drinking games.

"How unbecoming of a princess." Killian had teased when Emma beat Leroy at shotgunning a beer. Emma had rolled her eyes and ordered another round. 

Ten minutes before the ball dropped, they found themselves alone, leaning against the bar. The party was taken outside when too many guests had arrived to be contained in the diner. Emma and Killian had hung back, though, wanting to find a moment of quiet before they were swept back up in the festivities.

"Enjoying the party?" Emma asked, leaning into Killian. They were buzzed but not quite drunk, and she could feel the alcohol (as well as Killian's body heat) warming her.

"Aye. For a stern, elderly lass, the Widow Lucas certainly knows how to throw a party." Killian jested, grinning at his Swan. Her face was flush and her eyes just the slightest bit glossy, something about it incredibly endearing.

"I'm pretty sure it was Ruby's doing." Emma corrected, amused. At the mention of her name, Killian recalled something he'd meant to ask Emma about.

"Swan?" he asked, voice taking on a gentler note, "Earlier, when your parents were sharing their resolutions..." he paused slightly, taking in Emma's wondering look. "What are yours?"

Emma looked Killian over, sensing his genuine desire to know her answer. She thought for a moment about lying, but decided it was best that she share it with someone (particularly Killian). "I only have one." Emma began, and Killian nodded attentively, urging her to go on. "I want to be happy."

He looked at her, not comprehending. "And you are not, now?" he asked, an uncharacteristic nervousness in his tone. Emma smiled ruefully, realizing she had misspoken.

"I want to stay happy." she corrected. "I've spent my whole life waiting for the other shoe to drop, never letting myself get too comfortable somewhere-or with someone-" She gazed at Killian meaningfully, "because I knew it wouldn't last. So, this year I want to change that. I know there's always something waiting to go wrong, but if being the Savior has taught me one thing, it's that I can't live in fear of that next something. That's not really living." she added wistfully.  
Killian held her gaze, awestruck. He smiled after a moment, pulling her tightly to him before kissing her senseless. They only parted, breathing heavily, when the bell over the door jingled.

"Guys!" Henry's voice called from the doorway, a mixture of horror and exasperation at catching his mom and her boyfriend making out, "The countdown's about to start!"

A little embarrassed, a little giddy, Emma followed her son out the door, tugging Killian by the hand. Outside, they found seats at their favorite table, where they had shared a kiss all that time ago (and many kisses since).

Looking down the street, Emma couldn't help but smile. People were everywhere, laughing and talking and (the dwarves, led by a very inebriated Leroy), singing. She noticed her parents standing in the road, Neal swaddled in their mother's arms while David wrapped himself around Snow. Some kids she recognized from Henry's class were running down the sidewalks, sparklers in hand, which were being passed out by Marco and Pinocchio. Ruby and Dr. Whale were leaned against the wall of Granny's, talking quietly to each other, seemingly in their own world. Aurora and Ashley (accompanied by their husbands and their babies, nestled in strollers), had taken responsibility for keeping Belle from being alone. Emma perked up even more when she spotted Regina some ways away, talking with Henry. _She looks alright_, Emma noticed, _happy, even. _

As the countdown began, Emma looked back at Killian. His eyes were already on her, a smile matching her own spread wide across his face. Emma pulled him to stand, wanting to try something.

_ "Ten!"_

"Swan?" Killian wondered, still grinning as Emma closed her eyes, focusing on letting her magic flow.

_ "Nine!"_

She thought about her family, all the times that year she'd almost lost them. All the times they'd found each other again. Her palms tingled, the spell beginning to work.

_ "Eight!" _

She thought of her friends, and all they'd done for her. She thought of Elsa, back home in Arendelle, and how grateful she was to have met her. Small sparks began to shoot from her finger tips.  
_  
"Seven!"_

She thought of her pirate, always be her side, whether in battle or at home on their couch. All the sacrifices he'd made, all the effort he'd put in, just for her.  
_  
"Six!"_

The magic burst from her at last, powerful sparks shooting up to the sky and exploding in flashes of color. Several of the townspeople cheered.  
_  
"Five!"_

Killian glanced overhead at the fireworks, entranced. "Are you- Is that your doing?" he asked, looking at Emma in awe. She smiled in confirmation, knocking  
their shoulders together.  
_  
"Four!" _

He spun her around, pulling them flush against each other. "You're bloody incredible." he said with reverence. Emma wanted to roll her eyes, her face warming under his intense gaze.  
_  
"Three!"_

"They're just fireworks, Killian." Emma protested. Killian shook his head, not breaking their eye contact.  
_  
"Two!" _

"I don't just mean your magic, love." he said earnestly.  
_  
"One!" _

Emma matched his gaze for a moment, then tugged at his collar, crushing their lips together. They heard the pop of a cork as someone opened a bottle of champagne. _Another one down_, Emma thought. She tugged on the hairs at the nape of Killian's neck, feeling his hook at the small of her back, his hand tangled in her hair. They parted for air, breathy laughs elicited from them both.

"Happy New Year, Killian." Emma whispered against his lips, as the sentiment was echoed from the citizens all around them.

"I'm fairly confident it will be." Killian agreed, releasing her hair to cup Emma's cheek. "And may we face it all together."


	7. Charming

**AN: Just something quick and fluffy, because I needed a destraction from studying. (Not sure how much I like this one, but hopefully you enjoy it?)**

* * *

"So." Mary Margaret said, taking a seat at their kitchen table. The loft was unusually quiet, with David at the station and Henry having already left for school. Emma, sitting across from her, looked up from her plate. Snow bounced Neal gently, appraising her other child. "How's Killian?"

Emma took a sip of her coffee, raising her eyebrows over the lid of the mug. Placing it back on the table, she looked suspiciously at her mother, whom looked just a little _too _nonchalant. "He's fine," Emma replied slowly, wondering what angle Snow was playing.

"Oh, don't give me that look." Her mother defended, shifting Neal in her arms. "Can't I ask about my daughter's boyfriend without having some ulterior motive?"

Emma scoffed at the label, not being able to picture Captain Hook as anyone's _boyfriend_. "Killian isn't my boyfriend, for starters. And sure you can ask about him, but my superpower tells me there's definitely an ulterior motive."

Mary Margaret looked affronted. "Emma, you really should learn to believe in others from time to time." Emma gave her mother a look to show she wasn't buying it, and Snow relented. "I want to know how things are going between you two. Is that such a crime?"

Emma sighed. Her parents, particularly Mary Margaret, had been going overboard lately to show just how, well, _parental _they could be. She didn't usually mind (even enjoying it, a little), but lately, between crashing her dates and grilling her about Killian, they were getting a little unbearable.

And she understood, she really did. Emma knew first hand that when you miss the better part of your kid's life, you want to make up for all that lost time. Often she would play the part to appease Mary Margaret and David (and fine, herself). But Emma Swan couldn't pretend to be some lovestruck teenager, even for her mother's benefit.

"Things are fine." Emma assured, giving her mother a sarcastic smile before returning to her breakfast. Snow frowned, seeking more information.

"That's it?" she demanded. Seeing Emma's look, Snow sighed. "Come on, Emma! I missed so much of you growing up. I never got to send you to a ball, or even watch you go to prom. I've never seen you even interested in dating, and now you have a pirate who's in love with you-" she caught Emma's alarmed look, quickly regretting her word choice"-and all you can say is 'things are fine'?"

"Well," Emma sputtered, placing her fork down with a clatter, "What do you want me to say?" She immediately wished she hadn't asked, seeing the spark that lit Mary Margaret's eyes. _Let the Spanish inquisition begin, _Emma thought sardonically.

"Have you two...you know?" Snow asked conspiratorially, covering Neal's ears as if the mere implication of sex was something that would traumatize her precious baby boy.

Emma choked on her next sip of coffee. "Okay, no." she said adamantly. "I know we talked about that stuff before the curse broke, but now, knowing you're my mom..." She shook her head, horrified. She could only imagine what David would say if he were there. "No. If you want me to talk about Killian, we're not discussing _that _aspect of him."

Snow pouted at her bubble being burst. "Fine. Then at least tell me..." She was thoughtful for a moment. "Tell me how he makes you feel."

Emma gave her a disbelieving look. "How he makes me _feel_?" she deadpanned, wishing a hole would open up in the floor. Her mother sure knew how to word things in the most uncomfortable ways possible. But Mary Margaret just nodded, giving an encouraging smile. After a brief stare down, resigned to this change of conversation, Emma considered the question. "He makes me feel like..." She glanced around, unsure how to vocalize her thoughts, cursing Killian and his way with words. "Like I do when using my magic. Sort of...floaty." Emma admitted lamely, feeling her face heat up under her mother's attentive gaze. "And...safe. You know, happy and stuff. Like all the years I spent running were a waste of time- or that all along, I was really just running towards him."  
She stopped short, surprised by her own honesty. Emma hadn't realized she'd felt that way before saying it aloud, and was mortified to have made the discovery with her mother listening intently.

"Oh, Emma." Snow said affectionately. It was a rare, amazing moment to see; the cool, calm side of her daughter giving way to the sincere, heartfelt side. It occurred to Mary Maragret that she was seeing her daughter in love. (Her sweet, wonderful, stubborn daughter). "What else?" she pressed, smiling. "What do see in him?"

Her words held no hint of judgement or contempt, but Emma still eyed her mother skeptically. Seeing nothing but genuine curiousity in Snow's expression, Emma continued. "I guess...He's clever, and he's handsome. He's a gentlemen, if you can believe it," Emma snorted, amused at her remark,"And he's charming, I'm sure you can understand the appeal of _that_."

Mary Margaret grinned at the tease, but refused to be deterred. She gave Emma a pointed look, insisting she go on. With a sigh, Emma did, wracking her brain as she pictured Killian, smiling and idiotic and sarcastic. "And...he cares about me- and about Henry, and you and David...a lot. We have chemistry, or a connection, whatever you want to call it."

Snow could see that there was more, something Emma was afraid to say. Something she probably had yet to even admit to herself, Mary Margaret realized. She felt rather endeared to her daughter -her flight risk of a child- knowing that Emma was terrified. And here Snow thought that _she'd _always be the one afraid of her daughter's love for the pirate.

"What is it?"

Emma glanced at Mary Maragret, a vague smiling lifting the corners of her mouth. "It's probably stupid," Emma warned, talking over Snow's protest of _nothing you say about this could be stupid, _"But, I was thinking and..." Emma half scoffed at herself, still embarrassed but needing to say this, if not for herself than for him. "Do you want to hear how I really know I like Killian?"

Snow nodded eagerly, choosing not to comment on Emma's word choice. _Like_, she thought amused, as though Emma and Hook were two middle schoolers afraid to admit their crushes. Emma stared down at her coffee, not wanting to meet Snow's eyes for fear of losing her nerve.

"For the first time in my life, I'm not waiting for the other shoe to drop."


	8. Home (pt 1)

**AN: I swear that I fully intended for this to be a quick, fluffy chapter. But sometimes the story writes itself, and now it's turned into an occasionally angst-y, multi-chapter deal. This is part one of three or four, depending on how much more inspiration I have. (This first one is more Henry, Snow, and Emma-centric than Captain Swan, but I hope you enjoy it!)**

* * *

"So what do you think, kid?"

Henry pried his eyes from the view to grin at his mother. "It's awesome." he enthused, looking back at the house. "And I told you the waterfront was a good idea." He couldn't resist adding, watching his mother roll her eyes.

"You just have to be such a teenager about this, huh?" Emma joked, wrapping an arm around him. She didn't let herself dwell too much on the fact that he was almost taller than her now (no matter how old he might be, Emma still saw the ten year old that had shown up on her doorstep all those years ago).

"Of course." Henry agreed, smiling widely (he was so _Neal _sometimes). "But seriously, Mom," he went on, his voice softening-however much he had begun to look like his dad, he was still _Henry_\- "Killian's gonna love it."

Emma smiled at that, but the pang of nervousness she'd been feeling all week once again made itself pronounced. She'd been planning the move for nearly a month now, working behind Killian's back to keep it all a secret. (Which was much easier said than done; how many times could she claim to be "washing her hair tonight" before it arose suspicion?)

Yes, her pirate was perceptive. He had to know _something _was up, but Emma just hoped that Killian could be kept in the dark for another day or two. (Also easier said than done; from Marco building their furniture to Leroy and the dwarves being assigned her own personal U-Haul, Emma had enlisted the help of nearly the entire town.)

She was taking this project pretty damn seriously (and being a little demanding in the process, but it was all for the greater good). Emma wanted things to be _just right_ with the house and _just right _with Killian before popping the question. She had never lived with a boyfriend, after all (not in a _house_, anyway, not somewhere other than the Bug), and the prospect that Killian could very well refuse the invitation made her more than a little nervous.

Realistically, Emma knew she was being stupid. Of course Killian would say yes to living together, if only to get out of his room at Granny's (he never complained, noble as he was, but Emma could sense his reluctance to stay there) and have a shower with some decent water pressure. Plus, Emma tried to remind herself, he loved her_. _She wasn't blind, for Christ's sake-though it scared the hell out of her-even she could see that much. Killian hadn't exactly told her yet (not in _those three little words_), but Emma had a hunch that this was only because he was waiting for her to say it first.

And she did love him. She just couldn't quite _tell _him yet, but Emma told herself that this was all the more reason to try living together. Maybe here, in a place of their own, she could. Tell him, that is. Maybe this was just the push she needed.

A push which was largely credited to her son, who had clearly inherited persistence from his grandparents. For months Henry had been urging Emma to find her own place, starting off subtly with leaving apartment listings on the coffee table and eventually building to less sneaky tactics, such as introducing Emma to a realtor Henry had "bumped into". She had finally given in late last month, after a particularly heated goodnight kiss from one pirate boyfriend.

"I really need my own place." Emma had panted. It had been her mantra for weeks on end, yet nothing ever came of the plan (whether because Saviors didn't get much time for checking out real estate or because she was simply _scared_, Emma wasn't sure).

"You do." Killian agreed, equally breathless. He tightened his hold on Emma's waist. She sighed against his lips, pulling back after a moment.

"Your room at Granny's is looking better and better..." she hinted, knowing as she did that it was a moot point. Killian already had first-hand knowledge on how thin the walls there were, and he and Emma had unanimously agreed that they didn't need the whole town hearing their dalliances. Until she moved out of her parent's loft, they were stuck with _almosts _in between villains and interrupted make out sessions in the living room. (Each time the latter occurred, Emma felt more and more like a teenager).

"Or there's always the Bug," Emma added, not for the first time. It wasn't as though they hadn't attempted it before, but the car didn't allow for much, well, leg room.

Killian chuckled, remembering their failed endeavors. "It's merely a 'waiting game', Swan." he teased, throwing Emma's words from one of their first dates back at her. She pinched his arm playfully, feeling incredibly put-out. They were two smart, consenting adults, yet they had nowhere to _take _their consent. "Soon enough, love," Killian whispered, kissing down her jaw, "I'll have you."

Emma refused to shiver at his words, no matter how husky his voice was. She smirked and pushed him back, looking at him through her lashes. "Maybe sooner than you think." she assured. It was getting ridiculous, really, and regardless of her hesitance to move out, well...desperate times called for desperate measures. That night, Emma had marched inside and straight to the newspaper sitting on the kitchen counter. There had to be _something _available for rent.

There were plenty of places, Emma had found, but none of which were the right one. The next morning, her mother and Henry in tow, Emma had finally met with the realtor. The more places she was shown, however, the more bleak her searched looked. All the apartments sounded great on paper, but in person Emma kept finding something wrong with them. The trio eventually retired to Granny's for what should have been a victory lunch, but turned out to be a consolation prize.

"All of this searching," Emma griped, holding up the Classifieds, "And I couldn't find even one apartment I liked."

Snow placed a comforting hand on her daughter's arm. "Maybe you're just being too picky." she said gently, "We can finish up eating and go back out. There has to be one that caught your attention..."

Emma sighed. "I just can't believe we looked at all these places an-"

"That's cause we didn't." Henry piped up, taking the newspaper from his mother across the table. He flipped it around to show the page he'd been studying.

"Henry!" Snow reprimanded, but stopped when she saw the article Henry was indicating. Of all the advertisements they'd crossed out, one remained untouched, a single circle of red ink around it. Emma didn't bother to read it, grimacing.

"I don't know, kid." she said uncertainly, "It's probably just another dud. I mean, I don't even remember circling that one."

Henry read over the paragraph again, a smile lighting his face. "Maybe it's like the book." he said confidently, "When grandma needed it and it just appeared? This place sounds perfect, so maybe it only showed up when you were out of options."

"Waterfront...Two bedroom...Open floor plan..." Snow read aloud, "And the rent is within your budget." She shared a conspiratorial look with Henry. "It does sound pretty perfect, Emma."

Emma gave the two of them an incredulous look. "You guys seriously think that this house, what, just popped into existence? Because I needed it?"

Snow and Henry merely grinned, sharing another glance. "Stranger things have happened?" Henry tried, looking back at his mother. Emma gave a scoff of laughter, shaking her head.

"Alright," she conceded, taking the paper back to read it over, "Magic real estate, it is."


	9. Home (pt 2)

**AN: Here's part two! Once again, it focuses more on Emma/Snow/Henry than Emma and Killian, so I apologize if that's not where your interest is. I promise that the next chapter will contain much more Captain Swan.  
**

**(PS: I wrote a lot more than I planned to, and it seems like this one-shot is becoming something else entirely. So, chances are that I'll end up publishing this as its own separate story. I'm not entirely sure yet, but I'll keep you updated.)  
**

**Thank you for reading!**

* * *

Well, Emma had to admit that her mother and Henry had been right. The place was essentially perfect; from the open floor plan, to the brick interior (which closely resembled what had been their apartment in New York), to the balcony just off the living room that opened to a stunning view of the ocean.

A view which Emma was taking in at that moment, waiting for herself to find reasons to dislike the place. (None were coming to her).

Snow cleared her throat behind Emma, making her presence known before stepping forward to lean against the railing. Emma glanced at her mother momentarily, giving a small smile before returning her eyes to the horizon.

"So." Mary Margaret said, giving her daughter a measured look, "What's wrong with this one?"

Emma breathed in, tasting the sun and salt all around them. It was pretty damn nice, she had to admit. "I keep trying to find something to dislike." she said honestly, "But I'm coming up empty."

Snow didn't respond for a moment. She took in the view as well, shooting Emma glances out of the corners of her eyes. "Well, Henry certainly likes it. Right now he's talking to the realtor about the best way to set up his bedroom."

Emma laughed at that, remembering her son's eager reaction to the house. "I think this may be the one." she agreed, but there was an edge to her voice that wasn't lost on Mary Margaret.

"You don't sound too happy about that," Her mother noted mildly, not quite pushing Emma to talk but not quite leaving it be, either.

"I am." Emma insisted. Sighing, she added, "But something about this just feels...off."

"Something, or someone?"

Mary Margaret knew her daughter too well. Emma shot her a look, but Snow was watching the waves again. It was quiet for a minute, Emma debating whether she truly wanted to talk about it. Evidently, she did.

"I'm still not sure about Killian." she admitted, voicing the name Snow hadn't dared to. "About what we...are."

Snow didn't respond right away, giving only a hum of acknowledgement. She had learned by then that if Emma thought out loud for long enough, more often than not she would solve the problem on her own. And if not, Snow knew the exact moment to jump in with her advice.

"I just don't know if Henry's ready for that." Emma was saying, her face overly-animated; a surefire sign that she was nervous. "Or if _I'm _ready for that. I know that Killian is 'in this for the long haul'-and I'm definitely not planning on running away again-but this thing with us is still sort of new. And I've never lived with a guy, in a house of our own. I guess I'm just...worried it might not work out."

"You're scared." Mary Margaret observed when she was certain that Emma was done for the moment. Her motherly intuition had kicked in, telling her that there was something beyond what Emma was saying aloud. "But it's not just about Killian. What else is on your mind?"

Emma hesitated, recalling her talk with Killian about that 'what else'. They had been talking on the phone the week before, making easy but unimportant conversation, when Killian had asked about her house-moving prospects. He had meant it innocuously, Emma was sure, but the question brought with it a sudden flood of emotion that had rendered her speechless.

"Swan?" Killian had asked, mistaking her prolonged silence for a dropped call. There was a bit of shuffling on his end as he pulled the phone away from his ear, checking the screen.

"I'm here." Emma said when he'd spoken her name again, "The house hunting's hit a bit of a...road block."

She could practically see the way that Killian's eyebrow would raise, his interest piqued. "Of what sorts?" he wondered cautiously, sensing the unusual lilt to Emma's voice. She went quiet again, unsure how to answer. She'd been far too emotional the last few days, overcome with (what she considered irrational) fear at the prospect of leaving her parent's house. And it _was _pretty ridiculous, because she was an _adult_, for crying out loud, and she had lived on her own most of her life, anyway, and she was certainly in need of some privacy these days-

But she was _scared_.

"I don't know." Emma said finally. She still didn't understand it, but she did know that if anyone could decipher the source of her concern, it would be Killian. "Whenever I think about leaving, I just get this sudden fear, and then I can't bring myself to even _look _at the apartments Henry's been scoping out."

It was Killian's turn to go quiet. When he spoke again, his tone was thoughtful. "Well, you're the Savior, love. Your natural instinct is to protect those that you care for...And it appears to me that you have begun to associate that protectiveness with proximity. Perhaps without your family nearby, you worry that any altercations will be outside of your control."

Emma processed that, the sinking in her stomach indicating that Killian had hit the nail on the head. "I think you might be right." she murmured, somehow still surprised by the ease with which he could read her. She doubted that she would ever really get used to being an 'open book'.

"Swan," Killian said, his voice now tender rather than pensive, "You were without your family for a long time. It's only natural that you would desire to be around them now that you have such a luxury."

Now, Emma sighed, looking back at her mother. "I guess I've convinced myself that moving out means not being able to keep you and David and Neal safe."

Mary Margaret turned away from the water, softening at the words. She patted Emma's cheek in an unmistakably _mother-like _fashion. "Emma, we love having you around." Snow said, earnest enough that Emma had to glance away. "But we also love that you're happy, with Henry and with Killian. So if this next step-getting a home of your own-means that you could expand on that happiness, that's what we want for you." She smiled at her daughter, her sincere tone becoming lighter, "And I promise you, your father and I can take care of ourselves."

Emma nodded, letting a laugh bubble out. While she knew her mother was right, it didn't entirely ease her mind. The uncertainty about Killian still remained, leaving Emma to wonder whether this 'next step' was the right one. She wasn't sure, but with all of this in mind, she _did _know that it was time Henry had some say in the matter.

* * *

Back at her parent's loft, Emma kept a close watch on Henry, engrossed in his phone. After walking through the door, Mary Margaret had oh-so-conveniently remembered leaving her phone at the last house they'd visited. She had hurried right back out of the apartment, tugging a bewildered David along with her. (Emma wasn't impressed by her mother's subtlety, but she was glad that Mary Margaret had enough sense to get David out of the house. The last thing Emma needed was her father listening to _this _conversation).

Now, Emma wrung her hands nervously, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Across from her, Henry looked up from his phone expectantly. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he noticed how antsy his mother was.

"Listen, kid." Emma began, leaning her elbows on the tabletop, "You're really ready to move into this new place?"

Henry nodded without missing a beat."Totally." he assured, "It's just what we were looking for, isn't it?"

"Well, sure. What I mean is, I was thinking..." Emma hesitated. She wished she knew how to broach this subject, cursing the fact that she'd inherited Mary Margaret's lack of subtlety. "If you're okay with it, since you and Killian get along, I thought it might be..." She searched for the right word, coming up utterly empty, "_Nice_...If he stayed there, you know, with us." Emma finally let herself meet Henry's eyes. "What do you think?"

"Mom." Henry said immediately, a smile on his face, "Why do you think I only picked out houses by the water?"

Emma allowed herself to grin at that, relieved to know that this detail hadn't been her own imagination. She was a little touched, realizing how much thought Henry had put into their new home; that he had thought to factor Killian into the equation. Her uncertainty wasn't fully sated, however, and she titled her head before going on.

"But your mom's boyfriend moving in...That's kind of a big step, right?" Emma asked. She was just as new to this as Henry was. "Shouldn't you be slamming doors and yelling that Killian's not your real dad?"

Henry let out a laugh, but it held a note of exasperation, making Emma think of David. "I like Killian, Mom. He's cool, for a guy who betrayed us all once. It's nice that he's been teaching me to sail, and that he tells me stories about my dad whenever I ask."

"I mean, it _is _weird." Henry amended, just as Emma had begun to feel reassured, "Since he kind of dated my other grandma. And he tried to kill my other grandpa a bunch of times..." Seeing his mother's look, Henry grinned. "But the point is, even though it's pretty weird, I know he cares about us. That thing I said, about Walsh wanting you and me to be his home? I think that's what Killian wants, too. But for real, this time." he added, recalling the former's turning out to be a villain (of the flying monkey variety, at that).

"And," Henry went on, the serious look on his face again reminding Emma of David, "I know he makes you happy. You smile more now."

Emma scoffed, feeling a rush of both embarrassment and affection overcome her. She gave Henry a sober look, then broke into a grin. "You're pretty great, kid. You know that?"

Henry beamed, proudly. "I know." He stood, putting an arm around his mother. "So are you."


	10. Double Date

**AN: Just a very quick bit of fluff, inspired by the most recent promo/BTS picture. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, check the CS tumblr tag and I'm sure you'll find it there).**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

"Well," Emma said seriously, "Not bad so far."

She shifted to face Killian fully, wanting to gauge his reaction. The pirate shot her a smug grin. "As I told you earlier, Swan, there was nothing to be worried about." His eyes followed Mary Margaret and David's backs as they made their way to Granny at the counter. What had been intended as their second official date had instead become a double date with Emma's parents. (At Mary Margaret's insistence, Killian was later informed. According to Emma, her mother had suddenly become dedicated to "getting to know him better").

Truth be told, Killian felt rather pleased by this information. While David and Snow had yet to entirely warm to him, they had certainly come a long way since Neverland.

"I do believe their Majesties have finally come 'round to their daughter being courted by a no-good pirate." Killian went on teasingly. Emma nudged his arm playfully, equally as glad to have the opportunity for Killian to win over her parents.

"David did leave the sword at home tonight, so I guess that's progress." Emma jested, nestling into Killian's side. She had never been a big believer in PDA, but somehow she didn't mind as much with her pirate. The gestures felt comforting more than awkward, regardless of prying eyes.

Killian muttered something about exactly where David could shove his sword, earning a surprised laugh from Emma just as her parents returned to the table.

"Aw!" Snow gasped excitedly. She reached for her phone and eagerly pointed it at Emma and Killian. "You have to let me take your picture." Mary Margaret insisted, and before the couple could object, the camera's flash went off. Killian blinked (still not accustomed to the technology) and Emma rolled her eyes.

"Didn't we do enough of this on our first date?" she grumbled, remembering her mother and that ridiculous Polaroid camera, as though she was a teenager going to her first dance. "Please, no more pictures."

Mary Margaret pouted, taking her seat. "Fine." she agreed reluctantly. Glancing down at her phone, she broke into a smile. "Oh, Emma. You look so happy." She reached over the table, offering her phone for Emma and Killian to see. The first thing that registered with Emma was her own expression. She _did _look happy, almost ridiculously so, with her eyes squinted shut from laughter and a smile that she didn't recognize. (Emma wondered if she always laughed so _widely_, immediately chalking it up to the glasses of wine she'd had with dinner).

And there was Killian beside her, his grin just as genuine. Emma was surprised by how relaxed they looked, the way she was wedged into his side with such ease.  
They looked like any other completely normal couple in the world, like two Average Joes rather than a pirate and a Savior. Emma grinned despite herself.

"You do look rather pleased, Swan," Killian breathed against her temple, placing a light kiss there. Emma felt her lips curve further up, but swatted his chest indignantly.

"Yeah, well, what about you?" she countered, holding the phone for him to examine more closely. "Who knew that Captain Hook had such pearly whites?"

Killian chuckled, giving his signature eyebrow raise. "My oral aptness aside, love-" (And Emma blushed furiously, because did he really just say that in front of _her parents_?) "-I am not the one appearing to be downright giddy in this photograph."

It went like that for a while, Emma hard-pressed to admit what Snow and David (however begrudgingly) could so clearly see. Their daughter-no matter how long and winding the road had been-was happy, _truly happy_, with the pirate.


	11. Valentine's Day

**AN: Here's a belated Valentine's fic. I had so much fun writing Captain Swan on New Years that I decided to keep up the tradition. (Though this story is set in a separate timeline, one in which Emma still lives at the loft with her parents). **

**As always, thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

Emma Swan had never been a fan of Valentine's Day. Part of this was mere cynicism (a day dedicated to love was hard for someone who'd mostly just felt its absence), but the larger part of it was this:

Sitting across the table from her parents, their smiles wide and eyes glued to each other with an expression bordering on sickening.

Meanwhile, Emma was carefully focused on finishing the rest of her coffee, wishing that Henry would finish getting ready for school and give her an excuse to leave the house. It wasn't that she couldn't appreciate the value of True Love (her parents were sweet, in their own way). What she didn't appreciate so much was the competitiveness of it all; whose husband cooked the better breakfast in bed and who got the most flowers sent to their work and whose engagement ring sparkled the brightest. It was all very superficial, in Emma's opinion.

Even with a pirate of her own to celebrate with, Emma didn't find herself getting swept up in the Valentine's spirit. All she wanted out of tomorrow was a quiet, simple dinner with Killian. She didn't need the heart shaped balloons or the extravagant gifts, and for once Emma was grateful that her boyfriend wasn't familiar with most of this century's customs.

Not that the entire town (her parents being the biggest offenders) weren't eager to inform him. For weeks now, Killian had been receiving advice from the townspeople of how best to "woo" Emma on Valentine's Day. She had finally put a stop to it while at work the day before.

"So here's the thing." Emma had said, shoving her paperwork aside on her desk. She'd been distracted throughout her whole shift, worrying that Killian might take the ideas to heart. (She recalled Leroy's most recent suggestion of lingerie and shuddered, picturing the dwarf's waggling eyebrows).

Across the desk, Killian looked up from his own stack of paperwork. He'd been bringing her lunch every day lately, setting the to go containers down before taking control of whatever task Emma had in front of her. (He would ignore her protests each time, insisting that "even the Savior needs to eat").

"I know everyone has you convinced that Valentine's Day is some huge deal," Emma went on. She stood and came around to Killian's side, leaning against her desk, "But I don't want you to do anything drastic."

"Drastic?" Killian echoed, amusement curling the corners of his mouth. "I'm afraid I don't understand, love."

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "You know, with the gift ideas. I'd rather go without the giant teddy bears or elaborate scavenger hunts."

Killian tapped his lip, thoughtful. "Your parents seem to regard the holiday as a rather important one." he said dubiously. Emma rolled her eyes, having been subjected to hearing one too many of the plans for David and Mary Margaret's "date night". The two of them had hardly talked of anything _but _Valentine's Day for weeks, bustling with more excitment as each day passed, anticipating their night off from their usual duties, both Neal and Sheriff related.

"My parents," Emma objected, "are Snow White and Prince Charming. It would be a crime for them not to make a huge deal out of _any _holiday, let alone one that's all about love." She sighed, placing a hand over Killian's. Emma leaned towards him, giving his fingers a squeeze. "I really, really don't need a gift, okay? I just want a quiet dinner at home."

Killian's heart skipped at her word choice. He placed hand and hook against her waist, pulling Emma closer.

"As you wish." Killian relented. "Though, I do rather like Leroy's recommendation." he murmured, a devious gleam in his eye. Emma tried to look stern in response, but the swipe of Killian's tongue over his lip could only be described as obscene, and she'd never been very good at staying annoyed with him, anyway.

* * *

The morning before Valentine's Day, Killian rapped his knuckles against the Charming's front door. He had taken to accompanying Emma (and Henry, on mornings he had school) to the station before retiring to the docks for a day of his own work. In nicer weather, they would leave earlier to fit in a walk, but with the February chill settling in they'd reserved themselves to taking the Bug.

David answered the door, not surprised to find the pirate waiting on the other side. In the time since they had returned to Storybrooke, Killian and the prince had struck up something resembling a friendship. (A rather uncomfortable one, at first, with David reluctant to accept Killian as dating his daughter; and a begrudging one, later, with David coming to realize that he actually liked the guy, and not just as Emma's boyfriend).

"Morning, Hook." David greeted, sidestepping to let him enter the loft. It was a move which Killian had come to anticipate.

"Your Majesties." Killian said jovially, offering Snow (and a bouncing Neal) a grin as he took a seat at the kitchen table. She handed him a mug of coffee in another gesture that was becoming increasingly familiar. Killian nodded his thanks as the front door shut behind them.

"Emma's checking to see that Henry's almost ready." David explained, returning to his seat. Killian hummed his acknowledgement, taking a swig of his coffee as footsteps barreled down the stairs.

"Mom's looking for her phone." Henry informed, explaining Emma's absence. Upstairs, muffled curses could be heard along with some shuffling, earning a collective chuckle from the four seated at the table.

"So." Mary Margaret said brightly, fixing her eyes on Killian. "What did you get Emma for tomorrow?"

Killian quirked a brow, feeling David and Henry's gazes on him now, too. "If by 'get' you're referring to a present," he said lightly, "then nothing."

Henry and David shook their heads in unison, the latter grimacing as if to say that Killian had made a dire mistake. Mary Margaret appraised the pirate, surprised. "What about all the suggestions we gave you?"

Killian darted his eyes to the stairs, wanting to ensure that Emma wouldn't walk down to overhear their discussion of her. "Emma assured me that she has no desire for a gift," he said slowly, taking in the others expressions, "But from your reactions I can surmise that failing to give a gift on Valentine's Day is considered bad form."

David shook his head again, smiling to say _you poor bastard_. "Very bad form." he emphasized, clapping Killian once on the shoulder. The prince's amused expression fell into one much more somber as he retracted his hand. "Emma's a princess, Hook." he said, his tone intending to be dangerous, Killian presumed, though he thought Dave might need some lessons from his wife in doling out threats.

"And that means that if you're dating her, I expect you to treat her like one."

Killian resisted the urge to roll his eyes, astounded that David had yet to exhaust the material for his fatherly speeches. "Of course, Dave, I'm always the perfect gentleman in regards to Emma." _Mostly, _Killian amended silently, recalling his less than gentle actions with Emma in his room at Granny's the night before.

"And here's the thing you need to understand about my mom." Henry piped up, calling the table's attention. The boy looked just as serious as his grandfather had, and under a different set of circumstances, Killian would have been amused.

"She's not used to people caring about her, or putting her first. So she'll say she doesn't want a gift, because she thinks she's not worth the trouble." Henry gave Killian a stern look, looking startlingly like the mother in question. "But she is worth the trouble, so you need to do something great."

Killian considered this, wondering if they were right. It was in keeping with Emma's personality, he supposed, for her to believe herself unworthy of extravagances (the bloody marvel of a woman, never knowing the full extent of her worth). Before any of them could say more, though, Emma finally stomped down the stairs, looking thoroughly peeved.

She held up her talking phone (found at last) as an explanation of her annoyance. Despite her irritation, Emma gave Killian a fleetingly kiss on the cheek before stalking across the room to retrieve her coat.

Snow leaned across the counter to Killian, dropping her voice to a whisper. "It doesn't have to be something expensive." she advised, far gentler on the pirate than her husband or grandson had been. "You don't even need to spend money, necessarily. But it needs to be something special- something that comes from the heart."

Killian nodded, thoughtful. There were a number of things that Swan might appreciate in that respect, and while Mary Margaret's words did little to narrow down his options, it was a start.

* * *

When the next day arrived, Killian was up with the sun, prepared to set his plans in motion. Despite being up for a fair portion of the night, contemplating ideas for Emma's gift, Killian felt wide awake. The mixture of his agitation and excitement forged a buzzing feeling in his nerves, keeping any vestiges of his sleeplessness at bay.

His idea, having finally taken shape, would require a bit of trickery and more than a bit of coercing. Killian dressed in a hurry and made his way out the door of Granny's, his heavy boots pounding the otherwise quiet streets. Killian could see that the town was just waking up, only passing a citizen or two as he made his way purposefully to the docks.

He was at the Charming's by seven, feeling confident that Emma would not be awake yet. Her parents, however, were most likely enjoying that breakfast in bed they'd been gushing about. Killian felt a bit guilty to be interrupting, but he was sure their Majesties wouldn't hold resentment after hearing his request. It had been them, after all, who had encouraged Killian to do something special.

His next stop was Granny's just a half hour later. After a rushed explanation (and their agreement to help), Killian had left the Charming's to their morning, fleeing when he heard Emma shuffling awake upstairs. He rushed through the back door to the inn, peering around the corner to be certain that Emma wasn't at the diner. Luck continued to be on Killian's side as he realized his Swan was nowhere to be found. He ducked over to the counter, signaling for Ruby.

The brunette approached him expectantly, already writing down his and Emma's usual breakfast order. Killian waved off her notepad, giving a whispered recount of his plans for the evening and following with the favor he needed. Ruby smiled (rather wolfish), and assured Killian that she'd handle it, shooting him a wink at the implications of a romantic dinner with Emma. Killian grinned (somewhat wolfish, himself) and gave his thanks before making his way back out the door.

By nine-with his tasks all but complete-Killian had sent Emma a text good morning and inquired as to her meeting him at Granny's for breakfast. As expected, she reminded him that she was covering David's shift for the day. Emma followed this message with another in quick succession, the second text earning a grin from Killian.

_Where were you this morning? _

He hadn't met Emma for their usual journey to the station that morning, passing up what was often his favorite part of the day in favor of finishing his scheme. A scheme which, if Emma's bewildered presence twenty minutes later was any indication, had been set in motion.

Killian smiled grandly as Emma made her way over to the booth he'd chosen (he'd wanted to dine outside at _their _table, but the infernal cold didn't allow for it). The moment Emma sat down, mouth opened to speak, Ruby placed their plates down on the table. Killian grinned at the waitress, glad that she was going along with the plan. As Ruby retreated, giving another wink, Emma turned her now suspicious eyes on Killian.

"I don't suppose you had anything to do with Leroy being 'mugged'?"

Killian smirked. It had cost him a fair amount of money, but he'd convinced the dwarves to lure Emma away from the station, asking that they fake an emergency that would get her to the diner.

"You know I have to get back to the station, right?" Emma continued, but her objections were only half-hearted. Killian's company and Granny's french toast were a deadly combination.

"Consider it being on patrol, love." Killian encouraged, taking Emma's hand across the table. "We'll enjoy breakfast before you return to work, and then I'll see you at seven for that quiet dinner, as promised." His voice was low and sincere, another deadly combination that had Emma throwing her will power out the window.

"What the hell," Emma said after a moment, grinning across the table at her pirate. "It's Valentine's Day."

* * *

By seven, Killian was at the Charming's door yet again. From what he'd gleaned off of the townspeople, dressing up was an important part of the holiday. As he knocked on the door, rose in hand, reminding him of their first date, Killian hoped Emma wouldn't think his outfit ostentatious.

Evidently, Emma was well aware of the dress code. She opened the door to a rather awestruck Killian as he took in her appearance. While rather beautiful regardless of her attire (he had found her gorgeous in Neverland, for Neptune's sake), his Swan never failed to leave him breathless on the occasions she donned a dress. Tonight it was one of red lace, fitted (very well, Killian might add, trying not to let his eyes linger) at the top and loosening above her hips. Emma, in turn, took in Killian's outfit with wide eyes.

He'd kept the leather pants and jacket (of course), but beneath the dark material was a white buttoned shirt and (God help her) a _tie_. Emma was a little amazed by that, and a little amused to see that, along with this elegant choice, Killian still wore his signature necklace.

"Who did the tie?" Emma teased, not believing for a second that he'd managed the garment on his own.

Killian scratched the spot behind his ear, grinning. "I may have had some assistance from a friend." he admitted, thinking of Mary Margaret's glee when he'd asked for a lesson in this realm's neck wear (cravats existed in the Enchanted Forest, of course, but pirates didn't exactly find a use for them).

"Right." Emma chuckled, "So, where's the dinner I was promised?"

To avoid an altercation in his plan, Killian had told Emma he would be cooking their meal for the evening. (He had feigned offense at her laughter, claiming to have been learning of this realm's appliances through Granny). Now, it was time to enact the final step of his scheme.

"There's been a change of plans." Killian murmured, presenting the rose to Emma. She took it with a smirk, but raised a brow at his words.

"And what would that be?"

* * *

"I thought we might enjoy a walk before dinner." Killian had explained, leading a skeptical yet willing Emma out into the street. She had given a pointed look to her heels and remarked that she wasn't exactly dressed for a stroll, but Killian ignored the objection, taking her by the hand.

Emma grew relaxed as they went, falling into conversation. She wasn't surprised when they found their way to the docks, as it was a place they often walked together. What startled her was Killian's sudden halt in his steps, turning to shoot him a look.

"What are you doing?"

Wordlessly, Killian pulled on Emma's hand, bringing her into the circle of his arms. With a grin, he spun her around to face the water and pointed towards the horizon.

A single sailboat floated on the water, sizable but altogether impressive for other reasons. Specifically, the way it was drifting towards them, no one at the wheel. Emma looked at Killian for an answer, earning a simple "Regina's magic _is _rather useful," in reply.

When the boat reached them, Killian tugged on Emma's hand again, leading her down the pier. Emma moved slowly, as if afraid, but Killian pressed a gentle hand to her back, urging her to step on first. As she did, her grip on Killian's hand tightened.

When she saw the scene before them, Emma let out a quiet gasp. Killian released her hand, stepping back to appreciate David and Mary Margaret's handiwork. The couple had outdone themselves, and Killian was indebted to them for having taken time out of their own holiday to make Emma's special. The deck was alight with candles and covered in a smattering of rose petals, forging a pathway to a laid out blanket Emma suspiciously recognized as one from her parent's loft. She had gone still, blinking at the scene before her.

"I know that you wanted a quiet meal at home," Killian murmured, close behind her, "But I believe that term is one which applies to wherever we're together."  
Emma sighed as she felt Killian's lips graze her neck, his arms wrapping tightly around her middle. She swiveled around to face him, placing both hands against his chest. The steady beat she felt beneath her palm relaxed her, even after all this time, the thump of Killian's heart bringing her an almost magical sense of comfort.

"How?" Emma asked shortly, her eyes softening when Killian flashed a smile.

"I merely recruited some help from the fine people of Storybrooke." he said slyly, earning an eye roll from Emma.

"You didn't need to go to all that trouble." she chastised, running her hands up to curl around his shoulders. "All I wanted was dinner."

"It was no trouble, Swan." Killian disagreed. "Well, it was, in truth," he amended, "But I was happy to do it. You've worked to bring back the happy endings, and it's time that the Savior reaps what she sows."

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes this time. Killian's gaze was intense, and something in his eyes made Emma choke back her protests. She didn't know if she would ever really get used to having people put her first, but Killian was certainly trying his damnedest to make her.

And while she was touched by the effort, Emma couldn't help but think (not for the first time) that Captain Hook was a complete cheeseball.

* * *

(They found their way to the blanket, and Killian presented the picnic basket (a la Ruby) to her and cracked open the wine, which eventually became rum, which eventually became the two of them laying back on the blanket, arms pressed right against each other while Killian pointed out the constellations to her. When he got to Cygnus, his voice took on a wistful note, prompting Emma to force the story out of him, and when Killian muttered that Cygnus, the swan, had guided him during the missing year, Emma rolled over to kiss him).

(When they laid back down some time later, wrapping the blanket around their bare skin, Emma asked that Killian tell her more stories, and as he murmured of the Jolly Roger and of Liam and of Milah, Emma took his hand and squeezed, hard. The words were there in her throat, and she was _trying _to look at him, but it was all too terrifying, and it was too cliche, but when he got to the tale of the Princess and Her Pirate, whispering his own account of their love story, Emma couldn't help herself. She turned into him, pressing her cheek against his chest, and breathed a small "I love you").

(And in response, Killian kissed every inch of her, murmuring affections against her skin, and on her back, looking up at the stars, Emma thought that she might finally understand the hype of Valentine's Day).


	12. Home (pt 3)

**AN: So here's part three (and yes, there will be more). I've decided to publish this series as its own story, so I'll be doing that whenever I post the next update. Until then, enjoy!  
**

* * *

The place was coming together nicely, Emma had to admit. She'd spent the weekend unpacking with Henry and her parents, all while expertly dodging Killian's attempts to spend time with her. (He was growing more suspicious by the day, if Emma's perpetually ringing phone was any indication).

With the actual moving part of the process nearly complete, Emma was filled with a nervous anticipation for what came next. She had to talk to Killian. And while she yearned to show him the house and start their new chapter already, Emma dreaded giving him the move-in-with-me spiel. (She still didn't have even the slightest idea of how she was going to ask him, when the right time was of where the best place would be).

Her final push, surprisingly, had come from David.

They had just finished unpacking the last box into the living room, and Emma stood back to admire their work. "Not bad." she decided, surveying the room. For the life of her, she could only think of their apartment back in New York.

David, standing beside her, nodded his agreement. "It's just too bad that Henry and Snow aren't here to see the final product." Henry was spending the day with Regina and Mary Margaret had had a particularly sleepless night courtesy of Neal, leaving Emma and David to finish the move.

"So." David continued, his voice taking on a grave note. "You think Killian will like it?"

Emma pursed her lips, resisting the urge to cringe as she faced him. "Mary Margaret told you about that?"

David laughed in an almost pained way, glancing over at Emma. "You should know by now that your mother isn't one for keeping secrets."

"So, what do you think?" Emma wondered, shooting her father an apprehensive look. She knew that David and Killian were 'mates', but he'd never fully come around to the pirate dating his daughter. Mostly, they avoided ever talking about it (and for good reason).

David offered a half-hearted grin. "I didn't realize things were that serious between you two." he admitted, terribly father-like, "But the important thing to me is that you're happy, Emma. Even if it's with Hook."

The sentiment (while spoken begrudgingly) was touching. Emma grinned, patting David's arm reassuringly. "Thanks, Dad." she said as a peace-offering, knowing how David always lit up when she used the endearment.

"When are you going to ask him?"

Emma sighed then, having been asking herself the same question for two weeks. "I don't know." she confessed. "I've never done this before. I wouldn't even know how to ask."

David nodded, sympathetic, though there was still an air of awkwardness in the room. Emma felt a little guilty for putting him in the position of having to give love advice to his daughter. She was again reminded exactly why they never talked about her and Killian's relationship.

"Emma, Hook's crazy about you." David said, with some difficulty, "And about Henry. No matter how or when you ask, he'll just be happy that you did. What it comes down to is that you both want to take this next step. If that's the case, then none of the other stuff matters."

And that was how Emma found herself at the station that evening, chancing looks at Killian across the small space of her desk. She watched as he read over his portion of the paperwork she'd divvied up, and Emma was acutely aware that this could be the perfect time to tell him about the house. No interruptions, no distractions, she could just get it over with and ask him.

But she'd rather show him, Emma realized, making her wonder if ditching Sheriff duties for an hour was too irresponsible. The more Emma turned the idea over in her head, though, the more she liked it, knowing that the sight of their place fully furnished and set up and waiting for them would be an offer Killian couldn't refuse.  
He peered up at her then, feeling the weight of her gaze. He quirked an eyebrow suggestively, but his expression softened when Emma continued to stare at him mutely. She could see the concerned _Swan? _forming on his lips and stood abruptly, deciding then and there.

"Let's go on patrol." she suggested in what would have been a casual tone if she hadn't already grabbed her car keys and started for the door. Killian gave her a unsure, measuring look but followed her outside, regardless. Emma hoped he couldn't see the keys shaking in her hand as she locked up the station or started the Bug.

In the car, what would have typically been a contented silence was uneasy from the tension Emma radiated, alerting Killian that something was certainly wrong. But for her sake (because he knew her all too well), he held his tongue as they drove, holding himself back from asking any questions. Killian shot her another concerned look only after Emma drove past their usual patrol route, seeming to have a particular destination in mind.

As she pulled up to a midsized, white house by the docks, Killian's brows furrowed. He had no memory of ever seeing the place before.

"Was there some kind of distress call?" he asked, tilting his head toward Emma. She unbuckled her seat belt and cut the engine, offering only a shake of her head in response. Unease hung in the air, everything silent except for the soft crash of the waves behind them. Emma could tell that Killian was waiting for an explanation, but her nerves rendered her speechless. She took a breath, leaning back against the driver's door.

"I know I've been distant lately." Emma began, "But there's a good reason, and I thought it might be easier to show you than try and explain it."

Seeing no change in his expression, Emma went on. "I found a place."

It dawned on him then, and Killian peered out the windshield with a sober look, seeing the residence in a new light. "So this house..."

"Is mine." Emma finished for him, tilting her head. "Well, as of this Friday, anyway." she amended, trying to catch his gaze again. Killian glanced back at her, his concern dissipating, leaving only a curiosity as to why Emma's nerves clearly hadn't. She gave a half-hearted grin. "Let me show you inside." she urged, pushing open her door. Killian followed suit, coming around the front of the car to take Emma's hand. She led him up the cobblestone pathway, watching him take in the view.

_So far so good, _she thought, noticing the small upward turn of his lips as his gaze swept along the freshly-planted flowers. (She had to remember to thank Belle for those gardening books).

When they reached the front door, Emma plucked its key from among the others on her key ring, realizing as she did that this was a moment. It was their first time walking into (what would hopefully be) _their _place. Simultaneously comforted and unnerved by the thought, Emma forced her hand not to tremble this time. Killian squeezed her other hand, still bewildered by her tenseness but detecting it-wanting to rid her of it-nonetheless.

Emma pushed the front door open, leading Killian through the threshold. She watched his face change as he noticed the fully furnished living room, the tidy kitchen space.

"You've already settled in, then," Killian said, surprise and something else in his voice, something that made Emma's heart clench.

"I wanted to surprise you with the final product." Emma explained. It was admittedly true, though for a more meaningful reason than Killian believed. He had no idea how much his reaction meant to her, how important it was that he liked the place.

In another fit of nervousness, Emma began to ramble about the house, reciting the spiel given to her by the realtor days before. Killian was amused by her uncharacteristic babbling, the flash of his smile in the dim light making Emma relax a little. He _did _seem to like the place, commenting on certain niceties with what Emma assumed was genuine appreciation. Leading him through the hallway, she pointed out her (_their_) bedroom and then Henry's, absently explaining the rest of her decor plans. Killian listened intently, nodding along and offering up his own suggestions. It made Emma smile, hearing him talk about the house, blind to the fact that it was his future being planned just as much as it was her and Henry's.

When they had exhausted all the rooms, Emma felt her anxiousness flare up again. She knew that there was no more putting it off and led Killian back out to the living room, deciding to bite the bullet.

"I saved the best for last." Emma informed him with a faint smile, leaning against the balcony doors and grasping both handles. "Ready?" she asked, excitement and fear making her heart pump faster. Killian nodded, finding her barely restrained enthusiasm really quite endearing. Emma gave him a measured look and opened the balcony doors, urging Killian to follow her back out into the cool night air.

She saw the awed, wistful look cross his face as Killian's eyes took in the view; he hadn't noticed before just how close the building was to the water. Now, he drank in the sight of the waves crashing to shore, filled his lungs with the familiar aroma of salt and sea. Emma squeezed his hand this time, holding the gaze when his eyes slid over to hers. As she hesitated, a voice in her head (suspiciously close to Henry's) urged her to be brave.

"What do you think?"

Killian darted his eyes back to the water for a moment, offering Emma a smile when he looked at her again. "The rather spectacular view aside, it does appear to be an excellent home." Damn the way her heart stuttered at the last word.

"I'm glad you think so," Emma said, voice shaking and stomach flipping. She released his hand, leaned both arms on the railing before facing him straight on. "Because it's yours, too, if you want it to be."

Killian went still. "You're asking if..." he hesitated, and Emma recognized the flicker in his eyes. It was something she knew well, something she'd carried for the better part of her life. The part of Killian telling himself not to believe, trying to squash down the hope.

"Killian," Emma said (she felt confident now, something about that look in his eyes making all her doubt evaporate), "Will you move in with me?"

She could see his Adam's apple bobbing as the breath caught in his throat, a surge of affection filling her, because she also knew that feeling; the disbelief that anyone could want you around that long. Emma thought (not for the first time) that she loved him, her ridiculous, wonderful pirate, unable to grasp just how _much _she wanted him around.

"As you wish." Killian said quietly, and then he was kissing her as though his life depended on it. His hand pushed against Emma's spine, pressing her closer, touching every line of their bodies together. Emma reached up to cup his jaw, everything fierce and desperate except for the tender way they held each other. She breathed him in, his usual taste of salt and spice mingling with the sharp tang of the ocean. As they melted together, a single word crossed Emma's mind.

Home.


	13. Caring

**AN: This one has slightly less Captain Swan than usual, ****but it still counts, right?**** Inspired by my love for the Emma and Elsa friendship we saw during 4A, and by the unjust lack of girl talk they shared.  
**

* * *

She wasn't sure how it worked. She wasn't sure how Killian had convinced Regina to use her magic, or what brought this on in the first place- all Emma knew was that, all of the sudden, Elsa was there looking back at her through the small, handheld mirror.

"Emma." she said with a warm smile, "How are you?"

Emma looked at Killian-as grateful as she was confused-earning only a grin and quirk of his brow as he retreated from the room, giving the two women time to talk. She fixed her gaze back on the mirror, back on Elsa, and returned the smile.

"I'm...surprised." Emma answered. "But happy to see you." she added sincerely, not realizing how much she'd missed Elsa until that moment. Their friendship had been brief, but it still meant the world to Emma. There was a deep understanding between them, forged through all the circumstances they'd both experienced (losing their parents, accidentally hurting loved ones, and having magic, to name a few). And the fact that Elsa had been the one to help Emma accept her powers was something she would never forget. Since Lily, Emma had never made a friend who seemed to understand her as Elsa did; it had made saying goodbye that much harder.

"How's Arendelle?" Emma asked, squashing down her awe, deciding that the mirror was just like Facetime or Skype, except for the magical realm.

"We are working on repairing all that Hans ruined in my absence." Elsa explained with her usual regal nature, "But my kingdom's future looks bright."

Emma listened intently as Elsa talked about her return to the throne, and her plans for moving Arendelle forward. It occurred to Emma that, had she grown up in the Enchanted Forest with her parents, she would have been a ruler, too. She would have the same concerns as Elsa, the same opinions, the same plans to return the kingdom's well-being. The thought spooked her.

"And Anna?" Emma pressed when Elsa had finished speaking, "Did her and Kristoff finally tie the knot?"

A smile broke through Elsa's serious expression. The Concerned Queen fell away to the Loving Sister, bursting with pride. "Yes." Elsa confirmed. "The ceremony was lovely, though kept simple at Kristoff's request." She rolled her eyes, grinning. "It was a bit odd having a reindeer and some trolls at the altar, but Anna is happy, which is the most important thing."

Emma smiled in reply. "If you think Anna having trolls as _in-laws _is bad, you should see some of my ex-boyfriends."

Elsa laughed, a teasing look crossing her face once she sobered up. "And what about you? Have you and Captain Hook sorted out your feelings?"

Emma glanced over her shoulder, looking for said pirate. When he wasn't anywhere to be found, she looked back at Elsa with a roll of her eyes. "You could say that." she admitted (the grin which spread over her face completely beyond Emma's control).

Elsa gave her a prompting look, and Emma sighed before she went on. "Things here have been...unusually quiet lately. So, yeah, Killian and I finally had the time to talk." (There had been more than just mere conversation, but Elsa didn't need to know that).

"I'm glad to hear it." Elsa said, "When I was in your realm, I could see that he cares a great deal for you." Emma wanted to brush that off, but Elsa was now the third queen to tell Emma about the way Killian cared for her (and fourth member of royalty in general, if you counted Aurora); and anyway, who was she kidding? Her pirate was just that- hers.

"I know." Emma agreed instead. "I kind of 'care a great deal' for him, too." she confessed, dropping her voice just in case a certain pirate was listening. (The last thing Emma needed was to give Killian yet another reason for his inflated ego).

"It's nice that you're happy." Elsa said sincerely. "After Anna, Kristoff, and I left Storybrooke, I worried you might not have been in the best mindset."

The words touched Emma; even then, still in disbelief that she had so many people who cared about her. "I've been fine. It's actually nice, not having to be the Savior for a while. I know Storybrooke can't stay quiet for long, but for now I'm more than okay with taking a break."

They kept talking for a while, Emma vaguely aware of the sun changing position outside the window. When her and Elsa were finally saying goodbye, it had long since set.

"It was good talking to you." Emma said wistfully, grinning at the other blonde, "Would it be cliche for me to ask you to keep in touch?"

Elsa laughed lightly. "We'll speak again soon." she promised. "Tell Killian I said hello."

Emma nodded, ignoring the tease. "As long as you say hi to Anna and Kristoff for me."

After assuring her that she would, Elsa said a final goodbye before disappearing from the mirror. Emma stared at her own reflection for a moment before putting the mirror on the coffee table, feeling a little melancholy.

Not for long, though, as Emma felt the couch dip under Killian's weight. He moved close, taking Emma's hand in his own. "Enjoy your talk?"

Emma glanced at him with a small grin. "Thank you." she said. "For doing that."

"No need to thank me, love. It was worth it, to see that smile of yours."

Emma shifted to lean against him, wrapping Killian's arm around her shoulder. After a few moments of quiet, she felt him nudge her.

"So you care for me, do you?"

Emma didn't need to turn to know the smug look that would be on his face. "You know, in this realm it's considered 'bad form' to eavesdrop."

Killian laughed at her use of his phrase. "It's considered bad form in any realm, though you seem to forget one thing." He leaned close to Emma's ear, dropping his voice. "Pirates are not ones to follow the rules."

"Maybe, but it doesn't do you any good to overhear something you already know." Emma countered. She turned her head to look at Killian, an oddly somber look on his face.

"Aye, but you cannot blame a man for wanting some reassurance." he replied, titling his head. Emma realized, sheepishly, that she hadn't always given Killian reason to feel secure in her feelings for him. (_But better late than never_, she decided, leaning over to kiss him).

"I care you about you, Killian Jones." she said, pulling back slightly. "Maybe a little too much." And then she was kissing him again, being pulled onto his lap, tangling her fingers in his dark hair. Emma put all of her gratitude into the kiss, thankful for Killian's efforts (both that day and all the days before). She ran a hand down his chest and to his waistband, feeling the hitch of Killian's breath. Smirking, Emma kissed up his jaw, stopping to bite lightly on his ear lobe.

"That enough reassurance for you?" she whispered, moving back to look at him. Killian's pupils dilated, his chest heaving a little.

"Aye." he agreed gruffly, capturing Emma's lips again.


	14. Darkness

**AN: A little something before the premiere tonight. I tried to add in some of the spoilers we were given, and the end was my way of setting up the whole dark!Emma thing A&amp;E talked about. (wanting vengeance = eventual darkness?) **

**Anyway, enjoy!  
**

* * *

It had been six weeks.

Six weeks of quiet; calm, blissful, _villain-less _quiet. Emma doubted that there was ever such a thing as 'normal' in Storybrooke, but if the last month had been the closest they could get, it was good enough for her. She finally had _time, _and had been spending it with her family instead of chasing down bad guys and researching curses. She'd gotten to see Henry's Science Fair, and babysit Neal, and finally, finally go on that second date with Killian. The six weeks had been good to them all, and Emma was more than content to keep the trend going for six weeks more.

But, after all, it was still Storybrooke they were talking about and, naturally, the town had other plans. 

On the last good morning, Emma woke up beside her pirate. She was startled, very briefly, by the arm slung over her waist and the familiar pattern of Granny's wallpaper before Emma remembered exactly how she'd ended up there.

And she had to give Killian credit where it was due; the guy didn't give up. She'd kept him waiting far longer than most men would stick around for, but Emma had decided last night that it was time she let herself be happy.

And she was, from the moment Killian had pressed her back against the mattress, his lips leaving her nerves ablaze, until the next morning, now hearing the sounds of him breathing rhythmic and steady.

She was surprised to be awake before him, knowing the early riser he was, and Emma seized the opportunity to take in the sight of Killian asleep. He looked younger than Emma had ever seen him, the harsher lines of his expression evened out, the flutter of his lashes as he dreamed. An involuntary grin turned up the corners of her mouth, and when Killian opened his eyes to Emma's a moment later, his answering smile made her heart pound.

Killian propped himself up on one arm. "Morning, love." he greeted, and God help her, because Emma had never heard his voice sound like _that_. "I trust you slept well?"

Emma hummed in response, feeling suddenly nervous. It had been a long time since she'd woken up in someone's bed, and it wasn't as though Killian was just some guy, anyway. He was, well, Killian.

And, being Killian, he picked up on Emma's mood. "Having second thoughts, Swan?" he said, trying to be playful, but Emma could see the way his expression faltered ever so slightly. She realized maybe she wasn't the only one in this bed who was nervous.

"Not exactly." Emma replied, turning to face him. "I'm just...getting used to this. Give me a minute."

Killian waited quietly, scanning Emma's face with a hint of apprehension. She could feel the way he tensed, his hand tighter on her side. Emma nodded after a moment, letting the grin take over. "Okay." she said, "Let's try again. How about we make ourselves decent and go down to the diner for breakfast?" 

They had done just that (after one last round of indecency), and were finishing off their plates when Leroy had burst through the door, hollering as he made a beeline for Emma.

"Woah, slow down." she demanded, hearing Killian sigh across the table, "What's at the edge of town?"

"Darkness." Leroy said dramatically. "Some big cloud of evil."

Killian's ears perked up at that. "Another curse?" he wondered aloud, shooting a look to Emma. She glanced back at him before shifting her eyes around the diner, finding the other customers were watching them expectantly.

"We need to talk to my parents." Emma decided, standing up and using what Henry called her 'Savior Voice'. "Killian, go find Belle and have her meet us at the town line. I'll text Regina to be there, too."

Killian nodded, knowing it best not to argue that they should stick together. Emma instructed Leroy to make sure no one else go near the town line, and the dwarf rushed off again. As the door shut behind him, Emma met Killian's gaze.

"It's fine." she assured, sensing his unease. "Just get Belle, and I'll see you in a bit."

He nodded again as Emma gave him a fleeting kiss goodbye and hurried out of the diner. 

Despite the town's expectation that Gold would return eventually (it was inevitable, of course, the damned imp was relentless-), no one had anticipated it would be quite so soon. Everyone was shaken by Gold's sudden appearance at the town line (and with the three witches, no less), but seeing the man had ignited something stronger than fear in Emma.

She was pissed.

She nearly trembled with anger when Gold opened his mouth, remembering all the hell he'd unleashed (would continue to unleash) and feeling her magic spark underneath the surface. Magic which, thanks to Regina's paranoia (and a bit of her own, if she was honest), Emma had been practicing. She felt stronger than before, more confident in her powers, and it only served to make Emma more set on kicking Gold's ass.

But as he and his accomplices vanished in a puff of smoke, all Emma could think was that all good things must come to an end. The past six weeks she had learned to live as _Emma _instead of _the Savior, _and she had enjoyed the quiet moments, for the first time in her life not waiting for the other shoe to drop (or, at least, thinking a lot less about the other shoe than she typically did). Gold and his witch buddies threatening that just made Emma more determined. 

After the disturbance, Emma and the others retired to her parent's loft for the usual post-villain rundown. Regina-having a history with Gold and all three of the witches-was the most vocal, going on about their motivations, and Belle-understandably a wreck-managed to explain a few theories about how the four had found their way into town. Killian and her parents, Emma noticed, were unusually quiet.

When they had called it a night, Emma walked Killian out of the loft. He could sense her tenseness and turned to face her, leaning against the wall. "Don't let Rumplestiltskin get you down, love."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Says you." she teased, then gritted her teeth. "God, I just want him to pay for all of this crap. Someone's got to stop him, or Gold's just going to keep ruining lives."

Killian appraised her, tilting his head. "Speaking from experience, Swan, revenge on the Crocodile is easier said than done."

Emma leveled her gaze at him, standing up straighter. "Yeah, well, you know what else is easier said than done?" she countered, "Hurting people I care about and getting away with it."


	15. Choices

**AN: Sorry I've been a little MIA...I was going through a bit of writer's block and had trouble finishing any chapters I started. (On a similar note; I still plan to continue "Home", but I've kind of hit a wall for the time being. I'll try to update that one soon).**

**Anyway, here's a quick chapter inspired by how shady Snow and Charming were in last week's episode, and the CS hug we've seen footage of. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

She had left the diner in a rush of harsh words and tear-filled eyes, already out of sight by the time Killian had hurried after her, the only sound the pounding of her boots on pavement.

As she ran.

Again.

Killian's heart sank a little at that realization, though he told himself not to take it personally (it wasn't exactly _him _Emma was running from, anyway). He stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes, considering where Emma could have taken off to. A memory struck Killian, who followed his instincts and sure enough, found her at the docks. It wasn't the first time he'd discovered her there when she wished to clear her head, and the knowledge that Emma, too, sought comfort by the water filled Killian with a surge of endearment.

When she came into view, her back was to him, her long blonde tresses blown about by the wind. Killian approached her slowly, though made no move to hide his presence. He could see Emma stiffen as he neared her, saw the way she curled her fingers tightly around her own arms. She didn't turn around until Killian spoke.

"Emma, love?"

She faced him mutely, not moving closer but neither shying away from him, and Killian considered that progress. He didn't reach out, despite the flexing of his fingers, itching to comfort her. Emma hugged her arms tighter around herself as the sea breeze picked up, her voice startling him when Killian began to shrug out of his jacket.

"Don't," Emma protested. "I'm fine."

"You're shivering." Killian disagreed, but brought the coat back over his shoulders, regardless.

"It's not from the cold."

Killian felt a pang for Emma, an ache deep in his chest for the woman he loved.

"They lied to me." she continued, voice low and bitter. Killian could see the effort she was making to keep her tears at bay. "I trusted them- they're my parents, for Christ's sake- and they _lied _to me."

Killian didn't know what to say, for once in his many years at a loss for words. He stared at Emma, feeling utterly useless. "It's a terrible truth, Swan, that our parents are not the people we believed them to be as children."

Emma was reminded that she wasn't the only one with family issues. She'd been told stories about Killian's mother (a kind woman that had given him his dark hair, loved an undeserving man, and died before her time), but it was rare that he spoke of his father. Emma knew Killian was thinking of him now, and she stared back at him, something flashing in her green eyes.

"Why are you doing that?"

Killian blinked. "Doing what?"

She tensed her shoulders, curling further away from him. "Trying to relate to me, to comfort me. You heard what my parents were hiding." She sucked in a breath. "If I'm destined to go full-on darkness, it's better you get out while you still can."

"Emma." Killian gaped, taking an involuntary step closer, "You have seen my worst self, yet continue to insist that the sins of my past are of no concern to you." He gazed at her closely, needing his words to reach her. "No matter the darkness you or your parents seem to think is within you-" He broke off suddenly, dropped his voice, "I will continue to only see the best."

Emma sniffled, unshed tears still shining in her eyes. "And if it gets to the point that I can't control myself?"

Killian again fought the urge to reach for her, wanting to shake this ridiculous woman until she understood. "Whatever darkness you might hold," he murmured, solemn and true, "I will remain at your side. I chose you, Swan. I will continue to choose you, no matter the consequences of that choice."

The words filled Emma with a burst of warmth. Even in her miserable state, even as she wanted to deny them, she knew they were true. Like Killian, Emma had made her decision a long time ago; and she knew with every piece of her that it had been the right one. However trying, however challenging the path- Emma liked their choices.

After a moment, Killian stopped wishing to hold her, because then Emma was reaching for _him_, her arms going tight around Killian's middle, shocking him for just a moment before he returned the embrace. Emma nuzzled against the crook of Killian's neck and he rested his hand at the back of her head, fingers running through her hair. It was a familiar gesture, comforting Emma despite herself. They stood there for an immeasurable length of time, assurance being offered and received through their touch. Emma lifted her head eventually, searching Killian's eyes.

"You trust me that much?" she asked after a long moment, referring to his promise to be at her side; recalling the certainty in his voice, the unwavering faith.

"Aye." Killian vowed, meeting Emma's gaze without a shred of a doubt.

"You sure?" Emma pressed, tightening her hold, "Could be dangerous."

"I'm counting on it, love." Killian said humorlessly. "But, yes, I'm certain. I trust you with my life."

Emma exhaled, feeling the pressure on her chest lighten just a fraction. She still felt her parent's betrayal, but it helped to know there was one less person that believed the worst in her.

(Especially when she couldn't help but believe the worst in herself).

Emma tilted her head up towards Killian. She met his gaze, as strong and steady as his arms around her, and she pressed a single kiss to his jaw. "Ditto." she murmured, earning Killian's customary look for when phrases were unfamiliar to him.

"Same here." Emma clarified, resting her head against Killian's chest. "I trust you, too."


	16. Light

**AN: This came out of nowhere, but I started writing and couldn't stop. It's more poetic than my other stuff, but I personally think I'm better with this kind of writing, anyway. (As always, thank you to anyone that's reading- those reviews seriously make my day).  
**

* * *

There's a magic in her silence, in the simple fact of her existence. Her presence is a miracle in his mind; he will never understand what he did to deserve her. To him, she glows; his eyes find her too bright for this world.

He maps her like he once did the stars, finding the mountain ridge of her bones and uncovering the rivers that flow from her eyes. She is brighter than any constellation, gentler and harsher than any ocean, and there is beauty within her unlike any he's experienced in his many, many years. She rises over him like the tides, crashes over him like the strongest wave. He is shipwrecked; both lost at sea and rescued to shore every time their gazes lock.

Her touch presses fulfillment into his once hollowed bones; he loves her palms and her lips, the tight curl of her fingers and the way her smile whispers _home_.

And he loves her.

He loves her so much that he feels it, always there, a tangible pressure on his chest, a fire deep in his abdomen when he hears the lilt of her laugh or sees the curve of her smile. He can taste the laughter on her tongue, and there's a dizziness that makes him feel tipsy; drunk off of her grin, off of the gleam in her green, green eyes.

He loves her so much that it makes him better, makes him _want to be _better. She blinks those eyes and he wishes to rid her of anything that's ever caused tears to pool there. He wants to hold the world to its absolute best merely for her sake.

He loves her so much that he finds salvation, tucked into the words that fall from her lips and folded into the palms that she presses against his chest. And anything he ever found beautiful about the sea is there in her eyes; despite being green, they only ever remind him of rising waves. She is as vast as the ocean herself, and he wants to know those depths. All his life spent as one with the sea, but he looks at her and he's drowning. He would give his ship away a thousand times over if it meant she would be safe, if it meant she would be happy.

He loves her so much that it makes him selfless and devoted, and he is every bit the man Liam always hoped he would be. He is every bit the man he wanted himself to be, the man he could have been if not for getting lost along the way. But he would walk the broken path all over again if it meant he would be able meet her once more.

He loves her so much that he'd do whatever she asked, would always make good on his promises. He would chase the earth to its end or follow time to its breaking point. He would face any darkness, traverse any realms, overcome any obstacles if only for the sake of that smile which makes his heart seize. Her happiness is the world, and it fills the space in his once-punctured heart.

He loves her so much that he wants to live in her world, wants to adapt to their customs and strange little traditions, is willing to learn whatever she's willing to teach. He wants to know her, to uncover the full truth of why she is the way she is. He wants to find the reasons for her smiles, wants to understand exactly what it is about the rain that forms that calm, serene expression on her face. She fills him with a kind of empathy he has not felt in a long time, and it makes him want to understand; he would gladly spend forever trying to understand.

He is maddeningly in love with her. She is the reason he often cannot sleep at night, haunted by the ghost of her hands; but when she rests beside him, the rise and fall of her breath is all the lullaby he needs. On those nights, he breathes in and feels her deep in his lungs; the way she soothes the ache in his chest. His heart beats her name, and there's a smirk on her face as if she knows it; as if she can hear the sound of his love.

As for him, her sound is a siren's song, calling him to the rocks. He knows he will never be the same after loving her. It is not like the first time he loved- _she _is not like the first time. She is light and air and devastating hurricanes, filling and emptying him with the power of her storms. She is everything right, everything meaningful; she is everything.

He had been numbing the pain of his loss for so long that he'd forgotten how badly it could bruise. But losing her -constantly losing her- ripped him from the inside out. He thought he would not survive losing her permanently; without her, he is adrift, drowning, and nowhere to be found.

He will love her for all of his life, and if there is time after that, he'll love her then, too.

She chases away the dark just with her smile; he couldn't remember the light until the day she held a dagger to his throat. 

From that moment, he quickly learned that the sun is blonde and green eyed and fierce; 

that the stars hold a sadness deep in their bones, yearning for a family; 

that the light is brighter and stronger than any magic he'd ever dealt with; 

that the light is named Emma, and she floats like a swan.


	17. It's You

**AN: Quick drabble I wrote after seeing the oh-so-beautiful CS cabin scene. ****(There's a good chance I'm not actually alive right now). **

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

"Don't you know, Emma?" he mutters, and he can feel the lump in his throat just looking at her. "It's you."

She hesitates, a small look of surprise flashing in her eyes, but then it's gone, because of course she must already know. She _has _to bloody well know. Because it _is _her; it's her first thing in the morning, when he's just woken and pictures her still asleep in her bed across town. It is her late in the night, when sleep does not come and he can only wonder about what she dreams of. It is her during all the hours, minutes, seconds in between. It is her when she is away and he can only worry over her safety, knowing she is capable but still yearning to protect her- _always wanting to protect her_. It is her when she is by his side, reaching for his hand or pressing her lips to his jaw or placing her palm over his heart. He's never felt anything as wonderful as her touch; he drowns in it.

It's her; because she is everything to him, and if the world ended tomorrow, he would want this woman to be the last thing he ever saw.

He will never love like this again.

(He had never loved like this before).

Emma's leaning then-slowly, so agonizingly slow-and her eyes close before she even reaches him. Killian can feel Emma's heart as it stutters against his own, those two broken beats pounding to the same rhythm. He tilts his head down, pressing his forehead to hers for a fleeting moment before their lips meet.

It overwhelms him for a moment. Killian feels the dampness of her tears pressing against his skin, causing his own watery eyes to sting more sharply. There is nothing rushed about this kiss; it is everything gentle and tender, and the gesture feels as exposed and sincere as they words he's just spoken. He can taste fear and love and gratitude on Emma's tongue. It's as much a promise as it is anything else, and Killian knows this:

No matter where they go, no matter the circumstances they endeavor, it's her (and it's him).


	18. Belonging

**AN: I was really pleased with the reaction I got for the last one, so I decided to write a counterpart from Emma's perspective. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

There's a magic that lives inside of him, flowing through his veins, pumping in his blood, sending sparks flying wherever their skin touches. It's different than her own brand of magic; it can't be seen, but she feels it whenever she looks at him.

She chases him the way she once did belonging, wanting a place to call her own, finding solace in all the lines and angles and edges of him. He's stronger than any magic she's ever dealt with; a breath of life, a fire under her skin, a pull in her chest. She was always lost, always looking for a place to land, discovering a lifeline every time their gazes lock.

His touch presses adoration into her once hollowed bones; she loves his eyes and his lips, the tight curl of his fingers and the way his voice whispers _home_.

And she loves him.

She loves him so much that she feels it, fluttering in her stomach; tight in her throat; both light and heavy in her heart. She is dizzy with the weight of it, with the hard set of his jaw and the soft curve of his smile, with the spark in his blue eyes.

She loves him so much that it makes her better, makes her _believe _she can be better. He blinks those eyes and she wants to rid them of anything that's ever taken the light from there. She wants to believe the absolute best in this world merely for his sake.

She loves him so much that she finds happiness, pushed into the dimples of his cheeks and the tips of his fingers. Anything that ever made her smile is there in his eyes; the blue only ever reminds her of a clear sky, of the sun on her skin and lightness in her heart. He is vast as the sky himself, and she wants to know that depth. All her life spent living under the sun, but she looks at him and she's burning. She would give her magic away a thousand times over if it meant he would be safe, if it meant he would be happy.

She loves him so much that it makes her sappy and cliched, and she is every bit the woman she always claimed not to be. She is every bit the woman she never _expected _to be again, the type that believes and dreams and hopes, that feels her stomach flip when she turns to find his blue eyes already watching her.

She loves him so much that she'd give any help he needed, would always come through for him. She would face any villains, cross any realms, jump any obstacles if only for the sake of that smile which pushes her heart into her throat. His happiness is everything, and it closes the fissures in her jagged heart.

She loves him so much that she wants to show him her world, wants to help him adapt to all its intricacies, is willing to teach whatever he's willing to learn. She wants to know him, to know the whole reason why he became the man he did. She wants to hear all of his stories, wants to comprehend exactly what it is about the ocean that washes him in calm. He fills her with a kind of compassion she hasn't felt in a long time, and it makes her want to understand; she has all the time in the world to understand.

She is insanely in love with him. He is the reason she doesn't want to sleep at night, afraid she might lose him if she lets her guard down; but when he stays with her, the thrum of his heart is all the lullaby she needs. On those nights, she breathes in and feels his presence soothe the ache in her chest. Their hearts beat the same rhythm, and she smirks when she hears it; she falls asleep to the sound of his love.

As for her, his sound is a war drum, urging her to march on. She knows she will never be the same after loving him. It is not like the first time she loved- _he _is not like the first time. He is hope and faith and an understanding so strong it startles her with its power. He is so much patience, so much care; he is so much.

She had forgotten how badly the past could hurt; it is only in loving him, through learning how to love, that she begins to let it go. She's a shattered bunch of fragments, but he kisses each broken piece. Even when she pushes away like the current, he pulls her back like the tide; without him, she is that Lost Girl once again; stumbling and scared, and nowhere to be found.

She'll love him until her last breath, and until all the last breaths of the people left after she's gone.

He chases away the demons with just his smile; she couldn't remember what home felt like until the day he gave his away for her.

From that moment, she quickly learned that belonging is dark haired and blue eyed and strong;

that family holds many meanings, and it can't be defined by blood;

that home is gentler and kinder than any dream she'd ever conjured up;

that home is named Killian, and he's bright as the sun.


	19. Comfort

**AN: Two chapters in one day? I wasn't intending to post again, but that episode gave me a lot of CS feelings about them comforting each other and the whole sleeping curse fiasco, sooo...this happened. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

She doesn't know exactly how she got there. The last hour had been a blur of tears and attempts at chasing down the now-freed Author, and by the time Killian insists that they'll have to wait until morning to continue their search, Emma's too exhausted to argue.

She's so exhausted that they're back on Main Street before Emma realizes she has nowhere to go. She stops suddenly on the sidewalk, the motion causing her hand to be wrenched from Killian's. He turns back to look at her, confusion added to the concern that had been on his face for the majority of the day.

"Swan?"

Emma blinks, standing straighter to keep herself from caving in. "I'm not going back to my parent's house."

It doesn't escape Killian's notice that she avoids using the word _home_, and he steps towards her, touching his hand to her arm. Emma relaxes under the contact, but it's not enough to ease the hurt resting in her eyes. Killian takes her in, this woman he loves, with red rimmed eyes and betrayal weighing on her shoulders. He makes a decision.

"Then you'll stay on the Jolly tonight."

Emma doesn't let the surprise she feels show on her face. She shakes her head slightly. "I was just going to rent a room at Granny's." But even as she says it, Emma knows it's a moot point. She doesn't want to be alone anymore than Killian wants her to be alone, and she's far too tired and upset to debate the matter.

"Come, love," he murmurs, seeing how weighed down she is. "Let's get you to bed."

Emma doesn't argue further, allowing Killian to lace their fingers together as they head back in the direction of the docks. She's so dead on her feet that Killian offers to carry her, and the quip manages to wheedle a smile out of her. Satisfied, feeling his heart lighten the smallest fraction, he squeezes Emma's hand.

Killian helps her onto the ship, quickly leading her down to the Captain's quarters. ("Eager, aren't we?" Emma manages to tease, but he's too bloody worried about her to be thinking much of _that_). He sees Emma take in the room, surely recalling the last time she stood down there, and the barest of smiles graces her lips. She cuts a look to Killian, something close to nervousness flashing in her eyes, and he doesn't have time to question it before Emma's shedding her coat and boots.

He glances away, the innocent gesture feeling suddenly intimate in the dark of his cabin. Killian forces himself to sit on the bed, following Emma's lead until they're both in their jeans and shirts. He's grateful for the cold night, making it unnecessary for them to undress further. (Killian's certain he wouldn't be able to properly focus on Emma's emotional state were it a summer's evening instead).

Emma lays down first, getting under the covers and turning her back to him. Killian feels a bit of a pang at that as he gets beneath the covers himself, staring at the ceiling. There's less than a foot of distance between them, but it feels like oceans worth of space to Killian. He wishes to reach out to her, offer some form of comfort, but he sees the hard edge of Emma's shoulders and thinks better of it. The two of them lay in silence, and Killian feels his eyes close as he drifts off.

(Despite being under a sleeping curse all day, he's exhausted).

He's nearly asleep when he feels Emma shift on the mattress, her hand pressed against his chest. Killian opens his eyes, glancing down at her, and sees that-of all things-she's apologetic; offering him a sad, almost sheepish smile. He shakes his head reassuringly, puts both arms around her, and Emma implodes, trembling with the weight of her sobs. She doesn't say a word (she couldn't if she wanted to), and Killian doesn't ask (he doesn't need to). He merely kisses the crown of her head, the tangle of her hair, the tear-streaked skin of her cheek. He feels Emma's tremors subside after a while, turning into steady, rhythmic breaths.

When he's sure she's asleep, Killian lets his eyes close, too, the salt of her tears on his lips.


	20. Kiss

**AN: Could also be titled, "Three Times Emma Kisses Killian and One Time They Kiss Each Other".**

* * *

The first time (which isn't really the first, chronologically-speaking) it's like bursting into flames. It's teeth and tongues and ferocity, and because Emma Swan doesn't do anything halfway, the kiss lasts longer than either of them expect it to. And she feels her head reeling with a pleasant dizziness, and her palms start to sweat, and her heart wants so badly to leap out of her chest but she's determined not to let it.

Then it's over, both too soon and not soon enough, and Emma gains her composure before Hook can see her shaking hands, her unsteady legs. Then she's marching away, everything already forgotten, except that she's smiling, except that Emma knows she'll relive the memory in her sleep.

/

The second time, it's not exactly a kiss, but it still leaves Emma breathless. Her hands shake again, out of fear this time, and she's pleading with him, his real name spilling from her mouth, and all she can register is the panic that sets deep in her chest. And she knows this is all so bad, that there will be hell to pay for the choice she's made.

But Emma can't bring herself to regret her sacrifice, because even as she feels her magic being drained away, she feels Killian startle back to consciousness; when his eyes open to hers, suddenly Emma can breathe again.

/

The third time (which is actually the first), it's not really him. It's not Killian hanging on her lips, but Hook, and even though Emma knows it she's putting all of _her _into the kiss, anyway. He's got the same smile as Killian and his eyes, though they hold more sadness, are just as blue. His hand grips her just as tightly, if a little carelessly, and Emma knows it's not him, but she's leaning backwards from the force of his lips, pulling him along-

And then it _is _Killian, the real Killian, looking at her with a fire in his eyes, and suddenly Emma's falling, though it has nothing to do with the way the ship lurches beneath them.

/

The fourth time, it's everything all at once. It's gratitude as much as it's apology, relief and care and worry tucked into the thumb he presses to her chin. And they're outside, where anyone could see them, but they don't care, not at all, not even a little.

For the first time, it's compromise, because it had only ever been _Emma _kissing _him_, but now they find themselves meeting halfway. It feels new to Emma, because she's finally seeing him in a new light, finally realizing just how far they've come since their first kiss. (If they were normal, Emma thinks, _this _could have been their first kiss; at a diner- at the end of a date, maybe- with no time traveling or missing years or pirate ships, just the moon and stars and _them_).

But she likes not being normal if this is the payoff, and when they part for just a moment, Emma can't help but smile.  
At that moment, Killian looks at her, and the light in Emma's eyes tells him he made the right decision. He knows, in that moment, when someday she inevitably asks if he regrets trading his ship, the answer will be a resounding no. Killian no longer needed the Jolly to be his home; he found a new one in the edges of Emma's smile.


	21. Promises

**AN: An angsty fic based off of all the finale spoiler pics that have been floating around. Thanks for reading, as always!  
**

* * *

"Emma-" he pleads, and she can barely look at him now, hearing the way his voice breaks on her name. "Swan, please-"

"I have to do this." she says, barely contained sobs making her own voice crack. "You have to let me go."

Killian shakes his head, once, his eyes the color of desperation. When Emma sees the tears that pool in them, she can't hold her own back any longer. Everything about this is unfair; that she's losing him, again, and the permanency that's wrapped around this goodbye, and that being the Savior means never being able to save yourself.

(No one had told her that being tasked with bringing back the Happy Endings meant losing her own).

Emma forces herself to speak around the lump in her throat, no matter how close to choking she feels. Every word wavers with the sobs she holds at bay. "This affects everyone, now. I'm the Savior, and I know I can fix this, you just have to let me g-"

"I know." Killian says, but his voice breaks again, because he doesn't know anything, not at all, nothing except for her. All he knows is the tug of a smile on her lips when she kisses him hello, and the setting sun turning her blonde hair into a halo, and the grasp of her fingers in his.  
_  
She _is all he wants to know for the rest of his days, but instead he's losing her once more. He's left only with the knowledge that he loves her, and that he can't let her do this, even as he knows he must.

Killian rests his forehead against hers, and, unwarranted, a memory comes back to Emma. Another lifetime, when, somewhere in the midst of Neverland's jungle, he'd promised to win her heart without trickery, promised that he'd win her heart because she _wanted _him.

(And now that she wants him, he's being taken from her).

The memory brings with it a wave of pain, and Emma closes her eyes as it crashes over her. She takes the moment to gather her strength, not wanting to look away from Killian but needing to find the courage to let go.

But when she opens her eyes, Emma knows that she'll never be prepared to say goodbye to him. She takes his hand in both of hers and presses it to her chest. Together, they feel the beating of her aching heart. She looks at Killian and tries to memorize every last detail of him, the impossible blue in his eyes and the line of his jaw and the scar that she still never got the story behind, and now never will.

Emma thinks that that might be the most unfair thing about this- all the stories she'll never get to hear and all the things she'll never get to say, and all the quiet moments they'll never get to spend together. She wishes for more time with him, for hours and months and years they'll never have.

(If they'd had more time, she'd have found an apartment for her and Henry, and she'd have woken to a pirate's smile first thing in the morning, and they would have filled the days in between the danger with quiet moments abound).

With a little more time, Emma's certain she would find the courage to tell him she loves him.

But there's no more time, and she's losing him, so instead she squeezes the hand that still rests over her heart. "You won it." she says, and Killian chokes out a single, guttural sob. "It's yours- and it's you, and it'll always be you." she's blubbering but she can't stop now, everything she wants to say like acid on her tongue, and when he kisses her temple, she combusts. "You were my happy ending, too, and- and I'm sorry."

Emma does stop herself then, because it's the best she can do. She knows Killian understands.

"Henry will be safe." he vows, and her son's name weighs heavily on Emma's shoulders. "I'll watch over him, and-" he stops, looks at her, hard. "I'll find you." He squeezes her hand so tightly her fingers go numb. "I swear, I will find you."

Emma knows that he wants her to promise that she'll be safe, that she'll have hope. That they'll see each other again, soon. She wants to promise him these things and more, but the words would be empty, and she doesn't want their last moment to be one of dishonesty.

But of course she promises him anyway, because she can't deny him this final wish, even knowing it's a lost cause. Even knowing it's foolish to believe.

Except that when she looks at him, the words don't feel empty. When she looks at him, his eyes are red-rimmed and blue, always so blue, blazing a fire from somewhere inside him. There's no hint of a lie in those eyes, no doubt or hopelessness. There's only faith, only determination and ache and _love_, love that fills the hole that's begun to reopen in her chest.

When she looks at him, the promise feels like exactly what it is.


	22. Chase

** AN: Just a little speculation fic I had in my head. (Partially based off of theories I've seen being thrown around on tumblr). I hope you enjoy!  
**

* * *

She had disappeared in a flash of blinding white heat, and Killian dreamed about that last terrible moment for weeks after Emma's sacrifice. He could see the dagger raised over her head, hear the way her name tore from his throat, feel the gust of wind and flame and then- nothing.

He always woke from the nightmares sweating and shaking, the air inside his cabin suffocating him. When the sense of frustration and loss weighed too heavily, he'd go above deck and seek out Cygnus in the stars, believing they were closer to her with each passing day.

(In reality, they had nothing; no leads despite weeks of researching and tracking and _hoping_. He would spend entire days at the library, desperately tearing through ancient books until his vision went blurry and the text became indecipherable).

Losing her this time had been infinitely more painful than the first. He now knew what it meant to be loved by Emma Swan, what it meant to feel her absence after no longer having to yearn for her presence. It was the way he saw her in everything; in all the places they'd visited together, in the eyes of her mother, in the lost look that had permanently attached itself to her son's face. Her ghost was everywhere, and leading them nowhere.

/

When their one and only lead came to them, Killian felt his heart begin to beat for the first time in thirty-four days.

Lifetimes ago, he had sworn that one day he would stop chasing her.

The moment Belle mentioned Davy Jones's curse, Killian knew he had been lying to himself. Even as his blood ran cold with fear and pure, red-visioned rage, Killian could only worry over Emma, being held prisoner on his father's island. Belle reminded him of the dangers facing Davy Jones entailed, but there was no question. Killian thought of Emma -trapped and alone and likely terrified- and knew his promise to her would be upheld; to the end of the world or time.

The six of them boarded the Jolly that same day, armed with Regina's magic and Snow's arrows, yet Killian knew his own weapon was the most dangerous of all: the will of a man in love.

His father was ruthless and powerful, but this was the one key advantage their six held over him. The fact that his father had never experienced loving another gave them the upper hand- but the fact that his father had never experienced loving _Emma Swan _ensured that they would rein victorious.

/

It had been days of sailing as fast and as far as possible.

Days of following Belle's map and making the guesswork for the research that could not be uncovered.

Days of staring out at the ocean's expanse, feeling like a man possessed, so certain of what he was running towards.

The damned, infernal island comes into view from his place at the helm, and Killian knows that this -every bloody bit- was worth it.

He sees her for the first time on the shore, her golden hair flown about by the wind, in a white dress, dirty and tattered at the hem.

He thinks he's never seen anything so beautiful.

/

There is a dark, cold lack of recognition in her eyes.

Killian doesn't know how, but the place has stolen her. There is no warmth in her gaze, no relief in her smile. She is laced with an impossible malice, and it makes everything, from her gestures to her wicked grin, distinctly Not Emma.

He won't give up so easily.

Killian realizes the one key difference between this and the last time he lost her; _he now knew what it meant to be loved by Emma Swan._

There is no time for doubt or hesitance, and he is pulling her to him, hand on the back of her neck, meeting her sneering lips with his hopeful ones.

(She is not her, but he still weakens at the contact).

A beat. He feels the second pass in a tangible, ripple of movement. It spreads over them both, and when Killian pulls back, the recognition is there in her eyes.

She says his name like a prayer, like a wish come true; she holds him so close that he can feel the beat of her heart against his own.


	23. Hope

**AN: (Sorry for yet another angst-y chapter- I'll try to write something fluffy this week). Thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

Their eyes are on him instantly, and even through Snow's tears and the single, anguished sob David releases, Killian knows they're preparing their trembling hands to hold him up.

His legs want to fall out from under him, but he won't let them, even knowing the Charmings would catch him before he could hit the ground.

(It's Robin who catches Regina as _she_ falls, a stream of apologies and curse words falling from her mouth).

Killian knows what the four of them are awaiting in the silence that follows, as Regina clutches tight to her beloved and David helps his wife stand upright against the pain. They are braced for his rage, his desire for vengeance always laying under the surface, holding out for a moment like this one to be set free.

But Killian cannot muster the fury.

He knows it will come, in time, with the days and weeks that will drag tirelessly on without her- but in that exact moment, Killian felt only two emotions:

First, and most prevalent, was grief. An overwhelming ache resides in his chest, greater than any he'd previously experienced, making his blood throb painfully through his veins. There's loss weighing on his shoulders, yet he will be forced to bear it, to weather these storms as he always has before.

Secondly, Killian felt faith. It came in the form of Emma's touch in that last, terrible moment before she'd disappeared, in her promise of a time when they'd be together again- and even if Killian knew she didn't believe the words yet, she would one day soon.

(He already did).

He knew it by the determination that rose from the abyss in his heart; he would see her again. He wouldn't rest until he brought her home, until she was back with her family and back in his arms.

Killian feels his aching, heavy body turn towards the others. He feels his jaw clench into a hard edge, his teeth line with bitter conviction. "We'll find her." He hears himself tell the assembled. He meets the eyes of her mother and father, watches them take in the pure resolve behind his words.

And like a spell being broken, Killian sees the moment it settles in their minds. Regina lifts her chin, regaining the queenly composure, and Snow straightens her back, supporting her own weight. David shares a look of understanding with him, nodding resolutely.

It is a lesson Emma had tried to teach him, time and again. A lesson which, after her sacrifice, he's now prepared to learn. And if any villain can become a hero, then he will. He will find her, he will never stop looking, not until he can once again feel the thrum of her heart beneath his palm.

Killian turns his eyes away from the others, prepared to begin the long journey that lays ahead. It won't be easy, but he thinks with the sad edge of a smile that a hero's path never is. Even as the full force of loss hits him, Killian feels something else that helps to bear the weight.

Hope.


	24. Ladies First

** AN: I promised some fluff, but this took a bit of a turn. Here's a (borderline M-rated) uninterrupted scene from 4x14 for you all, because, come on.  
**

* * *

There was more she had wanted to say to him, but then Killian was leaning forward, his hand finding the back of her neck, his eyes shutting, and Emma was suddenly otherwise occupied.

She kissed him back, slow and lazy and gentle, feeling her concerns evaporate. She may not know everything about his beginnings, and she may not know all the hurt he had caused, but Emma meant the words she had said to him so long ago; she was tired of living in the past. She trusted Killian- had been given a _reason _to trust him, time and time again. Emma knew the difference between the pirate she'd trapped on a beanstalk and the pirate that now held her close, palm pressing into her back.

_This _pirate is care and contentment where there had once been distrust and unease. He's safety, warmth in the circle of his arms, in the press of his lips...

They kissed feverishly now, hands roaming along the other's body, grabbing at hair and clutching at waists. Emma felt the cool shock of metal on her bare skin as Killian pressed his hook against the small of her back, beneath the sweater that was now riding up. She fought back a shiver, shifting herself onto Killian's lap, knees on either side of his thighs. He lifted his hips towards Emma's, every inch of him needing every inch of her, as she shoved his jacket off his shoulders.

She trailed her lips away from his, making her way across his jaw, down his neck. Her hair tickled him as it fell around her shoulders, filling his nose with the scent of lavender. It was intoxicating, and Killian let his head roll back for a moment, basking in the swipe of Emma's tongue against his throat. When she began to work the buttons of his vest, Killian snapped into action. He moved in one swift motion, flipping her onto her back and pressing her into the sofa.

"Ladies first." Killian explained in a lascivious whisper, looking into Emma's eyes as they darkened. She stared at him for a heated moment before her lips curled into a siren's smile.

"Well then, let's see the best in you, Pirate." she challenged, the tease watered down a bit by the breathlessness of her voice.

Killian smirked deviously, pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat. His hands ran up her sides, her sweater rising higher and higher. Emma got the hint, leaning up just enough for him to pull the article off of her. He took in the sight of her, the small, would-be corset leaving little to the imagination, the deep blue contrasting with her pale skin. Something close to a growl rose from Killian's throat as he moved to kiss her again.

But Emma had other ideas, placing a halting hand to his chest. "Isn't it bad form to have on more clothes than I do?" she quipped, punctuating the question with another wicked grin.

"As I said, love, ladies first." Killian retorted, but Emma was already back on his vest, popping the buttons off in quick succession before doing the same with the shirt beneath it. She kissed down his chest with every new inch of skin the undone buttons revealed, permitting Killian to lay her back down against the cushions after a moment.

He worked his way down her chest, kissing the expanse of her smooth skin, continuing along her stomach as Emma arched upwards. Killian paused at the top of her jeans, glancing up at her, his expression a replica of that moment on the beanstalk the day they'd met. Just as it had then, Emma felt her pulse quicken, nodding silently in response to Killian's unspoken question. He popped the button of her jeans, bringing the zipper down with his teeth.

"Christ," Emma muttered as his eyes never left hers. Killian grinned smugly up at her, and if she were in a more clear state of mind, Emma would have rolled her eyes. But Killian had tugged her pants down her legs, pressing his lips against the thin scrap of lace that now covered her, and she couldn't help but whimper.

_Pick a partner who knows what he's doing_, she recalled him saying lifetimes ago, and as her breath grew shaky and too loud, Emma thought through the haze in her brain that the words didn't just apply to dancing.

(She'd once be a little jealous, knowing all the women he'd been with. But at that moment, with Killian's lips on her, Emma was glad that his experience had taught him more than just how to waltz).


	25. Begin

**AN: So I found this poem by Haley Hendrick on tumblr and fell in love with it. And because I'm me, all I could think of was Captain Swan. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

_"He whispered in my ear last night before we both_  
_drifted off that I needed to promise not to leave him."_

He wakes from a nightmare with all the calm of a hurricane, gasping and flinging himself up in bed, eyes darting around wildly.

"I'm right here." she tells him in a whisper, her hand already soothing a path down his chest. His heart pounds hard against her palm, and the waves of the ship beneath them rocks him closer to her.

In a cracked voice, without opening his eyes, he whispers, "You swear it?"

_"I don't think I've ever packed that much passion_  
_into a string of words leaving my mouth, passing_  
_by my lips and into his ear like a virus; an infection_  
_that can only do good, that can only plant seeds_  
_in the middle of his chest where other people have_  
_only jerked out roots."_

She opens _her _eyes, though, looks into his hard-lined face, at the years of hurt carved into his features. "_Yes_," she breathes, but it's resolute as the word leaves her lips. His eyes finally flutter open, and when his blue gaze locks on hers, she can see his real age written in them.

Her voice is an exhale, but she vows with all she has, "I'm not going anywhere."

_"He is windows open wide on_  
_a May morning. He is glass, he is a kaleidoscope_  
_that, when looked through, you can only see the_  
_good in this world. You can see him, and he is_  
_the good. He feels he's a burden, space wasted,_  
_filling the openness of his shoes and feeling like_  
_he's filling the Grand Canyon with worry."_

The promise reveals something in them both, cracking open their hearts for the other to witness. She sees him -for what is a rare occasion- stripped bare of all bravado. Vulnerability hangs heavy in the air surrounding them, but his gaze is so steady that she doesn't look away, couldn't even if she wanted to.

She knows he doesn't believe he's enough for her, and she's content to lay there, hand over his pounding heart, until he finally understands that he's more than that.  
(She wants to grab him by the shoulders and kiss that look from his face, because, _Christ_, he is so very enough).

He is all the good still left in this town. He is the wide-eyed hope of the Truest Believer, he is the friendship that blossoms between a former queen and a would-be princess, he is the once-orphan that finds she can now call this place 'home'.

_"I want to be the house he runs to when he wants_  
_to feel at home. I want him to rest his legs inside_  
_of my veins, take a break from the world and listen_  
_to the rush of my blood; it is throbbing through my_  
_system with such force because I anticipate his_  
_touch even when he's nowhere near."_

She wraps her fingers around his arm. She loves him, from the wounded shadow of his past to the burning light of his future. She wants to be everything all at once just to see him happy. She wishes her magic was strong enough to keep his demons at bay, all the time.

She loves him, present-tense, from the hard edges to the softer corners, and it is so much more than any magic could ever be.

_"He is not an unfortunate soul. He is just beginning._  
_And I want to begin with him." _

She touches her palm flat against his chest. She knows him, from the hammer-against-steel beating of his heart to the rise and fall of his breath. She knows the touch of his fingertips and the tug of his hand, the curve of his smirk and the brush of his lips, the yearning in his eyes and the needing in his soul.

She knows he is home, and she will never (not ever again) stray too far.


	26. Part of the Plan

**AN: A quick little drabble based off of Emma and Regina's discussion about fate in 4x19. Thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

Each day seems to result in more and more proof that her life has never been her own, and she doesn't think she'll ever get used to that. Everything she's done -from being adopted by Ingrid to befriending Lily to meeting Neal- had been decided for her long before she was around to choose otherwise. She hates the knowledge that someone else made her who she is; that everyone she ever cared about was placed on her path for very specific reasons. Everyone, except-

_Except for him. _

He didn't drift into her life at fate's hands; he came into her life -crashing into it, setting everything ablaze- all on his own.

(All she really knows is that one day he was there, and then he was never anywhere else).

And when it comes to him, she wants to believe in something stronger than fate. She wants to believe in free will, in the power for them to decide who they will be, and how they will fit, and whether it will work.

(She wants to believe in _him_).

So when she can't help but feel that the rest of her world is outside of her control, she thinks of the Author and Rumplestiltskin and her parents, and that despite all of their great big plans, she is with him.

She is with him, and so she believes it when he tells her that _this _-them- is all their own doing. He tells her that it was their choices, good or bad, but completely _theirs_, that brought them together. He tells her that she came crashing into his life, setting everything ablaze, and that he got caught up in something larger than himself. He tells her that he _chose_ to follow her; that he will continue to choose her, destiny be damned.

(She can't deny she likes the sound of that).


	27. Hypothetically

**AN: While I've mostly kept these oneshots within the realm of the current storyline, this popped into my head and kind of got away from me. So, yeah, here's a little future AU. I hope you enjoy!  
**

* * *

There had been warning signs, from her unusual nausea each morning to her sudden aversion to foods she'd always loved. But life as the Savior didn't stop, and so Emma was too busy to think about these abnormalities all that much, chalking them up to symptoms of a stomach bug. It wasn't until things around Storybrooke had calmed down a bit that she even realized she'd missed her last period.

It occurred to her on a particularly quiet afternoon, rifling through her purse, that she had yet to get her birth control prescription refilled. Emma recalled taking the last pill what must have been nearly a month ago, promising herself that she'd pick up her prescription later that day. But, wrapped up in dealing with the newest villain, she'd completely spaced it. And now, she wanted to beat her past self's head against the wall for being so thoughtless.

Emma gripped the pregnancy test until her knuckles went white, then finally set it aside on the bathroom counter.

Two minutes. She thought fleetingly of the last time she'd done this, in the solitude of her prison cell, and couldn't help but appreciate the fact that, whatever the results, she wouldn't be alone in this. Then, she'd had no one to offer support or even to berate her for being irresponsible. Now, she had Killian and her parents, respectively, for those jobs.

Emma found her eyes resting on the engagement ring around her finger. It was hard to believe it had been five months since the proposal, five months since the day Killian had dropped to one knee and swore to -among other things- always be there for her. She just hopped that his promise accounted for _this_.

Her phone's alarm sounded, startling Emma into action. Two minutes. She silenced the ringer and reached for the test, taking a slow breath. She raised the stick to eye level and stared at the small, double set of pink lines. Emma exhaled, the sound too loud in the emptiness of the bathroom. She wasn't disappointed, exactly. Hell, she might have even been a little excited- but the thought of bringing a baby into their world _now _of all times terrified her.

And then there were all the other, more superficial things. What would the townspeople think of her? Her and Killian weren't even married yet, and now they'd probably have to push back the wedding date, and what the hell would Killian think of this, anyway? Or her parents? _Oh, Christ, _David was going to _kill _her fiancee-

"Emma?"

She jumped at the sound of Killian's voice, the test dropping from her hand. _Speak of the devil_, Emma thought darkly. "Yeah, I'm-" she cleared her throat, trying to rid her voice of its nervous edge, "I'm in here."

The familiar scrape of his boots against the floor sounded as Killian neared the bathroom. Emma sat completely still, filled with a silent panic. She didn't know how to tell him the news, even if she was reasonably confident that he'd be over the moon about it.

"Are you alright?" Killian questioned, rapping lightly on the door. "You sound a bit disheartened."

Emma could hear the urgency in his voice, but she needed time to sort this all out. She needed to process. "Fine." she assured, her voice a little too loud. "Just give me a sec."

She could practically see the way his eyes would narrow, not finding her response satisfactory. (Not that she could blame him- the words sounded fake to her own ears). There was a beat of silence before she heard Killian shuffling outside the door. "I'm coming in, love," he announced, pushing the door open while Emma scrambled to stash the test in her jacket pocket.

He took in the sight of her seated on the bathroom floor, and Emma tried to arrange her face into something that didn't look so terribly _guilty_. The stick of plastic clutched in her hand felt like it weighed twenty pounds.

"Alright, Swan?" Killian wondered, his eyes flitting over her, scanning her for any visible abnormalities. Seeming to find none, he took a seat beside her on the floor, concern still creasing his brow.

"Sure." Emma lied, managing a smile as Killian rubbed his hand down her arm. "Still sick, I guess."

At those words, Killian pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. (Emma stifled a laugh at that, despite herself. He'd picked up the gesture from watching Mary Margaret fuss over Neal). "No sign of a fever," he noted, and if Emma didn't know any better, she'd call the twinge in his voice suspicion. "You're sure it's a stomach virus?"

Emma moved his hand off her forehead, intertwining their fingers. "Of course I'm sure." she insisted, pleased when her voice sounded convincing. "What else could it be?"

Killian quirked a brow at that. "Well, you've been ill for a few mornings now...Not eating meals you typically enjoy...I can't help but wonder if this 'sickness' is something of a more permanent nature?"

Emma had to stop her jaw from dropping. She should have known better than to think her perceptive pirate wouldn't notice something was off. Meeting Killian's inquisitive gaze, her hand clenched more tightly around the test. "You're asking if I'm pregnant?"

Killian didn't respond immediately, measuring Emma's reaction to the word. He knew he couldn't be imagining her nervousness.

"Have I gained that much weight?" Emma joked feebly when Killian remained quiet. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Swan...I can't help but feel as though you know something I don't."

Emma stared at him for a long moment. At any rate, he didn't look upset at the prospect of them having a baby- just apprehensive, wanting to know the truth. She glanced at the bathroom floor, gathering courage.

"Hypothetically," Emma said eventually, looking back at Killian, "what would you think...of that?"

His gaze didn't waver, but she caught the flash of apprehension that passed over his face. "Hypothetically," Killian began, playing along, "I would be worrying about what _you're _thinking, love."

Emma blinked, considering that. Pushing aside all the other crap- her parents, the town, potential villains- she _wanted _this. She wanted Killian and their little apartment by the docks, and the ring on her left hand and the I do's and all of it. She wanted a son or daughter with his eyes and her hair, his courage and her intuition. She wanted a brother or sister for Henry, a second grandchild for David and Mary Margaret. She wanted this, their own happy ending.

"I know we haven't talked much about- any of this." Emma said, pulling herself back to the present. "And I know it's really bad timing, and David's probably already sharpening his sword, but-" she paused, taking in Killian's expression, the hope lighting his eyes making her smile. "Hypothetically? I know none of that other stuff matters if we're in this together."

Killian's lips turned up into a grin, gentle as the hand he moved to cradle her cheek. "Swan, are you saying...?"

She pulled her hand from her pocket, brandishing the pregnancy test. Killian tilted his head, clearly at a loss, eying the unfamiliar object. "Modern technology." Emma explained quickly. "The point is, yes. I'm saying that we're going to have a baby."

The smile that lit Killian's face was blinding. When he pulled her into a kiss, Emma tasted both worry and joy on his tongue.


	28. In the Shadows

**AN: Based on the promo with dark!Emma and the Killian/Charming fight scene. I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it.  
**

* * *

The castle comes into sight over the top of the hill, and Killian allows himself a small smirk. He'd made it, the easiest part over with, and now came the real challenge.

He'd been told tales of the castle, witnessed the cruelty of the Evil King and Queen. And, like any sailor in their realm, Killian had heard the rumors whispered around the ports of the trapped Princess. No one had ever seen her up close, and even those that claimed to have caught her silhouette in the window admit it may have been a trick of the light.

Well, Princess or not, Killian cared little. What he wanted was justice against the King and Queen for their crimes, and any daughter they might have was an extraneous detail. Killian was interested only in the well-being of those who had been wronged by Their Majesties. He would find a way to grant better lives to his fellow villagers if it was the last thing he did.

Climbing down from his horse, Killian tied the reigns around a tree and rubbed a hand down the horse's snout, hushing it. He sized up the foreboding castle before approaching, hand tight on the sword at his waist. Killian eyed the tower walls, his gaze landing on a few cracks in the bricks; footholds. Wasting no time, Killian slipped his foot between the stones and began climbing. After a few feet, Killian considered the heavy satchel around his torso and shrugged it off, tossing it up towards a tree branch. The strap of his bag just missed the limb, causing Killian to huff out a sigh before trying again.

On the third toss, a shrill laugh pierced Killian's ears. He glanced up frantically, his gaze locking with a pair of severe, dark eyes. "What's wrong, Captain?" A harsh voice sneered, "Can't get it up?"

Too alarmed to pay the remark any attention, Killian squinted up at the tower. From the distance, he was able to make out the outline of a young woman, a mess of golden hair framing her pale face.

"So the rumors are true." Killian called up after a moment of calming his nerves, his voice even, teasing. "Well, Princess, your reputation precedes you."  
The woman laughed, another sharp trill. "As does yours, Pirate." She narrowed her eyes at him, smiling sinisterly. "Now, would you care to explain your reason for trespassing?"

Killian smirked at that, fitting his foot between another set of bricks, continuing his ascent. The Princesses' eyes flashed, as if daring him to come closer. Well, far be it for the notorious Captain Jones to resist a challenge. He gazed back up at her with a serene smile. "Well, love, your parents have wronged more than just you, it would seem." He quirked a brow. "And I'm here to set things right."

She considered him, looking wickedly amused by his words. Killian continued moving upwards, pausing only when the Princess spoke again, her voice still a severe tune. "I'd be careful, Captain." she sing-songed, "Daddy and Mother don't take too kindly to strangers." There was a bitterness that seeped into her voice at the mention of the King and Queen, and Killian felt an unbidden sympathy for her. Mad as the woman seemed, being kept somewhere against one's will was a cruel fate.  
"No need to worry for me, lass." Killian said jovially, casting his eyes up at her. "I'm quite adept at surviving."

For some reason, the words made her cackle. Killian ignored the shiver that went through him, almost making him lose his bearings. The Princess remained silent as he finished his climb, her eyes dancing with glee. As Killian reached the top, his breath coming fast, he was surprised when she stepped aside, allowing him to pull himself through the window.

Up close as he was, Killian saw that her eyes were, in fact, green. A deep, forest-y shade that was so dark they were nearly black, but green nonetheless. He blinked, and she smirked, entirely aware that she had him captivated.

The Princess paced the floor, glancing over her shoulder to croon, "Welcome aboard, Killian."

He stopped at the sound of his true name, caught off-guard. She turned back to face him, and he noticed the heavy chains bounding her wrists. Killian stared, but she paid the things no attention, instead focusing her startling eyes on him. "Yes," she said in response to his vexed look, not grinning so much as baring her teeth. "I've heard of you. The Lieutenant turned pirate, stealing from the rich to give to the poor." She looked up from under her lashes, batting her eyes, a smile curving her lips. "Tell me, Sailor. How's brother dearest?"

The words tore through Killian, leaving him feeling as if he'd been gutted. He stared hard at her, unable to explain why the knowledge felt like such a betrayal.

"Oh, yes." she giggled, swaying on the spot. She looked like a child granted a particularly nice surprise. "I know all about poor Liam Jones and his poor brother, having to watch the King crush his only family's heart."

Killian squashed down the pain of that particular memory, smothering the ache in his chest. He managed to smile; a sneering, grimacing thing. "And how might you have heard?" he challenged. "Forgive me, but your parents don't seem the sort to tell bedtime stories."

That elicited another laugh. Her eyes were alight with mirth as she stared Killian down. "For a perceptive man, you don't know much, do you, Captain?" She shook her arm, drawing Killian's attention to the clanking chains latched around her wrists. "Haven't you wondered what I did to get myself locked up in this infernal tower?" Her every word was dripping with amusement, making Killian's blood run cold. "Imagine the Evil Queen's dismay when she discovered her daughter was more powerful than she. To find that her daughter can see things- events that haven't yet happened?" She cast her eyes down at the shackles, a flicker of something new crossing her face. "A daughter who possessed magic, dangerous magic? Of course the Queen couldn't have such a hazard out in the world."

If Killian didn't know any better, he'd think he caught a hint of sadness in her tone. He was rendered speechless for a brief moment, watching the Princess stare at her confines, noticing the raw, bleeding wounds around her thin wrists. Again, he felt a wave of compassion for her, unprecedented and unyielding. "Somehow, milady, I don't perceive you as dangerous." Killian murmured, not looking away when she turned sharply, snapping her eyes to him. "A bit mad, perhaps." he paused, his voice softening. "But I imagine anyone in your set of circumstances would be."

She was silent for a long moment, her unfathomable eyes on him. Looking back at her, Killian felt that same rush of protectiveness he experienced when meeting the eyes of a poor villager, the lost gaze of a starving child. He wanted to keep her safe, dangerous though she may be.

Just as she appeared as if she might saw more, the Princesses' head snapped to the heavy door across the room, her eyes going unfocused. "Guards." she choked out, a rush coursing through her. She looked back at Killian, her voice urgent. "You must leave."

Tilting his head, Killian listened closely. "I don't hear anything, love."

She shook her head violently, lifting a hand to his chest, pushing gently. "Not yet. Soon." She urged him back towards the window, and Killian was taken aback by the tenderness of her touch. It didn't fit her harsh nature, the sharp, cruel amusement that had been in her voice. "I saw them. You'll be captured if you don't leave now."

Killian felt his back press against the wall, but he could only stare at this woman, awed. Her demeanor had shifted completely, a genuine person found beneath her cracked exterior. He couldn't form words as she continued to coax him out of the tower, pausing only when he had one leg out the window.

"I'll be back, lass." Killian vowed, yet he didn't have any clue as to why. His words caused something to break through the panic in her eyes, and she smiled -still with an edge, but the most genuine one he'd seen yet- looking every bit the Princess she was meant to be.

It was only after he'd mounted his horse that Killian realized he'd completely abandoned his mission. And yet, glancing back up at the tower, catching a flash of blonde hair in the window, Killian thought he might have found a far greater one.

/

He returns almost daily after that, unable to deny the pull of her, her absolutely intoxicating nature. She was worse than any bloody siren he'd encountered, her every word a dark, haunting song.

He rides his horse to the castle after nightfall- when it's the safest time to journey, without the watchful gaze of the Royal Guards- and is always gone before sunrise. Each time, she awaits him at the window, her razor-edged smile greeting him like the warmest of hellos. He learns about her without ever having to push very hard, finds that if he keeps quiet long enough, her confessions come out in tumbling, shaky whispers. She is more frightened than dangerous, Killian notes, at least with him. (Though by the way she speaks of her parents, he doesn't doubt she could release hell if she so desired).

He realizes that all the stories have it wrong. She is not the monster locked away for her own good, not the fire breathing dragon waiting in the dungeons. She is only as dark as her parents made her, only as evil as she is afraid. Killian finds that she is more light than most people he's encountered- she is merely trapped in the shadows, and he wants desperately to let the sun in.

/

She tells him one day that her name is Emma. She says it like a secret, like a careful thing, and he treats it as such. After that, he only says her name like it's something fragile, like it may snap and break under his tongue, like it's as wounded as she is, herself.

/

They begin to plot her escape one night, seated on the floor of the tower, their knees brushing against each other. She tells him that they'll never be safe, that they will always be on the run, and that he'll be executed if ever the guards find them. He tells her that she is worth the trouble, assures her that he'll get her to the safety of his ship, and not to worry, because he's a hell of a Captain.

/

They ride off three nights later, reaching the Jolly before the sun's even shone above the horizon. He takes her hand as she steps aboard, and never quite lets go.


	29. Things Remembered

**AN: Someone on tumblr had the idea that in the finale, Killian would have been written out of the story at Rumple's request; and that because of this, it would be up to him and Henry to find a way to save Emma in the EF. I liked the concept, so here it is. Thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

He has eyes like the ocean after a storm, and she can't shake the feeling that she has looked into them before.

"Swan," he says gently, and she doesn't understand the moniker, can't comprehend the gentle, endearing way he lets it fall from his lips. He raises his hand to her before halting, fingers curling into a fist as he seems to think better of touching her, dropping his arm back to his side. "We haven't much time. Your fath- your guard may come to at any moment."

She stares at him in wonder. She recognizes him from somewhere, she's certain of it, straining for a memory that is just out of reach. And then there's the young boy at his side whom she can barely stand to look at, because she _knows _him. He has a softness in his eyes -so familiar, just as the man he's accompanied by- that she has seen before. The two of them are as if from a dream which desperately wants to be remembered.

But she can't make sense of this, can't fathom why they are here, trying to save her. Time has passed so slowly, for so long, that she's lost faith in the idea that she _could _be saved. She tilts her head at them, wanting to trust the pain in their eyes, the quiet desperation, the something else that she doesn't have a name for, has never seen in her life. (It is burning and gentle all at once, and it makes her want to believe).

In her hesitance, the boy steps forward with a quiet courage. A flash of something runs through her head- another memory she can't quite grasp. "Emma," he says. She hasn't a clue as to how he knows this is her name. It had been too many years without anyone addressing her, and the word sounds foreign as it hangs in the air. "You can trust us, okay?" The boy offers out a hand, silently assuring that they aren't here to harm her. She shifts her gaze between them again, working to decipher the truth behind their actions.

They stand before her tensely, their apprehension tangible. She is able to see that, if nothing else, their desire to get her out of the tower is genuine. After a moment of deliberation, she nods. She takes solace in the fact that if they _are _here to harm her, the powerful magic she wields can become her weapon. (It certainly wouldn't be the first time).

Both the man and the boy give relieved smiles at her assent. The former crouches in front of her, indicating the chains clasped tightly around her wrists.  
"We'll have to cut these off, love." he murmurs, making careful eye contact, his movements slow and measured. She realizes he is trying not the startle her further. He raises his sword, cutting away at the chains until they fall away. She hisses as her wounds sting sharply.

He raises his hand carefully, palm up. Understanding, she timidly places one wrist down, and he takes a light hold of it. He retrieves something from his satchel -a small bottle- and pours it over the cuts, one wrist at a time. She gasps at the burning sensation, gritting her teeth, but his lips turn up in a wry smile. "Apologies, darling." he says, wrapping bandages around each wrist, soothing a hand over the injuries.

She looks up at him, stunned, and he gives a tender smile in return.

She doesn't know why she does it. She just knows that his eyes are as kind as his touch, both of which are so _familiar _that she's certain they've met before (perhaps in another life, in another time).

She brings their lips together and is overcome with a sense of having done so before. The kiss is cautious for a moment, long enough for her mind to clear, a rush of memory coming back. And then she is clinging to him, because not only does she know him- she _loves _him. She feels the wave of magic as it passes over them, filling the room with a faint light. When it fades out, she pulls back, her smile uncontainable.

"Killian."

His answering smile is just as wide, his eyes a mixture of disbelieving and comprehending that makes her laugh. Emma raises her eyes past his shoulder, looking at her son, smiling just like the two of them. She rushes to her feet to hug him, closing her eyes in relief. "Hey, kid." she breathes, "Sorry you didn't get to break the curse this time around."

Henry laughs as he pulls away. He nods his chin as a certain pirate comes up behind them, locking his fingers with Emma's. "That's okay. I thought it was time to let Killian have the glory."


	30. Calling It Even

**AN: A very hastily written chapter before the finale tonight! It's based off of the speculation for the Killian/David sword fight, and got a little fluffy since I'm a sucker for Captain Charming.  
**  
**Thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

The spell breaks around them and there's a beat of confusion before they all come to, glancing around in a daze.

Her eyes land on him, and her throat closes. He lays completely still on the stone floor, and her eyes search desperately for the rise of his chest- coming up empty. She scrambles down beside him, tears stinging, her cry of "_Killian" _dying on her lips. She shakes him, grasps at his chest, the fingers of one hand desperately seeking a pulse while the other holds tight to his arm.

Her father's voice sounds miles away as it slews a string of curses she's never heard him use. David finally chokes out an, "Emma," before falling silent, the word laced with guilt and grief. But she can't respond to him, can't tear herself away from the man on the ground before her. She hadn't known him two minutes ago, but now she _remembers_. She knows him, she loves him, she can't lose him, _oh, God, not him_-

The world turns blurry through the tears she can't hold back. She flings swears at him, cursing him and his ridiculous bravery, the fact that he always has to be the idiot who tries to save her, that he'd said he was a survivor, and how dare he break his promise. The words _not, you, too _rip from her throat in a harsh sob.

She feels pressure on her shoulder and shoves her mother's hand away, never taking her eyes off of him. Her panic is wild and desperate, making her fingertips glow with her magic, causing sparks to bounce off the walls of the tower. She presses both hands to his jaw, tracing the scar along his cheekbone and feeling as though the earth has fallen away under her.

"_Come back to me," _she whispers achingly, sweeping her gaze over the peaceful expression that looks back at her. His eyes are mostly closed, and she wishes just once more to see the familiar shade of blue. With trembling hands, she places one palm against his chest, right where his heart no longer beats.

She loves him and she'd never told him. And now it was too late, now they'd run out of time, and she'd lost him again-

Tears run down her face, landing on the leather of his jacket, one hitting his cheek. She leans her forehead against his, and for the last time, presses a kiss to his temple. There's a rush of wind, and she feels it beneath her palm;

A beat.

/

Smiles of relief interrupt the kiss he gives her, pulling her down to his lips, her name an exhale of his breath. After he's standing upright, that smirk is back in place, and it's as if he hadn't just died right in front of them.

But she feels the way he's unsteady on his feet, leaning on her for a moment, and she understands. She squeezes his hand, whispering against his neck that it had scared the hell out of her, too.

He kisses her once more before appraising the others in the room. He grins jovially at her father, who looks as shaky as if he'd just come back from the dead, himself. Killian claps David on the shoulder, quipping that surely he owes him one after running him through with a sword. David tenses for a moment, then pulls the pirate into a hug that surprises them all.

"We'll call it even, then." Killian says gruffly after being released, hand still clasped on the Prince's shoulder. He gives Killian a nod of understanding, something passing between the men.

(If Emma didn't know any better, she'd say those were tears trapped in both of their eyes).


	31. Muscle Memory

**AN: Here's a quick, fluffy chapter because I am not yet emotionally prepared to write anything that touches on the dagger scene. (Though you can expect about a dozen of Killian-didn't-get-to-say-I-love-you-back fics to come in the following months). **

**As always, thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

She is all green eyes and hair like the sun itself, all familiar lines and curves despite the fact that he's certain they've not met before. (Not in this life, surely).

She tells him that in her world (in what had become _his _world), they are close. He doesn't need convincing. For how else could he explain the simple way they fall into line together, the way her voice sounds like the echo of a particularly good dream, the familiarity of her gaze and the stories hiding behind her sly smile.

She touches him and he feels her everywhere. His body is ablaze against hers. He can't keep his heart from pounding a hard, rapid tattoo. The sword begins to work with him rather than against; he sweeps the blade in an arc, and it feels as right as her presence beside him.

Blindly, inexplicably, yet completely _right_.

Their circumstances are the product of a force beyond their control; yet he knows he's falling for this woman all over again on his own accord. She smiles and he wants to never see her any other way. She commands him aboard the ship and he wants to hear nothing but her calm courage for the rest of his days. She teaches him to wield a sword and he will use it to defend her every breath.

She teaches him to be brave, and for her, he will be.

He thinks that loving her is muscle memory.

/

He is all nerves and shy glances, but he is still _him_, still Killian, and she's so relieved.

She catches herself watching him throughout their journey back to land, entranced by how different this version of her pirate is from the one she knows so well.

There's no smirk or steady assurance, no innuendos or lingering touches.

She never thought she'd call Captain Hook adorable, but this variation of him _is_, with his stuttering words and fumbling feet. She can't help but tease him, standing too close, moving slowly against him, taking a wicked amusement in his uncertainty. She feels his heart beating fast as she teaches him to handle the sword and allows herself a smirk.

She finds that she kind of likes this Killian. It's like falling for him all over again, in spite of the differences between this lackluster deckhand and her worthwhile pirate. (Yet she knows deep down that he is still himself, knows that any version of her would fall in love with any version of him).

Because, try as he did, there are some things the Author can't rewrite. He can make the hero into a villain, can change the pirate into the deckhand, can turn the courageous into the cowardly- but he can never make Killian Jones into anyone but himself.

And it's for this reason that Emma backs away from her parents, lets Killian step up to save them all. Because at the end of the day, she knows his bravery is a part of him. She knows you can't take the honor out of him, no matter the realm or timeline. She knows you can't remove his capacity to love; his unyielding willingness to fight for those he holds dear. She knows that they will fix this, that no matter what happens, they will be together again.

She thinks that trusting him is muscle memory.


	32. Meet

**AN: Another fluffish drabble because I get far too emotional thinking about all the ways all the versions of CS could have fallen in love.  
**

**Thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

The first time (which isn't technically the first), it is swift and unforeseen, as if the sun that's just broken through the clouds is sending them a message. For a moment, all she sees is a flash of white, and then her eyes adjust to find blue ones looking back.

(He fears going blind even after his eyes have adjusted, for Killian is certain he's still staring at the sun. She is a shock of light, golden hair and hard eyes, fierce words and determined stance.

(His heart begins to beat faster)).

/

The second time, it is haste and tension, as if they can both feel the storm that's coming, the calm that's being chased by chaos. She looks the same, all golden hair and emerald eyes. She doesn't know him, but he knows her.

(He is familiar. She gets flashes of something -_a dream_, she thinks- and tries to recall where she's seen him before. His eyes hold something gentle and desperate, her name an exhale on his lips, and it has her nerves in tight coils.

(She can't imagine she'd forget meeting him)).

/

The third time (which is technically the first), it is fire and heat, as if the tavern's been set ablaze around them. He stares without meaning to, the whole bloody place falling away behind her, silence and darkness wherever she doesn't stand.

(She tenses even as she smiles. There is something in his eyes -familiar and so different, all at once- that makes her chest tighten, her stomach drop to her toes.

(Her heart begins to beat faster)).

/

The fourth time, it is urgency and awe, as if they're racing against the clock, against time itself. He looks the same, all dark hair and stormy eyes. He doesn't know her, but she knows him.

(She is familiar somehow. He thinks of another time, a place in which he knows her from, impossible as it is. Her eyes hold care and recognition, relief in her wide, breathless smile, and it makes his blood boil.

(Surely he would never forget meeting her)).


	33. I Love You

**AN: Here's that angst, as promised.  
**

* * *

She is gone in a flash of light which splits the dark sky in two, a clattering of metal on cement, and her name tearing from his throat.

He blinks at the spot where she'd stood a moment ago, braced against the tangle of darkness coiling around her. Her eyes -wild and desperate- had sought his, her pleading words settling heavily in his heart. Above all the rest, it is these ones which hold the most weight;  
_  
I love you, _with her hand clasping his and the gusting wind around them, her heartbeat beneath his trembling palm.

And it is this which Killian remembers;  
_  
I love you, _with her hand brushing his cheek and the light leaving her eyes, the sway of the Jolly Roger beneath his trembling knees.

(The very words Milah had spoken before he'd lost her, too).

(He hadn't gotten the chance to return them then, either).

He doesn't know he's moving until he finds himself bent before the dagger, crouched as if to pounce. The silver of the blade glints up at him, the streetlamps reflecting off of its surface, right where Emma's name is now carved in curving, sinister letters. The final cruel joke in his search for redemption; for three hundred years he'd yearned for the Dark One's death, and now all he wishes for is the Dark One's safety.

The Dark One, now with hair like strands of gold and sunbeams, with eyes the shade of salvation and hands which held his so tightly. Killian's certain he will see her again, but he also knows that when he does, it may very well not be _her_. He envisions her green gaze and can't fathom those eyes holding hollowness the way they once did emotion, reflecting the darkness as they once did the light.

(His Swan was not meant for curses and daggers. He can only think of her with fingertips glowing white with magic that saves, magic which can only do good, which can only heal the wounded parts of them all).

His Emma was only ever meant for saving and being saved.

And he will, he will save her if it's the last bloody thing he does. He will save her or he will die trying, will leave this world with her name lodged in his throat and arms stretched out to where she stands. He will save her, and he will echo the words she had choked out into the swirling, blackening air.  
_  
I love you_.

The words he had so longed for. The very words he'd known she had wanted to say earlier, with her knees pressed on either side of him, holding him to the mattress. (She had been an anchor then, keeping him exactly where he desired to be). Words he had sensed were coming, words he had practically felt building up these past weeks. Words which took on a new meaning the moment they were spoken; in an aching confession, the darkness closing in around them, and Killian understood; Emma didn't think she'd get another chance to tell him. The words were meant as a goodbye.

(It's not goodbye. If he knows nothing else, it is this which Killian feels entwined with his very soul, curling around his spine, filling the emptiness of his bones. If he knows nothing else, he knows Emma).

He believes in her. He believes in _them_, in the power they hold when it's combined, when it twists and joins and becomes something utterly magical. (It becomes something utterly _true_).

He believes in that _I love you, _which Killian feels echo through him like a battle cry. It holds together the pieces of him which are desperate to break, to shatter beyond repair. It keeps him sane, keeps him holding on to goodness and hope by a thin thread- but holding on, regardless. It reverberates through him, settles into the space his heart had long ago reserved for her;  
_  
I love you._  
_ I love you._  
_ I love you._


	34. The Dagger

**AN: More angst, because I have a lot of emotions where this stupid dagger is concerned.  
**

* * *

Killian holds the dagger first.

He's not sure whether the Charmings see the absolute devastation in his gaze or if they just can't yet bare to have the blade in their possession- but they permit him to keep it, and for that, he's grateful.

He keeps it tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket, right beside his heart, which is still beating for her, still crying out for the love he's lost. Killian often catches himself running his thumb over the carving of Emma's name, allowing it to serve as a reminder of what he's working for.

The dagger is always close at hand, until the day he catches Henry nicking it from the jacket that's hung up on the Charming's coat rack.

(Killian turns a blind eye; the dagger is as close as he can get to Emma's presence, but he can't begrudge Henry this one token of his mother).

/

Henry keeps the dagger tucked between the pages of his storybook, safely nestled along the bookshelf in his bedroom.

He checks for it each morning before school and each night before bed, and often times in between. When he can't quite remember what it feels like to have hope, when he can't help but feel they've lost Emma for good, he opens the book and holds the dagger tightly in both hands.

One night before he gets beneath his covers, Henry discovers that the dagger's nowhere to be found.

(He recalls that Regina had offered to clean his room while he was at school; he doesn't ask questions).

/

Regina stores the dagger in her desk drawer, locked and enchanted with all the spells she can think to cast. She always keeps the key to said drawer close at hand, finds herself using it when Emma's last words of _you've worked too hard to have your happiness destroyed_ echo in her head.

When she's certain no one else in around, Regina takes the dagger and brings it up to eye level, commanding the Dark One to _get her ass back to Storybrooke, it's a mess without the Savior. _

She means that _they _are a mess without her. Regina sees the lost look in Henry's eyes, the blank stare of Emma's pirate, the hopelessness which weighs down Snow and David's shoulders.

(And if one evening she slips the dagger beneath the Charming's front door, well, no one needs to know but them).

/

David keeps the dagger strapped into his belt loop. He finds himself holding tight to the handle every so often, whenever his mind wanders to their daughter and _God-knows-where _she is. The dagger serves as a symbol of hope- twisted and menacing, but hope, nonetheless.

(He and Snow develop a system without meaning to; when her eyes go blank and staring, when a sob chokes in his throat, they press the dagger into the other's palm).

Snow keeps the dagger tucked inside her boot. She's hyperaware of its presence against her leg, reminding her that as long as Emma's name still graces the blade, their daughter is alive. And if she's alive, they will find her.

(They all discover their own kind of solace in that knowledge).

(It's a cold comfort).


	35. Moments

** AN: Sorry for my slight absence- I've been especially busy between work and finishing up this school year. But with summer vacation right around the corner, I'm hoping to get a lot more writing done. Until then, enjoy this little drabble!  
**

* * *

He once told her she needed to learn to appreciate the quiet moments.

And she had, with his help, with the six weeks of calm in the wake of Gold's banishment. They'd been granted the one thing they'd never seemed to have before.

Time.

Time to talk, time to laugh, time to sit and watch whatever story Emma decided Killian simply _had _to see on Netflix that night. They had time to do nothing at all, and those were often his favorite occasions, when he lay beside Emma on her small bed, stealing glances at each other and reveling in the knowledge that they had nothing more daunting to accomplish that day. The way her blonde hair splayed out along the pillow, her hand reaching to hold his, turning to face him...and smiling, always smiling.

He had missed that grin of hers, almost forgotten that it could exist, and never before so frequently, never with such sincerity. There had been days where he'd had to fight for just a glimpse of that smile, but now it came easy. It came with her carefree laugh filling the space all around them, with her dancing eyes turning his heart into a whimpering thing.

(He did so relish the fact that _he _was often the reason for that smile).

But then came the Crocodile's inevitable return, the universe reminding them that they were still in Storybrooke, and that- lest they forget - the magic of the town couldn't remain stagnant for long.

Emma's smile was far and few between after that. (Though not gone, oh no, never completely). Luckily, Killian was a patient man, and he'd never found a greater cause to await than Emma Swan and their quiet moments.

Even in the alternate reality, Killian had found the time to make Emma smile. (Or was it the other way around?) That grin of hers came to the surface, and his other self's heart stuttered. When he died in that realm, Emma had been the last thing he'd seen. Her face had contorted in shock and pain, yet still she was beautiful, always so beautiful. Slowly he had begun to fade away, the world growing silent, and it was a quiet moment of an entirely different sort.

Then he'd woken, and Killian was at last rewarded for his patience. All that time spent anticipating the day when Emma's smile- the real one, wide and so bright it was akin to staring into the sun- would return. And so this became his favorite moment:

Her hovering over him on the small bed as he sinks further into the mattress, drowning in her and all that she is. The room is quiet, Emma's relief tangible in the way she pins him down, anchoring his wrist in her grasp, her expression one of pure joy.

(He is alive, and Emma is beaming like nothing in this world will ever be as beautiful as this fact).

It occurs to Killian that it is _this_, this very moment, that he wants for the rest of his life. He wants every one of his days from this point on (however many or few there may be) to be spent with her. He wants to measure time by the way the light hits her at different hours. He wants to close his eyes and know whole days and nights are passing simply by the way her weight shifts on the mattress. He wants her and all these seconds, weeks, years. He wants every moment, quiet or loud, each one that he can have, each one that she's willing to give.

Because it was worth every dragging day to get to this point. To this moment of _thank god_. This moment of _I thought I'd lost you. _Of _you could never lose me. _Every bloody second was worth it for Killian to be able to look up at Emma and see what she holds in her smile.

(He hears the words as clearly as if she had shouted them).


	36. Good Thing

**AN: Because I live for Captain Charming and just really want this conversation to happen. **  
**Enjoy!  
**

He finds Killian at the docks, legs slung over the edge of the pier, watching the moon reflect off the inky water.

It's the same position David has found him in every night this week. He and Snow- at Henry's insistence that Killian shouldn't be left alone- had been extending frequent dinner invitations. And often times, as Killian said his goodbyes before ducking out of the apartment, David sensed something was off. A particular edge to his voice, a certain blankness in his eyes- all of which unsettled David.

(So much so that when Mary Margaret would squeeze his hand and urge her husband to check on Hook, David didn't need to be told twice).

His footsteps echo against the wooden planks as he approaches, but Killian doesn't turn to see who might be there. He doesn't need to- they've now spent enough nights without Emma to have developed a routine. David sighs, long and low, as he takes a seat beside Killian. They don't speak for a long time, merely passing Hook's flask back and forth, falling into their usual pattern. It's comforting, in a way, to be able to simply sit beside someone who understands the heaviness in your heart. Someone who has the same piece of themself missing.

It's David's voice which finally breaks through the silence, his eyes still on the horizon. "When we find her, she won't be the same."

It's a truth they've all been hard-pressed to accept. Even now, the prince's voice holds a shred of what could be called hope, but what Killian can only believe is denial. He takes another pull from his flask, tries his damnedest not to picture familiar green eyes, hollow and unrecognizable.

"No, mate." he says eventually, blinking away the image of skin like a crocodile's. "She won't."

"It's a good thing we have you on our side."

Killian glances over, tilting his head at the prince. "What makes you say that?"

"True Love's kiss." David explains in a rather strained voice, as though the very idea is a weight which he's struggling to bear. There's a pregnant pause during which Killian thinks David's forcing himself to accept the words. "We don't know what we'll be up against, but it's as good a backup as any."

Killian's lips twitch upwards at the implications of David's words, the fact that Emma's own father believes what they share is something true. Then he recalls that wretched moment in New York and feels his grimace regain control. "I do hate to disappoint you, Dave. If you're hoping for True Love's kiss, I suggest you seek out Henry."

David studies the pirate for a long moment before shaking his head. "Are you really so insecure about Emma's feelings that you believe that? She told you she loves you. For _Emma_ to say that out loud, trust me- she meant it."

Killian detects the envy in Dave's tone. He doesn't need to wonder at the cause of it; of the two of them, Killian is the only one to whom Emma's said those words. Still, he shakes his head. "It's not a question of my nor Emma's affections." David sees Killian's jaw clench as he hesitates. "I tried it, once. After I outran the curse which caused the missing year. When I found Emma in New York-" He halts, feeling as though saying the words aloud is akin to confessing some great weakness. "Well, needless to say, the reunion wasn't all I had hoped it would be."

There's a moment of quiet as the waves crash under their feet, and then David lets out a delighted chuckle. Killian shoots his lowered gaze up to the prince's, glaring sharply. "Glad you can find humor in my misfortune, mate."

Shaking his head, appearing downright amused, David claps Killian on the shoulder. "I take it you never read Henry's book."

Killian narrows his eyes further, not understanding the connection between this and the matter at hand. He curses himself for merely skimming the storybook, and his irked expression is answer enough, earning another grin from David. "True Love's kiss can't restore lost memories." He clues in, watching as Hook's face relaxes in understanding. "I once tried it on Snow after she drank a forgetting potion. But _both_ parties have to remember each other for the kiss to work."

Killian feels the weight in his chest lighten a fraction. He hadn't particularly minded that he and Emma were not True Loves- in fact, he'd been fairly convinced that many a couple had deluded themselves into believing the myth. (Because if what he felt for Emma wasn't true, then surely such a phenomena couldn't exist).

But now, to know that he might be able to save her, to know that they possess such potential- well. Killian looks at David carefully. "So you're saying-"

He claps the pirate once more on the back. A certain understanding passes between them, and-as has become the norm-they've no need to speak it. "I'm saying it's a good thing we have you on our side."


	37. In a Week

** AN: Back from yet another absence with some more angst. I've been feeling really uninspired lately, but felt guilty about not posting. So while I'm not too sure about this chapter, I hope you enjoy it!  
**

* * *

It had been a week.

They don't speak of this fact, not really, not with anything more than a few loaded glances. They don't speak of it, but they all know. They remember the twisting, sinister magic that had coiled itself around her, the flashes of light blinding them every few seconds, making spots dance across their vision even as they tried so desperately to see her-

They remember. None of them could possibly forget.

It is why, without so much as a word, they meet on Main Street. The four of them stand in the faint glow of the street lights, all of them disheveled, having dressed in a hurry. They'd waited until a late hour, until after Robin-charged with watching Neal and Henry-assured them that the latter had fallen into a restless sleep.

(Because none of them could forget, and Henry didn't need the reminder).

Gathered in a semi-circle, they stare at the last spot she'd stood before the darkness had swallowed her up. Killian stares so hard that his eyes burn, stares so hard that he can almost see the footprints that she might have left behind. He passes his flask wordlessly to David after taking a healthy swig. The rum makes its rounds amongst the group, and Killian can't muster any surprise when even the prim and proper Snow White takes a long pull.

She hands the flask back to him. They still don't speak. There aren't quite words for what each of them is feeling.

Killian wonders how you begin to explain the hollowness in your chest. What words could possibly describe the tangibility of her absence? She was gone so suddenly and terribly, and her eyes hadn't left his, not for a moment, and she'd said she loves him, and he'd had his heart ripped from his chest, but this was far worse, this was _agonizing_-

His hand clenches tighter around the dagger. He has run his fingers along the cool, smooth engraving of her name so many times he's surprised the letters haven't worn away. Killian knew he needed to bring it with him tonight (not that he's let it out of his bloody sight, anyway). They didn't need to communicate to know what it was they were all doing here.

A few more minutes pass in silence, each of them reflecting-as they have been for a week-on the weight of Emma's sacrifice. When the air seems to shift, Killian glances up at the others. David and Snow wear identical expressions of grief, but hope keeps them standing up straight. Regina's eyes are flat to the point of blackness, but a fire burns from somewhere within them. The Prince gives him a careful nod, the go-ahead, and the dagger shakes as Killian raises his trembling hand.

He knows the words he's meant to say. The words meant for summoning the Dark One- but Killian refuses to see his Swan that way. Instead he says a quiet, "Emma, love, come back to us."

There's a beat of nothing, more silence, and they accept the defeat. None of them had particularly expected it to work, anyway. But they aren't given time to turn away, because suddenly she's there, wearing the same clothes from that night, her hands clutching the sleeves of her white sweater.

"Emma," Her mother says first. Snow's voice is an exhale of disbelief, making Killian certain he's not the only one who'd anticipated reptilian skin and razor-edged fingernails.

But no, Emma looks exactly herself, if a little haggard. Her golden hair is a tangle around her shoulders, falling along her neck in that familiar way, and there are deep, bruise-like circles beneath her eyes, which are still so green, still so _Emma_.

She is still Emma. An Emma that refuses to look at any of them, with knuckles strained white from gripping the fabric of her shirt, with clenched jaw and curled in shoulders- but Emma, nonetheless. Killian allows the relief to wash over him. He'd been braced for worse. And while he despises the idea of Emma, lonely and tired and fighting the darkness on her own, he'll admit that seeing her-even in this state-lessens the ache in his chest.

Except that she still hasn't looked at him. Her eyes dart up from where they've been staring at her shoes, looking immediately to her parents, then to Regina, and then back. Killian, standing slightly apart from the others, can feel her struggling to avoid his gaze.

"Where are you?" David asks after a long moment, voice hoarse and desperate. "How can we get there?"

Emma shakes her head; a quick, twitchy movement. She speaks for the first time, and Killian's heart cries out for her. "I don't know." She closes her eyes hard, her expression twisting as if she has a headache. "It's nowhere I've been before."

"Is anyone there with you?" Snow asks, in that same pleading tone as her husband. Emma jerks her head again, fists still balled at her sides.

"No. At least I- I don't think so." Her eyes squeeze further shut. "I don't know. It's just- a lot of blackness."

With Emma's face screwed up in pain, Killian yearns to hold her. He weighs the risks briefly, but it's not enough to keep him from stepping toward her. He places the dagger at his feet, reaching both arms out as if in surrender.

Her eyes snap open and finally, _finally _she looks at him. Her gaze lifts the hand that's clenching around Killian's heart, and he allows his face to betray that emotion. He needs her to _know_. He needs Emma to read him as he always has her, needs Emma to hear the words echoing with every thump inside his chest.

But she clenches her fists tighter as he steps forward. "Don't." she snaps, and Killian halts as if he'd been struck. Seeing the hurt on his face, Emma's own expression twists into one of horror. "I'm sorry. But you can't touch me. Please, Killian, I don't want to hurt anyone." Emma's eyes fill with tears as she drops her voice to a whisper. "I don't want to hurt you."

Killian holds his hand up, signaling he's keeping his distance. His words come out low and gentle, packing all the tenderness his touch can't. "I'm not afraid of you, Emma."

He can see her fighting to stay calm, stopping herself from arguing that he _should _be afraid, of course he should be. Killian's palm itches with a desire to reach out and cradle her cheek, to press his thumb against the divot in her chin. "I'm not." He reiterates, never looking away from her, even as Emma's gaze falters. "I lo-"

"Stop." Emma begs, glancing back up. Her tears threaten to spill over. "Don't say it like this."

He would have laughed under different circumstances, would have teased her because she'd done this exact thing to him. Instead, Killian swallows, forcing the words back down along with the lump in his throat. "Swan, just remember it. I do." He motions his hand to include her parents and Regina, standing tensely behind them. "We all do. We'll find you."

Emma nods, breathing an "I know."

They stare in silence for a long moment, taking each other in. It's Emma who breaks it first. "Take care of Henry." She murmurs, stepping back and shattering the spell.

Killian's unable to do anything but nod in response. He continues to watch her as Emma's eyes flicker to the dagger resting on the ground. Understanding the silent request, Killian crouches to pick up the blade, clutching it tightly once more. Emma looks past him, back at the others, bidding them a wordless farewell.

When her gazes refocuses, Killian feels the fist seize his heart again. He tells her in a shaky voice that she may return to where she came from.

And in an instant, he's lost her again.


	38. Only Words Bleed

**AN: In an effort to start posting more frequently, I've decided to try something out. Lately I've been unable to find much inspiration, so I thought I'd put my CS playlist on shuffle and write a drabble for whatever song comes up. If you guys enjoy this one, I'll continue with these while I attempt to get over my writing slump. **

**Anyway, thank you for reading!  
**

* * *

_And if you hurt me_  
_That's okay, baby, only words bleed_  
_Inside these pages you just hold me_  
_And I won't ever let you go_  
_ \- Photograph, Ed Sheeran_

She's waiting for him in his cabin, listening to the creaking of the planks overheard as Killian moves about the deck. Her eyes skim the titles of the books stacked on the shelf over his desk. Emma never would have pegged him for a reader, but by now she's listened to Killian and Belle debate the merits of fictional characters too many times to count.

And then there are the drawings scattered around his desk, the sketches and hand-drawn maps that look too beautiful to touch. Emma remembers the first time she'd seen them, remembers thinking that there was more to him than meets the eye. The thought causes her to grin, now, as she runs her fingers along the pile of blank papers and pencils strewn about.

Her fingers brush over something cold and metallic, drawing Emma's attention. She shuffles the papers aside to uncover a familiar-looking chain. Lifting it up, she recognizes the compass she'd used to knock Killian out back at Lake Nostos. The heaviness is familiar as Emma shifts it from hand to hand, a strange sense of guilt overcoming her.

Killian finds her like that, turning the compass over and over. He quirks a brow when Emma looks up, confused by her sheepish expression. "I can't believe you kept this." she says as if in explanation, offering the compass to him.

He takes it in his hand, peering at the quivering arrow for a long moment before returning it to the desk. "It was meant to be something to remember you by, back when I didn't expect us to meet again." Killian admits disinterestedly, tilting his head at Emma's vexed look. "Why's it troubling you?"

She blinks at him, darting her eyes to the compass and back again. "It's not exactly something I want to remember."

"Why's that, love?" Her expression shifts to something almost sad, and Killian's fingers itch to reach out and soothe the worry from her face.

"That compass was the reason I left you on the beanstalk. It's the reason you were going to let me rot in Gold's cell, and the reason we went through the portal without you." Emma shakes off the memories. "It's the reason we kept hurting each other."

Killian takes her in, the words filling him with a particular fondness. "Aye." he agrees, smiling wryly. "That compass is also the reason we were able to get to this moment. Without that compass, I'd never be able to do this." And he reaches out, cupping her cheek in his palm, reveling in the ease with which Emma turns into his touch. "You see, Swan? If we hadn't hurt each other then, we'd never know how far we've come."


	39. Never Fret None

**AN: Another song fic for you all; I hope you enjoy!  
**

* * *

_My babe would never fret none_  
_About what my hands and my body done_  
_If the Lord don't forgive me_  
_I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me_  
_ \- Work Song, Hozier_

She knows he is not all bad.

She knows it by the tenderness of his touch, by the ache held in his eyes, by the redemption he so desperately wishes for. She knows it because for all he's been through, _that_ man still exists. The man he claims was lost, but that she's determined to help him find. The one who loves so fiercely, as if there's no other option, as if it's impossible for him to be any other way. The man she sees whenever she looks at him, the man that's still there in his eyes.

And she knows he doesn't believe her when she says it, when she whispers across the space between their pillows that he is good, he's a _hero_. She knows he still doubts this truth, in the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning, when the world is almost silent, she knows he turns over and remembers all the pain he's caused.

But she'll never stop reminding him. She'll reach for him each morning, searching for his hand with her own, place a palm over his thudding heart. She'll tell him the story of how she'd held it in her hand, how it glowed bright and red and _true, _how she'd never found him more beautiful than in that instant, his love in the palm of her hand.

She believes in him. Even on the worst days- the days she begins to doubt herself- she'll never lose faith in him, in _them_, not for a moment. She'll tuck her head against his chest and listen to the sound of blood thrumming through his veins, the sound of his survival, the evidence that he's been a fighter all along.

When she tells him she is happy, doubt flashes in his eyes. But she thinks he must _know _somehow, must feel the proof of it the way she does, the love that's cost them so much but allowed them to gain even more.


	40. Where We Planted the Seeds

_Out in the garden where we planted the seeds_  
_There is a tree as old as me_  
_Branches were sewn by the color of green_  
_Ground had arose and passed its knees_  
_ \- To Build a Home, the Cinematic Orchestra  
_

Once the night's grown too dark to allow for any more searching, he retires to the Jolly Roger.

But he doesn't sleep, doesn't get any further than the threshold of his cabin before the pain hits him anew, waves of agony pulling him under. He spots pieces of her throughout the room; her hairbrush on the nightstand, her red leather jacket strewn over the back of a chair, two pairs of her shoes tucked away near the bed. He goes to the wardrobe and paws through the clothes there, staring at a handful of her shirts and a pair of jeans, all neatly folded. On his desk are odds and ends she'd let lay around; the tube full of that black formula she applies to her eyelashes, several of those ties she uses on days she opts to wear her hair up, the strange little device she calls 'tweezers'.

They are minor objects, but they might as well be weapons for all the pain they cause him in that moment. He recognizes the meaning behind all these seemingly insignificant objects. He knows that they mean Emma had been allowing herself to get comfortable. It's a testament to how far they've come and a memorial all at once. Because he doesn't know when he will see her again. He doesn't know how long it will be until the next time she readies herself by the mirror while he watches lazily from his spot on the bed. He doesn't know, and it's the uncertainty which makes it unbearable, makes it feel as though a blade's twisting in his chest.

Finally, he collapses onto the bed. He'd spent more nights on this mattress alone than not, yet without her it feels empty. The whole ship creaks as if she knows the weight in his heart, as if she, too, feels Emma's absence. The dagger glints in the lamplight, and he brings it to his chest, holding it close, the way he had once held her. He lets his eyes fall shut.

As he drifts into what's sure to be a restless sleep, Killian understands why the Jolly does not offer her usual comfort tonight. He and Emma had built something here, in the past weeks, within the small room of the Captain's Quarters. They'd formed something familiar and routine, finding comfort in their tiny rituals, in the way he'd wake first thing in the morning and feel her warmth beside him, in the way she'd roll over and search for his hand before even opening her eyes. Here on the water, with the ocean lapping at the enchanted wood and the cool sea air blowing between the planks, here they'd begun to make a home.

And without her, he can see the foundation start to crumble.


	41. How It Feels to Fall Behind

**AN: Another chapter inspired from my CS Playlist, set in a imaginary timeline between returning from Neverland and Pan's curse.  
**

* * *

_You'll never know the endless nights, the rhyming of the rain,_  
_Or how it feels to fall behind and watch you call his name_  
_Pack up and leave everything,_  
_Don't you see what I can bring_  
_Can't keep this beating heart at bay_  
_ \- Leave Your Lover, Sam Smith_

He does his best to avoid her in the weeks that follow their return to Storybrooke. But even still, he catches glimpses of her; her blonde head ducking into Granny's just as Killian's leaving his table, the lilt of her laugh behind him as he's crossing the street, the hum of her yellow vessel as he hurries to the docks.

He knows it's his own fault. He had made the decision to back down and grant Emma the opportunity to pursue a family, if that's what she desires. And Killian knows he did the right thing, for Swan and for Baelfire, for their boy- but it doesn't fill the hollowness in his bones. It doesn't mean Killian finds it any less difficult to look at her. For each time he does, he's reminded of all he's given up. (All the things he still would give up for her, even now, the things he'd do for those green eyes and that smile like the bloody sun itself.)

Each time he looks at her, the pull in his chest grows a little stronger, making it near impossible for Killian to do the honorable thing and stay away. Seeing Emma with Baelfire and Henry, it forces Killian to have thoughts he knows he has no right to be having.  
_  
He _knows Emma owes him nothing. But the beast that lives inside his chest, howling its jealousy, making Killian feel as if his own actions are beyond his control- well, the beast yearns to believe Emma should be with him.

As if it's some right Killian has earned.

And he hasn't. He's done nothing to warrant Emma's affections, for even the most noble of acts can't erase the simple fact of the matter. A fact Emma herself had pointed out, framed by the leaves of Neverland's jungle; _you are a pirate._  
_  
That I am_, Killian thinks darkly as he ducks his head, spotting a familiar red leather jacket coming down the street.


	42. It's Us That Made This Mess

**AN: Here's a follow up to the last chapter. Inspiration finally struck, so it turned out longer than I meant for it to be. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

_Hush, hush, the world is quiet_  
_Hush, hush, we both can't fight it_  
_It's us that made this mess_  
_Why can't you understand?_  
_ \- Animal, Neon Trees_

Emma Swan knows when she's being avoided.

Hook has been dodging her since they'd returned from Neverland, always rushing out of places the moment he sees Emma entering, trying to make himself scarce,  
never looking her right in the eye.

And Emma knows she has no right to miss him, but she _does_. She misses him so much it makes her crazy, has her spending evenings sitting alone at Granny's and sulking over her hot cocoa, hoping to glimpse Hook walking by the window.

It's on one of these nights that Neal joins her, taking a seat across from her without invitation. And Emma's sure she looks put-out, glaring across the table at him,  
her refusal to yet another date already resting on her lips, but when she looks up Neal's grinning that _Neal _grin of his-

And, well, sue her. She smiles back.

They talk for a while about nothing in particular, the diner slowly emptying around them, and Emma's about to call it a night when Neal asks her, again, to have dinner on Friday. The blue eyes she hasn't seen in so long flicker through her mind, a devilish smirk she's no longer on the receiving end of.

She says yes.

/

Neal kisses her at the door of her parent's loft, and it's exactly how it used to be, right down to the chuckle he elicits as they pull away.

He tells her goodnight and Emma watches him go, leaning against the windowsill in the hallway and trying to understand why she feels so empty. She's about to turn and go inside when her eyes land on the docks off in the distance, spotting the vague outline of the Jolly Roger.

A wave of longing fills her, and Emma has to remind herself that she has no right to miss him. Not when she'd been the one to tell him she had no space for love in her life, and not when she'd insisted upon a _one time thing_. And she definitely has no right to be jealous. Not when she catches Killian giving Ruby a wink as the brunette takes his order, and not when she glimpses him and Tink whispering to each other in the back hallway.

Besides, she has Neal now.

Neal, who's still the same as she remembers, Neal who had hurt her but who's so determined to fix things, always so willing, always wanting to make the broken parts of her whole-

Emma shakes herself out of those thoughts. She's working on forgiving him. Because he's Neal, who's maybe her safest option right now, and he's Henry's father, and the kid deserves to have his parents be together, and she just knows how pleased her parents would be to see her get that kind of happy ending.

/

Emma looks across the diner as the bell over the door rings. She forces down the disappointed that grips her, sudden and fierce, when it's not the pirate who enters. She returns her focus to the mug in front of her.

Neal and Henry join her later, and Emma watches them laugh, stealing food off each other's plates, talking about the day they spent together. Neal smirks up at her as Henry's in the midst of a story, and Emma returns the grin.  
_  
Safe_, she thinks, _familiar_. It's all she had wanted while growing up. She can learn to want it again.

/

It takes four whole weeks for Emma to decide she's done playing it safe.

Neal is upset but tells her he understands, says something about missing their shot, something about being ten years too late. (He doesn't say anything else, but Emma gets the sense that Neal knows the other reason, the reason which has dark hair and an affinity for leather.)

She walks into Granny's the next morning and finds Killian nursing a coffee, his eyes glancing up at the sound of the bell and locking onto hers. Emma sees him panic, darting his gaze away and standing, but she hurries over before he can make his escape.

Emma places a hand on his arm, feather-light, but it makes Hook jump. She opens her mouth and breaks their month-long silence, putting an end to the carefully choreographed dance they'd been doing.

Killian stares wordlessly at her as Emma rambles on, his jaw clenched. After a full minute, something shifts within him. He slides back down into the seat beside her, and when he smiles, the vacancy Emma had been feeling is filled.


	43. The New Dark One

**AN: I believe it's safe to say that my writer's block is officially over (for now, anyway). I think I'll continue with my CS Playlist drabbles, but they'll be in addition to posting my usual one shots. As for this one, it's my take on Emma attempting to battle the darkness. Enjoy!****  
**

* * *

There's a fire burning.

There's smoke and ash inside of her, filling her lungs, replacing the blood in her veins with blinding heat. And it _is _blinding, blocking out any chance of seeing her surroundings, leaving only blank, pitch-blackness.

Instead, memories dance behind her eyelids. They are strange and unsettling, moments she can't remember ever living, yet she can _feel _them, like ghosts on the edges of her mind. They rush by in flashes of sight and sound; a girl with eyes on the palms of her hands, whispering words of her downfall; a cell illuminated by torchlight; a high-pitched cackle rising from her throat; the golden scales of her skin and reptilian eyes; countless, anonymous lives she has ruined.

And then there are the others, the faces she truly knows, the ones which fill her with rage and longing, with love and fury. She sees her mother, Snow White, whispering through the cell bars that _her name is Emma_; her father, Prince Charming, holding a sword to her throat; her love, Captain Hook, and the sound of flesh and bone severing. She sees a young Regina, ripping out a heart and presenting it to her as though it is a gift; a young Neal, falling back into a portal, calling for her to help him; a young Henry, grinning up at her, the words _your undoing _clawing at the back of her mind.

The memories continue to flood her mind in a flurry of words and emotions, hot anger flaring up, ensnaring her. They become too much, so familiar yet so out of reach, and all she can do is scream.

Windows break, she screams so loud. She hears glass shattering and her shrieks echoing off the walls around her, still blind to the world, still desperate to understand.

When the visions start to cease, petering out slowly, the voices growing warped and then silent, she takes a breath that stings her raw throat.

Centuries and millenniums pass. She has lived many lives, but it is _this _life-the life she has been ripped from-which fills her head. She sees Henry at ten years old, standing in the threshold of her apartment before the smile he wears shatters like a broken mirror. She feels her father embracing her, cupping the back of her head as though she's still an infant before he twists her neck with a sickening _snap_. She hears her mother sobbing _you found us _in her ear, loving hands framing her face before they close around Emma's throat. She sees Killian beaming down at her before his smile contorts and his teeth begin to fall out one by one, landing like daggers on Emma's skin.

She screams again, the "_No!_" tearing from her throat and echoing in the emptiness around her. She is still herself, just enough to understand that this is all wrong. Enough to try and fight against the false memories, the contradicting emotions, the darkness nipping at her heels. She can't allow that darkness to steal her away, to make her forget the faces of those she loves. Those who love her, too.  
_  
But do they? _

The question comes from somewhere within, rising from the abyss like a cloud of smoke, undetectable until it's encasing her.

"Yes." she says aloud, finding her voice again, nothing more than a rasp of certainty. "They love me." She tests the words out, letting them settle in the quiet. "They love me. They'll find me."  
_  
What if they don't? _

"They will." she argues, trying to shake her head but finding her mind disconnected from her body. "They always have before."  
_  
So confident for a Lost Girl. _

"I'm not lost anymore. I found my family."  
_  
Then where are they now?_

"They're looking. I know they won't give up on me."  
_  
Just as none of the others gave up?_

"It's different this time."  
_  
How many times have you thought that before? How many times have you been wrong?_

She tries to grit her teeth, can't feel anything but the flames igniting her nerves. "They are my _real_ family. They won't leave me like this."  
_  
Ah, but will they want you 'like this'? Will they want anything to do with someone forged from such evil?_

"They'll still want me. They know who I really am, and it's not this."

_Who are you, then?_

She thinks, _my name is Emma Swan. I am the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming- _  
_  
The daughter they didn't have enough faith in. The daughter they needed to be good, so much so that they were willing to damn an innocent child. The daughter that's never been able to stop resenting them. The daughter whose powers they fear. The daughter that's only caused them more trouble. The daughter that will never live up to their expectations. The daughter they tried to replace._

They are the thoughts she's had late at night, at her lowest of moments, when no one's there to chase the doubt away. Rationally, she knows they aren't true. But a part of her, however small, can't deny the way they resonate. She thinks, _I am the product of True Love_-  
_  
The product of True Love, yet you can't find love yourself. Nobody has loved you enough to stay. You've never loved anybody enough to keep them around. The product of something you'll never have as your own. _

It's not true. She loved Neal. She loves Henry. And Killian. She loves them so much that it's a part of her, as much as the heart thrumming in her chest, the magic flowing through her veins. She thinks, _I am the Savior-_  
_  
The only saving you do is from the harm _you _cause to begin with. You continue to lose people, and it's your own fault. Because of who you are, others suffer. Others like Henry. You couldn't even look at him when he was born. You didn't want him, you gave him away, and because of that, he was forced to grow up the way he did. You made him miserable, and you did the same for Regina. _You _brought back Zelena, _you _caused Robinhood to leave Storybrooke, _you _are the reason Regina will never get her happy ending. Just as Killian never will. You took on the darkness, and now he, too, has lost his happy ending. The poor pirate who'd tear apart realms for you. And he's going to die trying, you know, just like Graham and Neal. The ones who loved you, and who were punished for it. _

Her eyes sting with the memory of tears, but her body is still disconnected, unable to let them fall. Instead she screams some more, hoping it might silence the voice filling her head with doubt.  
_  
Who are you? _It hisses. _What pain have you caused? What pain will you cause?_


	44. Sleeping Arrangements

**AN: This was a prompt sent by Anonymous: **_**Snow Charming or Henry find Killian sleeping in Emma's bug and then he sleeps at the loft until they find Emma.  
**_  
**I might have made this sadder than necessary. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

David finds him.

Killian's splayed out in the backseat of Emma's bug, hands crossed over his chest, jacket torn off from a fitful sleep. When the door opens and his legs spill out, hitting the pavement, the two of them stare at each other for a long time.

"What the hell are you doing?" David asks eventually, but the question comes out as broken as Killian feels.

He doesn't tell Dave the real story. The story of how he had woken in the middle of the night, and for just a moment, he'd forgotten. How he had reached for her, and how the world seemed to be ending all over again when his hand came up empty. He'd found one of her shirts in the drawer of his wardrobe, had laid in bed and clutched it as if it could bring her back. There were too many pieces of her on the Jolly. Too many memories of holding her as they slept, of the sun shining against her skin as she leaned over the ship's railing, of her laugh echoing off the gangplanks.

He'd gone for a walk to clear his head, trying to forget the way finding one of her hairs on the pillow had reduced him to tears. The cold had begun to set in after an hour of wandering the town, but Killian couldn't imagine returning to the Jolly. Still, he had wanted to feel close to her, somehow, and it wasn't his fault Emma had never been too prudent about locking her car...

Instead, he says the first thing that comes to mind, still a truth in and of itself:

"It smells like her."

He's certain Dave has never looked at him with such sorrow. "Come on." he tells Killian, offering a hand. "Let's get you inside."

Mary Margaret and Henry, to their credit, don't bat an eye. The former greets him with a sad smile, simply placing another mug on the counter as she pours some coffee. And the latter pats Killian's shoulder as he sits down, an action so like David that Killian would laugh under different circumstances.

They eat breakfast in silence, all of them feeling the presence of her ghost at the table. But somehow being together makes it almost bearable, makes it almost possible to imagine the return of mornings when Emma will trump down the stairs with her hair a mess, drinking coffee and eating strips of bacon between readying herself for the day.

There's something comforting, Killian decides, about being in a room of people who share in your loss.

They spend the day alternating between reading page after page in endless books and scouring Regina's vault for anything that might be of value. The sun changes position without their knowledge, their eyes going blurry from staring at the various fonts for too long, their necks aching from being held at odd angles. When Neal begins to cry in the early hours of the morning, Mary Margaret decides it's time they all attempt to get some sleep. (Killian has to choke down his surprise and relief when David says something about setting him up on the couch.)

Mary Margaret bids a quiet goodnight as she eases a now sleeping Neal into his crib. David leaves the room for a moment, returning with a pillow and comforter, offering them out to Killian.

It's Henry who reaches for them, almost managing a smile when the two men look to him in confusion. "You should take the bed." he tells Killian solemnly, as if  
knowing the weight of what he's offering.

Killian protests, but the boy inherited his mother's stubborness, and it's for this reason he begins making his way up the stairs to Emma's bedroom. He enters with caution, as if expecting her to be laying in bed, unaware of all the fuss she's caused, merely asleep this whole time.

He surveys the room sadly, a memorial of Emma's life here, of the life they'd been building together. Killian lays on the mattress and pulls the covers over himself, remembering the last time he had been here, Emma's smiling face over him, the_ I love you _caught in her throat-

The sheets smell like her. But in her house, with her family around him, sharing in the heaviness of his heart, Killian can almost bear it.


	45. She's Got You High

** AN: Don't ask me what this is, because I'm pretty sure I just spewed words onto my keyboard. My only defense is that I needed to write something that wasn't angst, and I'm a sucker for the childhood friends trope. **

_She's got you high and you don't even know yet  
The sun's in the sky, its warming up your bare legs  
You can't deny you're looking for the sunset  
\- Mumm-ra, She's Got You High  
_

He recalls the many times he would look up at her from his spot on the pavement, where she stood at the top of the slide, looking like the Queen of the cracked asphalt. He would call her princess, but she always preferred to be the knight or dragon slayer.

(He had always been more than happy to play the dragon).

* * *

He had always loved her blonde hair, flowing behind her when she ran from him during a game of tag. Her golden locks rivaled the sun during the summer and brightened the grayness of the winter. Her mother loved to style it in intricate braids and pretty headbands, but by the end of each day Emma managed to turn it into a tangled, mud-caked mess.

* * *

She lost one front tooth at age five which didn't grow back for three years. He can remember her, smiling brightly (shamelessly) up at him, at their teachers, at her parents. Liam had teased Emma mercilessly, but Killian loved her lopsided grin.

* * *

When the other kids would tease them, using terrible cockney accents as they asked if Killian _fancied _Emma, she'd roll her eyes and defiantly take his hand, kicking up dust as she led him in the other direction.

* * *

The first time she kissed him, he remembers comparing it to a bee sting. He had thought that surely her lips would leave a mark, that he'd walk around for the rest of his days with the evidence on his freckled cheek.

(He hadn't minded one bit).

* * *

She had called him late one night -early one morning- after her first real party, because Killian had gotten his driver's license early on and she'd had way too much to drink. He had already grabbed his keys and was trying to put his shoes on in the dark as she pleaded for him to come pick her up. They stayed on the phone for the ten minute drive, and he found Emma in the upstairs bathroom of Will's house, all smudged mascara and vomit-and-booze breath.

He'd half-carried her back to his car as she recounted how Regina had challenged her to see who could down the most shots, and of course Emma couldn't let that bitch show her up. In the passenger seat, she'd begged him not to bring her back to her house, where her parents would surely catch her sneaking back in. He had begrudgingly brought her back to his place, where she collapsed onto his bed immediately, facedown as she drunkenly told him that his sheets smelled like home.

* * *

He had called her late one night after his first real girlfriend dumped him, saying he just wanted to hear her voice, but Emma insisted on making the three hour drive between their colleges to see him. Killian had stayed awake waiting for the knock on his door, the rhythmic tap-_tap-tap _he knew so well.

She hugged him immediately, wordlessly, offering the simple comfort of her presence. She made his favorite tea for him in the Common Room's kitchen, spiking it with the rum Killian kept smuggled in his desk drawer. Because Emma knew him-knew that the painful things were the hardest for him to say- they didn't talk about it. Instead, they spent the night sitting on his narrow bed, watching his favorite TV shows. At some point the sun began to rise outside, turning Emma's hair into spun gold, and Killian had forgotten why he'd been upset in the first place.

* * *

He admits that he loves her on her twenty-first birthday, the night turning from thumping club music to aching confessions in the quiet of his car.

Emma is speechless for several moments, and Killian decides to count to ten before he will look at her, bracing for the rejection spelled out in her silence. He gets to six before Emma reaches across the distance between them, grabbing his shirt collar, whispering _idiot _against his lips before covering them with her own.

When she pulls back, it's only to catch her breath. Killian looks at her, backlit by the streetlamps, her eyes still so green in the dark. Their lips meet again, like the crescendo of a song, like the finish line of a race, like the climax of some epic saga. They both feel the _finally _humming through their bones.


	46. Wondering

**AN: Aaand we're back to your regularly scheduled angst.  
**

* * *

He wonders when he will stop losing the people he loves; wonders if it's just his cross to bare in this life; wonders if-wherever she is-she, too, is staring at the dark sky and asking what's become of him.

(He wonders, _how many times can you lose a person before the loss is all that remains?_)

A part of him had known, too, had felt it from that first moment when she'd remembered him in New York, that it was a mere matter of time before she'd be torn from him again. He wonders if-should the unthinkable happen, should they not be able to save her, should she be lost to them forever-time will ever dull the ache in his chest; if anything will be able to fill the hole she's left there.

(He's inclined to think not.)

He wonders if perhaps they're meant to live like this, constantly being ripped apart. He wonders if there is a universe-amidst all these infinite ones-in which they manage to grit their teeth and continue holding on, to clutch each other for dear life, so close that nothing is able to sever them. (Finding her has never been the issue- it is holding on, it is _keeping _her, which proves impossible.)

He wonders if she is alright; wonders-_worries_-whether or not the immeasurable strength she possesses has finally met its match.

Each night, as his head hits the pillow, with the last of the energy his aching body possesses, he whispers into the silence that he loves her.

(He wonders if she can hear him; if she still remembers the weight of love in her heart, if it's still the slow burn coursing through her, as it is for him.)

His last thought before unconsciousness takes him is that he_'s _going to find her or die trying_. _The absoluteness of this fact is a part of him; he can feel it in the blood pumping through his veins and the nerves sparking beneath his skin, in the marrow of his bones and the notches of his spine.

(He wonders if-whatever state she's in-she can feel it, too.)


	47. Something Like Family

**AN: Finally an update. Not exactly Captain Swan, but it still counts, right?  
**

* * *

He steps onto the Jolly Roger without hesitation, feeling strangely at home on the mostly unfamiliar ship.

It's dead quiet out on the water, eerily so, even the usual lap of the waves giving way to silence. The town itself is much the same, muted, almost ghostlike. With this thought, Henry resists a shiver as the sea breeze picks up, tucking his chin deeper into his scarf.

He heads below deck, easily finding his way to the Captain's Quarters, footsteps loud against the planks. The room is deserted, Henry realizes, looking like a tornado's passed through it. Drawers had been pulled from their tracks, their contents spilling out along the floor, a chair in the corner knocked sideways, a few books torn from their places on the shelves. The sight causes Henry's heart to sink, imagining what might have happened.

They're all devastated by his mother's sacrifice, but perhaps no one more so than Killian. Henry had seen the shock, the desperation, the way Killian had struggled to keep his knees from buckling.

And now he's nowhere to be found.

Henry paces the floor for a few moments, nervously wondering where Killian could have gone, what he might be doing. (He's a hero- Henry knows it, Killian's a hero, but it wouldn't be the first time he's done something rash in the wake of a tragedy.)

Henry lets out a frustrated sigh and makes his way above deck, squinting at the morning's light. He considers his options and decides to wait it out, knowing (hoping) Killian will have to come back to his ship eventually. Settling down on the floor, Henry leans back against the mast, closing his eyes. He's tired, but there's an energy that's been buzzing in his bones since Regina had explained what happened to his other mom. The knowledge that they'll find her, the anxiousness to get started on the search, has Henry's blood thrumming.

And of course it's not a question. He knows they'll get Emma back one way or another But it's the time in between the loss and the rescue-the waiting-that has Henry worried.

Because they-he and Emma and Killian-had become something like a family in the past two months. Henry remembers those six weeks of peace, when it was quiet and restful and the three of them had fallen into a routine. He has flashes of his mom and Killian walking him to school, the three of them falling asleep on the couch while something on Netflix played in the background, and Sunday dinners at the loft- the five of them and little Neal, and even Regina on more than one occasion.

They had been happy, and Henry's not about to let another curse wreck that. He'll talk to Killian, he'll convince him that they can beat this, that they can and will find Emma. That he's part of this family now, too, and in this family, they _always _find each other.


	48. Tell Me The Way You've Been

_Tell me the way you've been so long_  
_I want to go along and pretend that it's dawn_  
_That's the start not the close_  
_I'm your friend not your post_  
_We're under Wolf's Law_  
_ \- Wolf's Law, The Joy Formidable_

She's thinking about the top drawer of his desk.

Emma glances up to look at it, nestled against the wall on the opposite side of the room, and remembers the first time she had looked inside. She'd been waiting for Killian, hearing his movements above deck as the ship creaked beneath his boots, and she was taking stock of the small room, running her fingers along the wooden walls and the furniture. It hadn't been the first time she'd been in there, but it was the first time Emma had taken time to appreciate it.

The top drawer on the left had been open just slightly, just enough to pique her interest, and though Emma wasn't one to invade others privacy, she couldn't help but reach for the intricate little handle and pull the drawer all the way open. Inside had been a pile of papers, all neatly stacked. Picking one off the top, Emma had run her fingers over the worn material, so old the texture and color were fading. When she'd asked Killian later about the beautiful drawings, he had become uncharacteristically sheepish, explaining that it was a hobby he'd had little time to indulge in as of late.

Emma remembers how she'd thought that, for everything she knew about him, there were still centuries worth that she didn't.

Now, she returns her eyes to his sleeping form, her fingertips still brushing at the scar on his cheek. She'd already got the story behind it (Killian's first run in with Tink), but Emma thinks of the _other _scars decorating his body, of all the stories she still has yet to hear, all the parts of him which still remain a mystery to her.  
Emma wonders if she'll ever get his full history- if there's a way to discover all three hundred years of a person, and if so, if she'll ever know Killian the way he seems to know her.

There are some nights when this train of thought is the cause of Emma's worry. There are nights when she rolls over to look at him, shaking off the vestiges of a bad dream, and she panics that, even now, even after all they've been through, Killian might still leave her. Some nights she worries that she is only a blip on his radar, and it's worse when Emma compares them, when she tries to weigh their three years together against his three hundred before her. She thinks of how Killian's lived whole centuries to her decades, and she questions if she can be enough, if this new life doesn't pale in comparison to the excitement of his old one.

There are other nights, though, nights like this one, when Emma thinks of how far they have come. Such a short time for Killian, but still enough to be real, enough to change their lives permanently. There are nights like these, when she traces his scarred skin with her own, thinking of all she knows and all she has yet to learn, thinking of Killian as a treasure yet to be uncovered- and Emma can't help but believe that someday, she will.


	49. Ball

**AN: Based off of spoilers about the ball in episode two. This is pure, unadulterated fluff and I am very unapologetic.  
**

"Oh, Emma."

She glanced up, making eye contact with her mother through the mirror. Mary Margaret gave her a watery smile, placing both hands on Emma's shoulders as she sighed. "You look beautiful."

Emma trailed her gaze back down, taking in her reflection. Her hair was done up in an intricate bun and she donned a light blue dress which Emma found beautiful, if a little over the top (complete with a flared waist and a corset already cutting off her oxygen supply.)

"You're not going to make me wear a tiara, are you?" Emma joked wryly, turning to face her mother. The tears were still threatening to fall as Snow placed a hand against Emma's cheek, ignoring the tease.

"This is all I'd dreamed for you." she said earnestly, taking Emma's hand and giving it a squeeze.

Emma forced a smile, her own emotions overcoming her. "Better late than never, I guess."

Her mother pulled her in for a hug, holding tight for a beat longer than usual. Moving back, Snow took a breath before flashing another smile, this one conspiratorial. "Wait until Hook sees you."

Emma let out a breathy laugh, feeling a sudden nervousness grip her. "That's if I can make it to the ballroom before this corset suffocates me."

/

Downstairs, Emma felt her breath catch at the sight of the lavish ballroom. Granted, she had only one other point of comparison, but the place would have put Midas's castle to shame. She continued to gape at the decorations as Mary Margaret guided her to the center of the room, joining the other early guests as they danced around.

"You know, I was skeptical, but I have to hand it to Arthur." Emma admitted as her mother spun them around. "The guy knows how to throw a party." She had rolled her eyes when the King had brought up his idea to hold a ball for his "honored guests", but being there now, she couldn't deny the atmosphere.

"It _is _beautiful." Snow agreed, casting her eyes around the room. "It's strange, though, experiencing this after so long. Your father and I used to attend balls like this one every other day."

Emma glanced past her mother's shoulder. "Speaking of…" she murmured, nodding her head to where Charming stood at the entrance of the hall. Catching sight of them, her father beamed as he strode over to where they were.

And close behind him, smiling just as widely, was Killian. Emma gawked a bit, her eyes raking over his attire, distracted by the regalia; even more surprised by how comfortable Killian seemed to be, wearing the clothes as if he belonged in them. He looked-

Emma couldn't help but snicker. He looked like her father.

She was still grinning as Killian walked up, immediately taking her hand. He raised a wicked eyebrow, running his gaze along her body. "Well, Your Majesty, if I may be so bold…"

Emma rolled her eyes with a smile, beginning their waltz before Killian could finish his sentence. "Like riding a bike." she noted, earning a perplexed look from Killian; unfamiliar with the phrase. With a smirk, Emma clarified, "I'm just surprised I remember all the steps."

"I told you, Swan." Killian said, spinning them around. "You're a natural."

"I thought the secret was just picking the right partner." Emma deadpanned, quirking a brow at him.

"It certainly doesn't hurt." he assured, grinning. "But I suspect you could do just fine on your own, Princess."

Emma resisted the urge to scoff at the title. She squeezed Killian's hand, bringing their bodies closer together. "Maybe." she replied, batting her lashes. "But now I'll never have to."

Killian hummed. "I take it you're not just speaking in regards to dancing?"

"Well, between all this Dark One business and being trapped in Camelot, I'm gonna need a little help." She inclined her head, fighting a smile. "Think you're up for the task?"

Killian raised his hand, his thumb finding the dimple in Emma's chin. "Well, you know me, love. Always up for a challenge."

They'd stopped dancing, standing in the midst of the other guests as they twirled around them. Emma stared at Killian somberly, her lips curved into a small smile.

"I love you." she said easily, taking a breath once the words were out.

Killian beamed, his eyes drinking her in. When she had told him, before, with the darkness whipping around them, it had been meant as a parting gift.

But now, in this time of happiness, without any immediate threat or looming separation, the sentiment means more. To hear her say it at that moment, simply because it's how she feels, simply because Emma means the words-

Well.

Killian trailed his fingers along Emma's jaw, cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes, but Killian continued to stare into them, regardless. He found himself unable to look away as the words finally left his mouth, needing Emma to hear each syllable, to understand the truth of his declaration.

"And I love you, Swan."


	50. Eavesdropping

**AN: A little Daddy Charming/Captain Swan combination for you all. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

David wakes with a start, glancing over to find Mary Margaret still sleeping soundly.

His eyes dart around the room, taking stock, but he finds nothing out of the ordinary. David props himself up against his pillow, taking a long drink from the water resting on the nightstand. He replaces the glass before moving carefully out of bed and crossing the room to where Neal's crib is.

Peering inside, David grins when he finds that his son is fast asleep, swaddled in his blanket. He reaches down to adjust the stuffed lamb Neal's so fond of, watching his son's tiny chest rise and fall.

He's about to return to bed when a choked gasp sounds from the living room. David freezes in place, eyes immediately finding the sword resting in the corner of the room. Before he can make a grab for it, though, he hears a voice drift through the thin curtain separating the two rooms.

"Love." Hook says, low and soothing, "I'm here."

David remains still, listening as Killian urges Emma to take deep breaths, hearing the concern in his voice. "That's it." He hears Killian murmur, as Emma's erratic breathing begins to even out. "You're safe."

David's heart clenches at the words. It's to be expected that the Dark One's curse would have an impact on Emma, but it's another thing entirely to witness it. They'd expelled the darkness earlier that evening, but David and Snow had been hard-pressed to let Emma out of their sight even after it had been contained. They'd insisted she stay at the loft, just for tonight, just in case she needed them.

Now, David realizes it's not them that Emma had needed. The knowledge stings, and though David likes Hook, knows the lengths he would (and has) gone to for Emma- well, he's never been very good at leaving his daughter's well being in the hands of others.

(Least of all former pirates, even if they _do _look at Emma as if she hangs the moon.)

David hears Emma taking the shaky breaths of someone fighting to remain calm, hears Killian whisper words of assurance. He can't help the envy which rises in him, wishing Emma were still young enough to need her father to chase away the nightmares.

Several minutes pass before David hears her speak, his ears straining to make out the words.

"I'm sorry." she says, her voice hoarse.

"What for, sweetheart?"

Her words are suddenly muffled, spoken into the fabric of Hook's shirt. "I'm sorry for...What I did to you." Emma mutters. "I never wanted to hurt you."

David closes his eyes. Of course they'd already forgiven Emma for her actions while under the curse's influence. Now, it was a matter of Emma forgiving herself.

Killian hums, and David hears him press a kiss to (what he hopes is) Emma's forehead. "It wasn't you." he says with certainty, "I know that, Swan. It's alright."

"Why is it so easy for you forgive me?"

Hook is quiet for a long moment. The words come out almost inaudibly as he says, "You know why."

David knows by the bareness of Killian's tone that he should stop listening. He knows, yet he can't help but stand there, paralyzed by both shock and curiosity. The loft is absolutely silent for a beat, and then there is Emma's voice again, smaller than before.

"Tell me." she says, quietly, but with conviction. "I can handle it."

David tenses, knowing what words are about to follow. He can hear Hook shift on the couch, presumably to look Emma in the eye.

"I love you, Emma Swan."

His voice breaks on her name. David's face goes hot from embarrassment at the earnestness, the bare affection between them. The moment is too private, too vulnerable, and he definitely should not be hearing this-

"I love you, too." Emma echoes, and it's only then that David realizes she's crying. His chest fills with a sudden gratitude towards Hook, towards all that he's done and will continue to do for Emma.

David's thankfulness quickly turns into a cringe, however, when he hears the unmistakable sound of Emma and Killian kissing. He finally makes his way back to bed, moving as silently as possible so as not to alert them. Climbing beneath the covers, David glances at Snow to find that her eyes are open.

She gives him a sleep smile. "I'm glad she has him." she whispers, twining her and David's fingers together.

"Yeah." David murmurs, pressing a kiss to Mary Margaret's knuckles. "So am I."


	51. Drawing

** AN: Just a simple little scene that wouldn't get out of my head. Thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

Emma steps onto the Jolly Roger, careful to avoid the loose plank she'd learned about the hard way. Her breath clouds around her as she quickly scans the deck, not surprised to find it's empty. (_Even fearsome pirates have limits when it comes to these kinds of temperatures, Swan_.)

Emma ducks below deck with a smirk, finding him in his cabin. Killian doesn't look up as she enters, too engrossed in whatever he's crouched over at his desk. She  
steps up to wrap both arms around his neck, laughing when Killian jumps at the contact, startled out of his concentration.

"Did I scare you?" she teases, leaning her chin against his shoulder.

Killian chuckles, turning his chair to face her. "It's unwise to sneak up on a pirate, darling."

"Well, a true pirate should always be prepared for a sneak attack." Emma retorts, her smile contagious as she looks at him. "What were you so focused on, anyway?" She adds, peering around him to get a better view of the desk.

Killian sighs as Emma sidesteps him, lifting the stack of papers laying there. "Just a bit of sketching..." He explains, somewhat nervously, as Emma examines the drawings. She's taken aback when it's her own eyes, smudged in charcoal, staring up at her.

"You drew me?" she asks dumbly, her gaze raking over the paper. It's definitely her, she decides, taking in the swirls of her hair and the lines of her expression, done in long, dark strokes. Killian doesn't say anything at first, though Emma can feel his eyes on her, gauging her reaction.

"Aye." he says after a moment, sidling up next to her to get a view as well. "I had the image in mind, and it refused to leave until- well." He clears his throat, but  
Emma gives a reassuring smile. She's always found this side of Killian endearing- the softer, hesitant side. The side which which never ceases to surprise Emma each time it makes an appearance.

"Killian," she says, still gaping at the drawing, "This is seriously beautiful."

He grins then, the nervousness dissipating. "It's nothing to rival the real thing." he murmurs, taking the page from Emma's hands to replace it on the desk. She rolls her eyes at the cheesy line, but breaks into a smile when Killian raises a brow at her, leaning down to capture her lips.


	52. Nightmares

**AN: A little angst/fluff combo set sometime after Emma's been saved from the darkness. Thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

A scream wakes him from sleep, and Killian jolts upwards in bed, eyes anxiously scanning the room before they land on her.

The sheets are tangled around her legs as they kick violently, her whole body trembling as she cries in her sleep. His name falls from her lips- once, twice, and his chest begins to ache as she whimpers, pleading _don't hurt him, please don't hurt him. _

She continues to thrash about, her cries growing more fierce, and Killian pins her arms down as gently as he can manage. "Emma." he says, squeezing her arms,  
"Wake up, sweetheart."

She whimpers once more and Killian cups her cheek, trying to rouse her as peacefully as possible. He calls her name a few more times before Emma's eyes open, tears spilling out the second they meet his. She collapses against his chest and Killian can feel her palm come to rest over his heart, checking for the steady beat of it.

"I'm sorry." she chokes out, her breathing harsh. "I'm sorry."

Killian hushes her, rubbing circles along her back. "It's alright, love. You're safe."

They stay like that for some time, Emma's sobs fading out as Killian soothes her, whispering for her to inhale and exhale. She lifts her head once the tears have stopped, their trails left on her cheeks, and Killian reaches out to brush away the damp hair clinging to her forehead.

"I'm sorry." she says again, her voice small and hoarse.

"You've nothing to apologize for, my love." Killian assures, trailing his thumb along Emma's jaw. He knows the nightmares all too well; knows how the pain of loss can haunt your dreams, how tangible it can all be even after you've woken, how the vestiges of it can still dance behind your eyelids. "It was only a dream. The curse can't harm you any longer."

Emma's eyes close as she leans into his touch, her lips turned down in a grimace. "It wasn't about me this time." she whispers, "It was you. I was watching you die, over and over. I couldn't stop it."

"It was only a dream," Killian says again, weakly this time, knowing the words are fruitless. He lets Emma tuck her forehead back against the curve of his neck and holds her tightly. They lay in silence as Killian trails his hand up and down her back, attempting to soothe.

"Do you remember it?" she asks eventually, her fingers splaying out across his chest, still pressed over his heart.

He does, in truth. He can recall every moment he had lived in that alternate world. He can still feel her hand where it had curled around his waist, can still see her looking so familiar yet so far out of reach, a tangle of golden hair and a tattered blue dress. He can still feel the sword piercing his chest, a thousand suns bursting from his rib cage; his eyes seeking hers as the world fell away, seeing only that wonderful shade of green-

"Aye." Killian admits in a whisper. "I remember it."

Emma nods against his neck, having already known the answer. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you." she mumbles, lips brushing his skin. Her voice holds all the sorrow in the world, and he loves her, he bloody adores her. His brave Swan, always holding herself responsible for the happiness of others. His magnificent Emma, ever so dutifully playing the part of the Savior. His heart bursts with emotion for her.

"I don't know about that, love," Killian murmurs, smiling through the lump that has formed in his throat. His fingers curl in the ends of her hair and Emma's lips curve ever so slightly upward. "You've saved me from the start."


	53. Even When You're Nowhere Near

**AN: I'm sorry for my absence, but life has been getting in the way lately. Updates might not be as frequent anymore, but I promise I haven't given up on these stories! **

**I was thinking recently about how well Killian can reason with Emma and help keep her calm, and I liked the idea of a scenario in which he did that without actually being with Emma at all. (Essentially how Belle was with Rumple when in Neverland). So enjoy, and thank you for your continued support!  
**

* * *

The first thing she remembers are his eyes.

She'd woken from something that couldn't quite be called a dream and felt the cold, compactness of earth beneath her. Dirt and leaves clung to her hair and her clothing, the material of which was foreign and rough, scratching at her skin.

Her muscles had protested when she moved, strained even just by sitting up to lean her back against a nearby tree. She took in slow lungfuls of air, pinching her eyes tightly shut, trying desperately to remember.

She sees then, in a flash of light and color and sound, all the lives she's lived. Her mind moves rapidly as it sifts through the memories, not registering anything until it lands on him.

He fades in slowly, at first just a shade of blue she can't put a name on. He is all dark hair and clothing, sharp edges and harsh words, like he's holding a storm cloud inside his chest; but somehow she knows his heart is good. And at this thought, her hands pulse with the memory of it; its red glow and its steady beat like a war drum, muttering _get through this get through this. _

His name forms in her chest, blooming like a flower, spreading outwards from the parts of her that could never forget him. _Killian_, she thinks, and she is _Emma_.

And here the others come back into focus, too- the boy with her eyes and a smile like his father's, the woman with porcelain skin and the kind-faced man by her side, the dark haired woman who has an entire storm inside of her.

Their faces light a match in her brain, sparking a sudden worry which courses adrenaline through her. Magic flares up at her fingertips, wild and powerful as it bursts from her, unbidden. Emma's taken aback by the strength of the blast as it scorches a cluster of trees. Her hands curl into fists on reflex, only causing the whirlwind inside her to grow stronger. Ribbons of magic shoot into the air and Emma gasps at the sight. She shuts her eyes as she tries to pull the power back inwards, to keep it beneath the surface-

_Easy, Swan. _

Killian's voice is there so clearly and so close that Emma whips her head around in search of him. The forest stares back at her, empty of anything but the foliage. Emma shuts her eyes again, the tingle of magic still running over her skin. With her eyes closed, she can imagine the pads of Killian's fingertips running over the palm of her hand, soothing the sting out of them.

_Come back to me, _he would urge her, just as he has during all the times Emma's woken from one of her night terrors. She can feel Killian brushing the hair away from her forehead, his arms moving to encircle her, his words a whisper against her temple; her shoulder; her neck.

Emma's eyes open and Killian is gone, but his words resonate. They make her pounding heart take root in her chest and the blood thrumming through her veins slow. Emma takes a breath and the exhale is his name, sent into the space around her like a prayer. She can only hope it reaches him; that the words which follow are able to cross the realms between them, to rest in his waiting ears.

_Killian_, she says, _Killian, I love you. _


	54. When the Storm Comes

**AN: I don't know, but I blame the meadow scene from Sunday's episode.  
**

* * *

He'd learned to stop dreaming, in the decades and centuries that passed between that bright eyed Lieutenant and the vengeful pirate. He'd stopped wanting for a life of simplicity, of safety, so focused on the task of skinning his Crocodile.

The days when he'd wake with the vision of a beautiful, smiling wife still dancing behind his eyelids were replaced by the times he woke with Milah's final "I love you" still on his lips. Like much of himself, that dream had died with her.

He had ceased to see a future for himself; not without Milah, and not without Liam. Death had driven that desire for normalcy from Killian. He was no longer the dutiful, optimistic boy standing aboard a ship, following his brother into war. He was no longer the Captain steering his crew out to sea, watching the moonlight glint off of his love's hair. He never would be again.

But then came her, and days like this one.

He is watching the sun turn her hair luminescent, watching the smile spread over her face and feeling it fill something inside of his chest.

Killian knows that there are dark days ahead. He knows they cannot stop this beast inside Emma, not yet, not here in Camelot. He knows this is merely the calm before they are thrown headfirst into the storm, and it will be days like this he remembers within the midst of the chaos.

He will remember how warm Emma's skin is against his, and how her laughter rings in his ears. He will remember kissing the hollow of her throat and how she tightens her fingers along the tough hairs of his neck. He will remember her as she is now, light and goodness and filled with such love that it overflows from her, reaching out so that it might drown them both.

He will remember laying beside her on the grass, the pink flower twirling between the fingers of the hand that does not hold his. He will remember turning his head to her, looking upon her soft smile and feeling the dreamer in him return. He will remember looking at her and wanting, for all the world, wanting a future.

He wants nothing but Emma and her boy and this skewed little family that he's become a part of. He wants nothing but simplicity and safety for them all, nothing but quiet moments for the rest of their days.

When the storm comes, Killian will remember this. When the storm comes, he will look upon his Swan and beg her not to forget. _Remember this, _he wills her now, watching her silent and serene beside him. _Remember you are loved._


	55. Birthdays

**AN: This is a little something that I wanted to write in honor of Emma Swan's birthday. It's not quite what I intended it to be, but I hope you enjoy! **

* * *

She is five years old and there is cake and Mr. and Mrs. Swan clustered around her as they encourage her to blow out the single birthday candle.

"Make a wish, Emma." Her adoptive mother says with a gentle smile. Her hand rubs Emma's arm and she looks at the soft blonde hair framing the woman's face and pretends, not for the first time, that this is her birth mother. Emma's eyes focus back on the flickering light of the candle. She squeezes them shut and blows the air out of her tiny lungs, wishing for this home to last.

/

She is eleven years old and there are no presents or birthday greetings.

Emma steals a candle and matchbox from the convenience store a block down from the group home. After everyone else has gone to bed, she pulls the covers over her head and lights the wick, holding the candle precariously in her hand, worried about the dripping wax.

Her eyes begin to sting and she closes them, the involuntary hitch of her breath almost blowing out the flame. She wishes for someone she could have spent this day with.

/

She is eighteen years old and Neal scrounges for enough cash to buy her a cupcake.

The candle is yellow, her favorite, and Emma is touched that he remembered. Enough so that when she unwraps the necklace Neal gifts her, Emma ignores the fact that they both know it's stolen. She kisses him instead, murmurs _I love you _against his lips.

When Neal pulls out a lighter to spark the candle, Emma shuts her eyes and sucks in a breath. Taking his hand, she breaths out and wishes that they might get to celebrate her next birthday in their own place.

/

She is thirty-two years old and she wakes to a pirate's kiss.

It's still dark out, but Emma is wide awake as Killian's lips trail down her neck, across her collarbone and continue lower. The sheets are tangled and his skin is warm against hers.

"Happy birthday, darling." he whispers against her temple when they are both drifting back to sleep.

Emma wakes a second time to the sun outside the window and Killian's breath against her cheek. She rouses him and they make themselves decent enough to enter the kitchen where Henry has started breakfast.

The day passes in a blur of sun and ocean and gifts, and by the end Emma is glad to flop down on the couch at her parent's loft. She kicks her feet up on the coffee table, where there is cake and her family clustered around her as they encourage her to blow out the candle.

"Make a wish, Mom." Henry grins. His elbow nudges Emma's arm and she looks at her son, marveling that it has been four years. Her eyes fall on her parents and her little brother, on Regina, and finally on Killian, his thumb stroking the back of Emma's hand. She turns back to the candle before closing her eyes.

Puffing out a breath, Emma wishes for nothing at all.


End file.

Once Upon a Time, Angst, Romance