#cs angst

It had been perhaps an hour, maybe two; the time was starting to stretch unrecognizably as Emma waited for word and stewed in her own regret. Henry had dozed off, and she had maneuvered his feet up onto another empty seat and his head to her lap to rest more comfortably, and that was the only thing keeping her from pacing the small, stark room like a caged animal in nervous anxiety. When someone else entered the room quietly, hands in pockets, head down, and crossed to sit against the opposite wall, Emma was startled into staring at the man blatantly, blinking at the reminder that she and Henry weren’t in their own little world, but that the hospital and all inside it still hummed around them, impervious to the personal island of fear upon which she had landed in her mind.

The gentleman facing them was kind - or discreet - enough not to call attention to or embarrass her for her staring, though he must have felt the weight of her eyes upon him. Despite her worry and fear, her restless unease, Emma couldn’t help studying the only other person in the room - if only for a few moments. He was objectively handsome - there was no denying that, even if she were far from registering true interest. The thick, dark hair, the crystal-blue eyes that flashed across the room at her when he glanced up from the small, leatherbound book in his hands, and the half smile which crooked adorably and put a dimple in his cheek when he shot it towards her quickly from beneath dark lashes; all were virtual catnip to anyone with eyes. She wasn’t far gone enough to miss that. Flushing, she ducked her head, checking to see that Henry was still resting comfortably, trying to busy herself and not have to look back after having been caught out.

A few tensely awkward moments passed with the silence in the air of the waiting room hanging heavily, before the man cleared his throat and spoke to break the tension. “Hello there, Lass. Apologies for being forward, but it seems we may both be here for the long haul this evening. Should we introduce ourselves? I’m Dr. Killian Jones, hospital psychologist.” He extended his right hand to her across the small space, and to her own surprise, Emma found herself spanning the distance to take it, and answering him warmly, regardless of her usual reserve, to introduce herself and her sleeping son.

“My name is Emma Swan. I don’t work here. My - my partner was in an accident earlier this evening, and we - we’re waiting for word…” She couldn’t really bring much else from her rapidly closing throat, so she pulled her hand back, nervously interlocking and unlocking her fingers in her lap and once more avoiding his gaze. When she finally looked up again, this Dr. Jones hadn’t moved; he only watched her quietly, the look on his face telegraphing a deep empathy that needed no words, yet made her feel warmed somehow with the clear knowledge that he wished to help if there was anything he could do.

‘Of course he’s watching you,’ her guarded nature hissed meanly. ‘He’s a shrink, and he’s already trying to get inside your head.’ Suddenly skittish, Emma tried a fleeting smile, anxious not to give away more than she already had. After growing up in the foster system - in and out of group homes and the homes of prospective families that hadn’t worked out - Emma had known numerous case workers, therapists, and other mental health professionals since she was much younger than Henry, and while they had been mostly well-intentioned, she had been left with a lingering doubt of their practical helpfulness.

“And this is my son, Henry,” she tacked on awkwardly, with a gesture toward the sleeping form stretched out beside her. “He’s had a long day, as you can see.”

Killian Jones merely nodded kindly, acknowledging her words but not pressing for details or further conversation, unless she initiated it, for which Emma was grateful. She could feel herself fraying at the edges, seeming to come apart even as she tried to hold herself together. After the anger and disappointment, the tension and worry, and now the interminable waiting and not knowing, she just needed to sit still and try not to think at all if she could manage it.

“Well,” he spoke again, gentle and low in the still waiting room, “it’s nice to meet you, Emma Swan… though I wish it weren’t under such painful circumstances. Here’s hoping you receive some good news soon.”

Emma looked across the small space at him, trying to measure his sincerity. She couldn’t help the only half-teasing barb that slipped out before she could stop it. “Trolling for new patients, are you, Dr. Jones?”

He jerked back abruptly at her mistrustful assumption, then drew in a steadying breath and shook his head. “Hardly, Lass. I merely wanted to wish you well. I am on call tonight, it’s true, but I wasn’t trying to force you into any admissions. Fact is, the holidays are a hard time for many people - even without unforeseen circumstances. I was simply hoping to be where my presence might be needed.”

Emma dipped her head quickly, biting her lower lip and wishing she could take back the unguarded words she’d unleashed. “I’m sorry,” she offered meekly. “That was uncalled for, especially when you’ve been nothing but kind.” Chancing a swift glance back up, she offered a tentative smile. “Truce?”

“Aye, of course,” Dr. Killian Jones accepted easily. “Truce.”

They settled into a comfortable silence then, punctuated only by occasional calls over the loudspeaker, the squeaks of sneakers on the linoleum floor of the hallway nearby, or the distant wail of ambulance sirens and the beeping of machines in other rooms more close at hand. Emma wouldn’t have called it relaxed by any stretch of the imagination, but it was at least comfortable between them. In fact, it was calm and peaceful enough that Henry was still resting when a white-coated doctor entered somberly, the grim look on her face making Emma sit up straight and her heart pound wildly, leaping into her throat as the doctor came to stand before her. 

“Ms. Swan?” the older woman asked. Deep lines etched around tired eyes made the stress the capable-looking professional had been under all too clear.

Emma carefully eased Henry’s feet from her lap and onto the chair behind her as she stood to face the news she needed, but had also been dreading. “Yes,” she nodded shortly, “I am Emma Swan. You have news about Graham Hunter?”

“I do,” the doctor responded, her voice clipped and terse and causing Emma to tense a bit more with each syllable. When she continued, Emma knew even before the pronouncement was made that this was the sort of nightmare moment which would remain cemented in the recesses of her mind for the rest of her life. “Mr. Hunter was brought in with a thready pulse and other signs of a cardiac event, likely brought on by shock and impact from his vehicle being struck. The resultant chaos and damage made it hard to remove him from the wreckage and he was weakened even further. He fought hard, but never fully regained consciousness. His injuries were simply too severe. Mr. Hunter coded, and it was too much for his failing system to withstand. I’m sorry, Ms. Swan, but we couldn’t save him. He’s gone.”

Emma nodded, blindly trying to indicate that she understood, and yet at the same time, she was unable to process the words. Though she had feared ever since the hospital’s call that this would be the outcome, it seemed now like she was moving through a thick, obscuring fog, unwilling to comprehend that he was truly gone. That he wouldn’t know how sorry she was for her earlier harsh words, that he’d never again ruffle Henry’s hair, or give her that sweet boyish smile that had long since won her over and levelled her defenses. It just couldn’t be possible. It wasn’t right or fair. Graham didn’t deserve this, to be cut down so swiftly and violently - gone in an instant.

She bareely registered the doctor’s offer of a few more conciliating words, or even that the woman had moved away, shooting a meaningful glance toward the psychologist as she did so. There was too much happening at once. Her knees wobbled, sheer will keeping her upright. Her stomach lurched, and she needed space - air - desperately. It felt as though the room was closing in, and she had to get out, to run somewhere - anywhere - else. But her eyes lit desperately on Henry, still lying in blissful ignorance. She couldn’t leave him.

That was when, just as she began to gulp frantic mouthfuls of air, she felt a steadying hand on her upper arm, the warm pressure grounding her for a moment in surroundings that whirled madly about her.

“Lass?... Ms. Swan?… Emma?” the gently lilting voice coaxed. “Slow down a moment, aye? Take a deep breath.” 

Where she might have bristled at such instruction in normal circumstances, Emma was so desperate to breathe and right herself in that moment that she merely did as Killian Jones instructed, realizing belatedly that he had risen from his seat and come to stand at her side to offer aid. “That’s it,” he continued soothingly, the low voice almost a croon, and something to follow in the bleak darkness that had nearly engulfed her. “Now another…”

Doing as instructed, without thinking any further than the next breath in, then out again, Emma finally felt a bit less lightheaded, a shaky sort of equilibrium reestablishing itself as she was able to draw enough air into her lungs once more. She managed to stand straight after a few more moments, and - if not exactly capable of a reassuring smile - she was able to meet her waiting room companion’s eyes and nod her thanks, hopefully showing him that she was at least no longer in danger of immediate collapse.

Neither of them spoke for several long minutes as Emma focused on breathing and watching her son sleep, while dreading his waking up to learn their lives as a family were forever changed. To his credit, Dr. Killian Jones didn’t push, didn’t offer empty words of comfort; didn’t speak at all, in fact, or try to force it from her, but he lingered at her side, his presence there if she needed him.

When, a few minutes later, an orderly came to show her to where Graham was - to see him once more and offer her goodbyes if she wished, and to receive the effects found in his car, Emma felt the tremulous grasp on reality she had gathered begin to waver. Straightening her shoulders, she forced herself to hold her shield together. She turned to Killian Jones, not someone she knew well - an hour ago, he had been a stranger - and yet, after the rollercoaster she was still careening through, she also felt as bonded to him as anyone else in the world, now that Graham was gone. He worked for the hospital too, and he couldn’t really do anything shady at his place of work. Beyond that, Emma just sensed she could trust him. She had no other options, at any rate.  Chewing on her lower lip worriedly, she asked, nodding at Henry with a hopeful glance, “Would you mind…?”

“Of course I’ll stay with your lad,” the dark-headed gentleman assured her, before she could even get the rest of her question haltingly asked. “I won’t take my eyes off him for a second. You do what you must.” Should it sound like a duty he took so fervently to heart? Emma wondered, something she didn’t have time to decipher fluttering through her chest and settling in her stomach. 

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper sincerely, grasping his hand for a moment. There weren’t adequate words to convey that she was entrusting him with priceless treasure, that Henry was all she had in the world now, that she didn’t usually trust anyone with her son - and yet she was trusting him… and despite the inability to voice any of it, she sensed Dr. Jones already understood. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she rasped hoarsely, then turned on her heel to follow the orderly quickly from the room.

Left alone with the slumbering youth, Killian couldn’t help feeling a bit of nervous energy. If the young man woke in a strange place, with only someone he didn’t know nearby, he could be frightened and things might become more than a little awkward. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to regret his offer to Ms. Swan - even if it might mean his own discomfort. The conflict in her eyes as she’d tried to decide how to care for her son and also say her farewell to the man she had clearly loved had called to him as plainly as any siren song. If he wasn’t mistaken, though, he had glimpsed something else beside the hurt and worry lodged deep in her expression. He couldn’t fathom why, but it read as self-recrimination, even…guilt?

His mind had wandered down the hall after the woman who had captivated his attention, his curiosity, and his sympathy, wishing her strength for what she was facing, when her lad - Henry, he reminded himself - began to stir. Killian could see the confusion settle in as bleary brown eyes blinked open and looked around the room uncertainly, obviously seeking his mother, or at least something familiar. When that didn’t happen, his gaze came to rest on Killian, his little brow furrowing with curiosity as he mumbled, “Who are you?”

“Hello there, Master Henry,” Killian answered calmly, giving a small nod and what he hoped would come across as a reassuring smile. “My name is Killian Jones. I work as a psychologist here at the hospital. Your mum and I had just been getting to know each other when she was called away for a moment. She asked if I would stay with you, since you were asleep.” He waiting, almost holding his breath in the hope that the boy wouldn’t ask too much more about what they had needed his mother to do. That was not the sort of news that should be broken by a stranger - even one who was a professional counselor.

Young Henry Swan surprised him, however, a mischievous sparkle lighting his eyes when he smiled crookedly and asked, “Why do you sound funny? And no one’s ever called me ‘Master Henry’ before. What does that mean?”

Genuine humor laced the chuckle that escaped from Killian’s chest, even in the midst of the stark and sobering surroundings. The boy’s frank manner and open curiosity were bracing somehow, and it allowed the man to simply answer those queries rather than worry about the ones that might follow. Offering another half smile, he replied, “Well, I suppose the answer to both is that I am originally from the United Kingdom and a few of the more formal terms of address, and my accent as well, have never fully left me.”

Henry nodded at this sagely, looking for all the world like some student mulling over an intriguing new formula rather than the youngster he was. This was their first conversation, but Killian could already see the youth’s thoughtful intelligence as he mulled the answer over. 

“What brought you to America then?” was the next inquiry, one that Killian hoped he masked the stab of painful memory by which it was accompanied. “I mean, don’t people always want to travel over there? You were there already, so why’d you leave?”

Killian breathed out a long sigh and scratched behind his ear, not sure exactly how in-depth this conversation ought to become. Henry might be quite obviously precocious, but they had just met, and he was still a child, despite his startlingly mature behavior. And yet, he wasn’t about to withhold from or mislead the boy. Seeing as he was the hospital’s psychologist, the young man was about to learn he had suffered a devastating loss, and he might well be seeing Killian professionally at least once before all was said and done, it seemed best to start on honest footing. “Let’s just say,” he finally settled on as a response, “that I made a rather foolish choice in love when I was younger. It led to quite painful disappointment and bitterness on my part. I was looking for a change and a fresh start when this job offering came my way. It took it, crossed the pond, and found I rather like it here.”

Henry nodded again, seemingly drinking in every word. “That’s good,” he stated succinctly, his dark head bobbing with a certain affirmation. “You’ve found something you enjoy and a place where you’re happy. Mom says that’s hard to find, but the best thing you can have when you do.”

Killian feels the curiosity those words prompt within, already much more intrigued by the lad’s mother than he has any right to be. “It sounds as though she knows a bit about such things,” he notes. “Those are indeed wise words.”

Henry shrugs his shoulders as if growing a bit impatient with such heavy conversation, some of which must go over his head at such a young age, but then he knocks Killian flat with his astuteness again. “I don’t think she’s quite found her place yet,” he observed matter-of-factly. “She’s always saying, ‘We’re almost there, kiddo’ …whatever that means.”

Killian has to fight the urge both to reach out and ruffle the brown hair affectionately at that - too familiar and not his place, his inner voice chides - and not to wince in painful recognition that part of the near-happy belonging Ms. Emma Swan had spoken of to her boy must have been at least partially due to the man who has just died. He manages to simply nod at the boy’s words, letting him steer their conversation and merely listening for the moment. As the boy tells him about the story he is writing for his school English class, how his mom is a tough and smart private investigator, and how his mom’s partner is teaching him to ice skate on the frozen pond behind their apartment complex, and how the both of them are trying to convince Emma they should move out of the city, maybe near some woods and some open land, and definitely get a dog. Killian finds that any earlier awkwardness he felt at staying with the lad has dissipated completely. If only he didn’t know the hurt that is about to descend on such a happy outlook…

Both man and boy have fallen quiet for a few minutes when a flurry of motion, and then the clatter of items falling to the floor as someone backs into the cart outside a room, startles them and grabs their attention. Killian has just gathered that the careening figure clutching a small canvas bag with the hospital’s logo in a white-knuckled grip is Emma Swan, before she has shot one wild look around and bolted down the hall. It is still too late to keep her tormented eyes and tear-stained cheeks from searing their impression on his memory.

He turns to look down into Henry Swan’s concerned face; the boy had stood at the sight of his mother in distress, just as Killian had done. The lad holds his tongue, but the anxious look in his cocoa-colored eyes asks all too clearly, ‘Is she alright?’ 

Killian speaks gently, praying his words are soothing enough to provide what comfort is possible. “I am sure she will be alright, Lad… given time. But… perhaps we should go to her?”

Henry nods firmly, just once, and moves forward right at Killian’s side as he begins to follow the path they had seen her take moments before. When, a few seconds later, the boy takes his hand, clinging to it in his uncertainty, Killian’s heart lurches with tenderness, and the desire to shield Henry from what cannot be avoided. He merely returns the press of small fingers with a squeeze of his own, and they carry on.

~~*~~

Emma, meanwhile, clasping Graham’s few possessions that had been on him at the time of his accident, was merely seeking sanctuary. She had to find a place away from sympathetic eyes, and bleating machines, and the sight of Graham’s beloved face ashen and cold; those eyes that used to light up whenever he could make her laugh, permanently closed in death. She shouldn’t have said she wanted to see, to offer her farewell in person, her mind repeated incessantly, pounding against her forehead. That horrible final image was there now, threatening to replace all the warm, happy ones that had come before. If she could just find somewhere to hide for a moment, somewhere quiet and secluded where she could maybe, somehow, recover her strength before she had to figure out how to break this to Henry… and how they were going to get through.

“His name was Ruffio,” Will says, nearly as quiet as the first echo. “He’s been gone a long time.” He only meets her eye for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing as though he hadn’t said anything. She can’t blame him. She knows by now that nobody in Neverland ever goes home. “Come on - we’ve got secrets to spill.” 

The light ahead grows until finally they emerge into a massive cavern. The stone that surrounds them black onyx - gleaming faintly against the dust that covers the ceiling like a galaxy above them. The space feels boundless, endless like the darkness could go on forever and she’s reminded of their flight here, of the endless sea of stars they’d sailed in on. 

There are four people standing in the center of the chamber on a platform of the same black onyx, all of them with the same sharp, androgynous features as Tiger Lily, all with the same loose-fitting clothes and cropped hair, and all with that same shimmer of living magic glowing faintly in the dark. Tink stands with them, waiting. None of them are any older in appearance than herself, but she knows better by now than to judge age or power by appearance on this island. 

The Constant. 

They follow the rest of the way to the narrow, stone bridge that connects the ledge to the platform on which the others stand. When Emma takes a step to follow Tiger Lily onto the bridge, Killian puts an arm out, halting her in her tracks. Emma watches, heart in her throat as the bridge crumbles after Tiger Lily, stone falling away behind every step until they reach the end and there’s no bridge at all. 

“The Constant keep no secrets,” Killian explains. “The cave can’t compel anything from them. We, on the other hand…” 

“Of course they don’t.” No wonder they wanted to use this place. Easy to make others share their deepest darkest secrets when you’ve got none of your own to divulge and nothing to risk. “What about Tink?” she asks, nodding at the fifth person standing with the Constant.

“The fey have wings.” 

Right. “So how does this work?” 

“From what I remember, you step out onto the edge and call out your secret. If it’s truly your darkest, the cave will echo it back to you.”

“And then we get across?” 

“Aye, easy as that,” Killian attempts a smile, but it comes out as a wince. “I’ll go,” he offers though he looks like he’s dreading this as much as she is. She’s just thankful she doesn’t have to start.  He lets out another sigh, bracing himself and then, “I kissed Emma.” 

Fuck. Her heart drops into her stomach. He’s been a pirate for two hundred years - How the hell can his darkest secret have anything to do with her?

Will smirks. “Kissed? Is that what they’re calling it these days? And I think you’re forgetting that we were all there when she jumped you at Solstice.” His smirk deepens. “And when Emma came back all wet.” If Emma could reach him she’d smack him. 

“I literally walked in on you,” Wendy deadpans.

“I’m not talking about Solstice,” he sighs, not rising to the bait. “It was…” She knows when it was. We’ll keep each other safe, they’d promised. She doesn’t need everyone else to know though. Not when she’s not even sure what any of it meant or what it means now. “It doesn’t matter,” Killian shakes his head. “It was what the kiss - what all of it - exposed.” Fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. “My secret is… I never believed that I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah.” He breathes her name like a prayer and a wound. “To believe that I could find someone else.” His eyes lift to hers and it’s only by sheer force of will that she’s able to stop herself from taking a step back, from running away from the way he’s looking at her. Because she needs to hear this. They all do. If she wants to get across this fucking bridge, if she wants to talk to the fucking Constant, if she wants to get her son back - she needs to hear this secret as much as he needs to tell it. “That is, until I met you.”

She doesn’t know what to say or if she’s supposed to say something, can’t bring herself to look at Wendy or Will or look away from his eyes still burning into hers. And then before she even can do anything, Killian’s voice echoes through the cave, ‘until I met you’ called back to them like a ghost. A rumble follows as a section of the fallen bridge rises back from the depths below them, rock by rock, rebuilding itself. 

Killian lets out a humourless laugh. “So, who’d like to go next?” 

“I will.” Wendy stands with her shoulders straight, like she’s ready for a fight rather than a confession. Emma gets a sinking feeling in her stomach from the way she’s making herself look at Killian, with shame and guilt. He doesn’t look surprised - he looks like he expected this to hurt. “Sometimes… Sometimes I wish you’d never found me. Sometimes I wish you had just kept on walking that day when Pan left me to die.” She winces. “I’ll always be grateful to you for saving my life, for taking me in but…” 

Killian nods when she hesitates, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “Go on, it’s alright.”  

“You trapped me here, Hook. You’re the reason I have to live in this neverending nightmare. Forever. You knew what that water would do to me and I know you couldn’t ask but… you didn’t give me a choice. And I think that if I had one now - if I could have had a say in the next hundred years of my life… I’d rather you’d just let me die because this -” she gestures at herself, at everything around them.  “It’s worse than death. And because of you I’ll never leave.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I can’t even die if I want to. Not unless Pan decides that’s what he wants. You forced this life on me, Killian, you cursed me to live because it made you feel better and I don’t… I’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Tears stain her cheeks now, jaw tight as she refuses to let any more follow and Emma can see the heartbreak on Killian’s face. “Wendy…” but she shakes her head and he stops the step he’d taken towards her. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes and he shakes his head this time. Her secret echoes around them like a taunt this time - ‘never forgive you for that’ - and another piece of the bridge rebuilds itself. The silence hangs between them, louder than any echo, until Will steps up. 

“I suppose I should go next - while we’re on the topic of never being forgiven.” He takes his own steadying breath. “I’m dying.” 

Wendy’s face falls. “... what?” It comes out cracked and small and frightened. “What do you mean you’re dying?”

The look Will gives her - there’s so much guilt there, so much pain and self-loathing and love. Emma may not know much about it but she can recognize it now in his eyes, in the way he looks at Wendy. “I lied when I told you I didn’t know what Pan did to my heart. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“One hundred years…”

Will nods, a self-deprecating smile falling flat. “I really hoped that I could keep it from you for a little longer. Neverland will slow it down but… he squeezed a hundred years from my heart. I’ll start aging faster - a lot faster - and pretty soon…”

“How long?” He hesitates a beat longer than Emma can handle - and Wendy… gods, she can’t imagine. “How long?”

“I’ll be dead in a few months - three, maybe four depending on how long I would have lived if I’d aged like a normal person but - I’m so sorry, Wen. I didn’t want to tell you, I -”

Whatever he was going to say and whatever she might have answered  is stolen by the cave calling back to them in Will’s voice, ‘dead in a few months’. Nobody looks as the bridge puts itself back together, all of them too focused on the cruel revelation. He did it for her, Emma realises, for all of them but… he’s dying because of her. Wendy’s losing him because of her. Even Killian looks solemn at the news. 

“Your turn, Emma,” Will chokes out with the palest attempt at levity she’s seen him manage since she met him. “Wouldn’t want to be left out of all the fun, would you?”

She looks out towards the chasm between them and the Constant. She doesn’t even know what she expected to confess, or what she’d hear confessed by those with her, and now, with the truth of Will’s fate hanging in the air, nothing feels like it matters in the grand scheme of things. 

What even is her deepest secret? That she gave up Henry? That she had her heart broken by a selfish man who used her and then left her? That she spent a year of her life in jail? That she’s spent her whole life searching for the parents who left her behind? That between Neal and her parents she doesn’t think she could ever trust someone again - could ever let herself love someone again, or let them love her… That she might be anyway? None of it feels like enough; none of it even feels like a secret anymore, not since Henry found her and brought her to Storybrooke. 

And then, like bile and sick, she feels something being forced up from her throat, words clawing their way to the surface and past her lips of their own volition. She can’t stop them. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to say until they come spilling out. 

“I wish Henry had never come to find me. I wish he’d never brought me to Storybrooke.” The confession leaves her gasping, tears in her eyes as though she had been sick. She wants to be, hearing such a horrible truth being spoken out loud. Killian looks at her with sympathy, but she turns away from it. And once it’s started, she can’t stop it. “I never wanted to be a mother. I gave him away because I knew he’d be better off without me - but also because I knew I’d be better off without him. He’s a beautiful, amazing kid and I love him more than anything… but I never asked for this. Every day since he showed up at my door I’ve been terrified - every minute of every day. Those few minutes in the Fae forest when I couldn’t remember him were the most peaceful I’ve felt in months and when it all came flooding back it just reminded me of how much simpler my life was before I had to be anything to anyone. I don’t want to lose him. But I never wanted to find him either.” 

The bridge rebuilds itself, completing the path across as the worst thing she’s ever said, ‘never wanted to find him’,  is echoed back to her cruelly. She feels drained, numb, and she wonders if the others are feeling this horrible emptiness too. She looks out at where the Constant wait. If this is their idea of having them prove their allegiance, they better be ready to give theirs in return.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian tells her, leading her across the bridge. None of them say a word, Will and Killian both casting glances at Wendy who won’t look up from her feet, and the silence follows them the whole way across. 

“That sounded rough,” Tink comments when they reach the platform, the five Constant talking in harsh whispers in a language she doesn’t recognize. 

“How lucky of you to have missed it then,” Will snips. He must be feeling worse than Emma realized.

There’s an argument starting, still in that foreign language, but she can tell just the same. Every few words there’s a glimpse of something that feels familiar, a syllable from another language she’s heard, a word that could be French or Spanish, a glimpse of English, not one language but many - like every language spoken at once.

“This meeting has been a topic of some controversy,” Killian whispers. “But I think Tiger Lily might be on our side.” 

“You can understand them?” 

He shrugs. “One picks up a few things after two centuries.”

There’s a small scoff from Tink. “Yeah, all that pillow talk was really educational.”

Killian ignores the quip. “They’re the keepers of the last of the forgotten history of the old Neverland.” He nods at each as he names them. “That’s Philodendron, Halcyon, Alder, Jacaranda, and you know Tiger Lily.

“Tiger Lily is one of them?” 

“Tiger Lily was the oldest Constant to survive the massacre. They were just shy of a century when Pan took over.”

“A century?”

“The Constant are eternal, love. A century is nothing.” 

The Constant have gone silent, a tense, begrudging conclusion to their argument that Emma can feel even if she doesn’t know the words. 

Finally, Tiger Lily speaks. “Tinkerbell tells us you wish to unearth the secrets of the island - secrets that were buried to keep us safe.”

“Secrets that could return the island to the way it once was if you ally with us against Pan,” Killian counters. 

“If our knowledge could have defeated the boy,” Alder interjects, “we would have done so a millenia ago when he first laid waste to this island.” 

“Maybe your knowledge alone couldn’t defeat him, but we have the Lorelei on our side, and the fae,” Wendy adds, gesturing at Tink. 

Alder scoffs. “You have one fairy. One who’s been without magic for almost five hundred years, who’s magic was corrupted by the very demon you seek to destroy. Our magic was born from the innocence and dreams of children, the purest light magic there is, and even it was snuffed out by Pan’s darkness. What chance have you with a weakened fairy and the duplicitous sirens?” 

“We have more than that,” Tink interjects, bitterness and insult obvious in the bite of her words. “We have her.” It takes Emma a moment to realize that she’s the one being gestured at and now every set of eyes is on her. 

“Me?” 

“Her?” Wendy frowns. 

“You can’t honestly tell me you haven’t noticed. She practically reeks of magic. It’s spilling out of every pore. I clocked it as soon as she got here.” 

“I don’t have magic.” The Constant continue to stare, questioning, doubting. “I don’t. Don’t you think if I did I’d have used it by now to get Henry back?” 

“Not if you weren’t aware of it, love,” Killian offers gently.

“Okay but I’m not some fairytale character; I’m from Boston - the land without magic. I don’t have any power.” 

“Oh for…” Tink swears under her breath, crossing the room and grabbing Emma’s wrist. Faster than she can stop her, the fairy pulls a small blade from the complicated twist of pins and leather that keeps her mass of blonde hair piled on top of her head, ivory handle embellished with gold runes, and slashes it across Emma’s palm. 

“Ow! What the hell!” Emma shouts, yanking her hand away. That fucking hurt. Tinkerbelle doesn’t resist, the rest of their small crew moving to intervene, but all at once, they freeze. Emma follows their gazes to her hand, clutched tightly in a fist to her chest and her breath catches. There’s light seeping through the cracks in her fingers, golden and swirling like smoke, shimmering like the magic that flows over the Constant’s skin. 

Jacaranda reaches a hand out to her, palm upturned in a request and Emma looks to the others before carefully placing her hand in theirs. Carefully, the Constant unfurls her fingers, examining the light that shines from her wound with a careful touch. Their eyes go wide. “This is our magic,” they say, voice soft and tinged with awe. “Ours and… something else.” 

“May I?” Philodendron asks, extending their own hand. Emma nods, even as the urge to refuse shouts at her. You don’t have magic. You’re not magic. You’re a goddamn bail bonds person from Boston, not a fairytale character. Philodendron looks at her after taking a moment to examine the wound themselves. “This is light magic,” they confirm. “It’s raw and untapped but powerful, more powerful than anything I’ve seen since before Pan’s time.” They twist her hand a bit, trying to look closer, to read something in whatever they see that Emma can’t. “But this isn’t born of belief and dreams as ours is, it's the product of something else… of -”

“True love,” Emma breathes out, so low she doesn’t mean for anyone to hear it. Henry had said that hadn’t he? That she was supposed to be the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, that she was supposed to be the Saviour. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Philodendron nods slowly. “You were right, Tinkerbelle. This is more powerful magic than we anticipated.” 

“Can you use it?” Emma asks, still not believing it really, but if it means they’ll help her get her kid back, she doesn’t care what she has to do. 

“That depends,” Halcyon takes a step forward. “Can you wield it?” 

“No, I…” she doesn’t even know how this is possible. 

“I can.” They all turn to Tink, Emma cradling her hand to her chest once more. “If you tell me what we need to do, I can guide her. But you’ll have to let me.” The last bit is directed at her and she hesitates… Tink hasn’t exactly made a secret of the fact that she’s not a fan of hers, and she just slashed her damn hand open… Trust already isn’t her strong suit to begin with. “I’m not going to steal it,” Tink snaps and looks genuinely offended and Emma remembers that she knows what it is to have her power taken from her. 

“I know you won’t. I just… what if it doesn’t work?” How powerful could this magic be? She’s not anything special, she never has been. Why would this be any different? 

“Then I guess you don’t get your kid back.” 

“Tink,” Killian warns but Emma can’t help but appreciate the fairy’s bluntness. 

“What do we need to do?” 

“This cavern, ” TigerLily starts, taking a knee and placing a hand reverently on the stone, “used to be a sacred place. It held all of the secrets of Neverland, and the dreams of children who visited - the purest and most honest of truths of all - fueled the island as it did our magic. This was its source - the source of everything. 

“But then Pan tainted this cave with his twisted version of secrets as power, as something to be wielded, and forced us to sacrifice the last of the light magic that still breathed life into Neverland, the cavern shielded itself from his darkness. Now it echoes truths rather than accept ones taken maliciously. This place… has seen nothing but darkness for centuries. It has not been sleeping, but fighting, the last of the resistance against Pan right under his nose, keeping the darkness at bay and it has hardened. We need to remind it what the light looks like.” 

“It can have mine. Whatever this is. If it can help and if this place can defeat Pan it can have all of it.” 

Tiger Lily smiles kindly. “Not all of it. It would never snuff out your light. But even the slightest kindling can spark an inferno and with it you can breathe magic back into the island.” 

“How?” 

They nod to Tink who retrieves her knife again, slashing her own palm this time, the light that glows from her wound a shimmering green, and holds her hand out to Emma. Heat burns across her skin when she takes Tink’s offered hand, the light between them growing, shining and mixing. Tink places her other hand on Tiger Lily’s shoulder and the Constant flattens both their palms against the stone beneath them. After a moment, they look to Emma and she knows she’s doing it wrong. She’s not doing anything but she’s doing it wrong. 

“I’m sorry.”

Tiger Lily shakes their head, their smile not malicious, but understanding. 

“I have met so many lost boys and girls on this island. So many broken, hardened children lead here by fear and hurt and neglect, so afraid to trust, to love, to admit or even accept what they want, what they desire more than anything - what has been robbed of them. This place is born of dreams and truths and you, dear Swan, strong Swan, brave Swan… frightened Swan, have locked yourself away from both.” 

“But I already told this place my darkest secret.” But she doesn’t need Tiger Lily to tell her - this place echoes darkness, resists darkness. That secret was Pan’s magic - not Neverland’s. 

“What do you dream of, Emma? What truths do you keep from yourself?” Emma opens her mouth to speak but Tiger Lily holds up a hand. “Do not tell them to me. Tell them to the lost girl. Unburden her.” 

What does she dream of? Things she can’t have, things she’s never had, things that were taken away. She wants to find her parents, that’s no secret though, she’s always known that. She wants them to have never given her up in the first place. She wanted a family, the one she could have had with Henry and Neal if he hadn’t turned out to be the vile person he was, the life that she’d had just a glimpse of after one missed period, before everything went to shit. She doesn’t want that anymore. She hasn’t let herself want any of it since then, not love, not family, not hope… 

Her skin begins to warm, something flaring beneath the surface. Liar. She doesn’t know if it’s the cave or herself or her magic but it echoes through her like her secret against the walls. Tiger Lily accused her of locking herself away from her dreams, from her truths, but can they even still be truths if they’ve been silenced and stomped down for decades? 

She thinks of the lost girl she was, abandoned, a runaway on the street, burning the last of her childhood, of stupid fairytales and stories to keep warm in a world that was only ever cold. What had that girl wanted? Powerless, lost, alone. That girl who felt like nothing, who meant nothing to anyone, who had never mattered and never would, who had only herself to take care of her. She wanted to matter - to someone, to herself, she wanted people to matter to her, to be able to let them. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. Even as she pushed away every foster parent, every friend, every lover as she grew older, she didn’t want - she doesn’t want - to have to do it alone. 

That’s what she dreams of, what she refuses to admit that she dreams of. That for all of her rightly earned distrust of everyone, for all of her caution and her fear of abandonment, of love and hope, she wants to be able to let them in, let them matter. She wants to believe that she could have that happily ever after that she’s scorned all her life. 

Images flash in her mind as the heat builds, her body tingling, a faint glimmer of light shining against her shut eyelids. Henry smiling in her doorway in Boston, Mary Margaret offering her a home, Killian bringing her to Neverland, Wendy helping her hide from Pan, Will sacrificing himself for her, Killian nearly sacrificing Milah’s name - sacrificing his memories, all of them banding together to help her save her kid, even Tink now, helping her to wield magic she doesn’t understand. 

She’s not alone. She’s not in this alone. For the first time in her life she has people she can count on. People she can trust. She thinks of the smile Henry gave her when she let him know she wasn’t going to leave Storybrooke even though she could, of Mary Margaret’s pep talks, of shared hot chocolate and drinks and advice in their apartment, of Killian in that dank brig after one of the worst hours of her life - perhaps I would - of his words whispered in the quiet darkness of his cabin - I’m here. You don’t have to ask - of his confession echoing around them - until I met you. She does matter to people. She’s not nothing. She was never nothing. She matters and she has people who matter to her. 

Her whole body alights, the blood in her veins not blood anymore but something else, something powerful and she can feel it surging beneath her skin, pulled by a force as it rushes through her and towards that opening in her palm. The white of her light overtakes the green and Tink’s body jerks like the surge of magic is as jarring to her as it is for Emma. Tiger Lily gasps, the ground beneath them starting to glow, tendrils of golden light snaking towards them across the stone like rivulets. Their body starts to shimmer, the dusting of gold shining brighter until their skin is swallowed by it completely. 

Emma can feel sweat beading on her skin, the salt mixing with the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying. She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep this up, the power coursing through her overwhelming. Tink’s hand is shaking in hers, both their palms damp and slippery and white knuckled and she can’t imagine how much more effort the fairy is putting in as the one actually channeling all of this. 

“There’s so much,” Tiger Lily says in awe. “We’ve forgotten so much.” Their eyes are glowing with the same gold that covers their skin, their mouth pulling into a smile even as tears roll down their cheeks. 

“I can’t -” Tink starts, but doesn’t let Emma release her hand when she tries to stop.

There’s another moment, the light engulfing the Constant almost completely, so bright Emma has to look away, before finally, suddenly, it stops. The three of them slump against the ground with a gasp of exhaustion. Emma doesn’t even turn when she feels hands on her shoulders, helping her to sit up, she knows it’s him. Wendy is at Tink’s side helping to support her as well as the Constant circle around Tiger Lily, all of them holding one another in a moment that feels beautiful and private as joy and heartbreak play over their faces. 

“Can you. Stop him?” Tink pants out. 

“I… I think so. There’s just - there’s so much. I need time to sort through it all.” 

“We don’t. Have. Time.”

“All of the secrets of Neverland, millennia’s worth, have just been poured into my mind. It will take me more than a few minutes to understand it all and find what will help us.” 

“How much time?” Emma asks. Henry’s already been here too long - too long without knowing that she’s here, that she’s coming for him. 

“I don’t… give me a few nights at least. Come back in three days. That should give me time to make sense of what is needed at least.” Their eyes are far away, like they’re not seeing the cavern around them but something far bigger and far more extraordinary.  

Emma nods. “Three days?” 

“Three days. And then we’ll rid this island of its false king forever.”

***********

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list!

~~~~

 He’s making an effort not to become the town drunk. 

 His father was the town drunk, and he’s always hated his father. 

 So when he goes to the Rabbit Hole, he likes to keep it to once a week, maybe less. He likes to keep it to two drinks, maybe three. He likes to keep control over himself so that no one in this tiny place starts to see him as the town drunk. They already see him as the strange, handless recluse, and he doesn’t feel the need to move into town drunk-territory. 

 But when he walks into the Rabbit Hole that night, just a few months after his arrival, he considers changing his ways if only in response to seeing the stunning, glowing blonde behind the bar for the first time. 

 She truly is glowing. She emanates beauty and exudes perfection as she stands behind the bar, somehow catching the perfect lighting, her bare arms toned as she pours a beer flawlessly, her hair gleaming under the dim light fixture, her smile shimmering despite the darkness in the bar. She laughs at her patron, Leroy telling her a joke that Killian can almost certainly bet was not funny. She throws her head back and he nearly salivates at the sight of her bare neck. She turns from the grumpy old man and adds the pour to his tab and then she turns again, locking eyes directly with Killian before giving him the most beautiful, sexy, friendly smile he’s ever received. 

 “Welcome in,” she says, her voice like bells as it rings through the bar, cutting against the loud music and the even louder laughter from the party at the pool table. “What can I get you?” 

 He’s almost stunned silent, stupidly standing there with his mouth hung open like a trout until he gets his bearings, tugging on the sleeves of his gray knit sweater and shuffling towards the bar. Get it together, you old fool, he tells himself, cursing as he trips over his own feet but praising himself as the sight draws a soft giggle from the angel of a woman. 

 “Rum,” he says idiotically, and she raises a brow. 

 “Just rum, neat? On the rocks? Or a shot?”

 He clears his throat. What will she think of him ordering just rum, neat? Or a shot? “Might as well throw in some Coke and ice, I suppose,” he chokes out, fighting through the awkwardness that he hasn’t felt since high school. 

 She laughs. It seems genuine, but she must treat all of her customers like this, right? “A rum and Coke then, coming right up. Do you like lime?”

 “Yes,” he says, although he can’t really remember if he does or not. He pulls on his left sleeve as he sits down, far from Leroy. His elbow rests on the bartop, and if he had a hand, it would drop between himself and the surface he leans against. “Sure. Please.”

 She works quickly, and he tries and tries not to look at the way her black tank top hugs her waist. He tries not to notice the way that there aren’t any lines along her back and he tries not to wonder whether she’s wearing a bra beneath it. He tries not to notice the way her jeans hug her hips and flare out just slightly, elongating her legs impossibly. Really, he really tries not to stare. Seriously. 

 “There you go,” she says with a bright smile. “Want to open a tab?”

 He says nothing, dropping his bum arm and using the other to fish his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out the credit card David gave him and handing it to her without a second thought. Normally, he wouldn’t open a tab. Opening a tab is something the town drunk would do– or at least running up the tab is. But how can he say no to the siren standing before him? 

 “Thanks,” she says, looking at the front of the card and smiling. Something about this smile is different; it’s softer, more genuine. “Peter. I like that name.” 

 “What, um–” he clears his throat, not before kicking himself beneath the bar. “Would you tell me your name?”

 “It’s Lily,” she says pleasantly. “And it’s very nice to meet you.” 

 “Likewise.” 

 The exchange is taking a turn, he notices, the awkwardness growing between them because he should probably say something more. He should try to carry on the conversation, get to know her, let her get to know him. But he’s a fool, not used to interacting with anyone, never mind a beautiful woman, and she has other customers, so she smiles at him once more and walks towards Leroy, taking what’s left of his heart along with her. 

 ~~~~

 He returns to the bar the next night. 

 No one here knew his father, so he reasons that no one would assume his identity as a second generation alcoholic. He isn’t an alcoholic, not really. He would know if he was. He’s seen the signs, watched the way it murdered his father and his uncle and his brother. And he reasons, as he leaves his office the next night, that going to a bar two nights in a row does not an alcohol addiction make. 

 She’s here again; Lily. The fallen angel gracing this earth for reasons unclear to him. Her occupation at the Rabbit Hole is enigmatic because he’s certain that she could do anything she sets her mind to. He watches in awe as she mixes drinks and flawlessly pours beer and somehow operates the whole establishment, Ruby lilting through the restaurant and fancifully taking orders when the mood strikes. 

 He watches with as much normalcy as he can muster, not entirely used to the interactions that he’s been avoiding for the past seven months or so. 

 (Well, he says or so, but in reality, he knows exactly how long it’s been since he shut himself out from the rest of the world.) 

 (Seven months, two weeks, and three days since he fled Boston.)

 Lily floats through the bar, smiling at her customers and, he thinks, smirking at him. She walks to her colleague, tucking her head against the other woman’s ear and whispering something he could never make out until the two of them erupt into a symphony of giggles. She glances over at him, her bottom lip caught between her pearly teeth, and Ruby whispers something back. He watches as her cheeks flush, the intoxicating pink spreading down her neck and across her chest. He watches for as long as he can before he recognizes how unsettling it is for him to be staring like this, wondering how much further down the warmth trails along her porcelain skin. She watches him staring, how could she not, and his heart begins to race as she slowly makes her way towards him. Honestly, she probably isn’t even moving that slowly, but the way that his blood is racing through his veins more quickly than ever makes the rest of the world feel like it’s moving in slow motion. 

 “Peter,” she greets with a wry smile, one perfect brow lifted towards her hairline as the other rests beautifully above her glowing emerald eyes. “Did I make your rum and Coke wrong?” 

 “Of course not,” he answers too quickly, then he clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” 

 “I don’t mind being stared at,” she flirts, at least, he hopes she’s flirting. He thinks she must be if the way she leans against the bar closer to him than he’s seen her get to her other customers is any indication. He tugs on his left sleeve, the knit material stretching easily over his empty wrist. “At least, not by someone who looks like you.”

 Flirting, he tells himself. Honestly, as a grown man of somewhere close to 40, he should probably know when a woman is flirting with him, and yet this woman in particular has his mind in knots. He can’t even help the smile that creeps slowly along his lips, and he can’t help but to notice the way that it makes her own grow. 

 “The drink you made is delicious,” he tells her, as if that matters. “You’re quite talented.”

 She hums lightly, shrugging her toned shoulders and hopping onto the barstool beside him. He turns ever so slightly, hiding his blunted arm behind himself but refusing to pull any further from her than he has to. “Yeah, well… Have you been in town long?” 

 The change in subject, the sudden interest in his life, throws him for a loop, making it difficult for him to focus as if he wasn’t having trouble already. “Longer than you, I'd assume,” he answers ambiguously. It’s something David taught him. Unless someone knows exactly when he arrived, it’s a bad idea to give concrete answers, like I got here six months, one week, and two days ago. 

 “Well, I only got here about two weeks ago.”

 “Much longer than that,” he says confidently, because in the grand scheme of things it hasn’t been long, but in comparison of weeks, it’s been plenty. Clearing his throat, he lies. “About a year.” 

 Her eyes narrow slightly, her smile still playful, and she nods. “Well, you seem to at least know more than me, right?” She presses closer to him, leans in and rests her elbow against the bar, and if she gets any closer, she might be able to see that he’s missing about a pound’s worth of his left arm. But he doesn’t pull away. With her voice low and sultry, with her fingers dancing almost imperceptibly along the collar of his shirt, she murmurs, “Maybe you can show me around.”

 “Don't you, uh– don’t you have a bar to keep?”

 “Eh,” she shrugs nonchalantly, seeming to make herself more comfortable at his side as she shifts. “Ruby agreed to close so that I can shoot my shot with the hot customer who keeps staring.” 

 He blushes. He hasn’t blushed in… he doesn’t know how long it’s been. His eyes widen and she smiles like she expected him to think he was being secretive as he watched her. She takes his hand, his right hand, the only one he has, and it’s like she knows that that’s the right side to choose. She tells him not to worry about his tab, the one rum and Coke on the house. She keeps his hand in hers and guides him behind her until they reach the door, and he realizes that this woman could be leading him to his death and he frankly wouldn’t care. 

 ~~~~

 He doesn’t go back to her place. She doesn’t come back to his. 

 They just… talk. 

 He hasn’t talked to someone– really talked to someone, someone who isn’t his bloody assigned Marshal– in six months. Six months, three weeks, and six days. He hasn’t had the pleasure of getting to know someone in far too long, longer than he can count, because he never really knew Milah. He hasn’t felt such a connection to another person in all the time he can recall being alive. Perhaps he felt connected to his friend Rob in third grade, but this is different. Perhaps he felt connected to his brother before he died, but this is far different. Lily, Lily Quinn, is unlike anyone he’s ever met. She’s bold and brazen and she isn’t afraid to tell him exactly what’s on her mind at any given second. 

 I think you’re hot.

 The sweater look is seriously a turn on.

 I’m not really looking for a relationship right now, but I guess you can never say never.

 She’s right. One can never say never, although he was pretty clear with himself after losing Milah that he’d never let himself fall for a woman like that again. 

 And yet, here he is, standing beside a woman several years younger than he is, buying her ice cream, hoping she doesn’t notice the way his left hand simply no longer exists, certain that he would fall for her if he let himself. It’s almost inevitable, and he realizes it as he watches her skip along the rock wall that lies sturdily between the sidewalk and the ocean waves, ice cream cone in hand, toes pointed out before her as she takes on the stance and confidence of a gymnast or a ballerina and then admits, I’ve never been very coordinated. 

 He feels it in his heart as she hops down with a grin, her steps light and her smile lighter, as if nothing has ever bothered her in her life. It’s intoxicating. He feels envious of her and yet he doesn’t have the painful feeling in his gut that usually accompanies jealousy. He isn’t jealous of her lightness, of her carefree nature; he’s happy for her. 

 He’s known this woman merely a day and he’s falling for her. 

 So when she lets him walk her to the entrance of her apartment building, tells him goodnight and that she doesn’t normally kiss on the first date, he grins. Was this a date? he wonders to himself, and all he can do is hope endlessly that it was. 

 She doesnt give him her phone number, but she tells him that she’ll see him soon. She says it with confidence, with a certainty that she’ll see him at the bar soon enough, and he can’t help but match her smile. Well, match is a stretch, because her’s is glowing and perfect and his is pained and broken, but it isn’t forced tonight like it usually is, and for that, he’s grateful. 

 ~~~~

 He still struggles to find the perfect word to describe her. Sometimes he thinks it’s effortless, sometimes he thinks it’s perfect, sometimes he thinks it’s formidable, but nothing seems exactly right. He knows there must be one word, one phrase he can use to describe the essence of this woman, but as he stares dreamily at her as she works, he can’t think of it. 

 She smiles at him like she always does, pours him another drink, tells him he looks handsome in his slate colored sweater, and he blushes again. He couldn’t think of the last time he blushed before he met her, and now, he’s been blushing nonstop for the past three weeks of knowing her. 

 “You know,” she says one evening when the room is quiet, almost empty, pressing up onto her toes so that she can get closer to him although there’s a bar between them, “I don’t know if I got everything I should have out of our tour.” 

 “That was weeks ago,” he points out. “I think the period for complaints has expired.” 

 She laughs, throwing her head back and letting him see the cords of her neck as they stretch. “You’re funny,” she says easily. “I mean, shouldn’t you have brought me to all the local spots? I heard there’s a diner I’m seriously missing out on and you just took me to the ice cream shop.”

 “Well, ice cream shops are open much later than most diners.” 

 “Ruby says it moonlights as a restaurant at night.” 

 “She would know,” he agrees. “Her granny is Granny.” 

 She gasps, and he thinks it's sarcastic. “The Granny?” 

 He smiles. It’s genuine, real, honest. He can’t think of anything else to say. 

 “Maybe we can try it some time,” she offers after a beat, picking up her rag and wiping at the bar’s surface in front of him. He moves his elbow carefully, desperate to hide his shame from her like he always is, wondering if she’s noticed the strange way he shields his left arm. 

 “Are you… I mean, are you staying in town long, then?”

 She’s quiet for a moment, for the first time since he’s known her appearing unsure of what to say. She looks down at the wooden surface between them and drops her hand towards his, her long fingers playing at the knit fabric that nearly covers his fingers until she tickles the hair on his knuckles. “My plan was to stay as long as I needed to.”

 “How long will you need to?” 

 She shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’ll stay until I find what I’m looking for.” 

 “And what’s that?” 

 She smiles, still looking down at his hand and becoming more bold as she lifts one of his fingers and tucks her own beneath it. “You couldn't handle it,” she dares, looking at him with a playful smirk, and he can’t help but to return it. 

 “Perhaps not.”

 “What are you looking for?” 

 He can’t answer, because he doesn’t quite know. He racks his brain, wondering what will happen to him once he gives his testimony and can go on with his real life without the fear of being hunted or the unease of a US Marshal breathing down his back. He wonders what he’ll want when this is all over, wonders if he’ll want something out of his life other than for it to finally end. 

 “Home,” he tells her after the silence between them has grown cold, and he watches as the look on her face shifts from one of playful indifference and almost discomfort into something that he struggles to read. It’s something like disbelief, her mouth falling open slightly and her hold on his one remaining hand falling weak as she stares into his eyes and into his blackened soul. 

 She lets go of his hand completely, letting it fall against the countertop and moving towards the entrance of the bar, exiting her post as she often tells him she’ll never, ever do. She sidles up beside him, one hand landing softly on his cheek and the other resting against his thigh just above his knee. “Home?” she asks in a whisper, her’s softer than his, voice almost imperceptible over the sounds of the nearly empty bar. 

 “Aye,” he chokes out. “I’m not really sure… what that means. But… aye.” 

 “I want that, too,” she tells him as if it’s a secret, and a part of him realizes that something between them has shifted. This is an admittance, a secret she’s hardly told anyone, and as she moves in close to him and finally, finally captures his lips between her own, he feels nothing but gratitude and a realization that she’s truly letting him in. 

 The gratitude mixes quickly with a tightness in the pit of his stomach, her tongue lightly tracing the seam of his lips until he opens them slightly, allowing her entrance and a pass to explore as she wishes, and the gratitude grows. He breathes her in, inhaling the scent of her as it mixes with the scent of him and feeling the gratefulness growing along with that tightening in his stomach. He hears a soft whimper escaping the back of her throat, barely breaking past her lips before crashing against his own. The hand on his knee slides upwards to his thigh, squeezing his flesh beneath his jeans as her other hand slides into the hair at the back of his neck. 

 He struggles to think of a time where he wished for his hand back more than he wishes for it now, wanting nothing but to feel her beneath both of his palms, but one will have to do as he finds her hip and pulls her close, lets her find her spot between his knees and push her hips against his own. He leaves his empty arm by his side, content to ignore the desires in hopes of avoiding her finding out the truth. Well, this truth. 

 But she’s insatiable, wanton, needy as she tries to get closer, as she climbs up onto the stool precariously to straddle his thighs, as she sends a bolt of fear through him when she almost falls off, and he can’t help but to grab her, or try to and fail. He grabs one hip, has a good hold on her, but it’s not enough to distract her from the way that her other hip is secured by an empty wrist, and he knows by the way she freezes in his arms that she knows. 

 She whispers the name he gave her against his lips; he notes the way the word feels against his skin. He likes the way it feels when she says it, but he wonders if he’ll ever feel the truth falling from her lips. To his surprise, he feels her smile against his mouth and he pulls away, although he can’t seem to open his eyes. 

 “It’s okay,” she whispers. She holds his face in both of her hands and he feels envy. “Are you embarrassed?” 

 He nods without thinking, his forehead fused to hers and the tip of his nose running along the bridge of her own. 

 “You don’t have to be,” she whispers. “I already knew.” 

 “What?” he asks, looking up from her and meeting her deep emerald eyes. 

 Her smile is soft and kind and gentle. “I mean… yeah. It’s been weeks, and I'm good at noticing stuff.”

 “You’ve known for weeks?”

 “Since the first night.”

 “And you didn’t… It wasn’t…?”

 “No,” she whispers, her smile bright and understanding and somehow unchanged. “You're still hot as hell.” 

 He laughs, because what else is he supposed to do? He hasn’t thought of himself as attractive, not even remotely, since that day eight months and two days ago. But here she is, telling him he’s hot as hell even though she’s known since the first time they met that he only has one hand. 

 “How’d it happen?” she asks, lightly touching his forearm but not getting any closer to the scarred, angry skin just below, either because of his fear or her own. 

 He startles slightly. David told him he can’t tell anyone anything about that night, the night he lost his hand, so he shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. “Boating accident,” he tells her. They were at a marina, afterall; perhaps it’s not entirely a lie. 

 “Well, I’m sorry that happened. But it doesn't change anything.” 

 His nose is still pressed to hers and he doesn’t even think before nuzzling it against her own and making her grin, her giggle playful. “Thank you,” he whispers genuinely. “It’s taken a long time to get used to it– I'm still not used to it.” 

 He thinks of the pain. The way that it always hurts, always. He thinks of earlier when he put another small, shallow hole in his desk with the first pen he could find. He thinks of the way it isn’t there, and yet he’s somehow always reminded. He’ll never be used to it. 

 ~~~~

 It’s been two weeks, and he hasn’t gotten used to the way that it feels to kiss her. He can never get used to the way her lips slide against his, the way her fingers slip through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. He’ll never get used to the way her thighs squeeze around his hips once they finally find privacy, the way her hand grabs his and pulls him until they find sanctuary in the women’s restroom. He won’t ever grow tired of the way she moans his name– the fake one– and grinds her hips against his and clings against him as if she can’t get enough. And he won't ever, ever get used to the way she holds tightly against his blunted forearm as she tells him how attractive she finds him. 

 She giggles when he boldly thrusts, just a bit, letting her get a taste of what she does to him when they’re like this. Ensuring that she knows the effect she has on him when she moans out a name that isn’t his and bites into the soft flesh of his collarbone just below his shirt. 

 “You know,” she starts, panting as she digs her fingers into his shoulder blades. It isn’t exactly easy to be in this position– to hold her up against the sink but also ensure that she’s pressed firmly to him– but it’s worth it. “One of these days I might let you beneath my jeans.” 

 He smirks against her, kissing her again and squeezing his palm against the plump flesh of her ass beneath the denim. “Is that so?”

 “Maybe.” 

 “And what will I have to do to earn such a privilege?”

 She hums and giggles all at once, shrugging and capturing him in another kiss, effectively silencing him. “I’ll know when I know.”

 He laughs. It’s a real laugh. But his arm gets tired, what with him being unable to hold her with one of them, so he rests her weight on the porcelain sink for a moment. It was only a moment, honest, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Apparently, two weeks of making out against a free-standing sink puts a great burden on its structural integrity, and almost immediately as he puts her down, the porcelain shatters beneath her, splintering under her weight and sending her towards the floor. 

 “Fuck!” he shouts, trying to catch her and hoping that her frightened shouts don’t draw any attention from the other customers. The destruction of the sink stems from the basin and into the pipes, the breakage sending water at each of them and they’re soaked through faster than they can even comprehend. 

 At first he’s worried, trying to pull her out of the way and block the spraying pipes, but then her laughter rings louder than the forceful sound of the water and he can’t help but to look up at her with a smile. 

 “Look at you,” she laughs, her hair curling with moisture and the skin beneath her eyes blackening with her running makeup. 

 “Look at you!” he laughs back, shaking out his hand and standing by her side. “You look frazzled. Beautiful, but frazzled.”

 “I’m gonna have to call someone about this,” she says lightly, as if it’s the furthest thing from her mind. “But thanks.”

 “For breaking your sink?”

 “For giving me an excuse to leave early,” she says, pulling him close to her once again, pressing onto her toes so she can press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m gonna have to go home and change. Apparently I’m frazzled.”

 “Aye,” he says softly. “As am I, I'm sure.”

 “You could always come back to my place. I have an energy efficient dryer.” 

 “And what will I wear in the meantime?”

 With a shrug, she tells him, “I’m not sure I’m overly concerned with what you’re wearing. Or what you’re not wearing.” 

 “Bloody hell,” he murmurs, not thinking before he wraps his right arm around her waist and pulls her close. “You’re…” He still can’t find the right word. Enigmatic? 

 “Horny.”

 “Aye?” he whispers. 

 “Yes. I want you.”

 She never hesitates to tell him exactly what she’s feeling and exactly what she’s thinking and exactly what she wants. It’s why he finds it so easy to believe her. Why wouldn’t he believe her?

 ~~~~

 Her apartment is small, and he doesn’t even feel strange when he chooses the word cute to describe it in his mind. It’s nicely decorated, although somewhat bleak, as if she hasn’t had the time to move in since she’s moved in. The space itself is quaint, aged in the best way, and the boxes stacked in the corner of her living room give it character. 

 He isn’t able to see much else, though, the rest of the apartment turning to a blur as she pushes him against the wall by the front door and ravages him with her mouth and hands, lifting a leg to hitch over his hip and grinding against him with as much coordination as she can muster. 

 She must be something of an athlete, he thinks as she maneuvers around him, contorts herself so that she’s as close to him as possible. How else would she be able to maintain a position like this if she wasn’t used to working on gaining strength and stamina? 

 He backs her up suddenly, her back against the wall now, his hips planted firmly against hers, and she hisses. “Fuck,” she chokes out, her head falling back against the wall when he mouth latches to her neck. “Fuck, yes.”

 “This is what you want?” he asks with more bold enthusiasm than he was expecting from himself. 

 “Yes, don’t stop doing that.”

 She’s panting, her breath warm as it washes over his head, and it makes him more wanton. He shifts downward slightly, his mouth finding the top of her breast and sliding along her skin until he reaches the fabric of her tank top. With further exploration, he discovers that he must have been right that second night when he assumed she wasn’t wearing a bra, because she isn’t wearing one now. 

 “Minx,” he bites out, pulling on the ribbed black fabric to expose more of her breast. “Do you always go braless to work?” 

 “You’ve gotta flaunt what you’ve got in my line of work,” she explains breathlessly, and he bites the soft flesh just above her hardened nipple. 

 “Suppose someone should see this one day,” he proposes, licking against the pebbled flesh and drawing a surprised gasp from her, “poking through your top. Is that merely a ploy for more tips?”

 “Maybe,” she breathes. “Maybe it’s a cry for attention.”

 “From Leroy?”

 “From you, you idiot.”

 He silences her when he pulls her hardened nipple between his lips, sucking just hard enough to drag a moan from her throat. It’s then that he realizes that he’s on her left side, and normally, were sex truly like riding a bicycle, he would reach for her other breast. Only he doesn’t have a left hand anymore, so how is he supposed to squeeze her right breast? This thought gives him pause, just long enough for her to notice and to take his face in her hands. 

 “Do you want me?” she asks him, the question surprising. 

 “Can you not tell how badly I want you, love?” he asks, his hips firm against hers, his cock hard in response to her. He thrusts against her gently, watches her eyes fall shut and a soft moan escape her lips. “Shall I show you?”

 She nods with enthusiasm, her chin bumping lightly against the top of his head, and he works hard to hold her tightly with his blunted arm so that he can squeeze her left thigh in his remaining hand. He slides it up, able to feel the soft fabric of her tight leggings and the contours of the muscles she has hidden underneath, and he’s jealous of his right hand for the loss of his left as he feels the roundness of her ass against his skin. 

 “Fuck,” she whispers again. “You’re so fucking hot.” 

 It’s not something he’s used to hearing. In fact, he isn’t sure anyone has ever called him that before– hot. Before Lily was Milah, and before Milah was a slew of unimportant women who warmed his bed. He lived his life that way for years, since losing his whole family one after another started to become too much. But then with Milah– after Milah– it became… not enough. 

 Maybe that was backwards. Maybe the loss of his family should have been more traumatic than the loss of a woman he almost loved along with his hand. Maybe it just goes to show how broken he truly is. 

 But here, and now, with Lily in his arms and her back against the wall and her hips grinding into his, he realizes that he isn’t as broken as he thought he was. Well, maybe that isn’t true– he’s certainly still broken. But maybe he can heal. 

 His hand, or what’s left on the end of his wrist, is healing. The doctor says it’s healing nicely. But he’s gone through the last eight months, two weeks, and three days assuming that his brain and his mind and his thoughts would never be more than the fragments of his shattered life. 

 How Lily calling him hot can change his mind, he isn’t sure, but it drives him forward, convinces him to allow her access to his belt, and then to his button and then to his zipper. It drives him to the waist of her damp leggings, soaked through with water from that blasted sink. It drives him to suck a small mark into her collarbone, eliciting a desperate gasp from her as he tugs at the stubborn fabric until it’s resting at her knees. 

 His fingers find her hot and wet and waiting for him, and he looks her in the eyes and is met with her quick nod, her bottom lip captured tightly between her teeth. Her head falls back against the door when he touches her, her jaw falling slack and making it impossible for him to stop himself from attaching his lips to her soft, pinkening skin on her neck. 

 It’s difficult to hold her up and continue to trace intricate patterns over her clit. It’s harder, still, to keep her pressed against him and suspended from the floor while he slips a finger, then a second, into her core. But as she grows closer and closer to that precipice, as he drags her to the cliff and holds her close as he encourages her towards the edge, he can ignore the cramp in his arm and the tightness in his back. 

 She calls him Peter when she comes. He wouldn’t expect anything else, but it makes him long for the truth. It makes him want to be his true self with her, and he hasn't wanted to be that in a very, very long time.

 He carries her through her half-empty apartment as she catches her breath, her arms around his back tight, her fingers clinging sharply to the sweater he longs to take off. When he drops her onto her mattress, her eyes are hooded as she stares up at him. She reaches for him, seeming unhappy with being apart, and the thought makes him fight off a smile. Once she has her hands on him she finds the hem of his sweater, the one he doesn’t particularly like, the one that reminds him that he’s Peter and not Killian, and pulls it over his head. 

 They’re breathless when they come together. Finally tucking himself inside her is a feeling unlike anything he’s ever experienced or is likely to again. He thought he was beyond any sort of happiness, and having her beneath him is perfection. It’s overwhelming to realize that he’s here with her and it makes his breathing stutter as he drives into her with more force. The change of pace makes her cry out, her knees tight around his hips, and he can feel her squeezing him as she reaches that precipice again. The warm tightness makes him squeeze his eyes shut until her hand finds its way to his cheek, encouraging him to open them, and when he does, it’s like something shifts. 

 He’s loved Lily since the first time he saw her. But now, as their eyes meet and they climax together, he knows he’ll never be the same. And he knows he can’t lose her. 

 ~~~~

 Her head is heavy on his chest, the weight of it comforting against his heart as her even breath washes over the coarse dark hair that she can't seem to keep her fingers out of, even in sleep. He hears her hum softly, her fingers moving just slightly as she seems to drift into consciousness. She nuzzles her cheek against his chest and he feels a soft pressure as if she’s smiling against him. It makes him smile, too. 

 As she starts to stir, she tightens her grip on him, her arm sliding along his chest and hugging him close to herself, and everything is almost perfect until she stiffens. Following a low, deep rumble, she gasps, tensing above him and looking up at him with the widest eyes he’s ever seen. “Excuse me,” she says in embarrassment. 

 “Did you just belch?” 

 Her cheeks are set aflame, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she fights back a laugh and nods. “Sorry.” 

 “You’re insane.” 

 “Well you just slept with me, so what does that make you?”

 “Also insane,” he agrees with a laugh. Without hardly thinking about it, he finds himself grinning, rolling her until she’s on her back and he can cage her between his arms, the marred one hidden beneath the pillow under her head. She laughs brightly as she stares up into his eyes and he feels his heart racing. “Sleep well?” 

 “Mhmm,” she hums. She lifts a hand and lets it cup his cheek, her thumb tracing the small scar that he thought was unsightly until he lost his hand. “You?”

 “Mhmm. It’s, um… it’s been a bit.” 

 “Since the last time you were with someone?” 

 “Aye,” he whispers. 

 “Me too,” she whispers back, giving him a soft comforting smile. “My last boyfriend turned out to be a major creep.” 

 “I’m sorry,” he tells her. He rolls onto his side and she follows, staring at him in a way that he isn’t used to. “You deserve better than that.” 

 “So do you.”

 He finds it hard to answer. He isn’t sure that’s true, considering everything, so he says, “Well, my last girlfriend turned out to be married.” And then murdered.

 “Yikes,” she cringes, shaking her head. He catches the way her eyes drift off beyond him, her thoughts consuming her for a moment, before she asks, “Was it before… before your hand?” 

 Of course it was. The last time he was with Milah was just before she told him the truth, about her husband, about his treatment of her, about the way that she was prepared to go back to the monster of a man. It was just hours before the last time he saw her alive. Just hours before he saw the life drain from her eyes and felt the blood draining from his wrist. 

 “Yes,” he chokes out, plagued by the memories of a woman who never really loved him but died for him anyway. 

 She touches his forearm again, the one that he thinks he’s done a pretty good job of hiding from her, and squeezes in a way that’s more comforting than he was expecting. His scars are healing, no longer raw or burning or swollen, the stitches long gone, but it’s still the ugliest part of him and having her hand just above the unsightly wound makes him shiver. Her eyes meet his, gleaming in the morning sunlight and reminding him of a shard of sea glass as she stares so deeply at him that he thinks she must be seeing his soul. He wonders what she finds there– wonders if it’s actually his soul, or if it belongs to Peter Harrison, the man she believes him to be. 

 Without saying a word, without her eyes leaving his, she takes his wrist towards herself, her lips still just slightly swollen as she presses them against his tender, broken skin. She gives him a smile, her thumb gently running along one of his longer scars, and kisses him once more, causing a chill to run down his spine. 

 “Are you okay?” she asks in a whisper, and the question, he thinks, goes deeper than just to inquire about his hand. 

 “I think so,” he answers honestly, just as softly as she had asked her question, and his response makes her smile. 

 “I just… obviously I haven’t been in your shoes. But I know this is probably a lot for you to process.” David had said that once, that it’ll be a lot to process. It is; the loss of his hand is only one piece of the puzzle that, when put together, will tell the story of his suffering. His hand being obliterated to the point it could not be saved is only one of the things that haunts him. The horror of watching a woman he could have loved being strangled, watching her take her last breath, will never leave him. 

 He thinks of that night too often, recalling the way that horrible man destroyed every part of him as he took his shots, missing the one he shouldn’t have. Had he not struck Killian two inches too far to the left, perhaps he would have reached his goal of killing him. Perhaps, in that case, Killian would have been put out of his misery and he never would have had to become Peter Harrison. 

 But he doesn’t want to die anymore, at least, he doesn’t think so. With Lily’s fingers sliding along his chest, he thinks he’ll allow himself to live for a bit longer. 

 “What’s this?” she asks after a consuming silence forces its way between them. When he comes back to himself, forcing away the thoughts of pain and suffering, he notes the way her fingers slide along his skin until they find the scar on his back, the one from the bullet that almost missed him and almost killed him, too far to the left to have done any damage. Her fingers circle the small wound that’s all but healed and he shivers again. 

 “A scar,” he answers simply, his voice rough and deep and forced. 

 “From what?” 

 He’s silent. He can’t answer, because for whatever reason, he gets the impression that she already knows. Even if he was allowed to tell her the truth, to tell her that his name isn’t Peter and that his life is in danger but that he doesn't truly care, he knows he wouldn’t, because he couldn’t stand to see the look on her face if he were to tell her what truly happened. 

 So he rolls her over and he kisses her again, and he keeps kissing her until she’s consumed by him as he always is by her, and she seems to forget that she asked in the first place. 

 ~~~~

 He’s unsure of what to do. 

 There’s nothing he really can do, truthfully. For a moment he wondered if physical therapy would help, but then he recalled that there’s nothing there for a physical therapist to work on. 

 All he can do is suffer. 

 The pain is as agonizing as it is disorienting. How can he look at a hand that isn’t there and feel such pain within it? All he can think about as he sits at his too-small desk in his too-small office is recall the feeling of Gold’s bullet penetrating his skin and muscle and bone, shattering it until it was of no use to him. 

 And now there’s nothing there to treat, so all he can do is dig his remaining fingers into the wood of his desk and start digging through his drawer for a pen that he hasn’t broken yet. 

 “Good morning!” he hears as he grips the pen in his fist, the door swinging open and revealing his panting, sweating, cursing form to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. “Peter?” 

 He grunts as he forces the pen out of his fist, dropping it to the floor and trying and failing to drag in some oxygen. He can’t speak to her, his jaw is clenched too tightly. He hears her hurrying into his office, something dropping onto the desk and something else dropping onto the floor as she kneels before him and takes his fist in her hand. 

 “What’s wrong?” she asks in worry, her thumb running along his knuckles, and it would be comforting if this was the hand paining him. “Peter,” she says more soothingly, voice soft and angelic, and she stands between his knees and takes his face between her hands, pressing his forehead to hers. “Peter, just breathe. It’s okay,” she whispers onto his mouth. 

 He tries, he really does. The breath he takes in is short and forceful, the sound escaping him embarrassing. “Deep breaths,” she instructs gently, her fingers scratching against his scalp. She shushes him and the sound penetrates his thoughts and his agony until he’s able to breathe deeply enough to smell her intoxicating perfume. “That’s it,” she encourages. “It’s okay.” 

 The pain is still there, but it’s lessened somehow, and he didn’t need to thrust a pen into his desk to achieve the same results. “I’m sorry,” he finally forces out when he feels himself able to speak again. 

 “Don’t apologize,” she whispers, and then before he can think or even open his eyes, her soft, pliant lips are pressed to his and his thoughts are erased at last. She stays there for only a moment, not long enough before she pulls away and runs the perfect tip of her nose along the bridge of his. “What happened?” 

 He shakes his head. He can’t possibly burden her with this foolishness, so he keeps quiet and lets his hand hold onto her wrist as her own fingers continue their ministrations along his scalp. “Nothing,” he murmurs, and she feels her breath escaping her lips in a soft laugh that lands against his mouth. 

 “That wasn’t nothing, Peter,” she accuses. The more she hears that names fall from her lips, the more he longs to correct her, and it’s becoming almost as agonizing as his hand that no longer exists. “Is it… I mean, I’ve heard before that sometimes amputations can–” 

 “Aye,” he interrupts. She’s right, of course, but he’d rather not put it to words. He much prefers to ignore it. “You’re right, love. I’m sorry that I ruined your visit– I wasn’t expecting you.” 

 She seems to read him easily, pulling away and smiling as she stands up straight. “I was surprising you,” she tells him with a smile. “The point is that you didn’t expect me. I brought you coffee.” 

 “Well, thank you,” he says, forcing a smile. “I’m sure I needed this.” 

 “Peter,” she says, more serious suddenly, and his face falls at the sound of her voice wrapping around a name that isn’t his. 

 “I’m alright, Lily,” he says, trying to reassure her, although her face falls the same way he’s sure he did. “What is it?” he asks, placing the paper mug on his desk and taking her hand in his. 

 “Nothing,” she smiles, and it makes him think of himself, telling her the exact same thing. “Just… I found out I’m not actually on the schedule for today when I thought I was so I figured I'd pay you a visit. I, um– I missed you,” she admits more shyly, and it makes him smile. 

 “Well, I missed you, too, love,” he smiles back. How is it possible for him to be smiling when he was halfway to wishing for death just moments ago? “I’m glad you paid me a visit; I'm just sorry you had to… to see that.” 

 “I told you not to apologize,” she reminds him, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his in a tender kiss that makes his heart stutter behind his ribs. She leans away and hoists herself onto his tattered desk, able to ignore the tiny holes that little the surface and crossing her ankles as she smiles at him and reaches for the bag from Granny’s. “I also got you a bearclaw.” 

 “Oh dear,” he says, shaking his head at her playfully. “I’m afraid I'm much more of a donut person.” 

 Lily takes in a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh, shaking her own head and then rolling her eyes. “Okay,” she says with a nod. “Well, Peter, it was nice while it lasted, but we’re going to have to break up now,” she teases as she hops to the floor and starts to step away. He catches her, though, his hand reaching into the back pocket of her tight jeans and tugging her towards him until she falls into his lap with a ringing laugh. 

 His lips find her neck, and he finds himself much more playful than he’s ever been after having one of his episodes of pain and self-hatred. “How can we be broken up,” he murmurs against the shell of her ear, smirking when he feels her shudder, “when we never established a relationship in the first place?” 

 He isn’t sure what makes him ask– he’s never been so bold or straightforward, not even with Milah. But her answer makes his boldness worth it. “I thought you knew that you’re stuck with me,” she says, her tone joking and yet somehow completely serious. 

 “My, my. Lily Quinn, are you asking me out?” 

 She stills for a second before turning to face him and nodding. “I suppose so.”

 Their lips meet, and everything else in the room disappears. Every hardship he’s ever experienced melts into the background as she kisses him, her mouth soft and perfect and her tongue tracing along his own in a way that makes his spine tingle. He can do nothing but pull her closer once she’s maneuvered herself into his lap, her legs straddling his and her fingers finding their way into his hair again. 

 “Are you busy?” she asks against his mouth breathlessly. 

 “Yes,” he breathes back, suddenly consumed with need as he picks her up with some difficulty and deposits her on the desk. “With you.”

 She lets out a breathless laugh, the sound cut off by her gasp when he kisses her. Their actions are quick and hasty, their need for each other only mildly outweighed by their need not to be caught. Neither of them bother with their shirts, Lily reaching for his belt and loosening it just enough so that she can undo his trousers and watch them fall to the floor. He steps out of them, though perhaps he shouldn’t. He lets her pull his boxers down, though, and he steps out of those, too. 

 He finds the jeans she wears intoxicating. He loves when she wears them to work almost as much as he loves when she goes to the bar without a bra, but there’s no time to explore the soft skin of her breasts today. Instead, he pushes her jeans off of her ass and squeezes the flesh there with his one remaining hand, the other arm resting at his side and desperate to feel her with his lost fingers. Her tongue finds its way into his mouth as he slides her underwear down, too, the garments landing on the floor beside his own trousers. 

 She gasps when he enters her after just a moment of foreplay, his fingers quickly ensuring that she’s ready for him before his cock slides home inside her. She bites his lip, her fingers clinging to the material of the gray knit on his shoulders. “Fuck,” she breathes into his mouth, a moan escaping her throat. 

 “Okay?” he asks. 

 She nods rapidly, desperately, her hips starting to move and bounce above him, seeking the pressure and the friction that’ll get her to ecstasy. “Harder,” she begs almost silently, and he grips her hips to thrust forcefully up into her, making her cry out too loudly. 

 They both come quickly, their mouths latching together to ensure that they’re silent enough not to get caught by his coworkers. And he holds her, feels her breath panting out against his hot skin, and even though the life he’s presented to her is technically a lie, he’s never felt more like the person he wants to be. 

 ~~~~

 “There’s someone new in town,” she says after a while, her breathing having evened out although her fingers continue to draw small patterns into the skin of his collarbone along the neckline of his shirt. 

 “Is there?” 

 “Yeah. I think he’s from Boston, too; do you know him?” 

 He kisses her temple over the hair clinging to her skin and chuckles. “I’m afraid I don’t know everyone from Boston, love.” 

 “I think his name is Ian, or something.” 

 His hand slips along her back beneath her top, although he slows his movements slightly at her continued inquiry. “You’re rather distracted by this newcomer,” he points out, and she shrugs. With a joking tone, he asks, “Should I be jealous?” 

 “No,” she giggles without a second thought before she presses a kiss to his neck and then drops her head back down to his chest. “No,” she says again with more relaxation. “I’m just curious.” 

 “I know,” he murmurs against her head. “You are quite a curious lass.” 

 “Are you calling me a lass because of how much younger I am than you?” she asks in jest, and he moves his hand so that he can pinch her hip, making her giggle again. 

 He would answer with as much a joking tone as she had given him, but they’re interrupted, the ringing of his phone distracting him from the softness of her skin against his and reminding him that she lies half naked atop him, her jeans lying beside his on the floor of his office, which anyone can enter at any time. He kisses her once more, moving carefully so that he doesn’t disturb her too much as he reaches for his phone in his pants pocket.

 “Is it your other girlfriend?” she asks, and he swats her ass playfully, making her yelp and laugh. 

 It’s not, of course. It’s David– the last person he wants to talk to with Lily resting pantsless on his lap. “A friend,” he explains with unease. 

 She removes herself from him, reaching for the box of tissues on his desk and giving him a look that invites him to swipe the screen to answer. “David,” he says tightly, hoping that his tone gives away the fact that it’s a horrible time for him to be calling. 

 “Killian,” he answers too loudly, but Lily doesn’t seem to notice. “How are things?”

 “Fine.”

 He watches as she struts back towards him, her underwear back on but her jeans still sitting on the floor, and she stops to pick up his boxers and toss them at him. “Good,” David says as he struggles to keep the phone tucked against his shoulder while tugging his boxers back over his legs. She giggles and bites into her bottom lip as she watches, walking around to the back of his desk chair and placing her hands on his shoulders, holding his phone against his ear for him. “I’m probably going to pay you a visit.”

 “That’s no problem,” he answers, although he clears his throat loudly when she bends towards him, her lips dancing along the shell of his ear that isn’t being burned by his Marshal’s interruptions. “When?” 

 “Tomorrow, if not Wednesday.” 

 “Fine,” he says with a cough and a sigh. 

 “Killian, Are you alright?” he asks, and how is he supposed to correct the man on the other line when her mouth trails down his neck and her hands start to scratch through the hair on his chest? “You sound… strange.”

 He clears his throat once more, leaning his head against hers and sighing. “I’ve got to go,” he says with more urgency. “I suppose I'll see you tomorrow or Wednesday.” 

 “Alright, just tell me to bring a pepperoni pizza if you’re in danger right now.” 

 Bloody hell. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ve plenty of food at home. See you soon, Dave.” 

 He hears her giggle in his ear before he even drops the phone to his lap, and he spins in his chair so that he faces her, pulling her back down into his lap and pinching her hip once more. “You’re a scoundrel.” 

 “Mhmm,” she agrees happily, leaning in to kiss him earnestly. “Are you expecting a visit?” 

 He shrugs. “I suppose I am.” 

 “From a friend?” 

 “An old friend, uh, from school. Certainly not a girlfriend.” 

 She hums and kisses him once more. “Good. And do I get to meet this friend?” 

 He gulps. He doesn’t really know the answer to that, isn’t familiar with the ins and outs of a witness’s new girlfriend meeting their court appointed Marshal. So he shrugs and says, “I’m not really sure. Dave is, well, he’s quite shy.” 

 “But I'm such a catch,” she jokes, pressing a kiss to his nose before standing. 

 “Yes, you are,” he answers with a solid pinch to her bum as she makes her way to her jeans. 

 Once they’re pulled onto her long legs she stands straight before him, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’m off,” she says. “I need to go grocery shopping.”

 “Just a visit for a quickie, then?” he jokes, and she rolls her eyes. 

 “I guess so. But maybe I’ll stop by your place tonight.” She shoots him a smirk as she walks towards the door and he realizes that he’s still not wearing pants. She winks and walks out the door without so much as another word. 

 ~~~~

 It’s raining when he walks home that night. The roads are slick and although it’s not too cold out, he longs for a leather jacket to keep the moisture from soaking into his back. 

 He hasn’t felt like himself since he’s gotten here, forced to change everything about himself from his name to the way he used to like to dress. He’s not himself anymore, in fact; the Killian Jones he used to know had two hands and less to worry about. 

 But if there’s one thing that makes him feel like himself, or at least a version of himself who he can stand, it’s Lily. 

 She’s bright, and contagiously happy, and hilarious. She’s youthful and energetic, beautiful and intelligent. He can’t get enough of her. He can’t get her out of his head. He had thoughts of hatred for himself when he moved here, and she’s begun to chop away at them all, because if she can stand to be around him, hell, if she can enjoy her time with him, maybe he’s not that bad after all. 

 He loves her. He’s only known her a few months, but it’s been more than enough time for him to fall madly in love with Lily Quinn. 

 He’s confused when he sees her on his way home, though. She had already texted him and told him that she wouldn’t make it over tonight because she found out last minute that she has to work. But here she is, well past the time her shift should have started, sitting in her Bug and staring contemplatively out the window at the building across the street. 

 “Lily,” he says through the open passenger window, and she jumps a mile in her seat and looks at him in complete shock, as if seeing him is the last thing she would have expected. “What… Are you okay?” 

 “Peter,” she says back, placing her hand on her heart that he assumes must be beating erratically. “You startled me.” 

 “Sorry,” he tells her, and he watches her unlock the door and takes it as an invitation to join her in the passenger’s seat. “I thought you were working?” 

 She clears her throat, her eyes darting, looking at everything in her line of sight except for him. They both hear a sound, the front door of the building she’s watching opening, and she jumps again. He looks ahead at the man leaving the building and feels a cold sweat settling over him as a pit forms in his stomach, realizing quickly that something isn’t right. Because even from this distance and even in the dim street lamps, he can tell clear as day that the man they’re both staring at is his old roommate from Boston. “Fuck,” she breathes, looking around again nervously this time and turning to her back seat. 

 That’s when he turns, too, taking in the contents of the box sitting on the floor behind her seat and noticing a jacket. A black leather jacket, useless now with a hole in the torso and a blood stain on the left sleeve. 

 That’s his jacket. The one he was wearing on the worst night of his life. 

 “Where did you get that?” he asks her slowly, and she looks like a rabid dog caught on a leash as she watches August jump into a truck and drive away, obviously wanting nothing more than to follow him. “Lily.”

 “Fuck!” she says again, louder this time, her hand colliding with the steering wheel before she rests her head on it. “God dammit.” 

 “What the hell is going on?” he demands. As he watches her painfully grappling with what to do, with whether she should start her engine and follow the man she’s clearly been watching, the man who could have followed him from Boston and could be about to ruin everything, he feels something shattering. Suddenly everything starts to fall apart, the trust he had for her slipping through his fingers and the happiness he thought he felt seeming to melt away. 

 “I’m… I don’t know how to tell you,” she says, and when he looks at her with anger in his heart, he can see the way that she’s breaking, too. He has no idea what’s going on with her, with the two of them, but he finds it hard to believe that whatever is between them isn’t splitting at the seams. She sniffles and says, “I’m sorry.” 

 “Why are you sorry?” he asks with a bit more tenderness in his voice, finding it impossible to handle seeing tears starting to well in her eyes. “What’s going on? Why do you have my old jacket in your backseat? Why are you following August?” 

 “August?” she asks in confusion, shaking her head. “That’s not August, that’s the new guy from Boston; the guy I was asking you about earlier.”

 “No, that’s–”

 “Wait.”

 “Lily–”

 “Did you say–” Her face falls. Her mouth slacks open. Her eyes grow wide with fear and something else. She whispers into the dark, “Your jacket?” 

 “Aye, mine. I thought I’d lost it; it wasn’t with my personal effects when I left the hospital.” 

 Her hands cover her mouth, her eyes growing more tearful as she shakes her head. “No,” she chokes out before letting out a sob. “No. Fuck, no.”

 “Lily–” he starts, trying to put his hand on her shoulder, but she pulls away.

“Don’t call me that,” she insists through tears before she turns to start her engine. 

 He lets out a sarcastic laugh and asks, “And what will you have me call you, then?” he asks in exasperation, watching on in concern as she peels away from the curb without barely checking her surroundings and rushes towards his apartment, not hers. “Lily, what are you–” 

 “Emma,” she says forcefully, turning to him for just a second before wiping her eyes and looking back to the road. “My name is Emma.” 

 The only word he can use to describe himself is stunned. He’s silent, his mouth hanging slack just as hers was just a moment ago. His brows pinch together in thought as he looks at her, really looks at her, and for the first time, something seems to click. 

 Emma. 

 He can’t even be angry with her. He isn’t sure what reason she could possibly have to make up a fake name, but it dawns on him once more that she’s known him as Peter Harrison since they met almost six months ago. How can he be upset with her for lying about her true identity when he’s done nothing but lie to her from the moment they met? 

 All he can say is, “Why?” 

 She pulls sharply into a parking spot just outside of his building, looking around suspiciously before hurrying out of the car and towards his building’s front door, leaving him to follow. 

 He hurries out of the car behind her, throwing the door shut and taking out his key to open the door for her. “Li– Emma?” he tries, not used to feeling the name on his lips, but she rushes ahead of him, bypassing the elevator as she shoves the door to the stairs open and pushes through, barely waiting for him before sprinting up to his floor. 

 Once they’re inside his apartment, he stands behind her as she locks the door, and then, overcome with frustration and confusion and a need for answers, he places his hand and wrist on the door around her head and forces her eyes to meet his. “What the hell is going on?” 

 “Peter,” she starts, and he almost corrects her, but he can’t get a word in. Tearfully, she says, “Tell me you didn’t live with that man. Please, please just tell me that isn’t your jacket and this is all just a cruel joke.” 

 He stares at her for a moment, consumed with sadness and confusion. “Why would it be? Why would you know that?” 

 She shakes her head, looking down from his eyes. “Then you know… You know Robert Gold, then?” 

 His jaw tightens immediately, his teeth clenching together painfully, and he almost presses his hand to her neck at the threat but chooses instead to dig his fingers into the wood of the door and deny her freedom when she tries to pull away from him. “Why do you know that name?” he asks through his teeth. 

 She glances up for a moment and then back down. “I work for him,” she whispers. 

 He almost hits his hand against the door and pulls away, anger all consuming, boiling his blood and sending it singing through his veins as he tries to catch his breath. 

 But he can’t catch his breath, not as she continues to speak a harsh truth. “I’m a bounty hunter. I was hired by Robert Gold to find the witness to his wife’s murder; a man in his early-to-mid-forties who wears a lot of leather and–” 

 “And what?” he seethes when she doesn’t go on. 

 Her eyes meet his and sadness rim them as she weakly admits, “And had his hand… shot off… a year ago.”

 “Bloody hell,” he curses and while he’s angry, furious, he can’t help but to feel something quite the opposite as he looks at her and realizes he finally knows the real her. Emma. 

 “I’m sorry,” she whispers in anguish, wiping away the tears in her eyes. “I don't– This can’t be happening.”

 “Aye, well, it is,” he says with just a touch of snark staining his voice, and she lets out a sob, dropping her face to her hands. 

 “I thought you were Peter Harrison,” she cries. “You lost your hand in a boating accident. You never wear leather! If I had known that you were the one I was supposed to be looking for…” 

 “What? You would’ve gotten it over with sooner?” he asks with viper shooting through his words. 

 “I would’ve left!” she shouts honestly, desperately. “I would’ve fled.” 

 And that’s just it, isn’t it? She would’ve left. Just like every other good thing in his life, she would have brought this to an end. “If your plan is to turn me in, you may as well just–”

 “No. I’m not going to do that; I would never hurt you,” she says lowly, painfully, her eyes filled with wet tears he’s never seen before. “I swear to you, Killian.”

 He stands before her, eyes widening despite his attempts at staying stoic and angry, and he realizes… she knows his name. She knows the real him. Practically speechless, all he can utter is, “I…”

 “That’s right, isn’t it? You’re Killian Jones. You had an affair with Milah Gold and were present when her husband shot her in cold blood, right? He thought he killed you, too; shot you in the back and in the hand. But he found out the hard way that you had escaped when his clean up crew couldn’t find you.” 

 He shakes off the shock of hearing his story told back to him after hiding it for so many months and becomes defensive again even though the words hurt as they leave his mouth. “The fact that you know this just… I have to call someone. I have to have this taken care of.”

 “Pe- Killian, I’m not going to turn you in, you have my word!”

 “I don’t want your word,” he tells her without thinking, turning back to face her and meeting the tragedy in her eyes. “I– Emma. All this time, we've been lying to one another! All I want now is the truth.” 

 “The truth?” she asks softly, stepping close to him and meeting his desperate eyes with her matching ones. “The truth is that it doesn’t matter to me who you are. I don’t care if you’re Peter or Killian; it doesn’t matter.” She lifts her hand timidly, as if nervous of his reaction, but chooses to place it upon his heart anyway. “I fell in love with you. The second I met you I wouldn’t have hurt you. If I had known it was you, I would’ve run then and there.”

 “Run?” he asks, the word stinging as it leaves his lips and his hand lifting against his will. If he had them both, they would be cupping her cheeks. But all he has is the left side of her face against his palm. 

 “I have to run,” she whispers up to him. “When Gold finds out… he’ll kill me when I don’t–”

 It’s amazing how quickly and easily he makes up his mind, knowing without a single doubt that he’ll do anything to ensure that he doesn’t have to be without her. 

 He cuts her off, mostly because the thought of her leaving, even after all of the revelations and truths, makes him nauseous. But also because, in all the hazy frenzy, he’s just now realizing what she said. And he’s realizing that he fell in love with her, too. 

 And he’s always been the first one to say it. 

 She returns his kiss as if she isn’t even thinking, her hands sliding into his hair easily and quickly and a soft whimper breaking between their lips. Neither of them seem to even breathe before he’s backing her up to press her against the door, gripping her ass as best he can so that she jumps into his arms and locks her legs around his waist. 

 His lips slide down to her neck, latching to the tender skin above her collarbone, and she lets out a soft, intoxicating moan before whispering again, “I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t,” he begs against her skin, sucking a mark into it as he feels her fingers scratching against his scalp. “Don’t say that again. Please.”

 “Peter, I– fuck.” She drops her head back against the door and when he looks up at her and finds her bottom lip stuck between her teeth, tears filling her eyes again, he smiles at her sadly. 

 “It’s okay,” he whispers. His forehead falls to hers and he kisses her softly. “It’ll probably take some getting used to, not calling you Lily.”

 She looks at him for just a moment and smiles sadly before her face shifts, tears returning and her smile flipping into a frown before she looks away. 

 “Don’t say you’re sorry,” he says again. “You love me?”

 “Yes,” she answers immediately, firmly. She’s crying again when she says, “And I’m so sorry that I lied to you all this time, Killian.” 

 “It’s not like I was being entirely truthful with you either, love.”

 “But you have a good reason to lie,” she argues. “Witness protection, right?”

 He nods. “You did, too, though. I’m sure you can’t roll into town and announce your true intentions.” She nods, too, still saddened and struggling to meet his eyes, so he kisses her once more, soft and tender and with as much love as he can pour into her. “What would you have done?” he asks. “If I had been someone else? Just a random bloke from the bar?”

 She’s pensive for a moment, pursing her lips in thought. “I would’ve come back,” she whispers. “I would’ve brought the target in and quit, and then I would've come back. But then… that would’ve been a lie, too.”

 “Then perhaps this is for the best?”

 “What is?”

 With a small smile, he tells her, “I love you, too. It’s probably best that we get this all out in the open now, aye?”

 Her hands find his cheeks, her thumbs running along the skin beneath his eyes, along the scar he’s had for longer than he can recall, and he’s never seen someone look so saddened. “How can you love me, after everything?” she asks in defeat. 

 “The same way you can love me even though a big part of me hates myself.”

 She sighs heavily, shaking her head and frowning deeply. “I hate hearing you say that,” she whispers, tightening her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as if trying to bring him impossibly closer to herself. 

 “It’s true,” he says simply. “I never thought I would feel this way again, after everything with Milah. But… Emma, with you, it’s so much more.” 

 Her forehead is pressed to his as she nods. “For me, too.” 

 “Then don’t run,” he practically begs. “Don’t leave me.”

 She whispers his name, his real name, against his lips and it sends a shiver down his spine. “I need you,” she tells him, the desperation in her voice sending a jolt of desire straight down to his cock. “Not just… I mean, not just now; not just physically. I need you. I don't want to think about what my life would be like without you in it.” 

 “Then don’t,” he begs, finding himself repetitive but not caring. Maybe if he says it enough…

 Her lips are on his in an instant, hot and desperate, the feeling rushing between them like a current as they attempt to sooth the pain they're both in. He can’t help himself now, pressing her firmly against the door with his hips and groaning in response to the needy sound she makes. She angles her own hips just right so that he can feel the heat of her skin through his jeans and it makes him shudder. And she never once breaks her lips away from his as she fumbles with his belt and then his button and his zipper, letting his jeans fall loudly to the floor and tangling around his ankles. 

 “Please,” she breathes into his mouth, the heat of her voice making him thrust his hips towards her. The feeling of her leggings against him is strange but not unwelcome, although he wastes no further time as he starts to precariously tug at the waistband and pull the fabric from her heated skin. “Please, Killian, I need you.” 

 She’s never begged like this before, and something about it drives him even more wild. It’s something possessive and carnal within him that sparks in the base of his spine and in his belly and radiates out to every part of him, his fingers tingling and his cock twitching as she desperately pulls his boxers over his hips and sends them down with his jeans. He tugs at her underwear, the small cotton thong no match for the desperation in his fingertips, and he feels her whimpering against his mouth as he touches her, intent on ensuring that she’s ready for him. 

 Her tongue is dancing against his in a graceful frenzy and then she breaks away, her eyes deep and watery as they look into his and she nods quickly. He watches her teeth sink into her bottom lip as he drags the tip of his cock along her folds, her center hot and wet, and she lets out a breathless whimper and locks her eyes on his when he finally eases himself inside. Their foreheads collide, but it doesn’t hurt. Their noses brush against one another before she captures him in a bruising kiss. 

 She moves with him, eager and intense as she uses the door at her back to ground herself and circles her hips to meet each of his thrusts. Her fingers are tight in his hair, tugging relentlessly before she drops her right hand between them and finds that perfect spot just above where they’re joined. She moans out his name, throwing her head back against the door in what he knows must be a painful collision, but she doesn’t even seem to notice. 

 It’s good like this, quick and dirty and just what they need, but after a moment something tells him that it isn’t quite enough. He braces himself, pulling her body close to his and using his good hand to grip her ass tightly so that she bucks towards him, then he kicks his jeans off of his ankles clumsily as he stumbles his way through the apartment. She protests softly when he breaks his mouth from hers, regretting it too but needing to see where he’s going, and instead of waiting, she busies her mouth with his neck, her tongue dragging from beneath his earlobe down to his collarbone. Her mouth breaks away from his skin with a pop of suction when he pulls out and drops her to the mattress, and she lets out another irresistible moan. 

 Her name falls from his lips as he crawls onto the bed with her, hovering over her and unable to catch his breath before her legs are cradling his hips and her heels are pressing into his ass in a desperate attempt to get him back inside her. With how insistent she is, how needy and hot she is, he finds it impossible to resist giving her exactly what she wants. 

 They stay like that for a bit, with him heavy on top of her as he thrusts in, trying to find that perfect angle that makes her shout. But she’s restless, the emotions flowing between them making her jittery, so she presses against him until they’re rolling over, Killian landing on his back and Emma straddling her thighs over his hips and throwing her head back at the new depth. 

 “Fuck,” she breathes out towards the ceiling, her fingers sharp as they dig into his shoulders. “Just like that.”

 “That’s good?” he asks, finding himself more verbal than usual as he seeks out her approval. She’s moving against him but he finds that he can’t stop himself from thrusting up, too, meeting each of her thrusts with his own and unable to hold in the groan that escapes his throat when she tightens her muscles around him. 

 “So fucking good, Killian. Don’t stop–” she chokes out. She lets her fingers find her clit again, rubbing furious circles as he digs his fingers into her hips.

 “Come on, love,” he begs, feeling unlike himself but not caring. “Come for me; I know you’re close.”

 The sound of his voice seems to have the effect he was hoping for. He feels her core go impossibly tighter, her fingers moving over her even more quickly as her mouth hangs open and her eyes squeeze shut. Then, with a cry of his name, he feels her reaching that precipice, and as she collapses onto his chest and her muscles continue to contract, he lets himself go, too, holding onto her more tightly than he thinks he ever has.

 ~~~~

 She’s heavy on his chest like she usually is when they find themselves in this position, her head resting against the hair that she enjoys running her fingers through. Every now and again, the small ring she wears on her middle finger catches slightly on a strand of hair and makes him jump just a bit, and he feels her lips pressing against his skin in soft apology, her arm tightening around his waist in a soothing hug. It’s what makes him realize that he feels just as she does: he can't even begin to consider how his life would be without her in it. 

 But then, as much as the weight of her over his heart soothes him and calms his rapid pulse, he can’t help the sense of dread that floods through him each time he considers the fact that this can’t last. It simply can't. She’s meant to bring him to his death and he’s meant to die. The two of them can’t be together despite how badly they both want to be. 

 “You’re making me dizzy,” she whispers after far too much silence has passed between them.

 “What?” he asks with a soft laugh despite how much pain he’s in at the thought of losing her. Part of him thinks that this might be the last time he’ll ever hold her. 

 “You’re thinking too hard. Those gears in your head are turning so fast that they’re making me dizzy.” 

 He sighs, unable to fight the small smile that she always seems to bring to his lips. “I just don’t know…” he trails off helplessly. “Is it a coincidence that August should happen to be here, as well?”

 She’s quiet for a moment, her fingers drawing soft circles in his skin, before she softly admits, “I kind of… after you left Boston, I searched your place. One of Gold’s goons broke me in. I found out, I mean, I guess August’s dad is from here, I couldn’t get a ton of information after the Marshalls cleared out your apartment. But I figured it was only a matter of time before you– or he– came here. I didn’t know you had a roommate, and you both wore leather. When I heard he was here, I thought… I thought it’d finally be over, you know?”

 “Aye,” he whispers. “I know it's odd to say about someone who should be trying to kill me, but I don’t want to lose you. I’m… I’m scared.”

 “Me too,” she whispers back immediately, her body stiffening a bit in his arms and making his hand run along her spine. “But I think I have–” 

 The sound of the door to his apartment swinging open makes him jump more than he thinks he ever has, and Emma, too, startles and tightens her arms around him. They each stiffen, fumbling with the blankets and pulling his sheets over their shoulders, but he’s fairly certain that his neglecting to shut the door to his bedroom means that his friend has just caught a good look at Emma’s ass. 

 “We need to get you out of here; there’s a– what the fuck!?” 

 “Dave–!” 

 “Is this your–”

 “Stop, stop! Put some clothes on!”

 “Since when do you have a key?!”

 Chaos. The only word he can find to describe the scene he feels like he’s watching from outside of himself is chaos. He fumbles some more for the blanket, desperate to cover Emma but finding himself so preoccupied with covering her breasts that he exposes himself. And David’s eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that when he turns away from them, he trips over Killian’s forgotten jeans and collides into the wall, shouting in pain. It’s pure, unadulterated chaos.

 Emma’s eyes are wide with shock as Killian clumsily stands up, covering himself with his pillow as he rummages through the room and then tosses a shirt at her, its condition and cleanliness questionable at best, but it’s the best he can do at the moment. Then he finds a pair of boxers to pull over himself, and as the world starts to slow down and his adrenaline calms with a reminder to himself that he isn’t in danger, he sighs heavily, a curse escaping his lips. 

 “Yeah, I'll say,” David mumbles under his breath. “Do you have any idea what you just got yourself into?”

 “I’m sure you’re going to tell me, rather than standing there and saying meaningless things knowing I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 Maybe he’s being rude, but really, what can anyone expect? 

 “I need to speak with you. Privately.”

 “You can say whatever it is you want to say right here.”

David’s face is stiff as he glares behind Killian, staring daggers at Emma as he says, “I don’t think you fully understand what’s going on here.”

 “I understand perfectly.”

 “She isn’t who she’s told you she is.”

 Boldly, he steps to the side and forces David to meet his eyes, cutting off his line of vision that he casts on Emma. “She told me she’s Emma Swan, and that she’s the bounty hunter Gold hired to bring me in. Does that about cover it?” 

 He scoffs, shaking his head and widening his eyes as he stares at Killian like he’s the stupidest man he’s ever come across. “Do you have any sort of protective capacity at all? Ki– Peter, what you’re doing is grounds for–”

 “I’m going to testify.”

 Both of them turn to the source of the sound that catches them so off guard, Emma’s soft voice cutting through their argument easily if only because of the absolute dissonance that it provides. She’s looking quickly between both of them at first, but once Kilian turns, her eyes meet his and lock in place, her gaze long and deep and completely serious. 

 “Against Gold. I’m not turning you in, and I'm gonna testify against him if that’s what’s going to keep you safe.” 

 There are arguments, mostly from David who doesn’t believe a word out of her mouth, but he’s been predisposed to the idea that she’s this evil huntress with her heart set on destroying Killian. He can see in her eyes how serious she is, though, how truthful she’s being, how dedicated she is to ensuring that her wrongs are made right and that Gold pays for what he’s done. He can see how intensely she’s resolving herself to really doing this, how dedicated she is to making this work, and if there’s one thing that he knows about her, it’s that she won’t let anything get in her way. 

 So even when David tells her that if she testifies, her entire character will be in question because of her profession, even though he tells her that she could face consequences for her involvement, she doesn’t back down. And eventually, after what feels like hours of negotiations, the three of them come to a conclusion. 

 ~~~~

 Being in witness protection had always been something that felt surreal. It had always been one of those things that he had seen in movies, but never felt like it was actually his life. The whole time he lived in Storybrooke, it felt like he was simply going through the motions; go to work, grab a drink, go home, repeat. Now, though, his life is his again, and it finally feels worth it once more. 

 It feels odd to appreciate the events that have led him here. It’s odd to recall the things that took Milah from him, that took his hand from him, and smile. It feels odd to consider the way he spent months and months in hiding, using a false name and living a life that wasn’t his, with fondness in his heart. But at the end of the day, each time he thinks about the things that have brought him to this moment, he has to smile, because despite what he’s lost, he’s gained just as much. More, probably. 

 Because he gets to spend the rest of his life with Emma Swan. And they don’t have to hide anymore, her clever plan granting her protection with him and then her own freedom once she had provided the testimony that put Robert Gold and his entire team in prison for life without parole. And he’s always felt whole whenever she’s with him, even though he really isn’t. She’s always made him feel like a full person, even without a hand. She’s always made it so that he could forget the hardships that he’s been through and just live a life of joy and contentment and love. 

 He loves Emma Swan. She gave him a new lease on life, and he’ll always be grateful for that, especially because a very large part of him had allowed himself to believe that, before he met her, his life was over. After Milah died, after he lost his hand, he didn’t think anything good could come from a life that had treated him so cruelly. 

 But she’s always been different from everyone else he’s ever known, better to him than he’s ever deserved. So once it came time to testify, they returned to Boston hand in hand and they spoke their truths, even with the knowledge that Emma was admitting to some illegal activities. But the immunity she was promised by David in exchange for her testimony made it so that she could leave the courthouse with him that day. And even though they were both wracked with guilt, even though Emma felt like a monster whenever she thought about what they’ve been through, watching the judge call out Gold’s sentence and knowing that it was all over was as therapeutic as meeting with their therapist has been. 

 It’s behind them now, and they never have to worry about it ever again. 

 He still gets those phantom pains, randomly throughout the day or startlingly at night as he’s dragged from sleep, but he hasn’t needed to find a pen to stab into his prosthetic or the surface his arm rests on in quite some time. Whenever it happens now, Emma holds him and she presses soft tender kisses to the tattered skin on his wrist and he heals without the destruction that he had grown so accustomed to needing. As with everything else in his life, she’s taken what he’s destroyed and she’s given it a sense of strange, abstract beauty. 

 So, once they put the final box down on the floor of their new entryway, he pulls her into his arms for a solid, warm hug and he breathes in the calming, grounding scent of her tropical shampoo, and they allow themselves to feel at peace as they process the fact that they can finally move on with a life together. So he slips the modest ring onto her finger quietly; he’s a bit shy as he presents his mother’s diamond to the love of his life, but he finds that he doesn’t really feel all that nervous doing it. Because she pulls away from him and she looks up at him with tears in her eyes and a smile that’s so bright and beaming that he feels that same familiar warmth that starts blooming in his chest and radiates out to every single inch of him. 

 And she nods, her grin contagious but easy enough to wipe off her face with a press of his lips to hers. And his heart grows and the warmth he feels when he’s with her chases away the burning in his hand and in his memories each and every time. 

 He’s come to realize, as his life has fallen back into a place of contentment and safety, after spending months and months (18 months, two weeks, and four days since he met her) trying to figure it out, that the only word he can use to well and truly describe Emma Swan is home. 

~~~~

~~~~

Hades hadn’t left any specific instructions on how exactly to destroy them, but he did say that all the waterways led back to him.  Liam decided that the best way was to follow Hades’ orders was to throw them into the nearest waterways. Remembering the well he had spied as he came into the mansion, he supposed that he could throw them in there and that would be enough.  Moving fast, he managed to avoid everyone else searching and got to the well without anyone seeing him.  He quickly took the pages out of his jacket and let them fall into the well.  He watched them fall into the water and sink to the bottom almost immediately upon touching the water. It was done.  He was free, finally free at last, of his secret’s hold on him.  This was it, the whole reason he was still in purgatory.  He could finally move on from this place.  The regret at betraying his brother was outweighed by his singular relief at getting away with keeping his treachery a secret.  He sighed as a weight lifted off his shoulders.

—————

After the altercation with Liam earlier in the day and her quasi-argument with Killian about whether Liam was hiding something, the last thing Emma felt like doing was searching for the missing pages.  She actually felt more like hitting something (or someone, or possibly even multiple someones), an emotion which was apparent in the way she threw open doors and slammed them shut, roughly yanked open drawers and caused their contents to rattle, only to throw them shut in the same aggravated movement.  Without Killian around her to see, she let her emotions reign as she stomped around, on her face a screwed up scowl, and she didn’t linger in any place for long.

She knew that Liam was wrong in his assessment of his brother’s perceived lack of heroism, just as he was wrong in his villainized judgment of her.  She just didn’t know how to get Liam to see that there was more to Killian than that supposed “darkness” and view his younger brother for the hero that Emma knew him to be (and she also didn’t know how to get Killian to see that same fact for himself, only she was beginning to suspect that somehow Liam, himself, had to be the key to that’s endeavor).  She couldn’t care less whether Liam Jones’ opinion ever changed of her; she just wanted to change his opinion of Killian (and of Killian concerning himself).

She wandered into another sitting room and paced through the length of it, scanning absentmindedly for any sign of the torn pages of Henry’s storybook, Underworld Edition, when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.  She stopped and turned her head back to where she had caught it and realized she was seeing through a window into a yard just beside the house.  She stepped closer to the window, her brow furrowed in confusion and suspicion as she realized she was looking at Liam.  His back was to her; she couldn’t see what it was he was doing, but why would he be out in the yard when he had sworn he wouldn’t stop looking until they were successful in locating the lost pages?”

Making a split-second decision, she hastily left the room and made a beeline for the nearest exit that would get her to that yard and into yet another confrontation with Killian’s older brother.  Her inner lie detector had been going off ever since their first conversation, and she was going to find out why it was alerting her to something being off with Liam.  She owed it to Killian to investigate his brother’s shady actions, even if he wouldn’t appreciate her for it.

————-

Liam rubbed his hands together, watching as the pages floated down into the well and disappeared into the water, wishing that the ink hadn’t stained his hands so badly, and he heaved another sigh of relief.  He hadn’t realized how tense he had been since seeing his brother once more. But all would be well. He would not have to answer Killian about what he had done, and Killian would never find out about his mistakes. He would remain a hero in his little brother’s eyes.  They could move on from this place together. He would finally have his brother back.

He was just about to turn to find a place to wash his hands of the ink that had stained them when he heard Emma’s voice.  

“I thought you were inside looking for the missing pages,” she called.  Liam whirled around to face her, balling his hands into fists so as to hide the stains and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets as he did so in order to further conceal his treachery.

“Emma,” Liam replied, a bit breathlessly.  “I thought a bit of fresh air and a change of scenery would get the inspiration flowing.”  

Emma didn’t respond.  She just smiled slightly, preparing to lay her trap though Liam didn’t know it. “Find anything?”

Liam shook his head minutely. “I’m afraid a ship’s captain can only be cooped up for so long. I had to come out and get some air. What brings you out here?” 

Emma wondered if Liam realized how hollow his words sounded to her ears, how tinny they were with his lies, but, of course, he didn’t know about her super power. She walked closer to Liam so that he could get a good look about what she was going to show him. She hoped that the way to breach Liam’s lies was to use Killian to do it.

“I wanted to show you this,” Emma responded, pulling the chain out from under her shirt that had the ring Killian had given her in Camelot.  She held the ring out as far as it would go to Liam to allow him to see what it was she beheld.

Liam leaned in a bit to look closer. “Oh. It’s the ring I gave Killian. I noticed he wasn’t wearing it.”

Emma smiled softly and played with the ring in her fingers. “Because he gave it to me,” she confirmed. “And you know what he told me when he did?” She paused and waited for Liam to shake his head before continuing.  “That it belonged to a much better man than him. You’re his hero. He doesn’t think you can do any wrong…”

Liam squirmed uncomfortably, moving to scratch behind his ear in the same mannerism Killian had when he was uncomfortable. “Yes, well…” Liam tried to respond before falling silent, not knowing how to respond.

“Which is why,” Emma continued with no great concern about Liam’s feelings, “I can’t figure out why you would lie to him.” Emma stopped speaking and stared at Liam, a serious expression on her face. 

Liam stared back, struck speechless by how blatantly she had called him out. Emma could tell he didn’t know what to say.  He stared at her a moment before looking at the ground out of shame, and in that action Emma knew she had him. She just didn’t know what the lie was.

Before Liam could stammer out a reply, Killian joined them outside. “Liam? Emma? What’s going on?” he called out as he joined the two by the well. Killian looked between his brother and his lover, trying to puzzle out the tense air between the two people he loved most.

Liam looked to Killian and then Emma. Emma seemed as if she was content to let silence ring, so Liam responded to Killian’s question. He swallowed before saying, “She thinks I lied to you.”

“What?” Killian said under his breath, not sure if he had heard Liam right. He instinctively looked to Emma.

Emma nodded once to Liam. “He took the pages.  I can prove it.  Ask him to show you his hands. He’s been hiding them from me since I got here.”

Liam’s heart stopped, but he knew a way out of this trap. “Look,” he shrugged, “if it would help to clear things up, I’d be happy to.” 

Emma shot him a look of challenging disbelief, but before she could accept his proposal, Killian spoke up.

“That won’t be necessary,” Killian said as he shook his head in exasperation. “I don’t need proof to know what’s really going on here. Emma, when are you gonna admit that this isn’t really about my brother?”

Emma looked taken aback, Liam noticed. Hadn’t the thought occurred to her that Killian would automatically assume that? It seemed Emma didn’t know Killian as well as she thought, Liam smugly thought to himself. 

“What else would you think it’s about?” She asked slowly, confused about why Killian was questioning her motives.

Killian gestured between him and Emma with his hook. “Us,” Killian said plaintively. “You think if you can prove that Liam is a villain, then I’ll somehow feel like I was less of one. That you can convince me I’m worth saving and that we’ve got a future together.” 

Liam glanced between his brother and his brother’s lover, wondering if she caught the same rough edge to Killian’s voice at that last bit that Liam had. Liam felt a surge of guilt go through his stomach at the thought that Killian’s hopes were being dashed, but Liam knew that it was for the best.

Killian walked closer to Emma, almost unconsciously, Liam noted. It seemed to him that Killian couldn’t break himself away from her no matter how much he said he wanted to. It suddenly struck Liam that he wasn’t the only one lying in this yard.  In fact, Liam wondered if the only one of them telling the truth at this moment was Emma. He wondered if she were the only one who could possibly tell the truth now, as caught up in his mistakes as he was and as disappointed in himself as Killian was. 

Emma’s face turned down and sadness peppered her voice. “You agree with him?” she whispered, and Liam’s heart lifted that their scrutiny seemed to be off of him and onto each other.  Selfishly, he had no thought for Killian’s discomfort.

Killian shrugged. “Why bring me back if I should just love on?  After we defeat Hades, I won’t be returning with you. My fate isn’t in Storybrooke. It should be determined here.” Killian’s eyes kept shifting back and forth from her eyes to the roofline of the house. He couldn’t look her in the eyes as he said his words. 

Liam saw how much it hurt Killian to deny Emma the one thing that she wanted most. He wondered if she knew Killian was lying as well as Liam did.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Emma responded, tears welling in her eyes.  “You can come home.  You just have to forgive yourself.”  Emma sighed and paused, trying to catch Killian’s eye, though he stubbornly looked over her shoulder.  When she wasn’t successful, she continued, “Thing is… no matter how many times I tell you, or anybody else does, you have to do it yourself.”  At that, she turned and walked past Killian towards the house.

Killian turned and shouted, “Emma!”  When she didn’t stop, he made to follow her, but Liam grabbed his arm before Killian could take more than a step.

“Let her go, Killian.  It’s for the best.”  The sooner Killian could let Emma go, the sooner he could move on with Liam.  Liam knew that desperately holding onto the ties to the Living was the reason why so many people down here couldn’t move on.  Killian going after her would only delay the inevitable.

Killian sighed in frustration and looked down at the hand restraining him.  He loved his brother, but he was really getting annoyed with the man.  If he were to move on, he didn’t want things between him and Emma to have ended in strife and pain.  He was just about to retort this to Liam when his eyes processed why Killian hadn’t looked back up to his brother’s face.  Liam did have ink stains on his hands.  Ink stains that Killian knew hadn’t been there when they arrived at the mansion.  Ink stains much like the ones he himself had incurred when he rifled through the book’s pages in search of Hades’ story.

“Your hand,” he mumbled, dumbfounded.  “You are hiding something.”

Liam tried to jerk his hand back, but it was too late.  Killian grabbed Liam’s arm and held it up so he could check to make sure he had seen ink stains.  

“It’s nothing,” Liam halfheartedly to excuse.

Killian stared at his brother’s hand uncomprehendingly.  “It’s ink from the pages.  Emma was right,” he said softly.  Killian swallowed and looked up to stare his brother in the eyes.  “Why would you lie to me?!”

Liam tried to find the words to explain, but his voice died in his throat.  To be honest about this would mean admitting to what he had done, to the deal with Hades, all of it.  Liam didn’t have it in him to admit to those failings, but how could he lie to Killian otherwise?

“Because…” called out a voice.  Liam and Killian both turned to see their old captain, John Silver, approaching them with the rest of their old crew.  “He’s got much bigger secrets than what’s in some book.  Like the truth about what he did to us.”

Killian turned to Liam, his eyes blazing with a hard, desperate look.  “What’s he talking about?  What did you do?”

Liam looked back at his brother, pain and tears in his eyes.  He stuttered, trying to find the words that could somehow both explain and excuse what he did, but they wouldn’t come.  He knew that nothing he said would mend what was now breaking between them.  Killian, in spite of his quick temper and tendency to seek vengeance as retribution for wrongs committed against him, had always had a very healthy streak of justice running through his veins.  Perhaps it had been because their mother had died young and their father had abandoned them, perhaps it had been because the navy had given him purpose; Liam didn’t know.  What he did know was that Killian had always, always believed in good form, in helping others less fortunate than they, in always making the right choices, in fighting against tyranny and those who would mistreat others for their own gains.  And this, Liam was ashamed to admit, was the very opposite of good form his brother had always believed in, and that he, Liam, had tried to foster in his younger brother as they had grown up.

Liam had sowed the seeds long ago, and now he was going to reap the benefits, no matter how hard and difficult.

“Your brother made a deal with the devil,” Silver answered when it looked like Liam would say nothing.  “He allowed us to die in that storm that sank our ship in exchange for the Eye of the Storm.  Hades struck that deal with him to save you and condemn us to die.”

Killian stared at Silver in shock before turning to Liam.  “Is this true?” Killian asked, shock and disgust coloring his voice.  As he looked at the anguish on Liam’s face, Killian knew it was true, and the image of his brother, his unfailing, strong, heroic brother, began at last to fracture and crumble.

Liam swallowed and nodded once.  “It’s true.”

Liam watched as awareness of just how wrong about h is brother Killian had been made its way into Killian’s eyes.  There was no going back from this.  He stood staring at his brother helplessly, not knowing how to right the wrongs, only stirring when Silver spoke.

“Tie ‘em up and take them away, boys,” Silver demanded.

Before he could utter a word in protest, Silver then signaled to the rest of his crew to carry on with binding them up with rope.  They took Liam’s hands and bound them behind his back, and he watched helplessly as they did the same to Killian.  Killian tried to fight them off in typical Killian fashion, but there were too many of them. Killian had always been more of a fighter than he; Liam had always been more of a pacifist, only fighting when absolutely necessary but reluctant to stir up the status quo when it wasn’t.

Liam had always believed that there were certain facts that were incontrovertible, certain situations that one couldn’t change, so fighting them was pointless.  It felt to him as if this situation they were in was one of the latter ones.  What was the point of fighting now?  He deserved whatever fate that his old crew members had in store for him.  He just regretted that Killian had been dragged into this and be made to pay for Liam’s own follies.

Killian continued to struggle even as the men threw bags over their heads.  Liam wondered whether Killian, as a pirate captain, was plotting out a violent and bloody way out.  He thought not, as he rather got the impression that Killian didn’t actually want to hurt the men.  When they had successfully bound Liam and Killian, they began frog marching them to Hades only knew what destination.   As they tripped and stumbled along, Silver began to talk.

“Imagine my surprise when I came down to the bar for my nightly drink, Liam, and saw that Hades had paid you a visit.  Up until that point, I had no idea what had transpired to cause our deaths.  I have to hand it to you, you sure did manage to cover up your tracks.  I never would have suspected it if I hadn’t heard Hades allude to it.”

“Hades wanted you to hear it,” Liam muttered resentfully.

“It is a rather juicy detail, you have to admit,” Silver retorted.  “If it were your death, you’d be interested in it, too.”

“I can’t believe you sentenced them to death all because Hades wanted you to,” Killian gritted out towards his brother, ignoring Silver’s words.

Liam gritted his teeth against his brother’s censure, desperately aware of the audience they had.  “Don’t deny you would have done the same thing!  You always talked of getting vengeance,” he deflected.

Killian snarled.  “Justice!  I always talked of justice! But what you did wasn’t justice; it was vengeance.”

“Oh what’s the difference, Killian?  They deserved what they got in the end.”

Without quite realizing it, they had arrived at the entrance to the building that housed the entrance to the Boiling Sea where final judgment occurred.  Everyone stopped as two of the crew members went to open the outer doors, though Killian and Liam could not see this.

“The difference?” Killian echoed in amazement.  “Only innocent lives, Liam!  That’s the difference!  How many of these men deserved retribution?  How many of them directly attacked us?  I only remember one who did.  I can’t believe you would condemn them to this hell.”

“You have no idea what it was like, always having to look after both of us, not having someone else to bear the burden of making sure that we were clean or had food.  Of making sure you didn’t succumb to the darkness inside you!  I gave up everything to make sure you had a future!  I was more a father than a brother to you, and because of that I did what I had to do.”

“I didn’t ask you to be that!  You took that burden up all on your own!  And what did it get you?  I still succumbed to my darkness, and you blackened your heart for yours!” Killian shouted, enraged at Liam’s pigheaded attempts at justifying his actions.  “And what’s worse is you lied about it.  You looked me in the eye and lied.  You hurt Emma, damn near convinced me that my future wasn’t with her, and you took away our best chance of defeating Hades.”

“I did everything I did to save you!”

“Well, congratulations!” Killian snarled in response.  “You did an excellent job of it!  And to hell with everyone else in the process!”

“It was worth it to have a chance to save you from the darkness,” Liam protested once more.

“You didn’t save me from my darkness; I saved myself!  I took it in and damn near destroyed it for good!”

“All because of her!  Emma doesn’t are about you, only herself!  She is the absolute worst thing for you.”

“Milah, my ex, was the worst thing for me!  She encouraged the darkness inside of me.  Emma has been the inspiration for me to be better, to be the man I want to be.  But you’ve never had that kind of influence, so you just keep giving into your darkness! You lie and you let others die for you and your selfish desires!  When does this end Liam?!  You’re the one who’s endangered me this very moment!”

Liam stared towards Killian helplessly though he couldn’t see him, knowing that he was right.  Liam was still succumbing to his inner darkness.  Killian surely hadn’t fed his own to the extent that Liam had his, even through all his years as a pirate hunting down the Dark One.  But Liam didn’t know a way out.  Liam didn’t see a way to stop this.  As sure as the world, he was about to pay for his sins, and Killian was about to pay the price for a crime he hadn’t committed.

AO3:

Prompt: holding onto a stuffed animal/pillow, imaging that it’s their lover in their embrace instead

By: @novelbear on Tumblr

“Misery”

Emma isn’t sure how long her parents let her stay there on the ground, her fingers pressed into the cold Earth, trying-and failing- to ground her in some way. Henry had clutched onto her and wept with her some time ago before Regina took him home for the first “safe” night in Storybrooke since returning from Camelot. As if Emma would have ever hurt Henry, Dark One or not. Snow and Charming take turns holding her and rubbing her back soothingly, but Emma isn’t sure if she will ever be soothed again. The pain radiated from the center of her, expanding into every crevice of her body and every fiber of her being. Finally, her mother eased her up from the ground, having to almost pull her from where she was crouched on the wet grass. Emma can’t feel the dampness of her jeans- only the empty feeling in her chest and the intense aching through her bones.

“Why don’t you stay with us tonight, Emma?” Snow asks softly, as if speaking too loud will somehow make the situation worse. Nothing could make this worse, Emma thinks bitterly.

“I don’t know Mom” Emma starts.

“Emma, it’s just been so long since we’ve been able to have you for the night, and we don’t want you to be alone right now,” Charming speaks up.

“No amount of people in a room is going to make me feel any better Dad,” Emma utters, holding back more tears. God, how could she possibly cry this much?

“We can stop by your place and pack a bag,” Snow suggested, hoping Emma would change her mind.

“Mom, I just- I just don’t think I can do it tonight. He never lived there, but it was supposed to be our home. I just want to be there tonight. I can call if I need you.” Emma said.

“But Emma, you’ve been alone for weeks now, honey,” Snow urged.

“I know!” Emma shouts, stopping in the middle of the street and startling herself and her parents. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I am acutely aware of how alone I’ve been? It’s all my fault, Mom! All my fault! If I would have just done everything differently- he would still- he would…” Emma’s voice breaks and the hot, salty tears again make their way down her cheeks. “Killian- Killian would be okay, and he would be here with me. But he’s not, and it’s all my fault. And I just need to sit with that for a little bit.” David envelopes his daughter in his arms as she whimpers into his shoulder.

“Alright Emma, we’ll be by to check on you in the morning, alright?” Her Dad said as they approached her giant, empty, depressing house. Emma nodded numbly, already dreading the night- and the rest of her life- without him. She gave each of her parents a brief hug, and David kissed her forehead before she trudged up the steps and disappeared into the house.

Emma stopped in the foyer, observing her house, knowing it was supposed to be theirs. He picked it out for you, Emma reminded herself. She glanced at the entrance to the living room from the foyer, where Killian learned his fate as a Dark One. Zelena, Emma thought miserably. She ruined it all. Emma had it all under control until Zelena.

Emma pushes on through the house, trudging up the stairs. Each step feels like a thousand pounds are pushing down on her, and Emma isn’t quite sure how she makes it up the stairs. She stands in front of her bedroom door and takes a shaky breath before pushing the door open. The wood slowly creaks open, something that sends a shiver down Emma’s spine. The wooden creak reminds her of him, of his ship. How will she ever live or breathe again without feeling the weight of the guilt and pain of losing him? He’s dead because of you, Emma reminds herself harshly.

She slowly strips off her clothes- first her boots, then she peels her wet jeans down her legs. She slips her socks off and gently lays her red leather jacket on the rocking chair in the corner of the bedroom. She strips herself of her cream sweater- it somehow still smells faintly of him. She lays that in the chair as well, before unhooking her bra and opening a dresser drawer. She lets her fingers run over the fabric in the drawer, before selecting a soft gray t-shirt to sleep in. She pulls the shirt over her head over Killian’s ring, before drawing the covers of her bed back, and crawling into it.

Emma’s exhausted- she hasn’t slept in actual weeks due to her predicament as the Dark One. Despite the exhaustion creeping onto every muscle in her body, Emma’s sure she won’t be able to sleep. Hell, she can’t imagine ever sleeping peacefully again. She thought she would toss and turn in the bed, but the mental and physical exhaustion nearly paralyze her. As she lays in the middle of the mattress, Emma reflects how this was supposed to be their bed, their bedroom, their home. He picked it out for her, but she ruined it all.

He never got to enjoy it with her. Their future is over. It never even started.

“I…I know,” she mumbled, casting her eyes down to the floor. “You’re right, but just hearing you were cheating on me, well, it brought up all the memories of when Walsh did that to me and…” 

“Emma, I know he broke your heart, but you believing I would ever cheat on you broke mine. I proved over and over that I wasn’t going to do anything like he did and I never gave you any reason to believe I would.”

He watched a tear make its way down her cheek before she reached up to swipe it away. “I know I was wrong and it disgusts me that I’ve wasted all these months being angry and making both of us miserable. All I can do is tell you that I’ll never doubt you again.” 

“I truly hope you mean that, because I can’t go through something like this again. The last eight months have been a fucking nightmare.” 

More tears spilled over her lashes and he couldn’t restrain himself any longer. Closing the distance between them, he wrapped her up in his arms and held her tightly. He could feel her tears soaking through his shirt as she continued to sob, her body jerking with the force of it. His own hot tears tracked down his face, but at the same time, the pieces of his shattered heart started clicking back into place. His beautiful love was back where she belonged. 

Minutes passed - he had no idea how many - until she took a shuddering breath and pulled away from him just enough to look into his face. “I-I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me, Killian?” 

His fingers reached up to tuck some strands of hair behind her ear. Pressing his forehead to hers, he quietly said, “I forgive you. You reacted like most people would if presented with something like that. I know if it would have been me, I wouldn’t have been able to bear looking at them.” 

“That’s how I felt, and why I didn’t realize they were doctored. Once I saw them, I never wanted to look at them again. I almost deleted them. I really can’t tell you why I didn’t, but it’s a good thing I held onto them. I could have gone the rest of my life thinking you cheated on me and…and lost you…forever. Maybe I already have.” 

“No you haven’t,” he was quick to reassure her. “You’ll never lose me. My heart is yours forever, Emma.” 

She brought her hands up to frame his face, her thumbs finding the scruff which was damp from his tears. “Killian, I love you. I never stopped loving you, even when I repeatedly told myself it was the wrong thing to do.” 

“But it’s not.” 

She hiccuped a giggle, the sound going straight to his healing heart. “No, it’s not. It’s the most right thing in the world.” 

Killian leaned back on the couch, taking her with him, and they sat that way for long moments that grew increasingly more comfortable. He peppered kisses into her hair as her fingers found their way under the hem of his T-shirt to brush against his bare skin, but he could tell it was just to feel connected to him, not to lead to anything more physical. They needed time to process everything that had happened in the last eight months and to clear away the debris in their hearts, so falling into bed together immediately probably wasn’t the best idea, no matter how much he wanted to explore that side of their relationship again.  

“Swan,” he said, breaking the silence, “did it take you a while to bring yourself to look at those pictures again?” 

“No, I looked at them as soon as I ended the call to you.” 

“May I ask why it took so long for you to come over then? It seemed like a bloody eternity.” 

“I, um, I called Mary Margaret to get advice from her on how to handle things with, uh, with Neal and his mother. I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to go punch both of them in their deceiving, spiteful faces, despite my burning desire to do it.” 

He gave a low chuckle. “No, I don’t suppose it was. So what did you do?” 

“David offered to go with me to confront them. He said he would threaten to arrest them if they gave me any trouble. I went to Neal’s first and lucked out because Milah was there.”

“How did they respond?” 

“At first they both denied everything. Neal tried to sweet talk me and tell me I was just imagining things, but I showed them the proof. They used a picture from my own Facebook photo gallery, the idiots! Then his mother tried to say someone else must have done it, but I told her I knew she did photo manips and that she would do anything to help her spoiled son get what he wanted. Finally, after a lot of yelling and accusations, Neal admitted he’d asked her to do it, but claimed it was only because he loved me and wanted the best for me. The best! Can you believe that? As if he would ever be the best of anything! And to say he loves me? That turned my stomach. He has NO idea what love is! Oh, and get this - it was one of Neal’s buddies and his girlfriend having sex in the picture. Neal asked them to do it outside The Rabbit Hole and he took pictures of it. How sick is that?” 

Killian shook his head in disgust “I knew he was jealous of our relationship, and that he thought he was better for you than I am, but I still can’t believe he would stoop that low to break us up.” 

“It turns my stomach that he succeeded.” 

“The important thing is you found out the truth eventually. Did his mother ever admit to anything?” 

“She caved after her sniveling son did. She acted like I was making too big of a deal out of it, until David stepped in and told her she’ll be lucky if you didn’t sue them for defamation of character. That finally shut her up.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Do you think you will?” 

He looked thoughtful. “Probably not. I just want to put it behind us. Besides, the sooner those two are completely out of our lives, the better.”

“I agree, but I still wouldn’t blame you if you did. For eight months, our friends and I thought you were to blame for breaking my heart, when you were completely innocent.”

“As long as all of them believe the truth now, that’s good enough for me.”

“They will. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’ll have to call Liam tomorrow. He came to stay with me a few days right after you…right after it happened.” 

“I’m glad you had him to help you. I’m sure he must hate me.”

“He won’t, once he understands the circumstances.” 

Emma was quiet again, until she murmured, “I can’t believe I doubted you.” 

“We can’t undo the past, but we can look towards the future and I very much want that future to be with you.” 

She raised up to look at him. “It will, if I have anything to do with it. I never want to be without you again. I thought it would get easier with time, but it never did.” 

Her lips met his in a kiss that sealed their reunion. They kept it brief; just a slow, sweet promise of things yet to come. When it ended, they maintained contact by resting their foreheads together, then Killian chuckled as Emma’s stomach growled loudly. “Hungry, Swan?” 

“Yeah, I haven’t eaten since…” she paused, her brows furrowing as she thought, “since yesterday, before we went to the bar. Neal’s idea of a nice meal was a burger and greasy fries. He didn’t even order onion rings for me.”

Killian sucked in an exaggerated breath. “Egads! The imbecile didn’t figure out that the way to your heart is through the middle of an onion ring?” She playfully swatted at him, but he caught her hand and held it up, pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist. “Do you want to go out, or order in?” 

“I’d prefer to have it delivered, if that’s okay with you. I don’t really feel like having to deal with other people right now.” 

“Fine by me. What’s your pleasure?” 

“Well, now I’m hungry for onion rings.”

He feigned surprise. “I’m simply shocked!” He reveled in her laughter, his heart lighter than it had been for months. 

*********

While they waited for their meals to be delivered, Emma called Ruby to bring her up to date on everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Just like Mary Margaret, she accepted the explanation immediately, expressing her happiness that the couple was back together, and her outrage at what Neal and his mother had done.  

Once their food arrived, they inhaled it, both of them realizing just how hungry they were when the smell hit their noses. Afterward, they resumed their places on the couch and selected a movie to watch. Neither of them made it even halfway through, the combination of a sleepless night and a myriad of emotions finally put to rest, pulling them into a deep slumber. 

Killian woke up nearly three hours later and found they had shifted in their sleep. He was now pressed up against the back of the sofa with Emma laying beside him, wrapped in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest. He soaked up the feeling of finally having the woman he loved in his arms once again, as he felt her breath ghosting over his throat. 

Emma stirred several minutes later, blinking bleary eyes while she tried to get her bearings. “What time is it?” she asked in a hoarse voice. 

He stretched to collect his phone off the small table at the end of the sofa. “Almost nine o’clock.” 

She yawned widely then moved to sit up. “I should probably get going.” 

Gently caressing her shoulder, he asked, “Do you have to?” 

She turned to look at him. “You want me to stay?” 

His fingers found the fringes of her hair as he answered. “I, uh, I’m afraid if I wake up in the morning and you’re not here, all of this will have just been a wonderful dream.” 

“I know what you mean. It…it feels so good to be in your arms again.” 

“So you’ll stay?” 

She leaned in and kissed him. “Yeah.” 

She’d nearly forgotten how much she’d missed his dimpled grin until it stretched across his face in response to her answer. “Thank you, Love. I’ll be right back.” He pushed himself up from the couch, bent down to plant a kiss on her forehead, then left the room. When he returned, he was carrying a familiar set of clothes. 

“You…kept my pajamas?” she questioned. 

“I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. I still haven’t washed the pillowcase you always slept on, even though I can’t smell your scent on it any longer.” 

Unbidden tears came to her eyes. “Oh, Killian,” she whispered. “You never gave up on us, did you?” 

He pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “I have to admit there were moments when I despaired of ever being with you again, but I always had hope the truth would eventually come out.” 

She toyed with the buttons on his shirt, not meeting his eyes as she softly said, “I got rid of the stuff you left at my place. All except for one of your old band shirts, which I buried in a dresser drawer. I’m sorry. It just hurt too much to keep everything.” 

Killian swallowed down the pang of pain her admission caused. “It’s okay, Love. We each had to deal with things in our own way.” They swayed together, moving almost like they were dancing; his hands stroking long, soothing caresses down her back, while her fingers traced small circles into his chest. When he spoke again, his voice rumbled against her cheek. “May I ask you something, Emma?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“You and Cassidy…never mind, I don’t want to know. All that matters is we’re back together.”

“I never slept with him, Killian.” She felt the breath he had been holding whoosh out of his lungs. “He was…well…I thought he was my friend, and I only went out with him as a way of thanking him for being there for me when everything happened. Little did I know, I wouldn’t have gone through any of it, if it wasn’t for him. Despite what he was trying to convey last night, we never had a physical relationship of any kind.” 

“I’m sorry, Love, I just…” 

“I understand.” She looked up at him and moved her hands to cradle his face. “Now, if it’s okay with you, I never want to talk about or even think about him again.” 

“It’s more than okay.”

“Good. I’m gonna go change and wash my face.” 

“All of your things are still in the cabinet under the sink.” She gave him another watery smile before making her way down the hallway. 

While she was in the bathroom, he went into his bedroom and changed into a pair of sleep pants and an old, soft T-shirt he knew was one of her favorites. When she emerged, dressed in her pink pajama pants with yellow ducklings and a loose-fitting V-neck shirt, he simultaneously met her in the hallway. 

“You can have the bed, Emma. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” 

She gave him a puzzled look. “Why can’t we both sleep in the bed?” 

“I, uh, it might be too soon for that. I know it’s going to take time for us to work through everything and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“Nothing has to happen, Killian. I just…I just want to be close to you. Will you be uncomfortable sharing a bed?” 

“Honestly? I would truly love falling asleep with you in my arms, because I haven’t been able to get a good night’s sleep in eight bloody months.” 

“Then it’s settled,” she smiled, and headed into his bedroom. 

After brushing his teeth, he moved around the apartment, making sure the door was locked and flipping off the lights. Then he grabbed a couple of bottles of water out of the refrigerator before entering his room, where his heart warmed, seeing his beautiful love cuddled under the covers; her long, blonde hair fanned out over the pillow. Her pillow. 

Unsure whether she was asleep or not, he set the water on the nightstand and quietly slid between the sheets. Immediately her hands sought him out and he happily obliged by scooting further across the mattress towards her.  

As soon as his arms were firmly wrapped around her, she sighed and melted into him. “I love you, Killian,” her sleepy voice assured him. 

“Love you too, Emma,” he replied, feeling that he was, at long last, whole again, and settled in to get the best sleep he’d had in many months.  

*********

When he awoke the next morning, Emma was still in his arms, though she was turned on her side with her back to him. The effect it had on him was painfully apparent, and he immediately shifted his hips backwards. She mumbled something, but he could tell she was still asleep, so he pressed a kiss to the back of her head and carefully eased out of bed. 

After taking a quick and bracing shower to calm himself, he checked on her once again and, finding her still snuggled under the covers, grabbed his phone off of the nightstand and went into the kitchen to start the coffee machine. 

Noting that it was nearly ten-thirty, he knew it would be a good time to call Liam since his two-year-old daughter would be taking her afternoon nap at that time. He flipped the switch to brew the coffee, then moved to the living room and flopped down onto the couch to place the call. 

“Hello, little brother,” Liam greeted, and Killian gritted his teeth at the moniker, but decided he was in too good of a mood to let it bother him. 

“Hi, Liam. How’s everyone doing?” 

“Just fine.” He went on to bring Killian up-to-date on all the new things his niece was doing and saying. 

After Liam had filled him in for almost five minutes, he asked the question Killian was waiting to hear. “How are things going for you, brother?” His voice held the same note of concern Killian had been hearing ever since Liam went back to England after spending those days with him following the breakup. 

“Incredible!”

“Are you being sarcastic?” 

“Not at all. She’s back, Liam.” 

“Who? Emma?” 

“No, Princess Leia, you dolt. Of course Emma.” 

“Please tell me you didn’t go crawling back to her after what she did to you.” 

“She came to me, actually.” He related the story of what had happened the past two days as Liam listened without commenting. 

Once he brought him up to speed, Killian waited for his brother to respond. There was a long pause on the other end before Liam finally spoke. “She should have believed you from the beginning, Killian. Your word that you hadn’t cheated should have been enough proof for her.” 

Killian sighed. He knew Liam would take the protective big brother stance. “She’s aware of that and she already apologized.” 

“She put you through hell for no reason and you’re just going to forgive her that easily?” 

“We talked things through, Liam. I told her what she put me through, but I also told her that I forgive her. We know it’s going to take a while to build up trust with each other again, and to work through all the hurt we’ve experienced, but it’s worth it. Love is worth it.” 

“What if she breaks your heart again?”

“I won’t,” Emma said firmly, sitting down beside Killian. 

“I’m sorry I woke you, Love. I thought I had the volume turned down low enough.” 

“The call didn’t wake me up. You not being in bed did,” she whispered against his ear. Then she spoke into the phone again. “Liam, I promise I will do everything in my power to never break your brother’s heart again. If I do, you can personally come over here and kick my ass.”

“I want that in writing.”

Emma laughed lightly. “You got it.” 

*********

Despite having spent the night in each other’s arms and the light-hearted mood they enjoyed as they ate breakfast after the call with Liam, the couple found themselves at a loss for words when they sat down on the couch together later that morning. Both of them had thoughts of what happened the previous evening, as well as the past eight months, swirling through their heads and were having trouble expressing them. 

Finally, Killian reached over and took Emma’s hand. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to pick up where we left off, no matter how much I want to do that. I’ve been carrying around the…the pain of your false accusations and how easily you believed the worst of me for months now.” 

“It wasn’t easy, Killian. It just seemed like indisputable evidence.” 

“Your trust in me should have caused you to dispute it.”

“I know, but at the time, I was blindsided and I just…I guess I just wanted to protect my heart from being hurt again.” 

“That’s understandable when you’ve been hurt like that, but I can’t pretend all of this isn’t going to leave some scars behind, too.” He watched her drop her head and nod sadly, before bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. “But I truly believe what I told Liam - love is worth it, and I love you so much, Emma.” 

“I love you, too,” she murmured and he felt the wetness of a tear against his thumb. 

“How about if we start slowly?” 

She raised teary eyes to look at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Will you go out with me tonight, Emma?” 

A smile flitted across her face, chasing away some of the clouds settled there. “I would really like that, Killian.” 

*********

Killian was afraid the date was going to be awkward, but he actually enjoyed getting a chance to take Emma out for what felt like the first time again. They went to a small diner on the outskirts of town, rather than opting for a large, noisy restaurant. Their conversation was easy and relaxed as they caught up with each other, and he took every opportunity to hold her hand or touch the bare skin of her arm. 

He wasn’t sure what she expected, but he had already decided the evening wouldn’t end up in one of their bedrooms. Emma seemed to agree with his philosophy, when he said goodnight to her outside her apartment with a sweet, lingering kiss, and an invitation for a walk on a linear park path the following day. 

The next three weeks saw them spending an increasing amount of time together and Killian found someone to fill in for some of his scheduled weekend gigs to concentrate on rebuilding his relationship with Emma. The raw edges of their emotions were being smoothed over and both of them began to feel like they were approaching the degree of comfort they had with each other before the breakup. 

One Sunday afternoon, when they arrived at Emma’s door, Killian kissed her as usual, forcing himself to end it before they got too carried away. Unwilling to break all contact with her, he pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. 

“Do you want to come in?” she murmured, slowly stroking her fingers along his jaw. 

His eyes opened slowly and met hers. “I would love to.” 

She gave him a bright smile, unlocked her apartment door and led him inside. He glanced around, taking in the familiar surroundings, then followed her to the couch and sat down beside her. 

He noticed she was fiddling with the chain of her necklace, a habit she had when she was nervous about something. “I, um…I have really…enjoyed our dates, Killian,” she said haltingly. 

“I sense there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere.” 

She peeked up at him through her lashes, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, which quickly disappeared. “But there are still some things I need to say to you…to clear the air between us.”

“I didn’t realize the air still needed to be cleared.” 

Twisting the chain tightly around her finger, she said quietly, “I-I’m having trouble forgiving myself, because I’ve been thinking about everything that believing Neal’s lies cost us and I just….” 

“Emma, I already told you…”

“No, listen to me, Killian. In the year-and-a-half we were together, you never gave me any reason to believe you were anything but dedicated to our relationship. You always put me first and believed in me and loved me; yet the minute someone told me you were with another woman, I believed him. I was a complete idiot and I’m so very, very sorry I hurt you.”

“Look at me, Love.” He waited until her tear-filled eyes met his. “I can’t pretend I wasn’t hurt and that I don’t regret the time we lost together, but I also know how hard it is for you to trust people because of your upbringing in the foster system, and of course, the situation with Walsh didn’t help. I imagine once you saw those pictures, the trust you had in me crumbled and you felt abandoned again. I just wish you would have given me a chance to explain, instead of cutting off all lines of communication.” He paused to brush the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs before continuing, “I believe all things happen for a reason, and even though this has been a painful chapter in our relationship, we’ll come out of it stronger than ever.”

“I don’t deserve you,” she said quietly. 

He tenderly brushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind both ears. “Aye, you may be right about that,” he smirked, hoping to lighten the mood. 

She hiccuped a giggle, then allowed him to settle her against his chest. “Anyway, thank you for giving me a second chance. Believe me when I say I won’t make the same mistake again. I trust you completely, Killian.” 

“Good.” 

He held her close, brushing kisses over the crown of her head and humming under his breath. 

“That’s the song you sang at the bar that night, isn’t it?” she asked. “The one you said you wrote for me?” 

“Aye, it is.” 

“No one has ever done anything like that for me before.” 

“That’s because no one has ever loved you as much as I do.” 

She leaned back to look up at him. “Will you sing it for me?” 

“Right now?” 

“Please?” 

He leaned in to kiss her, then began to sing the song softly as she watched him with awe-filled eyes. When he finished, she sighed and pressed her lips against his. “Thank you, Killian. I love you and I promise to never crush your soul.”

*********

The next Friday, she once again invited him in after they returned from watching a movie. “Do you want something to drink?” she asked. “I have wine or rum.” 

“Just water please. I already had a drink with dinner and I need to drive home later.” He saw a flicker of disappointment pass over her eyes before she left the room to retrieve their drinks from the kitchen. 

When they were seated together on the sofa, she took a sip of her water, then twisted the cap on and off several times. He waited for her, knowing she had something on her mind. “How long do you think it will take, Killian?” 

“How long for what, Love?” he asked, although he was pretty sure he knew. 

“Until we’re ready to move forward again, to where we were before all this happened.”

He set his bottle of water on the floor beside the couch and turned to face her, bringing his hand up to caress her cheek. “Every minute we spend together pushes the pain further away. I don’t know about you, but I feel like my heart is well on its way to healing. This isn’t just my decision though, Love; you were hurt, too. What are your thoughts on the matter?” 

She shifted her body to close the space between them on the couch and molded herself to him, sliding her arms around his torso and situating her legs across his lap. “I’m ready to put this whole thing behind us, Killian. I know we said we needed time for our hearts to heal, but I think intimacy is part of that healing process. My body has craved your touch and more times than I care to admit, I wake up aching to feel you inside me. I’ve missed every part of you.” 

That was all the invitation he needed to crush his lips to hers. The kisses they shared up until that night had been sweet, but tentative, apologetic and reassuring. This one was full of the fiery passion that was always characteristic of their love for one another. 

“Should we move this to the bedroom?” he mumbled against her throat. 

“Y-yes,” she managed to utter through the haze of pleasure he was eliciting. 

He started to rise from the sofa and she clung to him, wrapping her legs around him and peppering kisses over every bit of skin she could reach. 

He stumbled into her bedroom, nearly tripping over the pile of clothes laying in the middle of the floor. “I see you haven’t changed, Swan,” he chuckled. 

“Eh, they may get put away someday.” 

He laughed and picked his way across the room to drop her, giggling, onto her mattress. They stretched out beside each other on the bed and looked into each other’s eyes, before they resumed exploring with their lips.

Roaming hands groped for skin under their clothing, which soon found its way to the floor. Fingers, lips, tongues and teeth set to work reacquainting themselves with the body of their love, and the sounds of encouraging moans and murmurs soon filled the room.

“Gods, I missed you, Emma,” Killian gasped hotly into her ear. 

“I missed you too,” she panted between open-mouthed kisses she was placing across his collarbones. 

“I missed kissing you,” he continued, ducking his head to capture her lips. “I missed your deep moans when I run my tongue along your throat,” he added, before doing just that. He began caressing and kissing his way down her body, pausing frequently to tell her more. “I missed your perfect breasts…your soft skin under my fingers…your responsiveness…your wet heat…the smell of your arousal…” By this time, his head was between her legs as his hands pressed her knees down to the mattress. “I missed your taste on my tongue and the way you grab my hair to pull me in closer.” He pushed a finger into her, causing her to buck against him. “I missed this sweet cunt and the way you close your eyes and bite your lip when you’re getting close to the edge.”

He worked a second finger into her and curled them just the way he knew would set her off, then ground down on her bundle of nerves with the heel of his hand. Her grip became painful on his hair as her legs shook and clamped around him, finding her release. “Killiannnn…” she whimpered. 

He slid back up her body, retracing the path his lips had taken earlier. 

“I missed the way you say my name when you climax and the way you…oh, gods…” She rendered him speechless as she found his cock and began stroking it, her hand sliding up and down while using her other hand to grab his ass, coaxing him to move back over her. 

“I…I missed you, too. So much! P-please Killian, I need you!” 

He nestled between her hips and looked down at her, wantonly reaching for him as she squirmed on the bed, her eyes half-closed and her lip caught between her teeth. Leaning down, he brushed a kiss to her throat, dipping his tongue into the hollow of it, before adjusting his body to align himself with her. “I love you, Emma,” he declared, then pushed inside her throbbing heat. 

She wrapped her legs around him, crossing her ankles at the small of his back and opening herself up to him even more. He stilled within her and gulped in some breaths, trying to fend off the orgasm he could already feel building. When he felt like he could move without coming prematurely, he dropped to his elbows and began languidly gliding in and out of her. She was so aroused that there was no friction as he moved, only pure, sensual pleasure. 

“Mmmm…feels so good! Go f-faster, Killian! Harder…and faster!” she urged. 

“Your heart’s desire, Swan,” he grinned, then began thrusting into her with more intensity. 

Their bodies responded to being apart for far too long, and soon they were climbing to the apex together, their gasps and moans spurring each other on. When she shuddered to her second climax, digging her nails into his back and biting down on his shoulder, the sensations she created ended him. He pressed his hips to her tightly and poured his release into her, breathing his love for her into her ear. 

He wrapped a leg around her and rolled them over, until she rested on top of him, completely sated and boneless. 

Neither spoke as they lay together, but after several minutes, Killian heard Emma sniffle and felt the wetness of her tears against his skin. “Swan? Are you alright?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. 

“Yes, I just…I’ve missed you…missed this. Every time with you is perfect, like we were made for each other.”

“I truly think that we were, but why does that make you cry, Sweetheart?” 

“Because it finally feels like I’m back where I belong.” 

“They’re tears of happiness, then?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“That’s good and you’re right - this is exactly where you belong, in my arms and right next to my heart.” 

“Stay with me tonight?” she implored. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

*********

Over the following months, they continued to rebuild their relationship and slowly came to realize that it was even stronger than it had been before. They were more open with each other, making sure to discuss anything that concerned them, and sharing their thoughts and feelings. 

When Neal tried to contact Emma several weeks after she found out the truth, she took the call to let him know in no uncertain terms what she thought of him, then ended it and promptly blocked his number. 

A few months after the confrontation at the bar, they heard a rumor that he had run into some severe financial problems. After his mother paid off his debts, the two of them moved to the west coast, leaving Emma and Killian to breathe a sigh of relief that they wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally running into him. 

Six months after getting back together, they went on a vacation to a small beach house one of Emma’s college friends owned. After a full week of spending every second of every day together, Killian asked Emma to move in with him once they returned home. He knew they wouldn’t be able to stand even one night apart any longer. 

They settled into life together very easily, with Killian playfully nagging his girlfriend about her messy habits and Emma teasing him about hanging his clothes in the closet, sorted by color. Neither of them had ever been happier. The months of separation and pain were pushed to the far corners of their minds, crowded out by all the wonderful memories they made together since then. 

Life was good. 

*********

“Do you want to take all of this music with you?” Emma called, straightening the stack of sheet music scattered over the desk in their spare bedroom. 

“Sure, just stick it in the folder and throw it in my guitar case,” Killian answered from the bedroom, where he was changing clothes for his gig that night. His talent and reputation were becoming well known throughout the area, and he was in demand at places much nicer than the bars where he got his start. 

“You really should be more organized, Babe.” 

“Creativity is messy, Swan.” 

His reply made her smile as she sorted through the pile, trying to make sure the pages for each song were together. One that was a handwritten draft caught her attention. As she began reading the lyrics, she realized it was ‘her’ song. Pushing a few papers aside, she found the first page and her heart skipped a beat when she read the title. He always called it the song for the love of his life, but now she saw he had entitled it Love Song for a Broken Heart. 

Just then, he stepped into the room tugging a dark blue henley over his head, and saw her holding the sheet in her hand with an indecipherable look on her face. “What’s that you have there, Swan?” She held it up to show him and his eyes softened. “I guess I should rename it now, yeah?” 

She hesitated. “No. You wrote it when your heart was broken, but it led to us getting back together and helped heal both of our hearts. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a very fitting title.” 

He bent to kiss her, lingering against her lips for several moments. “Killian?” she whispered as soon as their lips parted a hair’s width.

“Mmm?” he hummed.

“Will you write another song for me sometime?” 

“Your heart’s desire, Love.” 

*********

Fourteen months later at their wedding reception, Emma was beginning to wonder where Killian had wandered off to, when suddenly she heard his voice coming through the microphone and looked up to see him onstage in front of their hired band, with guitar in hand. 

“I’d like to sing a song I wrote, and dedicate it to my beautiful bride, who inspires me every day. It’s called Healer of My Heart.” 

Emma couldn’t stop the tears of happiness pouring down her cheeks as she listened to the heartfelt lyrics written just for her, by her new husband. 

Their relationship was never a pre-destined love story, guaranteed a happy ending, but they had fought for their love… 

And they won. 

*********

I know some of you were calling for Neal & Milah’s heads on a platter, but I wanted to concentrate on Emma and Killian in this conclusion. Thank you for reading, liking, reblogging & commenting!