A/N: I'll be ignoring Hyde and his friends for a while. Set in a semi-AU world where they actually make it home before Killian gets sucked into the Land of Untold Stories. Because they deserved some slack after going through the Underworld. Chapters are sequential but for the most part can be stand-alone.
Warnings: Sexual content. Vague, non-clinical descriptions of PTSD. Also, language but thus the rating.
Disclaimer: Clearly.
She's shaking by the time they reach the house.
His Swan: his beautiful, strong, saviour of towns and slayer of demons, is shaking in his arms.
"Swan?" Killian tries to keep his voice from alarm, he really does. He knows everything is a more than a touch overwhelming, it is for him as well. He's still reeling with the realization that he was restored to the living by the bloody god of Olympus. He can't stop touching her, can't believe he is allowed to touch her again. Robin's death and their last goodbye and everything in between….Killian is so elated and so in love with this woman and half in shock at everything that has happened and more than a little terrified. So he gets it, he knows that the initial joy would fade and they would have to sort through the murky waters of what everything else means. But he's never felt her tremble like this before and no amount of rationalizing what a crazy fuck-up their last few days (months) have been can keep him completely calm at the sight of the woman he loves seeming to fall apart in his arms.
She doesn't respond. His hand is wrapped tightly around her middle as they pass the threshold of their home-their home, the Dark One's house-cornflower blue doorframes and all, when her legs finally give out.
"Emma!" Hook is no longer even attempting to restrain his fear. He feels her knees buckle just as the door shuts behind them and suddenly he is supporting all of her weight. Her slight weight.
"Oh, Emma, love, when was the last time-?" She ate, she slept? Hook cannot finish the statement. Guilt wells up in him. Emma had always been slender, but possessed the kind of power that made her a force in any room, and now she is light in his arms. No longer the woman who took him down with a sword and a look at a lake. Killian looks, really looks, for the first time since the graveyard and behind the soul he adores, sees her pale complexion and the waning shine in her hair. His hand is pressing on rib bone and not the solid presence of muscle he was so accustomed to. For the first time since he has known her, Emma Swan seems small.
She is still, of course, Emma Swan so she waves him off with a tired left hand. "S' nothing Killian. It's just adrenaline leaving my body. I'm just…" She sighs and struggles against him until he has to sit to continue holding her, bracing himself against the entry wall.
Swan is daft is she thinks he'll let her go despite her shifting, and after another moment she exhales and leans her head back against his chest unresisting.
Killian rubs soothing circles on her back with his good hand and keeps her trapped against him with his other arm as she continues to quiver gently. In the quiet, his clever eyes begin to catalogue additional changes the unfavourable time has wrought upon her. In addition to the slightness, Emma has deep purple marks under his eyes and deepened wrinkles lining her cheeks. The skin of her elbows is chafed, fingernails blunted and uneven.
(While she never kept them long and painted like Ruby, they have always been perfect little ovals that were so Swan-esque he smiled endearingly every time he had noticed them.
"I'm going to file a restraining order if you keep grinning like a madman while staring at my hands."
"They're lovely hands, Swan."
"Seriously, Killian. It's creepy."
"Tell me Swan, are your toenails in such pristine condition as well?"
"Oh My God. Please tell me you don't have a foot fetish."
"Darling, I am quite sure that there is not a piece of your body I would enjoy devoting time worshipping."
"I-How-How the fuck did we end up talking about this?")
It occurs to him then, that while his body (if not his mind and spirit) has been returned to him at the peak of physical capacity by a god, hers has not. Hers bears the markings of sleep deprivation, of darkness, of exhaustion, of grief.
Hook turns his head to kiss her cheek. "Swan," then her nose.
"Do you think you can stomach something to eat, love?" A kiss drops on her brow.
He feels more than sees her shake her head. "Alright then love, let's get you to bed. I quite suspect it's missed your company for some time now."
His words seem to do her in, and Emma goes from shaking to sobbing in his arms at a rate alarming enough to break Killian's heart. She turns into him, her head resting against his chest as her hands grasp tiredly at anything they can reach: his jacket, shoulders, hair. Loud keening noises erupt from her chest in between his name and Hook and it's all Killian can do not to break down with her. He tightens his hold on this magnificent, broken woman as if he could physically keep her from falling to pieces: unfolding his legs and pulling her fully into his lap. He uses his hook to secure her grasp around his neck, urging her to rest her chin in the crook of his shoulder. His bad arm bands around to keep her from swaying away with the force of her cries, and he pauses only to slip her boots off before her feet are tucked under.
"Swan-Emma, it's alright. I'm here. I'm here and alive and you're safe and we're home," Killian hushes her as best he can while stroking from her crown down to her back what he had learned was a soothing motion.
("Why is it always my hair?" She slurred, naked in rented bed at Granny's and in that post-coital daze of intimacy and honesty that he treasured as much as the force of their orgasms.
As his hand was still combing through the blonde tresses, Killian though better than to deny his fascination. "Do you dislike it?"
Green eyes blink dazedly and a tiny furrow appeared on her brow. "No, it's not...it's nice. I just-is that like a you thing or a Neverland thing or a pirate thing?"
He blames it on the afterglow for how long it takes him to register exactly what the thing is she's discussing. Because he knows she's had a bloody run for it, but her hair looks like bloody gold and he can't believe no one has ever given her the simple affection of caressing through the locks.
Killian would simply have to rectify that. "It's a Swan thing.")
His very being longs for that simple moment back at Granny's as he imagines that his shoulder droops under the weight of her tears. Time stretches and stills as her violent shuddering and loud keening begin to slow and quiet. Worn muscles seem to protest the force of her grief, weakening her until she's merely whimpering, sprawled boneless across his chest and fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket with a terrifying refusal to let go.
"Swan," Killian's voice calls softly once she finally falls silent, his fingers going up to entangle hers and release her death grip on his jacket. "Up we go, it's time to rest."
She makes no indication that she's heard the words but nor does she struggle when he lifts them both, her legs folding about his waist and arms coming around his neck in a practiced move. She slides at the first step, so Hook readjust for her dead weight to swing her legs over his brace before moving up the staircase and into a bedroom neither had ever slept in.
Killian fumbles for a moment, the blinds drawn in the room to eliminate all light. He cradles her to his chest with his bad arm so he can feel against the wall for the damn switch that activates electricity.
"Love, can you tell me where-" He gives up with the sentence already out of his mouth. She's been past the point of actual words for what seems like hours now. However, his fingers manage to stumble on the switch and Hook lets out a small sigh of relief as dim lights floods the room from a bedside lamp.
"There we are Swan." He's fairly certain she may have passed out and the sentence leaves his lips unbidden, a force of habit. It reminds him of when they first returned, memory-wiped from Camelot. He had engaged in one-sided conversations with Emma then too.
("Granny's coffee is shit this morning, love." He spoke to his cup.
"Gray skies at sunrise this morning, it'll rain by nightfall. Remember a jacket Swan." Leroy had shot him an odd look as he pulled his boat in by the docks.
"The Queen has been especially delightful today. Won't you come tell me if she mucked up Camelot so I have cause to flay her with my hook, lass?" Archie looked ready to approach him as he overheard, walking by with Pongo.
"He's crying, Emma. You made your boy cry. Love, come back." Belle had ushered him into the shop, pulled out a glass, and poured him a shot. And then a several)
Killian shakes the memory from his head, pulling her impossibly closer to remind himself of her presence. That the silence does not mean that she is out-of-grasp and he is alone. He resumes his task, surveying the room as he crosses.
The large bed is imposing in its aesthetic austerity, the gray comforter clearly a choice of a darker being. The curtains are navy. In the low-light, he guesses the walls are storm-coloured. The lamp and bedside table are of dark, neat wood with perfect lines and edges. The rest of the space is empty and the sheer wrongness of everything makes Killian hesitates until he hears Swan whimper underneath him. His grip tightens and suddenly he doesn't care about all the wrecked memories and dark places this room holds. All he is concerned for is the well-being of the clearly run-ragged woman in his arms.
Hook shifts as he goes to place her gently in the mattress. He moves around to black slacks, one hand deftly pulling the uncomfortable fabric from her legs. The dark dress smock soon follows, leaving her in a tank-top and underwear when he finally pulls her hair from the tight-looking ponytail. The long locks are still damp from the rain as he detangles them gently through his fingers. Emma shivers at his touch and he frowns before quickly relocating her under the sheets and pulling the heavy comforter over her, bundling. He has half a mind to run downstairs and grab one of the uncomfortable looking kitchen chairs to place by her bedside so he can stay up and watch over her. He know's that if he curls up around her in bed, he'll fall to the siren call of sleep, worries be damned.
However, the moment he goes to pull away, tiny hands jerk awake to claw at his hands, wild green eyes popping open. "No. no. Don't leave. Don't leave again Killian."
If her voice wasn't so hoarse, he might have laughed at the idea of Emma pleading with him. Since knowing her, truly knowing her, he's never been able to disobey even her inclinations. (With the caveat that whatever she desired wouldn't harm her.) However, her tone is worn from crying so instead, with a murmured swear, Hook undoes his jacket and shirt; followed by hook and brace. "Hush love, I'm right here. Right here."
He slides onto the bed beside her and Swan lifts her head, hair falling in disarray across the monochrome pillows. She reaches for him with trembling fingers, tugging at the button of his jeans until Killian takes over, bringing the hand to his mouth for a swift kiss before following her command and slipping out of his pants and leaving him-
("Killian, jeans are not leather. You need to wear boxers."
"I assure you that I am well aware of the different texture the clothing of your realm is. However, those awful...male undergarments of your realm are bloody worse than bologna. I've never felt so constricted in my damn life, Swan and I've had three-hundred years worth of wanting in leathers."
"Wanting, really? You talked dirty the entire time you were going down on me last night and you can't say erection? Anyway, those were briefs, Hook. Boxers aren't that bad, I promise."
"I assure you I have no qualms about speaking of the carnal, merely with the lack of poetry in your colloquialisms. And you promise Swan? Had much experience with male anatomy in undergarments, have you?"
"You know what, fine. You are your stupid poetry can chafe all you want in jeans."
"You adore my poetry, Swan. I felt how wet it made you every time I said quim last night. I could simply talk you to completion, my love."
"...If I ever hear Henry refer to it as anything but a vagina, it'll be the last time you ever have an orgasm."
"Bloody hell, love. Your son? Were you trying to ruin the mood?")
-bare.
She's got the tank-top halfway off her head, and Hook lets a clicking noise before moving to lift the garment the rest of the way, soothing hand and stump down her arms to urge her to lay back.
"Let me care for you Swan."
Emma complies easily enough, and that is perhaps the most telling sign of how tired she must be. She is nearly a rag-doll, letting him maneuver behind her back to release her bra, sliding the straps down. His fingers hesitate slightly at the hem of her panties, searching her face until she presses a hand to his chest, its fellow curving around his jaw. Wordlessly, he nods and pulls the delicate garment down her legs before discarding it, caressing up her flank as he returned to face her.
This is far from the first time they have been naked before each other but it is the first time Hook feels his throat close with sorrow rather than lust. He swallows, feeling his adam's apple bobble with the tenseness of his own throat. Blue eyes begin to burn.
Her stomach is no longer flat but concave. Long, pink marks scratch along her torso, her arms, her legs. (He knows she must have been to drained to use her magic to heal herself when she returned, but his stomach clenches riotously as he contemplates whether the Queen was to wrapped up in her grief to be bothered or if Emma hadn't asked, had wanted the marks to scar.) There's a deep gouge right above her sternum he can't even contemplate and her eyes are unfocused, lacking the fire that guides him through the dark night.
(And her perfectly-kept toenails are bent and bruised, the smallest toe on her left foot looks like the nail has been ripped in half.)
All this, and she is still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, her love for him lingering at the dampness of her eyelashes as she looks back at him. She looks at him like he is Zeus, like he might raise the moon and breath life into every creature. She looks like she has half-died and has no qualms about it given that he is the reward. And this, this is the truth that makes him swipe at her face quickly, needing to be strong for her.
"Love," He bows his head and breathes the word into the taut muscle of her belly, quickly followed by a reverent kiss. "Love, love, love," Each word is punctuated with a tender kiss as his mouth climbs his way up her belly to her sternum and finally to her waiting mouth.
"My darling, my sweetheart, my Swan. I love you." Killian breaths into her mouth before kissing her chastely.
Quiet tears began to pull down her cheeks and he brushes them off with his thumb as he sets his weight gently against to reassure her of his presence, to reassure himself of hers. She sighs, her fingers simply pressing into every patch of skin she can reach while she blinks disorientedly through the wetness in her vision.
"Killian...please," She looks so hopeless in that moment. So unlike herself. It breaks him.
"Emma, love, what? Anything. What do you need?" He whispers into her sternum, long dark strands brushing her collar. He's afraid of speaking above a murmur, of raising the sound as if it would shatter her bones. Hook has already promised himself that come hell or new villain, she is staying in this bed for days.
Weeks, she had promised him. Weeks.
"Please, I need you...I need you inside of me."
He stiffens and feels his eyebrows lift even though he's pressed too close for her to see because he's not even sure he could perform with the particularly cutting blend of love and elation and grief swirling around them, and he is damn sure she can't.
"Emma…" Hook raises his head to study her face, trying to read what she's truly seeking.
(He's an observant man and he's long since been his favourite study in subtitles and underlying meanings)
Slowly, not taking his gaze off her, his good hand trailed down to touch lightly between her legs. Unsurprisingly there's no sign of wetness. Of need or want.
Emma shifts, moving her hips onto his and forcing a hiss to leave him. "I-I just need to feel you, please Killian."
She's begging. God, she's begging. Never in a million years was Captain Hook prepared to deny a lovely, wanting woman begging in his bed; nevermind one he loved. Brow furrowing, he slowly slides one finger into her unprepared, tight sex, still hawk-eyed on her face and ready to change course in an instant.
And hears a small noise of discomfort.
Immediately, Killian swears, goes to withdraw his ring finger only for her hand to come down and clench on his wrist, forcing it to stay inside of her.
"For gods' sake, Emma stop this," He tries to pull his hand from her suddenly iron grasp; their movements just stirring the finger inside her and he sees her face pinch in pain as she manages to manipulate his index finger inside her as well.
He wouldn't have even needed to be staring frighteningly at her face to know. He can feel how unwelcome his touch is, the walls of her cunt tight and resisting on his fingers. Killian goes to yank his hand from her grasp (surely, if she couldn't even stand before, this untimely surge of strength must end) but the movement just causes her to toss her head as her pelvis twitches in hurt. He stills then, too terrified to do more harm and breathing rapidly with confusion and fear as he mentally begs her to turn and face him again. To make whatever the bloody fuck is going on in her head stop. The gears in his head turn until it clicks, and then all thoughts slow and screech to a halt as dread wells up from deep within in.
"Swan, please no." He places his face on her breastbone and reaches with his bad arm to turn her chin so he can meet her lost green eyes.
"Please. Please my love. I don't want to hurt you." He doesn't care how wrecked he sounds and wishes he had taken Dave's advice and simply gone up to his old rented room with her at Granny's instead of back to this house; if only so the old wolf could hear his cries and pull the shotgun out on him for ungentlemanly to the town saviour. Anything to stop this madness, because for the first time Emma is asking him something he cannot give.
She keeps one hand trapping his wrist and the other goes to his length, stroking it through his sleepwear. It would be arousing if not for the wetness still falling out of red-rimmed eyes and the dryness between her thighs. "I killed you."
"No. Emma. No. No. No. No. You saved me. You don't deserve-Swan, STOP," His voice raises to a pitch as he feels her hand on his begin to curl and move his fingers inside her in time with the hand wrapped around his cock. Her interior muscles twitch at each movement and for moments, he's simply too overwhelmed to move, oscillating between terror and horror.
Gods knew if he hurt her now, hurt her in this way, he'd never be able to make love to her again. His stomach flopped uneasily
(Did Zeus give him anything to regurgitate? He knows he hadn't eaten anything as a Dark One, or when dead, but he felt so ill he felt he may turn and expel his new guts on the floor.)
He has only ever wanted to make love to this woman. To make her feel good. Now he is-
"A pretty, blonde distraction"
"An anchor." It's his words. Fuck, those are the things he said to cut into her being echoed back. A scythe slips into his lungs, stealing his breath and he breaks.
Liquid trails from his eyes, and he jerks his torso and mouths every swatch of her skin he can reach, leaving wet kisses and heartbroken tears. Her collarbone. Her breast. Her chin. Hook can barely inhale but he pushes out nonsense words of affection against her skin as he goes.
"IloveyouIamsorryIwillneverleavepleasedon'tmakemehurtyouIforgiveyouthosewordswerelieslove"
He has no idea if she can decipher what he's saying or if any of this will work, but Killian has to try something. His stump is caressing anywhere his mouth can't reach, chin nuzzling gently across her skin. He has to get her to wake up and end where this is going because it's ruining him.
If he hurt her…. If he hurts her again, gods, he'll never be able to live with himself. (The irony)
Without realizing it, just weeping quietly into her skin as he clutches her to him with his arm, head lying above her heart and intermittently pressing his lips gently to her flesh. Hook is trying to wrap her soul up in his, to protect her from her demons in whatever way he can even as her touch keeps trying to coax his length.
Slowly, he feels the hand around him slow until it finally withdraws. The fingers manipulating his wrist follow the same action, until the tight grip goes limp. Without delay Killian pulls gently, quickly, from her depths and rolls himself onto the opposite side of the bed, shaking and silently wetting the sheets.
The night ticks by until his trembling subsides and Hook is relatively certain he won't lose his stomach over the side of the bed. The panting noise he heard dimly registers as his own rapid breathing and he forces it to slow, inhaling sharply and longly. He keeps his own hand out of his line of sight but even as he quiets, Killian picks up the sound of sniffling in the room. Without conscious decision, he turns to face her.
Swan is curled up like a child, her legs pulled to her chest and her too-thin form shaking visibly as she tries to stifle her tears. Limp blonde hair pools down her back and suddenly he can't watch. Even if the idea of touching her right now makes him physically sick he can't-
His first touch is tentative, just a hand stroking up and and down the wings of her back. She arches away from him and lets out a harsh noise, attempting to curl deeper into herself.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so so-" He makes her whimpering through her cries and his heart clenches. His brave, beautiful, tired, guilt-ridden Swan.
Killian just pushes himself closer, close enough that his chin rests on the curve of his shoulder and he carefully manipulates his arms so they lay limply around her: bad arm under her side and the other hanging against her waist. He noses her neck for a moment, contemplating his next move and still too afraid that she'll try to reenact the horror show of a few minutes ago to embrace her fully.
Emma seems to read his hesitation though, and a broken sound tears from her throat. It's as though her body is too exhausted to go through the full measure of sorrow and it's simply being wrenched and drawn out. Hook wants to stop this as much as he wanted to stop her hurting from before, so he presses his hand lightly against her side, squeezing once and moving his legs so her cold feet align with his warm calves.
("Love, I'm going to have to ban you from the bed if you don't start wearing socks. Those are little icicles you call toes. Have you always been this cold?"
Shrug. "I never got used to wearing socks to bed as a kid. It's too weird to start now."
"Feet chill with rising adulthood, Swan?"
"I never had enough socks. It was a waste to use them at night."
"Ah." Shuffle. Legs lift and shift.
"Killian, I know my feet are freezing. Get them out of your legs and go to sleep."
"Actually Swan, I think this will work quite nicely. I can keep you warm in the cold months and you can keep me cool in the warmer ones."
"It's Maine. There's like three hot days a year."
"Shush Swan. Go to sleep.")
"It's alright darling, I've got you. I know. I've got you." He murmurs into her hair rocking slowly back-and-forth until her body finally gives in and stills against his. He keeps his light movements, waiting and listening for her breathing to even out. He continues to cradle her gently and knows, deep in his soul, that this won't be the last difficult night. The worst, (he hopes, begs, prays-gods) but not the last. Instead he kisses the top of her head and murmurs sweet dreams and promises of devotion into her ear even as he fights nodding off to drift off until he hears it:
"Love you, Killian. Love you.." She's half-murmured it into her pillow, surely followed by a pile of drool and a final, long exhale until her breaths slow and sleep overcomes her.
And despite the anguish of this night and the myriad of fights and questions and doubts he knows they have to overcome in the coming days, the words give him hope, give him faith that-
(even though it will take a lot of work and patience and time)
as sure as day-
They'll make it back to home. Back to each other.