For Jenny. It's been a pleasure corrupting you.
A Moments Light
He's a man with many demons, but this woman will not be one of them. He's chased her for too bloody long just to give up and leave her to the fate of the crocodile. He'll bring her back, has her right now only steps away. If it were only this easy: one choice, one good deed, one life spared. But he's not that naïve. He can feel the others eyes on him—on them. Parents, son, friend. They all want their time with her. Each has a story to tell, a message of hope to impart. They can wait. They're planning, plotting, thinking themselves already successful in this half-cocked rescue attempt. They're wrong, or course. The Queen knows it as well as he: one does not simply recover from this, life isn't always okay, hope isn't always enough.
She's teetering on the point of a dagger that bears her name. She's coming to know the darkness well now, can see its potential, feels it pulsing through her like the frantic beating of the heart in her hand. There are so many reasons not to crush this fragile life, just as many as there are too, and every reason is standing around her: her parents, her son, her friend, and him. They want her back, have come to her rescue; they think that they can save her but she knows they're wrong. She's already long past the point of saving.
He knows she's still in there, his Swan. He knows that sparing this girls life won't save her from the Darkness, but it might just remind her that she's worth saving. It's over in an instant, the decision made, the heart returned, and she's thrown herself into his arms. He weaves his fingers through matted hair, breathes her in as she presses her face into the worn leather of his jacket. This moment is all; its relief and love and fragile hope and he clings to it as he clings to her.
She feels him, not the oppressing dark or the rage bubbling to close to the surface. Not the manifestation of what she will become, but him. With him she remembers Emma: strength and light and maybe happiness. For this moment, however fleeting, she can feel only his arms holding her tightly to him, the stubble of his beard brushing her skin as she clings to him. Her constant. Her refuge.
He keeps her safe from herself, from demons she doesn't yet know how to conquer. He makes it go away and she won't let him go. They're all here, all for her, and she knows she should acknowledge that but he smells like rum and safety and peace and he's not saying anything to her or asking anything of her. He just is and that's enough. That's everything.