#timeless-endgame

Killian's confusion skyrocketed as his Swan's face crumbled. She shook her head and let go of the blanket, leaving it in his hand, and ran back into her bedroom. The door slammed shut behind her, her cries and sobs from the other side echoing for Killian to listen.

He inspected the snag further, and caught the sight he’d seen centuries ago on every cloth he’d tried to wear after losing his hand.

"Oh bollocks," he muttered. This was his fault. He was the reason Emma was so upset. Ever since she'd convinced him to stay in town, he'd been all but living in her apartment with her and the lad when he stayed there. At night, he may rest his head at Granny's, but he spent the daylight hours helping around the house, acting as back-up at the sheriff's office, and 'borrowing' boats at the dock when it all became too much of a good thing.

One day not too long ago, David called Swan down to the station while they were doing laundry. Or attempting to do laundry. They entered the cramped laundry area with the intent of folding clothes.

If they had ended up making more dirty laundry in the progress, so be it. He couldn’t help himself.

After Emma had redressed and left, Killian actually had folded the remainder of the clean clothes and put them away in their respective drawers. He had felt the tip of his hook snag on something while placing some sweaters away, but had thought nothing of it at the time.

Only now did he realize that pull unraveled this sentimental blanket of hers. And she claimed she had nothing, he thought.

That’s not the point.

Shaking his head, he approached her door and hesitantly knocked. “Emma?”

“Go away, Killian,” she said through the wood. “I’m fine.”

Lie. Killian scoffed at her stubbornness but didn’t open the door. “Love, you’re far from fine.” He placed his hand on the knob.

“Killian.” The disappointment in her voice stopped him. “It’s nothing. Just go back to Granny’s I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Who was he to disregard his Swan’s request? Blanket still in hand, Killian muttered goodbye and took his leave.

He arrived at the inn, downtrodden and perplexed. I didn’t mean to upset her, he thought. How was I to know? He was halfway up the stairs to his rented room, lost in the caverns of his own mind, when a holler sounded from in front of him.

“Are you blind as well as handicapped, Captain?” Granny sternly reprimanded. Her one foot hover over the step on which he stood and the knuckles gripping the railing were white. He must have caused her to lose her balance in his haze. He hastily apologized and moved his back to the wall so she could pass. She descended the remaining steps in the wobbly cautious manner only the elderly managed.

When she reached the bottom stair safely, Granny turned around to look at the dejected-looking pirate, stark still with the familiar blanket in his only hand. “I’m probably going to regret asking this,” she began, garnering Killian’s attention, “but why are you holding Emma’s baby blanket?”

That seemed to snap his out of his haze. “How d’you…I’ve ruined it,” he meekly told her. The old woman’s eyes glowed with skepticism, which soon faded when Killian maneuvered the blanket so she could see the tear. “And she’s heartbroken over it and I haven’t a clue how to comfort her.”

Granny’s eyes narrowed at the despair in the pirate’s expression. “You an early riser, Captain?”

Killian furrowed his brows. “Centuries on a ship force that sort of habit,” he retorted, failing to see why that mattered.

The woman’s eyebrows appeared over the tops of her glasses. “Do you want my help or not?” After he nodded, Granny told him, “I’ve got to go make dinner now, but meet me down in the library tomorrow just after sunrise.” Then pointing at him, she added, “Bring the blanket and the hook.”

Opening his mouth to ask any one of the numerous questions burdening him, Killian soon shut it when Granny dismissed him with a wave. He continued up the stairs, confused more than disparaging now. What does she want? was the question at the forefront of his brain. Emma was practically another one of her grandchildren, not to mention this was most definitely her handiwork. Is she going to shoot me with her crossbow? he thought. The mere idea made him gulp and fumble with the doorknob to his lodgings. His hook had brought pain to many a man in his days of piracy, but never had he wanted it to befall Emma. That was his last wish. The metal appendage was as much of him as his eyes or his wit, and, beyond all hope, Swan had accepted it all the same.

He should’ve figured that sort of joy would be short-lived. His life was too tragic, his heart too shattered, for it to end otherwise. To think that this relationship, nay, this romance, was to be ended simply because the tip of his stupid hook held on to this blanket a moment too long: there was some sort of irony here. The one woman he’d held onto would be angry with him because his namesake did so on one of her cared-for souvenirs.

But the old woman said she could help, his conscience reminded him. Cease your dramatics. Morning will come soon enough. We shall see what she offers.

With that thought, Killian fell face first into the mattress, unchanged and unshoed, Emma’s broken blanket by his head.

Like clockwork, he snorted himself awake, much as he had on the endless morning on the Jolly Roger. The sun’s first rays were just sliding under the curtains. Killian rose and stretched, chuckling silently when he discovered Swan’s blanket served as his pillow for the night. He grabbed the offending object and head to the library he, Swan, and her parents had discussed battle plans nearly three months ago.

When he arrived on the threshold, he found Granny quietly perched on a rocking chair in the corner. She beckoned him over before whispering “Morning, Captain.” Killian gave her a respectful nod in return, but remained silent. She motioned for the blanket, which he gladly handed over. Inspecting the snag more closely, Granny quietly ordered him to take a seat on a nearby stool. He did, curiously looking at a basket of string next to her.

“It’s not too horrible,” she announced, setting the blanket in her lap and reaching for the basket. “The embroidery can’t be fixed, but the hole can easily be dealt with.” She produced a metal needle from among the string and handed it to him. “Do you know how to knit, Captain?”

He shook his head. Deep in his memory, he conjured up the image of a dark haired woman doing so by the hearth, a secret smile at her sons’ silliness on her face. His mother had hoped to teach the skill “a useful one that their wives would one day thank” her for teaching her sons.

“Well,” Granny interrupted his nostalgia, “no time like the present.”

And that is how Killian ended up with half a skein of yarn wrapped around his hook (“Well, you can hold the other needle,” Granny explained, “but you’ve got a nice substitute.”) and a fixed blanket at lunchtime.

“Thank you,” Killian gratefully said as she left the library again to prepare lunch.

“Nothing is irreparable if you know how to fix it,” she said with a wink. The double meaning in the woman’s words weren’t lost on him. Nothing is irreparable.

Killian returned the blanket to his room before joining other townsfolk at the diner. He even ordered the lunch special, something only the bravest or, in his case, more thankful people did.

As he swallowed his first bite, the diner door swung open to reveal the sheriff. Her jade eyes found him immediately and she sheepishly shuffled over to his booth.

Taking a seat across from him, she quietly greeted him.

“Hi.”

“Swan,” he said just as gently.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she told him, clasping her hands tightly on the table top. “It’s just…” she stumbled over her words. “That blanket, it came through the wardrobe with me when I was a baby. They found it wrapped around me when I was found on the highway. It's the only thing I had when I was growing up." Emma sniffed and tried to hide the tears aching to fall from her eyes. "It gave me hope. Hope that my parents might come and find me, or that I might end up with a family who loved me. Hope that I might be happy one day, that I won’t be as broken as I felt,” she explained. Her hands laid in her lap now, fingers pulling at the excess skin of her knuckles as her down cast eyes watched. “And then I met Neal and I thought 'Hey, I am happy. I’m not as broken as I thought. I don't need this anymore.'” She paused and inhaled deeply. “But then he left, and I went to jail and I had and lost Henry and it felt like I broke even further with each passing day. When they handed me back my possessions on my release, all I had were the keys to Neal’s stupid Bug and this baby blanket. I used it as a pillow when I had to sleep in the backseat and it's always just been this sense of security. It was always there, it was constant. It was the only piece of home I ever really had.”

She shrugged at the lackluster conclusion of her tale. Wiping under her eyes for any errant tears, she nervously laughed. “This is silly. It's just a blanket."

Killian furiously shook his head and reached across the table for her. “Your baby brother blowing bubbles with his spit is silly,” he said. “The dwarves aimlessly fighting over the last piece of lasagna is silly.” She lovingly glared at his butchered pronunciation of lasagna, and continued to do so as he stood up and offered her his hand. Rolling her eyes, she gave him her hand and she yelped as he yanked her into his embrace. “Something you cherish, love,” he murmured in her ear, “is never silly.”

Hand-in-hand, Killian pulled her through the diner, past the library, up the stairs, and into his room. He let go of her hand to present her with her neatly folded blanket, her purple embroidered name facing her. “Your name couldn’t be fixed, but there’s no more hole. And,” he made a grand motion, hiding his hook behind him.

Emma’s face flooded with awe, letting her blanket unfurl before her. “How did you…?” she insinuated.

Hooked arm still behind his back, Killian came around her, wrapping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

She shucked her sopping jacket and hung it from the rack by the door as he returned to his seat. After taking off her boots, she sauntered over and sat on the couch next to him. Killian threw his arm over his Swan’s frame. The tips of her beautiful long hair were melting icicles and her core temperature was a stark contrast to the heat of the room.

“Dammit, Emma,” he hissed. He leapt from the couch and rifled around the room’s nooks and crannies in search of every blanket she owned. When he could find no more, he wrapped her up in every one, even draping one over her head, before taking up his position again. “You’re freezing as a stormy morning.”

She burrowed further into his embrace to prove his point. “I’m aware,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “That’s why I came over here.”

Killian hummed in delight, stroking her head. They stayed silent, save for the popping of the flames, just enjoying each other’s company. In between Zelena and Pan and whatever magical force was causing below-freezing temperatures and blizzards in the middle of April, there hadn’t been much time for a budding relationship like theirs to advance at anything more than a snail’s pace.

They needed this. They needed each other.

“What are you thinking, love?” Killian asked in his hushed timbre.

Emma snuggled deeper into him, resting her ear over his rapidly beating heart and her hand on his knee. “I wish I could explain it,” she replied.

His hook snuck under her chin and lifted her gaze to his, knocking some of the blankets away in the process. “Try to.”

She smiled, but nervously bit her bottom lip and looked away. “It’s kinda a long story,” she warned him.

That suspicious eyebrow of his shot up. “Swan, I don’t know if you’ve realized,” he said slowly, “but there’s easily my height in snow outside with no signs of it ceasing soon.” His hand splayed out at the obvious answer over her shoulder. “It seems to me a lengthy tale is just what we need to pass the time.”

Emma sighed and wriggled around until she was comfortable under his arm. “It’s about happiness,” she started.

Killian laughed. “I fail to see how that is a long story.”

She elbowed him in the ribs and glared at him until his laughter died out. “Right before I got arrest, Neal promised me we would leave our lives behind. Pawn off some stolen watches, take the money, and move to a town called Tallahassee.”

“Tis quite a strange name for a town.”

“Shush, or I won’t finish the story,” she chided him. Killian gave her a shy, apologetic smile and gestured that she continue. “We’d start over together. Buy a house, get stable jobs, maybe get married and start a family.” She sighed deeply and sunk further into the couch cushion and Killian’s side. She let her neck loll back on his shoulder and her eyes slide shut. “The idea of happiness, the idea of Tallahassee was the only thing that got me through prison, through giving up Henry, through every other hellish thing I’ve gone through. Even before my unnervingly optimistic parents taught me to hope, I always held on to Tallahassee.”

Flashbacks of all the damp, dark nights she’d spent in her cell, pregnant and young and afraid, and the first few months after her release when she was all alone with no real reason to get up in the morning flooded her mind. Looking back on it now, Emma could never have guessed how drastically different a doorbell ring could be.

“And here, with you and Henry and my parents and brother a phone call away, I’ve found it. I’ve finally found Tallahassee.” She looked straight into his deep blue eyes, straight to his bared soul. “And it’s all because of you.”

“Swan,” he whispered lovingly, pushing aside a stray strand of blonde. “You know I would go to the ends of the world for you.”

“I know, I know, saving me and all that jazz,” she admitted, waving her hand to casually acknowledge his hard work and commitment to her. It’d become sort of a running joke between them. It’s not like she didn’t appreciate someone who, for once in her life, ran after her instead of away, who made her stop her running. “It’s just…” she fumbled for the right words.

No, he didn’t fully understand the magnitude of this idea of hers. And if she didn’t finish this story now, didn’t get him on the same page of the ‘open book’ of hers he was always going on about, then she’d lose her courage and have to spend another month and a half building it back up. Who knows if they’d have that time?

She couldn’t say the words she wanted to say, much less the ones he wanted to hear. Too much baggage, too much of a life before this joy, held her back.

But this, explaining Tallahassee, something that she’d never try to put into words or even really share with someone…explaining Tallahassee to him was the closest she could give. And, knowing him, it’d be more than enough for now, in their little moment of warmth and intimacy.

“I meant more along the lines of…” She really was struggling for the right words to truly convey the light he’d brought into her life. God, she definitely was not good at this. Words were never really her friends. It’s not like she hadn’t done something similar to this before. She’d done it twice, in fact, but both times had ended rather poorly. Emma couldn’t afford for this relationship to end like the others. She’d thought herself heartbroken before, but if Killian…no. He wouldn’t. He won’t.

Sitting up straight, Emma unwound his arm from her shoulder and rested a hand over his as she placed them on his thigh. “Do you know what a puzzle is?” she asked, following the brief jolt of inspiration she had.

“Vaguely,” he answered, confused at the abrupt change in subject matter. “I believe I’ve done one with the lad.”

Emma nodded her head. “Neal told me about Tallahassee when I was younger. And since then, I’ve been living my life like I’m putting together a puzzle. Piece by piece.” She narrowed her eyes at his perplexed expression. “Are you following me?”

“Barely,” he confessed, “but keep explaining. Maybe I shall understand with time.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Well, when I got here to Storybrooke, I put a lot of the pieces together. The puzzle was almost finished, but there were a couple of pieces missing, the most important ones, right in the middle, so you couldn’t really tell what the puzzle was supposed to be.”

She paused for a moment, licking her lips. Lacing their fingers together on his thigh, Emma met his ocean eyes, in color and in vastness, in memories made and in fears realized. Everything she loved about him (yes, loved, because just because she couldn’t say it didn’t mean she didn’t feel it) reflected in his eyes.

“You were those final pieces,” she breathed. “You, Killian, made my Tallahassee.” She faltered at his far-off expression. “Did that make sense?”