Disclaimer: I own Nothing.

What makes a man?

Is it the things he has seen, the places he has been? Is it the people he has hated, the people he has loved? Or is it the lives that he has lived in all the time he has spent in this world?

But, when you have been made and remade again and again. How do you know?

How do you know who you are?

"You're the reason he's here. You're the reason he's suffered so much. The fact that you've come down here to save him won't change that."

The words ring in her head again and again as she paces the hallway of her little ghost house, ready to welcome her home with its single chair by the window, with its single bed and bathroom for one. With all its bedrooms filled to the brim with relics of her past, with painful reminders of her constant loneliness. She finally comes to a stop beside the crib that should have been hers, her fingers running over the unicorns that hang above it, brushing the cobwebs that cover them away. She gives her fingers something to do even as she tries to calm her breathing, as she fights back the ache in her chest that threatens to overcome her.

Liam's words had crawled under her skin, had burrowed into her heart and begun to make their home and she has begun to believe the truth of them. Her fingers close over one of the little blue glass toys, tight enough for the engraving to make little indentations into her palm, tight enough for her to feel the solidity of it, of the ground beneath her feet, of the weight of her own body.

"Emma?"

She sucks in a breath, a shallow, broken thing as she hears him. Her name a tentative question that hangs in the air between them. This is now how it was supposed to be. Miles of distance between them even as he steps close enough for her to feel his heat at her back. Her eyes are still closed, her fingers still tight around the unicorn as she tries to stop the tears from falling.

Another breath.

He doesn't move, just stands solid and still behind her and she takes a second to imagine the cold that would take his place when he left.

One last breath to steel herself and she loosens her fingers, quickly swipes at her eyes and turns to face him with half a smile on her face. Hoping to fool him, hoping in turn to fool herself.

But he did always know better, his own mouth curving into a soft, sad imitation of a smile, his fingers coming up to catch the stray tear that she had missed.

"Why?"

It is all that she can manage to get out, her voice still too fragile to attempt any more.

"I am so very tired."

HIs hand falls away as he speaks and she can see his exhaustion. It is written in every line on his face, in the darkness that has set in under his eyes, in the way his half smile, the glaze in his eyes shows her plainly the ache in his heart. She sees it but she refuses to want to believe that he would not want to rest by her side, in her embrace, that she would not be enough for him today.

"Then, rest. I'm here Killian. I'm always— "

Her voice leaves her then, unable to finish. It betrays the semblance of composure that she had managed to conjure up for the moment, leaving her bare to his gaze. He steps closer then, the sunlight through the window reflecting off the charms above her crib to make sapphire patterns dance across his face, his eyes brighter than she has ever seen them.

His voice is firm as he continues speaking, holding all the sincerity and conviction that she knows runs through his every vein.

"I love you, Emma Swan. No power in heaven or hell or anything in between will ever change that," another step closer and her back is pressed against the edge of the crib, "but gods, Emma, you have to understand."

She hears the plea, hears the soft edge of despair in his words and she knows but she is not ready to believe just yet. There has to be a way. There has to be a way that they can fix this, that he will take her in his arms and she will breathe again.

"Then tell me. Make me understand because right now all I see is that I've broken us so much," she breaks away to take a rushed breath, to swipe at her eyes again before she continues, "so completely that you don't want to fight for us anymore."

His hand drops from her cheek, his body leaves her space and she feels the lack of him as acutely as he had already left for whatever better place awaited him.

"You know that's not it," he whispers, his hand coming out to loosely loop around her fingers. A barely there, tentative touch and god but it aches in her chest.

"Then, what is it?"

"It's not worth it. I'm not worth putting yourself in danger again and again. I'm not worth fighting fate this much. I'm not—"

She curls her fingers and grips his then, tight and solid and unwilling to let go.

"You are. You're a hero, Killian. You're worth it. You're worth everything."

Her voice strengthens as she speaks because she can fight this. She can convince him what he means to her, to all the people who have begun to see him as family, as a friend.

She can love him and pray that it will be enough.

His bones ache with weariness, his heart burdened with his love for her as he tries to find the words to explain. His voice stutters and stops as he speaks, as he searches for the words that will show her the storm that rages inside him, the roiling, twisting ache that lives in his blood, under his skin.

He steps away from her then, puts a physical distance between them that is a cruel imitation of the pulsing distance that exists between their souls.

"When I saw Liam this morning, when he looked at me, I knew I wasn't the man he knew. I knew that but Emma, I couldn't tell him who I am. I don't know anymore. I don't—"

His hand runs through his hair and the softness of it still takes him off guard, no trace of the dried blood and scabs left on his scalp, her healing magic still sparkling on the ends of it. She takes a step closer then, another movement in this dance they've never done. All their ones from before had been slow and close and comfortable but today, it is as though they no longer know the steps.

Her lips move, about to speak but he cuts her off, determined to get the words out before he loses his courage.

"I have lived far more than any man has the right to live, Emma. I have seen the wonders of the realms and I have met with Kings, fought with demons, supped with princesses," he smiles at her as he says it, his voice softening, "and I have loved. I have loved you with all of my heart. But, I was finished. I was finished with fear and anger and—"

He realises that he can't meet her eyes anymore, his gaze fixed on the dust motes illuminated by the light filtering through the curtains behind her.

"And I chose it. I chose to go then, as much as as I could choose at the time. To leave the world having become a man I could finally recognise again but when Liam talked to me today, I— and now all this talk of splitting your heart— "

He looks at her then, letting all the concern, the pain, the worry, the fear that lives inside his skin shine through his eyes. He runs the soft curve of his hook along the curve of her shirt, just above her heart.

"I don't want you hurt, my love. I don't want you to wake up one morning wondering who you are with half of yourself inside another person."

"I won't regret anything I have to do to keep you safe. You know that right?"

Her voice is soft and questioning, and his shoulders fall further as he fails again to explain to her how he feels. As though he could ever doubt the length and depth of her love for him. But he does not know how to tell her that he feels like a stranger in his body after the Dark One, after Pan, after Hades have all had their turn with his soul. That he never wants her to feel that way, that he wonders just how much is one man's life worth to struggle with fate, with demons, with death itself in this way.

Surely, no man is worth this. Surely, he isn't worth this.

His hook moves down to rest about her hips then, his body swaying just a touch closer.

"I know," his mouth curves into a soft smile as he echoes her words from earlier, "and I love you for it. But, Hades has this game rigged and offered us a way, perhaps the only certain way— If I go, you can leave. You will be safe with a clear way out of this place. You have your family and you will be alright and I can move on in peace and I can finally rest and gods, Emma I don't want you to think that I'm leaving you because I'm—"

He feels her fingers on his cheek, her other hand still wrapped tight in his and he loses all his words again.

"Shh, It's okay," she whispers, "I understand."

Her forehead falls forward to rest against his, her thumb slowly tracing the curve of his cheek, back and forth, back and forth. A gentle caress that calms his breathing, that calms his very soul, his eyes unable now to trap the tears that lurk behind them.

"You know, I haven't kissed you since-"

Her lips purse even as she smiles, holding in a sob but her eyes betray her, releasing the tears from behind her eyelids as she speaks and he cannot stop himself, his lips meeting hers before she can finish her sentence.

He tastes like all the goodbyes she has never gotten to say to him, all at once.

She pulls him closer, tighter, her arms wrapping around his waist, her fingers clutching at his back. Closer and closer still, his hand tangled in her hair, his hook at her hips. Their lips coming in again and again in a push and pull that sings of the desperation that claims them both.

"I'm sorry, Emma. I'm so—"

"It's okay. It's okay."

She mumbles her reassurances, to him, to herself as she kisses down his jaw, finally coming to rest with her face tucked into his shoulder. The force of their embrace has them swaying in place, the edge of his collar leaving an imprint on her cheek, her arms trying to memorise the feel of him, the weight of his body pressed against hers. His own hand runs through her hair, his lips pressing against her temple, her jaw, her neck, anywhere he can reach.

They stay that way for what feels like an hour, a year, an infinity but she knows that it will never be enough. She finally pulls away when her eyes feel sharp and dry, when it is as though she has cried every tear in her body. His own eyes are still closed, his forehead falling forward again, closing the distance she had created between them.

"You should—" she stops to clear her throat, her voice a harsh rasp in the quiet of the room, "You should go tell Liam."

She feels him nod slightly, his arms tightening around her briefly before letting go.

And when he takes the first step away from her, impossibly, there are fresh tears in her eyes. The aching, gaping wound in her chest suddenly reopened after it had been hastily bandaged with the strength of his kiss, the heat of his skin. She tries to smile for him despite it all, her lips curving softly into a smile that she hopes lets him know that she will do this for him, that she will do anything for him as long as he is happy.

But even so, with every step he takes it feels as though the hole in her chest is growing larger. Her hand comes to clutch at her t-shirt by her stomach, the fabric bunching between her fingers as she watches him go, his eyes never leaving her as he walks backwards towards the door.

And then, he is gone.

The man who loves her-

Loved.

The man who loved her, shuts the door of her home with a click as soft as the sound of her heart breaking.

(She tries to get used to using the past tense when thinking about him.)