All Hope Abandon Ye Who Enter Here
He should feel better, less guilty now.
After all, he made up for his sins when he sacrificed his life. It was nothing more than the right thing to do, of course, the good form he finally remembered after he woke from the haze of his crazed crusade for vengeance. He saved Emma, her son, her family and friends and the entire town when he finally withstood Nimue and all her dark successors, in the last moment overcoming the darkness within himself that was trying to rip him apart. He was the man he wanted to be when he finally destroyed the darkness once and for all (at least, that's what he thinks).
He should feel better. Alas, he doesn't.
Yes, Storybrooke is safe now. Yes, he's freed Emma of the darkness, of the command of the blasted blade. He's given her back her life, her future... but oh, the pain, the pain he inflicted on her before. The cruel words he uttered, the venom he poured over her, over the woman he loved more than his own life, more than his own soul. The woman that loved him, that had believed in him, allowed him to become part of her life. Yes, she has made mistakes, too – turning him into a Dark One has been her worst decision. Trusting him, believing in him, in his strength to overcome the darkness together has been her biggest mistake. Because he wasn't strong, wasn't worth her trust. He wasn't worth anything. She fully took the darkness for the sake of prying him from death's cold fingers; she kept that painful secret from him and everybody else for the entire time since they came back from Camelot, enduring that everyone turned their backs on her – including, in a way, him. And all the time she was trying to figure out a way to save him, them from the darkness and sparing him the truth. The truth of what he'd done. The truth of how easily he'd fallen. Back in Camelot, he hadn't resisted more than a few bloody hours before completely succumbing to the darkness... and in Storybrooke, as soon as he had his memories back, he went on full revenge mode, literally opening the gates of hell to let the darkness fully into this world and snuff out the light, instead of fighting it by her side.
He failed her, the one thing he's sworn to himself he'd never do. And yet, he did.
Before all of this happened, she has constantly insisted that he has become a hero, a good man – she has been so determined to emphasize it again and again that finally he started to believe it himself. Well, now he knows better. He knows that he has been right all along: he isn't worthy of her, has never been and will never be. She might grieve over losing him now, but she's better off without him. Which is exactly what her friends and family surely will be telling her right now (perhaps along with a few I told you so) – and hopefully convince her to continue living her life and seeking her happiness without him, probably secretly relieved they won't have to fully accept him into their lives where he never belonged. Emma having a future – yes, that is enough for him. And for all the villainous deeds he's done in the three centuries of his lifespan he'll gladly accept the punishment that's in the cards for him.
But what this place is, he's not sure, hasn't grasped the concept yet. He's heard stories of the Underworld, but no one had ever come back from it to tell the tale, so he has no idea of what's really expecting him. He assumes though that first he'll have to pay for his sins before he can move on to a place where maybe some of those he has unfinished business with will be waiting for him, which could bring both peace and pain. Hopefully, he will see his Liam, his brother who saved his life, his best friend, idol and father figure he could never say goodbye to. And his father, the man he's slain with his own hand – the man whose words, despite the terrible way he'd failed him and Liam, gave him the ultimate push to overcome the darkness and decide what kind of man he wanted to be. It's time to make his peace with him, to tell him that he's forgiven him – and to ask for his forgiveness. He hopes he doesn't find his other brother here though – the one whose life he ruined, the one whom he condemned to the life of an orphan. Reckoning that he was a child when Killian killed their father and contemplating the real time that has passed since then, Liam Jr. has to be about his age now – way too young to die. The day shall come, of course, when he will be waiting for his brother – to beg his forgiveness for robbing him of his childhood with his father.
At the moment, though, he's obviously still in the stage where he's being made pay for his countless misdeeds, because yes, he is suffering. Not physically, although being chained up like this isn't exactly comfortable. But the pain, the torture he has to endure are more of the emotional kind.
He has shackles on his right wrist and above his left elbow; the hook is gone, but as if to mock him, they left the useless leather sheath on his forearm when they chained him up. He looks like he's about to be physically tortured, naked from the waist up and with his arms forced spread, leaving his torso exposed and vulnerable. But Killian knows that's not going to happen: the whole time he's been here (and he's lost count of how many days – weeks? – there have been) nobody has ever done him any bodily harm. He doesn't know about other souls trapped in this godforsaken place, he only knows that his punishment is to be thrown back into the black pit of self-loathe and despair he dwelled in before he met Emma Swan, and even after that. To snuff out any hope that there would ever be anything else for him than that – and to make him understand that this is his own fault. Because he's just not worth it.
So, his shirt was torn off, and the scar just below his ribs flares a deep, fresh red, same as the matching scar a little higher on his back – a daily reminder of what he put Emma through, forcing her to run him through, to kill the man she'd allowed herself to love after a long time, with her own hands. He can only hope that she'll ever recover from that.
He doesn't eat or drink or sleep; bodily needs are non-existent in this world of the dead. But whereas it doesn't cause him physical pain it still has started to take its toll on his body. His eyes have dark shadows under them, and his cheeks are a little more hollowed than before, jawline sharply chiseled. The golden tan of his skin has faded into a much lighter tone, his dark hair forming a strong contrast. While the cut at the left side of his long throat sticks out against the greyish paleness, the twin freckles above it burn angrily.
His torturers vary – he's sure it's never the same blasted demon, even if they always bear the same face and outer appearance: Emma's. But, perceptive as he is, he's gotten good at telling the slight differences in their mannerisms as they try to imitate the woman he will love to the end of the world, or time. Today it's the one that has perfected the timbre of Emma's voice and her wording almost to a t. Unfortunately, this makes it especially hard for him to bear in mind that it's actually not her but just an impostor trying to push him deeper and deeper into the pit of despair with every word. Even if he closes his eyes and refuses to look at her, he still can hear her voice, her words trickling into his soul like liquid dreamshade, poisoning him from within.
Her exterior is not perfect, her too green eyes lacking the tiny golden flecks in them, and her hair is just that one nuance too light, but her voice – oh, her voice. This demon's voice always manages to lure him in; it's strange – he's aware of the place, and he knows that it's not the love if his life that's regularly coming to him with the sole purpose of inflicting pain with her words. He knows it. Yet, he falls into the trap every time before coming to his senses again, and every time he breaks a little more.
The demon's Emma-voice is sad now, but with that steely armor she uses to wrap around it when she braces herself against yet another disappointment from people she cares about. "You failed me," she presses through a tense jaw, "you said you'd always choose to see the best in me. That you'd never stop fighting for us, never let me down." She takes one step nearer, lets him see the hurt in her eyes, the dull shade of rejection he inflicted upon her. "But you did," she continues firmly, "you turned your back on me and stopped loving me."
Killian shakes his head fervently. "I never..."
"You let me down!" she interrupts angrily. "When I needed your trust, your love the most you let me down. You betrayed me!" Her voice vibrates, and it's like she runs him through all over again. Oh, he knows it's not Emma who's accusing him, but he also knows what the demon says is true: he did let her down, the real Emma, his Swan. But he didn't intend to, he did not abandon her, betray her, he did not... she needs to understand.
His voice is pained and croaky when he contradicts, pleads for understanding. "That's not true! I..."
"I trusted you," she shoots her next arrow, as sharp and pointed as the blade of Excalibur. "I thought you were the one to stay. I let my walls down for you!" Her voice starts to quiver now as she continues to rub salt into his deep, deep wounds. "I thought for once I mattered!"
His fist clenches, causing the cords in his forearm to twitch. "You always mattered!" he blurts out, annoyance suddenly gripping him as he snaps out of his agonized state and the realization trickles in again – that this is not his Swan talking. It is not, because he knows one thing for sure: he will never again hear her voice.
"And you lied to me!" she continues her accuses, not faltering yet. "You said I didn't have to worry about you, that you'd always survive... and then you died on me, on your free will, made me kill you! How will I ever be able to overcome this? You abandoned me!"
Angry sweat breaks out on Killian's forehead and neck as he barks: "That's enough!"
The demon, unimpressed, shakes her head in feigned sadness. "I wanted a future with you," she complains, and he notices she's getting sloppy now, because Emma's voice sounds whiny, and Emma Swan never whines. "A white picket fence life. A family. Babies…"
He rattles furiously at his chains, the muscles in his arms rippling, completely fled from her spell now, and growls through clenched teeth: "I said back off, demon!"
But the spirit masked as Emma steps so close to him that he can smell the creature, and if he needed any proof that this isn't his Swan, he has it. The smell is but a grotesque imitation of what he remembers: the heavy note of vanilla is sickeningly sweet, and the added scent of cinnamon is so sharp it stings in his nostrils. The demon tries to copy the imagery found in his head, those precious memories he harbors there, but fails miserably.
The hag raises her hand to his cheek, and he clenches his jaw, forcing himself not to jerk away his head. He is not going to give Hades that satisfaction. The only hint betraying his tension is the way the cords of his neck are strained. The demon's touch won't be able to really affect him anyway, because no demon could ever be skilled enough to imitate the loving touch of Emma Swan. Still, it's never a pleasurable thing. He braces himself for the touch, but before his skin makes contact, the face in front of his transforms into a grimace, eyes dropping down in surprise, and his gaze follows hers with a frown. The point of a cutlass appears out of nothing right below the figure's breastbone, and yellowish smoke instead of blood seeps through the cut. At the same time Emma's voice can be heard, surprisingly clear, but not coming from the hag's mouth this time.
"Get your mitts off my man, demon!"
The figure in front of him dissolves into a cloud of black dust. At her place appears yet another demon masked as Emma. Killian rolls his eyes. Really, it's starting to get boring. But then, of course, the Lord of the Underworld knows exactly his weakness. And his weakness is still Emma Swan, and will be so until all eternity.
"Killian!" the new demon croons in a really, really good imitation of his Swan's voice, he has to admit; it's so good that the skin at the base of his neck prickles. He focuses his eyes on the new apparition, and if he didn't know any better, he could be fooled: the illusion is perfect, more perfect than the others that tormented him before. Her expression is compassionate and seemingly full of affection, her skin has that shine he remembers all too well. His manacled hand itches to touch her face, and he curls his fingers back into a fist. She even has tears in her eyes as she looks him up and down. "Oh, What did they do to you?"
He raises his eyebrow. "Very smart," he snarls instead of an answer, "I'll give you that. Offering a ray of hope only to snatch it away again. Perfidious."
The green eyes widen. "Killian, no," she protests, "it's me!"
"Aye, of course," he snorts and gives her a look full of cool, controlled contempt that would put any Dark One – if those still existed – to shame. "Tell your master I can play this game for all eternity, if I must."
She takes a deep breath and raises her chin in a gesture that seems oddly familiar… until he realizes why: it reminds him very much of the princess bandit, Emma's mother. Damn, it sure looks like Hades is raising the stakes. He notices that she's wearing the long silver chain with Liam's ring around her neck. Bloody hell, this is a really good one... and for a moment Killian falters and licks his lips nervously. "I'm real," she avouches firmly and takes a step nearer, adding in an almost pleading voice: "You have to trust me."
"I've heard that before, as you know," he fires back, hiding behind his anger again to silence the confusion in his head, "didn't end well. You should have chosen a better memory to try and manoeuvre me with."
She shakes her head. "I can prove it," she insists. "Remember that damn bar wench you kissed?"
"Of course I remember," he snorts, the vein on his temple throbbing angrily. "I was there. I saw it. I know it was you. What is that supposed to validate?"
She ignores his snide remark. "But what you didn't see," she goes on, "is that on our way to your ship I stumbled and almost fell." He frowns, his eyes narrowing, trying to figure out what she's playing at. Her eyes bore into his searchingly, as if she's trying to read his mind. Then she continues: "You swept me up in your arms and carried me aboard the Jolly Roger."
And suddenly, he remembers – he remembers that moment from thirty years ago, not because he – this version of him – has witnessed it, but because his past version has lived it, only to forget it shortly after. He'd blamed it on the rum, but now he remembers... only now. This is nothing any demon – nor Hades himself – could have pried from his mind, because he himself hadn't known it. And suddenly, he's there again, back in that night, back with the mysterious, beautiful blonde that somehow disappeared from his ship and his consciousness – but somehow always came back and haunted his dreams. He took her to his ship, and then... the fog lifts, and he stares at her – at Emma – with eyes as huge as teacups, and his lips move on their own accord. "I've carried rum barrels heavier than you," he murmurs tonelessly.
Emma swallows and nods, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. Tentatively, as if not to scare him, she steps closer yet, and now he can smell her... the fleeting scent of vanilla mixed with leather, and something else, something that is unmistakably and undeniably Emma. His Swan. She is here, right before him. A wave of happiness washes over him, only to be immediately replaced by a terrible feeling of dread. She is here, but she shouldn't be. Because here is hell, the Underworld. The home of the dead. Fear grips his heart with cold, cruel fingers. There's only one possible reason that can explain her presence in this forsaken place.
"Emma..." he whispers in despair, allowing himself for a moment to savor her name on his tongue again, "what did you do?" He shakes his head desperately, his voice broken. "I did everything to make sure you'd live and have a future with your family, your lad... how could you leave them?"
She frowns. "What?" Then her eyes widen as she understands. "Oh... you think I'm dead?"
A muscle in his cheek twitches. "This is the Underworld," he points out. "No living soul is allowed here."
A smile curves her lips despite the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes; it's the girlish one he loves so much on her, the one she has all too seldom a reason to show. "Yet, here I am," she replies, as if she wants to reassure him that he's definitely not hallucinating, "alive." She moves a little closer and pries her eyes away from his face for a moment to examine the chains and shackles closely.
He still can't wrap his mind around what's happening here and scrutinizes her face for any hint that she's not her true self; he finds none. "You're alive?" he echoes, the disbelief in his hoarse voice evident.
Her smile fades a little. "You don't seem all too happy about it," she comments dryly.
He grips the chain that fetters his right hand and rattles it angrily, the clattering sound making her jump. "Bloody buggering hell, Swan!" he blurts out. "Are you insane to come here?!" He flinches with sheer physical pain at the hint of hurt in Emma's eyes. Doesn't she understand? Of course he is happy to see her; of course he is not. She should not be here, because it's dangerous and pointless anyway – however she got here, it will bring both of them nothing but torment. "What for even?" he adds in exasperation, his voice a little softer now.
She raises her hands to his face, and this time he doesn't flinch. When her soft palms touch his scruffy cheeks he thinks he cannot bear to lose her again, but he knows he will, and that nearly breaks him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to revel in the sensation for just one brief, fleeting moment. Emma takes his face in her hands and replies softly: "What do you think? I came here to save you." Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, grow misty again, and he can't even bear to look into them – because the pain for himself is too much, and because he doesn't want to see her pain when she'll have to let him go once more. It was bad enough the last time, when he tried to comfort her with the soothing touch of his hand against her face while the life was trickling out of him.
But he cannot put the moment off any longer, much as he might want to, and shakes his head, full of sadness and regret, still unable to look at her. "You cannot save me," he tells her flatly, "I'm dead."
"That's negotiable," she says, and the answer is so unexpected and cryptic that Killian's eyes snap back to hers. The expression he finds there – a mischievous sparkle, full of cheeky lightness – seems completely inappropriate for the whole situation and therefore so confusing.
His eyes narrow. "What are you saying?" he inquires. "And how did you even get here alone?"
Emma grins again. "But I'm not alone," she replies. He frowns as she nods her head to the back of the dimly lit cave where footsteps can be heard falling on the rocky ground. Killian squints his eyes to detect something in the darkness and finally sees two familiar figures slowly appear out of the shadows: David and Mary Margaret. At first he thinks his eyes must be deceiving him after all that time in the semi-darkness, but these are definitely Emma's parents making their way carefully across the uneven ground, and he can't wrap his mind around one thing: if Emma was determined to come to this forsaken place to try and get him back, if they couldn't convince her that she was better off without him, they would of course accompany her and try to protect her, so it's not the biggest surprise in itself that they are here. The actual surprise is that they are not looking at him in a hostile way, like they're blaming him – apart from all the rest – for luring their daughter back into danger... no, there's actually a worry shadowing their faces... a worry that dissolves into relieved smiles when they lay their eyes upon him. Like they are glad to see him. Like... like they actually came down here for him. His jaw drops as he looks back at Emma again. She smiles. "I brought our whole family."
The meaning of her words is not lost on Killian, and he shakes his head in disbelief. When he finally finds words to say, his voice is croaky. "You're all insane," he blurts out almost grumpily, and David and Mary Margaret exchange a grin.
"That's what I said," comes a sharply clipped voice from behind, and he sees that the surprises aren't over yet. Regina followed Emma's parents on their heels and steps forward into the dim light now. "But does anybody ever listen to me?" she goes on and throws her hands in the air theatrically. "Of course not." She walks past the Nolans and up to him, eyeing him up and down for closer inspection, a tiny hint of worry on her face; but obviously she's satisfied with what she sees and goes on in her usual, slightly arrogant voice without looking him in the eyes. "Miss Swan here is insufferable without you following her around," she snarls and turns her attention to the shackles and chains that bind him, "so we had the choice of either living with her constant complaints or follow her."
He looks at Emma again who presses her lips together in a smile and tilts her head in a shrug, then she asks Regina quietly: "Is it safe to undo them?"
"Nothing more than a finger exercise," the former Evil Queen comments nonchalantly, her voice almost bored, and applies her magic to undo his shackles with barely as much as the wiggle of a finger. She's standing so close now that she has to tilt her head back a little to be able to look at him. "You don't look too hot," she murmurs, "your guyliner needs refreshing." Her words are snarky, but he hasn't missed the hint of softness in her voice that betrays her.
His "thank you" is parred with a dismissive wave when she steps back again to make room for Emma. He brings both arms to his front when they're released and moves hand and wrist tentatively. When he realizes he's finally free from his chains he looks at Emma and instinctively reaches out for her, not that she actually needed the invitation. With a little choked-up sound she moves into his embrace and wraps her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his long neck and mumbling incoherent nonsensical words mixed with his name. Killian still can't believe this is really happening; he pulls her even closer and buries his face in her hair, inhaling the scent he thought he'd never smell again, marveling at the softness of her body against his he thought he'd never feel again. Her presence is all warmth and comfort and unaltered love, and slowly a tingling sensation is seeping through the numb shell Hades has reduced him to: he feels like he's coming to life again. While David and Mary Margaret are watching with happy smiles, Regina rolls her eyes – probably just to uphold her regal facade.
When they eventually pull apart a little, David steps forward and hands Killian wordlessly the leather jacket he has taken off. It's not like it's cold down here – actually, Killian's torso is covered in a fine sheen of sweat – but being naked from the waist up, exposing the enormous scar that brought him here in the first place, gives him a vulnerable air and also somehow deprives him of his dignity, and David is having nothing of that. Killian accepts the jacket and the gesture with a grateful nod and slips in on after Emma releases him reluctantly. "Thanks, mate." The roughness of his voice betrays that he's not only talking about the leather jacket.
David nods back. "I owed you a life," he replies, perfectly catching the drift. "And I was tired of your backstabbing puns."
Killian snorts a little laugh – and feels another tiny flicker of life trickle back into him at the humor. He doesn't even remember when the last time was that he genuinely laughed or even smiled. Then something unexpected happens; Mary Margaret steps forward and looks at him as if she wants to say something, but no words fall from her lips. She just slowly raises her hand to Killian's face and puts her cool palm briefly to his cheek, her eyes growing misty. He doesn't move as much as an eyebrow and holds completely still, accepting the affectionate, strangely motherly gesture. She nods with a smile, as if she's stating that everything's alright now before she lets her hand fall and steps back again. He wonders what else is coming
"Can we take this lovely reunion elsewhere already?" Regina snarls.
Killian frowns; he forgot they were still trapped in the Underworld. "But how?" he asks. "One does not simply leave the Netherworld."
"Not unless you have the permission of its Lord," Mary Margaret remarks matter-of-factly.
"What are you talking about?" he wants to know. "Why would he give us the permission to..."
Emma wraps her arm around Killian's waist as if to make sure he won't slip through her fingers again. "I made a deal with Hades," she throws in.
His head snaps around to her. "You what?"
"He thrives on despair, and his greatest pleasure is to snuff out hope," she explains, to which Killian grimly nods. He has gotten a taste of that. "He promised," Emma continues, "that if I – we – made it to you alive and managed to convince you that we're real and came to save you, he'd let you go."
He leans back to scrutinize her properly, blue eyes full of doubt. "Wait... just like that? Without getting anything in return?" He looks suspiciously at them all, one by one. His Swan has done something incredibly stupid already once because she didn't want to lose him; but he will not accept any sacrifice from anyone, not this time. "Why would he make such a deal?"
Emma shrugs. "He was sure we'd fail and then he'd get all six of us."
He frowns in confusion, his gaze sweeping over the family. "Six?" he echoes.
Regina motions her head towards the back of the cave again where once more footsteps can be heard. "Robin stayed a little back with–"
"Killian!" a young voice yells, and he feels the shock like a punch in the gut when he realizes that it's Henry who emerges from the dark with quick, hasty steps, followed by Robin, almost running towards him when he sees that Killian is more or less okay.
He turns to Emma with an incredulous face and a slightly annoyed voice: "You brought the lad here?!"
Emma shakes her head a little sheepishly. "There was no way we could keep him from coming."
"Stubborn like his mothers," David comments.
Before Killian can react in any way Henry has reached him and flings himself at him in a hug that almost knocks the breath out of his lungs, and he stumbles a little. The boy lets out a dry sob of relief as he buries his face in Killian's chest and Emma presses her lips together in a smile, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.
Killian squeezes his eyes shut puts his hand to the back of the boy's head for a moment; his jaw clenches, and his face is crunched as if he's in pain... and in some way, he is. "Henry, I'm so sorry for..."
The boy raises his head and looks at him, his tears having washed two clean paths across the dirt of the Underworld that has dusted his face. "For what you did?" he finishes Killian's sentence for him and shakes his head. "What you did doesn't matter," he tells him firmly, "what you are does."
Killian swallows thickly and averts his eyes, unable to withhold the boy's affectionate gaze; he has yet to stomach the fact that so many people care enough for him to undertake such a perilous endeavor, because he surely doesn't deserve it... and then this display of unwavering affection of the lad he almost killed in his murderous lunacy. "My boy, I..."
"The man who died to save us," Henry emphasizes and releases Killian from his embrace but still stays close, "again."
Killian shuffles his feet uneasily, clearly not knowing what to say, and David is the one to sense how heavy this all weighs on his mate. "At least this time, I had nothing to do with it," he throws in dryly, his pun having the desired effect: everybody grins, and even Killian snorts another hoarse little laugh and snaps out of his guilt-overwhelmed state of mind, at least for the moment. David knows that his best friend – yes, he realizes, I came not only here to save my daughter's love but also my best friend – still has a rough and painful time ahead to deal with the repercussions of those few hours and days when he went fully dark; he's determined to do whatever is in his powers to help him through it, but now their priority must be to get out of this godforsaken place as fast as possible.
"Well, mate," Killian says in a slightly croaky voice, as if he's slowly pulling himself together, "looks like I've simply had a bit of ill luck with blades lately."
"Yeah, about that," Henry chimes in again, "when we're back, could you just stop dying for a change? That would be great." His voice is far from being as nonchalant as his words sound, and Killian finally decides that he can no longer reject this just because he thinks he doesn't deserve any of it. These people are here because they care for him, because they love him in one way of the other. They risked their lives, their souls to get to him and save him, and he owes it to them – and maybe also to himself – to let them guide him home into the light again instead of selfishly dwelling in his misery. Isn't this what he always secretly wished for? To be accepted, to be welcomed into a family, a new life, to prove himself worthy of other people's love and friendship. Yes, it's time to be a part of something. He'll have to deal with the guilt, but perhaps he won't have to face those bumpy seas alone either. Looks like there will be plenty of friends willing to be there for him, as they are here for him now.
He nods down at Henry with a crooked smile. "I'll try to remember that." Then, with fresh courage and determination, he gets down to business. "So, let me get this straight – Hades promised you he'd let me leave without demanding anything in return? Because I shall not allow..."
"Killian, he gave us his word," Emma interrupts firmly. "He won't be delighted, but he'll stick to it."
"Well," Mary Margaret throws in, "he's not the first one to underestimate the determination of our family to save each other." Her eyes rest on Killian's face as she speaks, and he has to avert his, scratching behind his ear. Really, how he deserves all this loyalty after all he's done, he doesn't know.
"And he won't be the last," David agrees. "He had no idea that we... went on many a rescue mission and have experience."
An appreciative grin curves Killian's mouth as he shakes his head in amazement. "You bloody outwitted the Lord of the Underworld. And you call me pirate." Suddenly, the sass comes naturally again, and he snorts. "He will not be happy about that deal you made."
"Actually, who negotiated it was Gold," Emma tells him, a brief shadow flickering over her face; he makes a mental note to ask her about it later. Normally, he would inquire right away because he can feel that something vexes her, but deal or not, he won't rest until all of these people have left the Underworld safely, this must be his top concern now.
"Bloody old crocodile..." he murmurs, "screwed whoever makes a deal with him."
"Believe it or not, he wanted to help," she replies in perfectly normal voice, but the way her jaw's set betrays that there's more to it than just that.
"Alright, Charmings," Regina's sarcastic voice interrupts his thoughts, "I don't know about you, but I want out. The exit is this way." She points her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of where they all came from.
"She's right." Emma nods. "Just one thing." She reaches behind her head with both hands and takes the silver chain with Liam's ring off; before Killian can protest, she hangs it around his neck, silencing him with a menacingly raised finger. "You said this was what kept you alive," she almost snaps, "you take it off, and the same day you..." She has to swallow before she can continue with a slightly croaky voice, "You die. So take it back and just shut up."
For the first time he catches a glimpse of Emma Swan's very own ordeal... not only did she have to see him die twice in the course of about three weeks – she's also been forced to kill him herself in the most brutal way. He asks himself how she dealt with that during his absence – or if she even dealt with it at all or just retreated into her shell again. He realizes that he's not the only one who will need time and comfort to heal from all the wounds. Without further ado he nods and inclines his head the tiniest bit so that she can slip the long chain over his head. When Liam's ring settles coolly below his sternum the relief on Emma's face is clearly visible, and much to his surprise she turns to Henry with a smile. "Your turn," she encourages, and the boy's face lights up.
"Oh yeah, right!" he exclaims almost enthusiastically. Killian frowns in confusion, but that's quickly cleared when Henry slips his backpack from his shoulders and opens it. "I have something that belongs to you," he says almost proudly when he reaches inside to pull something out.
Killian's eyes widen when he sees what the lad is holding in his hand: his hook. The steel attachment has been removed from its leather sheath when he was shackled, and the last time he saw it, it was bloody and dented, and he shivers at the thought. It's clean now as Henry is eagerly holding it out to him, but Killian hesitates. The hook has been a part of his life for a long, long time, and seeing it so bloody somehow reminded him of the awful things he's done with it. He's hit a woman, threatened and killed people, ripped out a heart. Henry frowns at his hesitation and moves his hand invitingly, and other images flash before Killian's inner eye, images about the times he used the hook to fight villains, to protect and defend loved ones. And finally, he reaches out and takes it from Henry who is smiling broadly now. When he clicks into its place, the lad grins appreciatively. "That's more like it," he comments.
"Fine," Regina snarls, "now that he's pieced together – let's go." And with that, she firmly turns around, Robin by her side. Emma and Killian follow arm in arm with Henry close beside them while David and Mary Margaret bring up the rear.
It takes them surprisingly little time – only a few hours – before they reach the exit of the Underworld, and nothing and no one on their way tries to attack or even hinder them. More than that, they don't see a single soul, neither living nor dead, no creature of any form. Hades has obviously every intention to keep his word and has told his demons to stay away from the intruders and their passenger and let them leave unharmed. So it happens that they are sitting in the small boat in silence, just listening to the lapping of the waves as the ferryman quietly rows, Emma and Killian placed in the back this time, as if the others have made an unspoken accord to give them some sort of privacy.
Even if Killian is the one they just rescued, the exhausted – the tortured – one that needs to recover, he has wrapped Emma in his protective embrace. Some things never change, she thinks gratefully as her head is leaning against his shoulder, face buried in the crook of his neck. Her minds is blank; she's aware that she – they – will eventually have to deal with the repercussions of what has happened to them, what they have done. But for the moment, she's happy just having him back, feeling him beside her, wrapped around her – breathing, warm and alive, so very alive.
She raises her head to look at him when she rather feels than hears a little hum in his throat she can't quite identify. "What?" she inquires.
He glances down at her, the faint trace of a smile in his eyes. "You went through hell just to get to me," he murmurs, his voice full of wonder.
"Just?" she repeats and shakes her head, full of regret and disbelief that he still can't wrap his mind around the fact how much he means to her. "Don't you remember what you told me a long time ago?"
He raises his eyebrows, and her heart flutters at the familiar habit. "What's that?" he asks.
"I need you alive," she tells him, and both smile when they remember that moment, and Killian can even appreciate the irony – they had known each other for perhaps half an hour, and his fierce Swan had held a blade to his throat already twice. They surely have a thing with blades. Emma tilts her head, her gaze searching his questioningly, making sure that he's really listening. "Don't you know, Killian? You are my happy ending."
A warmth fills him again, and his lips curve into a touched smile. "Looks like that part of our story hasn't been written yet," he tells her softly, and then – because he is Killian Jones and will always disapprove of himself somehow – adds while his smile is fading, "I'm sorry I couldn't be the man you deserve..."
"Oh stop it, Killian, please," she cuts him off, "that wasn't you."
He averts his eyes for a moment and shakes his head. "No, love, I cannot – and will not – whitewash myself with that excuse," he declares firmly. "That was all me." His jaw clenches. "I was weak, and I'll have to live with that."
Emma flinches a little at his self-deprecating tone, although she should have known this would be coming sooner rather than later. "But in the end, you won," she reminds him. "The good in you. You fought back, and you won." He looks back at her again, and she continues, "You're the strongest and bravest man I know, and I won't stop telling you that until you believe it." Her gaze is intense, her green eyes boring into his, as if she wants to make sure he hears and understands every word she's saying. A wave of warmth washes over him as he basks in the love that's displayed so openly on her face and seeps into him through every pore of his body; he swallows and nods, not knowing what else to say. He isn't sure she'll ever convince him of what she just said, but for the moment it's enough to soothe his soul that she's determined to try.
Emma reaches for his hand, reassuring him that she means what she said and reassuring herself that he's indeed real – alive, safe and coming home with her. Suddenly all the pain and exhaustion of the past weeks take their toll; everything that has happened since she tethered the darkness to herself to keep Storybrooke safe – her slow descent into the darkness despite Killian's never tiring effort to keep her in the light, what she did to him to not lose him again, what he had to endure because of her – crushes into her now heavily, is about to break her, and there's no darkness left inside her to keep her at least a little numb. He's seen to that. She looks at him probingly, searches his eyes, afraid of what she might see. She hasn't forgotten the rage and cold contempt he's displayed towards her after Zelena's revelation. She knows it was the darkness inside pushing him to utter those horrible words, but she can't deny the feeling that she somehow deserved them for what she'd done. "Killian..." she whispers, "please, forgive me..."
A shadow creeps over his face, and her heart sinks when he slightly shakes his head. "Don't."
But she can't stop. She knows this is not the right moment as they are both emotionally drained and physically exhausted, but she needs to get this off her chest. "This is all my fault," she blurts out. "What you went through..."
Killian shakes his head firmly. "You tried to save my life," he reminds her.
"By depriving you of your free will and turning you into the thing you hated the most!" she lashes out at herself. "And I didn't do it for you, Killian, it was for me!" she confesses and averts her eyes, not longer able to look at him. "I did it because I couldn't bear the thought of having to live without you!" She shrugs helplessly with tears in her eyes, a girlish gesture that makes him want to wrap her in his arms and protect her from any harm forever. "I was just selfish!"
It's breaking his heart to see that turmoil on her face, that feeling he knows only too well: self-loathe. But his Swan, she of all people, shouldn't have to go through this, not when all this happened because she committed an heroic act in the first place and because of her love for him. "Emma..." he murmurs softly, soothingly, "don't do that to yourself. This is all behind us now."
She shakes her head, unable to contain her guilt she's kept bottled up for so long. "But how could you ever..."
"Forgive you?" he finishes the sentence for her and gives the answer right away. "How could I not forgive you when you did all of this because you didn't want a future without me?"
Finally she dares to look at him and is once more, like so many times before, overwhelmed with the unconditional love she sees in his warm blue eyes. "Do you... do you still want that future?"
Killian tilts his head a little and gives he one of those little smiles that barely show on his lips, but shine all through his eyes, the fine skin around them crinkling in those lovable lines she saw in her dreams many times over the last few weeks, the memory one of the things keeping her sane. "Of course I do," he answers her softly, "it's all I ever wanted since you kissed me for the first time." He cups her cheek with his hand. "I love you, Emma Swan. Now and forever." Fresh tears spring to her eyes as she presses her lips together and leans her face slightly into his palm as if in search for an anchor, finding it once more in him, unable to reply. "When I give you my brother's ring the next time," he continues firmly, "– and I will do it – it will be because I'm proposing."
It's not much later that they arrive safely home, and if he thinks he'll receive a frosty welcome from the townsfolk, he's wrong. On the contrary, everyone seems eager to make it as easy as possible for him to settle back in again. They make him feel like he belongs there.
There are nightmares, yes, but he doesn't have to face them alone, because Emma never leaves his side. They spend a lot of time in the company of the family, and he's grateful for that, and he feels indeed like he's a part of something; no one allows him to feel any other way, it's like they're spinning a protective cocoon around him and Emma. The nights they spend alone, finally together, and he thought it would be difficult for both of them to spend them in the house he picked, but it turns out to be surprisingly easy. But then, it's not such a big surprise at all – they are together, holding and guiding each other through the nightmares and the pain and slowly back into life, and nothing else matters than that.
Three weeks later he gives her Liam's ring again.
She doesn't protest.