When Emma Swan was sixteen, she shared a bed with three other girls and wished for nothing more than a single amount of space that was her own. Staring up at the peeling, off-coloured wall of her the bedroom of her current home, kept away by the nudge against her knee by little Molly or the occasional grunting snore from the much larger Ann, she blinked in the darkness and prayed for nothing more.
Just a bit of space.
And when she celebrated her sixtienth birthday in that cramped, over-worked bed, a quiet acknowledgement in her own mind and nothing more, she made a promise to herself.
She was going to get out, get a job, and when she could finally afford a roof over her own head, she wasn't going to share her damn bed with anyone. Even if it was a fucking cot in the back of some rented office space.
It was going to be hers.
She didn't sleep well, beside Neal. She cared about him, she really did. Might have even loved him. She liked how he moved closer to her in the back of the bug when the nights dipped and weather got chillier. Liked how they spent days together, separating and coming back together until the anxiety at every goodbye transformed into some small drop in her soul, blooming as bright as a flower in the winter. This could be it. This would be the person who wouldn't leave her. Her forever.
He was older and funny and taught her tricks to help them survive and she even liked that. The way their criminal partnership seemed to bind them closer because he was at fault too. She had evidence against him. Leverage.
After being alone for so long, Emma soaked in his presence like a lizard on a rock, basking in its warmth.
But she really, really hated sleeping with him.
Even on the nights when their forced proximity in the bug probably kept them from dying, she'd find herself huddling, awake and alone in the dark. His hot breath burning against her scalp. The hand against her hip like a weight. The touch of his knees on her shins intrusive and unwelcome. She'd squirm and wriggle, trying to find an ounce more room even as she pulled her jacket further up her shoulders or down her legs to keep warm. There was something about his presence that was so welcome during the day, that turned overwhelming and made her itchy at night. It made her want to dart out of the car and sleep under the vastness of the stars, damn the cold. It made her want to run and run and keep running until the blackness swallowed her whole and she ended up in the welcome embrace of the night.
It was better when they broke into a room, or rarely, used money to pay for one. At least on a crappy, queen-sized bed she had enough room to turn away so their bodies didn't touch. She would catch drifts of slumber then, her knees pulled up close and arms stiff as she kept every line of her body away, occupying her own tiny little space.
But inevitably, she'd wake to the stale smell of sex, cheap laundry detergent, and burnt coffee in her nose. Her fingers would catch the grit of filth on the sheets left behind by the room's former occupants.
She never brought it up because it wasn't his fault and it's not like they had a real choice. Most nights had to be spent in the back of the bug. Once, she'd caught a bad cold and he'd slept in the uncomfortable passenger seat to prevent from catching whatever she had. Stretched out on the faded interior, in spite of her clogged nose, Emma slept sounder than she had in years.
"Ems?" His gruff, sleepy voice woke her from her musing as Emma shifted again in the back of the car, arching her back a little to get more room.
Neal misinterpreted her action, his arm snaking around her and bringing her flush against his chest, placing a sloppy kiss on her neck. The sensation of him surrounding her made her stomach churn and breath catch, her pulse fluttering wildly.
"You alright?"
It wasn't his fault. She liked him. Loved him, even. It was just that last home with four to a bed and the one before that where she'd shared with a total psycho who'd tried to cut her hair off with cleavers when she slept. And the one before that where the boys liked to sneak in and light off firecrackers to scare them awake.
It was just herself, wishing for a little bit of space in the world that she could call her own as she turned sixteen.
Swallowing down the fear, Emma nodded, patting the arm around her center. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Neal gave her a little squeeze, shuffling them both back a little. "Go to sleep, Ems. We've got a big day tomorrow."
That made her smile. Tallahassee. Florida with its endless blue skies and clear seas. Plenty of open, waiting-to-be-filled room. Enough for one Emma Swan to carve out a life of her own.
With a person she loved.
Still smiling, Emma turned a little closer to Neal and forced herself to dream of it, forced her body to relax in his embrace.
Tomorrow.
There is no space in prison.
It's the first thing she notes, still oddly detached and emotionless about the whole thing. Still half expecting to wake up on a sandy beach to Neal asking if she'd slept well.
The cell itself is tiny and shared, but Emma Swan has been sharing small spaced her entire life and it doesn't truly face her. What gets her, its the bars.
She thinks they're meant to intimidate. To make the hairs on her neck stand up the way dogs at a kennel get. To make her feel weak and powerless. It's not the cage itself that sinks into her bones, though. It's the sight through them. The fact that they leave enough space for her to see out of into the sheer desperation that is Phoenix's Women's Correctional Facility. The only thing she sees beyond her cage is more cages. The dead-eyed clanking of the guards. The gray, questionable slop of food. The ridiculous, bright and crude colouring on the walls of the dayroom with its single TV, spouting messages of hope and healing that have been covered over with stains and carvings and names of people.
Catie was here, is below her bunk. She stared at those words the first few weeks. Thought about Catie, and how she attempted to carve her own presence in this desperate, cloying place because there was no where else. There is no where else. For the first time in her life, Emma Swan is staring at into the world and she sees nothing better than where she is. No more welcome blue seas or the endless, vastness of stars. No more endless city blocks or alleys to claim.
Catie was here. That was it. This was all the space Catie could claim for her own. All that Emma could have.
Except even less, because even her body wasn't her own anymore. She looked back down at her protruding belly for a moment, wanting to scream and hit it, to lash out against the thing that had taken ever her away from herself. Her stomach cried out for food to feed another. Her bladder got pinched by someone else's tiny feet. Her breasts were sore and her skin felt pulled too tight, straining against adding another person into the limited, nothing space that Emma Swan existed within.
She breathed deeply, trying to remember the calming exercises the well-meaning nurse had taught her the other day. It wasn't the kid's fault. He hadn't asked for this. This was her fault, for being careless. Her fault for believing in a man and giving up her dreams of her own cot in a damn office space for soft sand and a man. Her fault, for thinking for one second, that he would be different than anyone else.
Taking a last steadying inhale, she leaned her head back against the concrete.
Today was her eighteenth birthday. She closed her eyes and made a wish, one hand resting on the belly that was no longer own.
I hope you get it, she thought. I hope you have your own bed in a house as big as a fucking castle and that the world never, ever takes away your possession of yourself. I hope you live a life so fucking big it dwarfs the damn ocean beside Tallahassee and one day, I read about you in a newspaper.
"Oi, Emma, keep it down will you? Some of us are trying to sleep."
Hastily wiping away the tears that have fallen down her cheek, Emma mutters a quick apology and stuffs her harsh sobs against her hand until her cellmate rolls back over, continuing to snore.
I hope you're happy. I love you.
She's got her underwear back on before he's even rolled over.
Men are so fucking slow in the afterglow.
"Where 'you going?" He slurs, reaching one hand out to the still-warm side of the bed.
Randy? Robert? Whatever. Emma shuffles back, finding her jeans in the dim city light and pulling them up her legs, ignoring the slickness between her thighs.
She makes a mental note to take a shower before she crawls into bed. That'll be uncomfortable to wake up to in the morning. "Leaving. Thanks for that. I had a good time."
She actually means that too. R-something or other had been good for two solid orgasms. A rarity among one-night stands picked up at the dive bar down the street.
He leans back, his hair disheveled and one eye peeking open. "You don't have to, you know. You could stay. I make a mean Spanish omelette."
Her spine crawls at the implication of the morning, but she simply ignores him, gathering her bra off the lamp and snapping it closed. Now if she could just find her sweater…."Thanks, but I've got to get home."
Ah, on the ceiling fan. Jesus, how did he even-Nevermind. She stands on his nightstand to reach for it, noting with distaste that there's a small tear in the left shoulder.
Emma shrugs. It's her twenty-eighth birthday tomorrow. She can afford to splurge a little and buy herself a new one. Plus, she's feeling pretty forgiving after coming twice.
"Oh, got another man's bed to warm?" He's clearly teasing, watching her dress with slight interest and it makes her snort.
He's not bad, R-whoever. Decent dick. Decent sense of humour. If Emma were another woman, had another life, she might consider his offer.
But she's not, and she learned her lesson hard. So she snags her purse and keys, not even looking back as she calls over her shoulder, "Just mine."
She can hear his laughter as she closes the door but the moment she's tumbling back into her apartment, showering as quickly as humanly possible before sinking into her perfect, ridiculously large bed, she knows she's made the right choice.
Emma smiles as sleep begins to take her, sprawled out on her giant bed with the fifty-million blankets and twenty pillows and totally, absolutely hers.
And no one to share it with.
Just how she likes it.
He keeps trying to slow things down.
But she doesn't want slow. She's just returned his heart (his heart, Jesus it had been in her fucking hand) and she finally has him naked (like there's been heavy petting and orgasms. Definitely orgasms but it seemed like the damn town had an alarm whenever they tried to get their pants off, and for once maybe she can see him in all his glory) and she just wants to fuck, fast and furiously. She wants to forget that she almost lost him, that she was so wrapped up in her shitty childhood that she missed the fact that he was missing his goddamn heart.
"Swan," Killian's voice is hot over her, his breath against her neck as he pulls his hips away again, making her shudder.
She feels his nose against her cheek so Emma closes her eyes, gasping for air. Her nerves are on fire, her fingers shaking with need to take and feel and why won't he hurry up already?
His hand moves up from where it had been playing with her. (Playing the operative word. The asshole had been edging her for what felt like hours.) Fine: he wanted to tease. She could tease too.
She managed to wriggle a hand free from under their tangled forms, skimming past his hips and reaching for the silken shaft, giving it a sharp pump that earned her a whine from the man above her. Emma grinned, repeating the motion in hopes of drawing out another sound until she had a rhythm going, Killian cursing as he leaned into her neck, his body trembling over hers.
She grinned. Sweet, sweet control.
"Swan-buggering fuck. Love, you must stop that. You must-Emma,"
Her name surprises her enough that she pauses, but he takes the opening, wrenching her hand away and then pushing her into the mattress with his weight. Finally, she thinks as his cock rubs against her wetness, making heat explode on her skin. Finally, he's going to-
Bring his hand up to cup her cheek, thumb stroking her cheek with such reverence she has to bite the inside of the soft flesh. "Emma, open your eyes love. Look at me."
No. She wants to scream. This isn't what she wants. She doesn't want to see him staring at her like she hung the moon or something. Not when she missed it. Not when he nearly died and-
He ruts against her, grinding his hard length against where she is aching and it's such a dirty move, such a bastard of a thing to do. Such a-
Her eyes fall open as she glares at him and he seems to read her mind, smirking. "Pirate, love."
But then his whole face softens as he keeps her their, holding her in his gaze with affectionate and devotion and fuck-
"Swan," His hand at her jaw prevents her from turning away and she hates him a little bit for it. "Come on sweetheart, don't run away from this."
His lilt is so soft, he's so stupidly tender as his nose nudges her face, his hook running patterns up her side and goddammit she feels moisture at her eyes. She rakes in her inhale, blinking furiously because she will not cry. That would be the worst. How fucking pathetic that she might-
He manages to kind her lips, kissing her gently as his thumb wipes at the tears she feels burn down her cheek. She turns to him then, shame and fury warring through her blood. "I hate you."
Killian chuckles, his bright blue eyes twinkling and how did she not notice? "I don't think that's entirely true love."
He rubs the wetness into her hot cheeks and she bites her lip again because this is bullshit. "Yes I do. You-You almost,"
She breaks in a gasp, the horror and fear crawling back up her spine because she can't even say the words. The fact that he almost died and left and he promised her. He promised.
"Sshh, Emma. Hush. I'm fine. I'm right here. See." He lifts one of her entrapped hands in his, placing it against his chest so she can feel the wild, blinding joy of his heart thudding against his ribs. His fingers intertwine with hers and she squeezes a little, taking a shuddering breath at the feeling.
"You promised," She glares at him despite her tears. "You promised me."
He nods, kissing gently down the slope of her throat so she can feel his hair swipe against her collar. "I know love. I won't leave you. I won't."
In a sudden flex of his hips he's inside her and she gasps, clawing at his back in surprise and elation and feeling the way her body has to accommodate him. He's overwhelming her, forcing her to make room for him inside her and it's so much. Too much. Not enough. Her head is reeling.
Killian doesn't move, muttering in a strange language into her skin as he holds himself still, his chin dipping to her sternum. "Are you alright Swan?"
No, she wants to say. This is too much. She wanted to fuck hard and fast until she couldn't think. Not this tide of him invading her until she was sure her skin would carry the smell of sea forever. Until he licked against part of her soul, writing his name in indelible ink.
"Swan?" It's the note of worry in his voice, the way he rears to leave that causes her legs to rise and wrap around his hips, forcing him just an inch deeper as he curses against her.
"I'm fine. It's just-It's been awhile." It's the truth she can vocalize, the needing a minute to get used to the pressure of him inside her. She can't find words for the other thing, the way that even as it burns the idea of stopping is so, so much worse.
He frowns, brushing against her hair. "Do you need me to stop?"
There's too much sincerity in his look and she can feel him hard and balls drawn tight but she knows that if she told him yes, he'd withdraw without a moment's hesitation, his own discomfort be damned. And that, if anything, makes her shake her head. "No. No please don't."
He nods, that little frown still between his brows as he runs his hand in her scalp, raining kisses on her face as he waits, is always waiting, for her to adjust. For her to let him in.
Emma takes long, steady inhales until she shifts slightly, the movement making him hit that spot inside her and earning her a long, low moan that she wants again. And again. She nods her head furiously, knowing that he'll feel it despite the tortured closure of his eyes.
"Move. Fuck, move Killian."
And he does. Long, smooth draws in-and-out of her that make her feel every inch he touches inside of her, withdrawing until she's clawing at his ass and pushing back in. Building a slow, deep pace that makes her feel him in her goddamn throat.
"Fuck. Swan, you're so perfect. So tight. So beautiful. Jus' made for me," He slurs against her, his voice fading to curses and sounds as he continues to pump in, a white haze taking over her thoughts.
It's lazy and gentle and perfect until she feels his hook, warmed by their flesh, reach down and rub at her clit. And suddenly she's desperate and there-
"That's a Swan. Let go, love. Let go." She hears his voice in her ear but she's frantic. She doesn't know whether to pull him closer by his delectable ass or cant her hips up to make the penetration that much stronger or release her legs from his hips to plant her legs on the bed and take him further. (Can he go further, Jesus?) Or bite his ear or kiss his chin. She can't think beyond the thrum of her pulse in her ears and the way her vision has dissolved to pinpricks of sensation, the slide of his cock and the circling of his hook and she just doesn't know but it's killing her. She won't survive this. It's too much. It's licking her insides and emptying her out and-
He gets his knees under him at the next withdrawal and pulls her up quickly, thrusting back in so her legs are spread open on either side of his hips and he's spearing her. His hook just a perfect pressure on her clit and she's done.
It's white and blinding and takes her for years, unrelenting as her bones liquefy and her thoughts turn to ash and there is nothing, nothing left of her. Distantly, she feels him shudder and pulse inside her and almost dream-like, she hears his voice.
"I love you."
When she comes down she's curled up in his chest, her cheek against the thrumming sound of his heart and his hand and hook braced against her back, supporting her even though she knows his knees must be killing him. She tries to pull back, to gesture to him that she can take her own weight again but the move reminds her that while softening he is still inside and she nearly doubles over at the sensation, crying out against his shoulder. He swears when she clenches reflexively and moves his hands until they're under her, lifting her off him with a hiss and then pulling her back against him, cradling her so she can stretch the worn muscles of his thighs across the bed.
Killian kisses her hair gently as quiet descends, his arms moving up and down her spine. "You alright Swan?"
She's drained and emptied and fucking fantastic and absolutely terrified so she just nods weakly against his collar. "Hmm."
His hand pauses mid-stroke and she know's he's caught her prevarication and she can't help but tense in his grasp because she's not ready to even think about everything she felt, much less explain it to another human being. But Killian is Killian, and after a moment his hand resumes she Emma realizes he's simply letting it go for her sake. She nudges closer to him in gratitude and feels the soft smile on the top of her head he gives her. "Are you staying love?"
Her eyes fly open and she looks at the bed around him. The floral sheets Granny favours. The scent of sex in the room. The low light coming from the curtains. The way he'd consumed her before, the way his heat clung to the sheets and she feels her lungs collapsing, panic making itself known again because she needs her bed in the loft-or maybe another room altogether but he's at Granny's so fuck, maybe the bug. She could sleep in the bug but that was where Neal-
"It's just a question love, calm down." He places a hand over her own racing heart and a sloppy kiss against her cheek, as if sensing that this was all too much for her. "I just needed to ascertain if I should dig out new sheets when I dispose of the sheath. You are always welcome in my bed, but I understand if you need to go. You are a woman of some demand, after all."
He gives her his shy, boyish smile and she feels her eyes water again because she's sure him say through words. Knows he wants her to stay. Knows that leaving him after having sex the first time is a shitty thing to do, but he doesn't press. Always thinking of her. Never demanding.
She presses her face into his chest, looping her hands around his neck to hide her tears as she nods slowly against him. His solidness. "It's not-I enjoyed that but uh...could I use your shower before I go?"
She can feel his tongue dart out and know he's going to invite himself into said shower before he leans her back, seeming to think better of it. With a warm smile he nods. "Of course love. I'll fetch you a towel."
He doesn't comment on the blotchiness of her cheeks and if she had anything left in her, she'd kiss him just for that. But instead she nods, grateful before detangling herself and walking on wobbly legs to the ensuite bathroom. She starts the water, hoping the heat of it will bring some relief to well-used muscles if not her whirling mind.
Emma has no idea how long has passed before she hears a respectful knock before the door opens and Killian shuffles inside. She can see his outline through the shower curtain, placing two ridiculously fluffy towels on the toilet seat cover (Christ, did he bribe Granny or something for those?) but pausing before he left. Softly, he called out above the din of the shower.
"Swan?"
She makes a noise in affirmation, half her mind fixed on the smell of lemon soap she was running through her hair. Really, she could probably convince Killian to steal a bar or two for her.
"Are you-did I hurt you?" There's so much vulnerability in his voice, too much for even her fear to prevent her from answering.
"No." She keeps the curtain between them because it's easier being honest if she doesn't have to look into those endless blue eyes. "Not at all Killian. I promise. It's just...It's been a really long time since I shared a bed with someone and it wasn't... it wasn't the greatest, you know?"
She can give him that, that truth that her reasons for leaving are her fuck up, not his. She hears him shuffle closer and suddenly the shower curtain is pressing in, the shadow of his hand leaving heat as he touches her hip through it. "Alright Swan, alright."
Emma swallows, her fingers pressing against his own the other side of the curtain because he loves her and he's letting her leave and really,
What did she do to deserve someone like that?
Killian Jones is a terrible person to sleep with.
Well okay, he's actually an awesome person to sleep with but sharing a bed with-it's next to torture.
Emma knows that most of this is still her and her need for space but she's trying.
They spent most nights on his ship because Ruby gave them one too many grins when she stayed with him at Granny's and between Gold's return and the bitches of Darkness, Emma welcomes the peace that she feels with the soft rocking of the boat under her. It's the best sleep she could get.
Or would be, if Killian wasn't a fucking octopus.
Consciously, he's as respectful of her boundaries as a monk. She'd shared her stories with him in between sips of rum and long nights. Neal. The group homes. The desire for just something that was her own, even a shitty bed. So he gets it, never complains about it when he wakes to an inevitably empty bed smelling of her. He gets it when she pulls away in the afterglow, needing to occupy her own space to be okay remaining in his bed for a few more hours. He just smiles and says that he's so grateful she's letting him in. So happy she's staying longer.
At this point, she's pretty sure she could smack him and he'd find some twisted gift in the gesture. It frightens her, a little. So she tries.
But unconscious Killian? Unconscious Killian is a snuggler.
At first she thought it was funny, dread pirate of the seven-seas or whatever reaching for the nearest source of warmth in his sleep and wrapping around her like she was his favourite teddy bear. (Like he needed the warmth because, Jesus, the man was a furnace) She'd brought it up to him once and he'd looked down, ashamed and muttered something about Milah and needing to feel her heartbeat in the night and she felt like an asshole. And then, he proceeded to offer to sleep in a hammock next to the bed if it would make her feel more comfortable.
Like, next to his bed. His bed.
Then, she felt like an asshole who drowned puppies and stole ice cream from toddlers.
So she was trying, she really was. Staying later each time she stayed over. A handful, of times she even managed to nap between sex and him strangling her. She got that he needed it, now more than ever with Gold trying to fuck with her head and all that naked fear on his face and in his touch.
But tonight? Tonight was a little much.
Her parents-her perfect, fairytale parents are liars and meeting Lily was some sick cosmic joke and really, what can she believe in now? Everything seems sideways and it makes the back of her neck prickle with awareness.
What next?
And there's the man who has an arm thrown over her ribs, his brace (hook removed) laying on her thigh, his nose against her ear. His heat seeping against her back. His smell: salt, sea, and semen blanketing her nose. And it's a lot, it is. But Emma is trying.
"Don't you know Emma? It's you." But what else was a lie? If her parents, Snow White and fucking Prince Charming can steal a child, what else is false? Was it destiny, meeting Hook under that pile of bodies and coming to know him? Is Killian just another pawn in someone's game meant to torment her like Lily or die on her or-
She can't fucking breathe. Every point of contact is suffocating her and she needs to get away now but her limbs aren't cooperating and all she can do is weakly kick his shin as black spots prickle against her eyelids.
"Swan-what is?" Suddenly, his entire weight is lifted and Emma is gasping for air, clutching her throat and clawing at the sheets for an anchor.
"Emma," He's not touching her but his voice reverberates through the cabin, making her eyelashes flutter. "Tilt your chin up. Chin up, lass. Good girl. Now one leg over the other, lock your ankles. Swan, listen to me. Excellent. Alright put your right arm under your head, fold it out. Now breathe, Emma. Breathe."
It helps somehow, listening to her commands as she feels her airway open so she can gulp in air greedily against the blackness. She feels him stirring around her, hears the swish of clothes and then she feels the soft velvet of one of his cabin blankets cover her legs.
She didn't realize she was shivering until then.
"It's the sweat, love. It's making you cool." His voice is steady, in-command and it makes her feel a little less off-kilter. "I can give you my hand, if you'd like."
She tries to not but he barks a quick order about her chin so she just reaches her hands forward until they're grasping his fingers, clawing at them as the gripping panic slowly subsides, leaving her trembling in cold and exhaustion. Emma finally opens her eyes, finding narrowed slits of blue studying her with objective concern.
"What was-" And fuck her if her voice wasn't a wreck.
"Panic attack," He answers smoothly, roving over her form. "Seen enough of them on a ship. Usually this position is used for drowning victims but I wasn't going to let you choke on your own tongue and an open airway seemed wise. You're going to be freezing through Swan, with how worked up you were. Do you mind if I pull the blanket up higher?"
It breaks her heart a little, that he knows so well what to do. That he has to ask before he touches her even though he was inside her hours ago. So she nods her head, swallowing her heavy tongue and answering in the affirmative.
He nudges the blanket up her shoulder with his brace, letting her keep her tight grip on his hand before he reached over for one of the water bottles they kept, unscrewing it with his teeth and handing it to her. She drank the fluid gratefully, finishing it off before throwing it away and reaching for him again.
He goes patiently, laying next to her with no point of contact beyond her grip on his fingers. "What was it love?"
Emma barely knows herself. She was thinking about her parents, about Lily, about Killian-and suddenly she was burning and her throat was closing. She shrugs. "I don't-It was too much. I just… I'm just tired."
And she was, the (panic attack, fuck, she'd never had one of those before. That was awful) having stolen her strength until all she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep. Killian nodded thoughtfully, glancing down at their joined hands. "Then sleep Swan. Close your eyes and dream of tomorrow."
He hummed to her, a beautiful lilting thing she didn't even know he could do until she opened her eyes and there was daylight streaming through the windows of his cabin, his hand still held loosely by her palm, calm blue eyes peering back at her.
"You didn't go to sleep, did you?" She means to sound accusatory but her voice is roughened and softened with sleep.
Killian merely grins, smiling at her. "I needed to make sure I didn't turn into an octopus at midnight love. Besides, you snore quite adorably."
And Emma can't help it, she laughs.
She watches him sleep, in Camelot.
He'd tried to stayed up with her, fought valiantly for three days before finally succumbing to sleep this night. It reminds her of his mortal status, how weak and breakable he seems to her now that she feel the dark hum of immortality in her veins.
She watches as his chest rises and falls, the pattern of it soothing her like nothing else (except perhaps her midnight sojourn when she checked on her son, making sure he was okay too.) It's a new thing to her, this fear of separation. But he and Henry made the darkness abate, leave her alone for a few hours and Henry would have so many questions if she asked to crawl into bed with him.
So she curls up beside him, never touching, and watches him sleep. Smooths out his brow when it wrinkles, accepts his touch when he blindly reaches for her. It works, for the first few hours.
But even though she's next to him, she's alone. He's lost in a dream world she can't bear to tear him from and the darkness creeps in again, whispering for her to go. Retrieve the dagger. Take on the strength to protect his precious breaths forever.
She's down the hall in a strange room before she knows it, Gold's form cackling at her as it calls for her to do it, to take down Regina's pathetic barrier and claim the power to keep them alive, forever.
There's a noise in the corner and she shoots blindly, narrowly missing his head and oh god what would that spell have done if it hit him?
He's half-dressed. His pants still unlaced and vest still unbuttoned, coat thrown hastily over him as she walks in slowly, as if she's a frightened cat.
He's probably right, the way she feels like her skin is peeling off. The way the darkness is taking over the space she once occupied, consuming her until there is nothing left of Emma Swan. Fuck, she hasn't felt so small since prison.
And isn't that just a lovely drag down memory avenue?
"It's just us," He whispers in her hair, fearless in the face of her nearly decapitating him as he holds her loosely, allows her room even as he's beside her, making the darkness his and crawl back in its corner. "Just you and me."
But in the corner of her eye, she can spy him the shadows. The darkness just waiting for him to fall asleep again, for her to be alone and prey again.
Emma whimpers, her knees buckling as he swears in her ear, his brace hard against her back as he keeps her upright, half-carrying her to the nearest seat and laying her down with a whispered, "Emma."
She reaches for him but she's afraid to touch, terrified he'll vanish in smoke and this will all have been a dream, leaving her alone in the world again to fight the hum in her blood for vengeance, for power.
"Now dearie-"
Emma whines again, her hand inches from Killian's distraught face as he touches her body, trying to sooth and find the damage as he murmurs to her. She knows him now. Knows he is trying to glue her back together with his love, with his own very soul.
But Emma Swan doesn't own her own soul now. Isn't the captain of this ship. He can't soothe what's been taken from her because there's no room for either of them here. Just the darkness. Just the song of magic and malfeasance and evil crawling over her, drowning her.
"Now dearie,"
It's some kind of PTSD, she can recognize objectively. The way she clings to him in bed when she once craved air. The way she wraps around him until every line of his body is on hers, her head against his chest so she can count the beat of his heart: alive and moving. She should probably go see Achie.
Emma just snuggles closer, presses deeper into his chest.
"Swan," He murmurs, his voice heavy with sleep and guilt cuts into her for disturbing him. He's been so tired, so tired since coming back. Since being reborn. Since the Underworld where they said goodbye and she thought him gone forever-
She shuffles closer.
"Can't sleep, love?" He asks her hair, his naked wrist coming around her ribs and Emma welcomes it, the weight of his limb so she can feel him better.
But, they're fine. Really. Nothing to see here.
"Go back to bed," She whispers, kissing the center of his sternum before resuming the careful count of his heart. Thud-thud-thud. Seventy-three. Seventy-three beats per minute is perfectly normal. Perfectly healthy. Thud-thud-thud.
"Not unless you sleep too. What's got your thoughts all tangled up, hmm love?" He asks, blinking the dreams from his eyes and no, he needs his sleep. She doesn't know what dying did to his body but she's sure he needs to sleep.
"It's nothing. Go back to bed, Killian." Her voice comes out like it's been raked over coals and she hates it because she knows now that he's alert, feels it in the shift of muscles as he tangles a hand in her hair.
"Emma, I'm...I'm fine sweetheart."
No, she wants to scream. You died and I killed you and Hades tortured you and Zeus brought you back and nothing, nothing is fine about any of this. But her mouth is full of ash so she just presses her nose against him, trying to hide the shiver that goes down her spine.
Killian sighs wearily, turning them slightly until there's space between them but Emma can't have it. She can't stand the air between flesh on flesh and she's scrambling against him, trying to bring herself level again because no, no, no. She can't let go. He'll disappear. Just like before, leaving an empty space where he once resided. That open, gaping cavern that was left behind when he died and-
He pushes into her, half-hard and barely moving, but it's such a welcome invasion, such a delicious and reassuring filling of the emptiness that she stills, letting him turn them both to their sides and draw her thigh further of his hip. "Right here, love. Always, always beside you."
It's gentle lovemaking that follows but she doesn't protest this time. So feverishly glad that he exists to knit her together, to fill the space inside her until he can't leave her. She can't leave him. They're a one-celled organism as his cock pulls and pushes into her. The heat simmers, building so slowly she's taken by surprise when her body clenches around him, trying to tighten her leg so he can't pull away.
He doesn't, coming with her and hand reaching over to pull her closer, unconcerned about the fact that there was no condom and a mess will soon happen. It's just the two of them. Alive. In the same bed.
Emma can't bear to let go.
"I'm not moving Swan," Killian rasps against her forehead. "Go to sleep, I'll be right here in the morning."
She does and he is. Mess between them and all.
She doesn't know why she thinks of it. It's been years since her half-thought dream when she was sixteen, wishing for a bed and a space that was her own. It's days before her wedding and she's awake, exhilarated and in-love and it's the oddest place her thoughts could possibly wander.
But she has to smile to herself, chuckle a little at her teenage self because here she shares a bed, a home with another human being and nothing could make her happier.
She's promising to share a life in two days time. Think of that, a life.
But she can, she is. Because she finally has enough space to spread and grow and be her own person and Killian doesn't gnaw into that. He isn't invasive. He's supportive and encouraging and simply beside her person, excited to see her spread her wings and follow her where she goes.
Who would have thought love could be like that?
"My love, I can hear your thoughts turning. What's going about that pretty head of yours well before daybreak?" He yawns as he asks, a giant, sweeping thing that makes her grin and shuffle closer.
The action makes him wrap his wrist around her ribs, his hand sweeping up and down her back as his smile kisses her temple. "Nothing. I'm just-I'm happy, you know."
He kisses her again, nudging a thigh through her legs and pulling her half on-top of him. "Hmm? I'm glad for it then. But even Saviours need their sleep, love."
Emma chuckles then, her breath warm against his neck because yeah, she's tired but she's nearly giddy, bouncing on her toes with joy because this man wants to marry her. Wants her forever and isn't that truly what she wanted at sixteen? Not to be alone, but to be with someone who would be beside her? Wasn't she just settling for her own space when what she truly needed was someone next to her to inspire her?
Really, she was a moron.
"You know, I distinctly remember a Swan who didn't snuggle, as you would say." His voice is light, punctuated by him pulling her even closer. "Tell me, when did the Swan start turning into an octopus at midnight?"
It's an old joke, what she told him originally about his sleep patterns on his ship and now undeniably true about her because she doesn't sleep unless she hears his heart under her cheek, his fingers against her scalp. She's greedy for it, and it just makes her grin again.
Because it's their space.
She gives the soft spot on his sternum a lick just to make him whine before she settles closer. "When she fell in love with a pirate, I suppose."
It's meant to say half in jest but she feels his body roll, the way it always does when she says those words. The way his breathing hitches like it's the first time and god, she hopes that never stops.
"I love you too, you know?" He murmurs softer, closer to her ear and without the joke, just the closeness and the the wonder and her heart thuds against her own ribcage.
"Yeah," Emma sighs, glinting at the diamond on her finger. "I figured that was the point of the ring on my finger."
It's supposed to come out as a joke, but her voice cracks halfway through because the orphan inside has decided to come alive tonight and she still can't quite believe that someone wants her forever, especially this man.
He seems to sense it because she's suddenly totally on-top of him, knees meeting shins and elbows to ribs and everything is uncoordinated and punctuated for a moment before it is absolutely, totally perfect.
"I love you, Emma Swan," He whispers and meets her eyes when he does until she blushes and kisses him, waiting for him to inevitably sing her to sleep. Which he does, dork.
She wakes in a messy splay of tangled limbs and awful hair and morning breath and-she's so totally, utterly happy.
For a minute.
"What the hell do you mean, you're not staying here?" There's a thin reed of panic in her voice and Emma douses it quickly because she's an idiot and he's marrying her. He's not running away with her father into the sunset.
(She's also never conjuring that image into her mind again.)
"A seafaring man does not take superstitions lightly. The last thing you and I need is a stitch of bad luck."
And while fear is still thrumming through her veins, his words soothe her, make a small smile appear on his face because, what a total nerd. A nerd who loves her and is afraid of century-old tradition just to make their wedding perfect.
Fuck, she loves him.
A little bit of trepidation must still show on her face because he sways into her space, gentle crinkle at his eyes. "After tomorrow, there'll be no getting rid of me."
And it's the perfect thing to say, it really is. But little orphan Annie has decided to show up and she can't stop the, "Promise?" from rising to her throat any more than she can stop the weather.
He doesn't seem to mind though, face full of affection and hook gliding across her hip as he nods. "Aye."
He kisses her sloppily, his own grin getting in the way and that's what sells her. He's just as excited as she is, just as bubbly and elated and stupid and it's perfect, that kiss. So she let's him go, watching as he walks out the front door (their front door) with a ridiculous jig of his eyebrows and it makes her laugh and settle.
Of course he's coming back. He always come back.
His phone rings thrice before it wakes him from his sleep and Killian answers it before he's truly awake. The Dark Fairy set upon them. Emma is in danger. Henry has been kidnapped-
"Hello? Hook?" The lad's voice is distorted through the device but he recognizes it, sitting up against the headboard as adrenaline begins to spike his blood.
"Aye lad, what is it?" Just hours ago he asked the boy to be his best man. Was it something as benign as losing the rings? Or has the crocodile's mother truly come for-
"Er-it's not…" He's awkward and while normally Killian finds his teenage fumbling endearing, his heart is too filled with dread tonight.
"Lad, out with it."
"It's...it's mom. I think...I think she's having a nightmare."