And it's kind of funny
The way we're wearing anchors on our shirts
When being anchored or bored
Just feels like a curse
There's been six weeks of nothing. Since Ingrid left, there's been six weeks of complete and total quiet. The most trouble they've had to deal with is Will's drunken adventures, but even those are limited, since there's not much to get into in such a small town, especially when it's common knowledge that there are two very powerful women in town who have control of magic. Six weeks of quiet meant six weeks of sitting at home, six weeks of doing nothing. And though that may have once appealed to Emma, six weeks was a long time to go without any excitement.
They had settled into a routine – Henry spent Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays with Regina and Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays with Emma (she got an extra day with him because two of Regina's were on the weekend), and they would all meet for breakfast at Granny's before taking him to school, although generally whoever he was staying with just got coffee to go, and the other mother would eat with him and walk him to school. Killian spent most nights with Emma at the house she bought with a view overlooking the water from the back porch, although occasionally he would go back to his room at Granny's, but those nights were becoming more and more rare. They did everything together, all day long, and that was completely new to Emma, who had never had anyone to do that with before, not even as a friend, and perhaps that was why she snapped. Or perhaps it was her not-so-deep-down insecurities that fueled the swell of irritation in her chest when she found him out on the back porch, leaning against the railing and looking out at the water, fingers tapping out a rhythm that sounded a lot like impatience on the wood.
"Maybe you should just go," she said from the doorway behind him, the monster in her heart telling her to say the words she didn't really mean.
"What?" he said, surprised, not even knowing she had been standing there.
"It's obvious you're bored with us, so you should go." Her arms were folded over her chest, shutting herself off from him.
"I'm not bored, Swan," he said earnestly, and confusedly.
"Yes you are! You're always looking out at the water, dying to get out there and have adventures the way you used to, so maybe you should." Emma was fighting desperately to hold in the tears that were threatening to build up in her eyes. She knew that she was saying ridiculous things, knew that it wasn't true, and yet she also believed herself, believed that he would shrug his shoulders and take his chance to get out the second she gave it to him.
"I'm not… Swan, I don't want to leave. I miss the sea and the Jolly Roger, but –" But the monster in her heart cut him off, not willing to let him try and comfort her.
"Then you should go! Go find her, your beloved ship, and go back to your glory days of rum and women! You're so stuck in the past so go live in it!" she yelled, and she could tell that he was getting angry now, that she had pushed him enough to make him start fighting back.
"I'm stuck in the past?" he said with the air of exasperation. "I'm not the one who carries relics from my former boyfriends with me wherever I go!"
"Killian, you cannot be serious right now, that is ridiculous!" Emma shouted, completely taken aback by the pirate's sudden outburst.
"I assure you, Swan, I am quite serious," he replied, looking very grim.
"You have no right to be upset about this," she said, turning on her heels and marching back inside the house, her anger mounting with every passing second that he stuck with this whole stupid thing.
"No? Can I not be a little displeased that the woman I love keeps mementos from all her past boyfriends with her all the time?"
"Not when you have a tattoo of your ex-girlfriend's name on your arm!" He swore furiously in response, slamming his arm down on the table and getting his hook wedged in the wood, causing him to swear again as he tugged it loose and wrenched the damn thing off, flinging it onto the table.
"That's different Emma, primarily because it's considerably more permanent, I can't just take it off anytime I please." He paused, shaking his head. "Besides, Milah…it was years…she wasn't just some fling…"
"And Neal was?" she retorted incredulously.
"No, but Graham –"
"Graham died because of me! Regina murdered him because of me!"
"No, Regina murdered him because she was the Evil Queen and that's what she did back then."
"Well, she didn't decide to murder him until he kissed me, so…"
"And August? He didn't die, so why keep –"
"Because! Because I want to! You don't get to decide what I keep or don't keep!" she yelled, whirling on him. She was getting visibly angry now, pacing the apartment with her hands on her hips.
"But why do you want to?" Killian pleads, although his voice is still rough with anger.
"Because I want to remember them, because I cared about them, because they were a part of my life! Why is that so wrong?" He doesn't say anything at first, doesn't answer, just turns away from her and runs his hand over his face. Emma's anger softens the tiniest bit at the feeling in her gut that there is something more, something he's not telling her. "Killian?" she asks, sounding a littler harsher than she meant to.
"Come on, it's easy, say I never mattered!" he shouts, catching himself and Emma by surprise. Every last bit of anger she was holding on to evaporates in that instant.
"Killian, what are you talking about?" Again, he says nothing, too embarrassed by the words he let out to say anything more. "Killian, look at me." She says it in a tone that brokers no argument, and he turns to face her, though it is not until she forces his chin up with her finger that he meets her eyes. "You matter to me more than anyone else has ever mattered to me in the entire world."
"Except Henry." The way he says it, she can tell that he knows it's a silly technicality, but he has to point it out because he just can't believe her words. No, it's more than that, he's not hearing them at all.
"Henry is different, he's my son. But Killian, you… you're…" she's struggling, at a loss for the words to describe how much he means to her. She placed his hand on his cheek and rubbed her thumb back and forth soothingly. "I don't have anything of yours because I have you. I don't need something to remember you by when I can come home to you every day. When you're in my heart every second that I'm not holding your hand. But maybe…" she hesitated, aware of the implications of what she was saying, "maybe one day, you might give me something anyway." He didn't register what she was saying until she took his hand in her left, interlacing their fingers, and he realized what she was saying about their future (one day). She could see the moment the insecurities left his eyes (for the moment, at least) to be replaced by relief.
"I'm sorry, Emma. Truly. I just –"
"I know. It's okay, Killian. I'm sorry too." He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled into her neck as her fingers ran through his hair, massaging his scalp. They held each other for a minute, healing the wounds they had opened during the fight.
"I love you, Emma, so very much," he whispered into her neck.
"I know, Killian. I love you too."