The small paper bag came down with a thud in the empty space next to him on the bench, followed by the one person he most wanted to see in any other circumstance but this.
"Brought you some fries. Henry said you liked them…after you stole a few of his today," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice, the genuine happiness, but he couldn't bring himself to turn. No. He couldn't be greeted by the brightness in her emerald eyes, nor the softness he would find in an expression so hardened by years of pain that moments like these were fleeting…like a gentle breeze as the sun beats down from above.
"I'm not hungry, Love, but I appreciate the gesture." He saw her turn entirely to face him from the corner of his eye. It was almost as if he could feel her searching his soul, using her superpower.
"Come on. After a long day of searching for someone missing and finally finding them? I'd be hungry. I spent years in this business. In fact, I know exactly how you feel right now." She was trying to sound encouraging, but he recognized the desperation in her words. She wanted to understand. But she couldn't. And his inability to allow her that understanding was tearing him apart.
I wish you did, Emma. I wish you knew how I felt.
"It was nothing I did. Apart from being affiliated with the sea and therefore a possible connection to the missing prince, I served no purpose in the rescue effort." His peripheral vision allowed him a quick glimpse of her shoulders falling, though she refused to give in as she scooted even closer, her thigh resting against his. He could feel her warmth, a stark contrast to the cold night air, but where he should have found comfort, instead he found pain. Like a knife in his heart. Though that would have been a far more forgiving form of torture.
"I know that you think you don't deserve anything…recognition or thanks or toasts to your name," she said as he immediately recalled the moment her father had raised his flask in gratitude for saving his life. A moment followed by a memory that would be his only comfort…and his curse. He knew what it felt like to have her lips on his…the way all time seemed to stop around them, leaving just the pair of them alone in the world. For that memory, he was grateful…because he would never know it again. "You may be a pirate, but that doesn't make you any less of a good man. Any less a hero," she added, the certainty in her voice staggering.
He closed his eyes, his resolve not to turn faltering…crumbling to ruin with everything he'd ever hoped for. His love was a curse. Milah. Liam. And…and Emma. Everyone he loved was destined to be taken from him. But he wouldn't allow her to meet their fates. He'd gladly take the pain if it meant sparing her any more. The power inside her…the power that he witnessed firsthand, was a part of what made her who she was. And he wouldn't take that from her and allow the Wicked Witch to win. She'd lost enough. He wouldn't sacrifice her for his own cowardice…his own selfishness.
"I trust you," she said softly, as if he'd said the words aloud. As if she could see into his heart…into his every thought. "It may not count for much, but I believe in you, Killian. Even if you don't believe in yourself."
When he opened his eyes again, she was gone. He turned…just in time to see her vanish into the darkness of the night, blonde waves blowing in the wind. He reached into his vest, pulled out his flask, and after brushing his thumb over the place where her lips had once been, emptied its contents onto the ground beside him. He reached over to retrieve the paper bag, retrieving the plastic container inside and opening it to reveal its contents. Without thinking, he placed one of the fries into his mouth and chewed, and though he neither needed to eat nor had the desire to, he took momentary comfort in the act…as if Emma and Henry were still with him, even if he had to do everything in his power to keep them away. They had become his family. The family he'd always longed for but now knew he could never have. It was then that he noticed a cup sitting next to him on the bench, hidden initially by the bag. He poked a hole in the closed top with the tip of his hook and lifted it to his lips, immediately overwhelmed by the sweetness of the liquid and the subtle spice that accompanied. He recalled Henry ordering a drink earlier that morning, saying that it was somehow special…something that he and his mother often shared. And for just a moment as he drank this special concoction, Killian no longer felt alone.