Summary: Emma Swan had been born on the cusp of the event that had changed mankind forever. A pestilence. A sickness that stripped away the humanity of those infected, those changed; abandoning the rest of the population to try and survive, not only the disease, but the crumbling of society itself. Nearly twenty-one years later, Emma finds herself at a crossroads - accept the opportunity presented to her by the handsome stranger she happened upon one fateful morning, or remain at the only home she's ever known, alone.
A/N: Though the fic is inspired by the the film What Still Remains, this is not a retelling of that story. Themes, scenes, and dialogue will be re-purposed, but major changes have been made to the overall plot. This fic features both Captain Swan and Knightrook, as well as elements of Captain Gothel. If you need any clarifications on how these relationships are presented within the fic before deciding whether or not to read, please do not hesitate to message me. I will make every effort to update this fic as often as I can, however, there will not be a regular updating schedule.
Content warnings will include: post-apocalyptic society, survivalists, religious themes, mentions of child abuse, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of dub-con, whump, munchausen by proxy, assault, and other bad things to be added as we go.
Chapter 1
A crispness hung in the morning air. Shrouds of fog clung to several clusters of trees, and newly fallen leaves crunched under her boots. Her fingers became numb under the frigid rush of the river streaming into her bucket as she collected the day's water while the gentle sounds of the morning wafted softly through the forest. The only home, only reality, she'd ever known.
Emma Swan had been born on the cusp of the event that had changed mankind forever. A pestilence, Ingrid had called it. A sickness that stripped away the humanity of those infected, those changed; abandoning the rest of the population to try and survive, not only the disease, but the crumbling of society itself.
Ingrid had told Emma and her adoptive sisters stories of the world before. There had been joy then, hope. More laughter and communities of people one could bond with, build a life with. Not like now. Now, Emma was all alone. Having lost her sisters, Elsa and Anna, to a sudden blizzard two winters ago, and Ingrid in recent months to another form of sickness, Emma's life had become one of solitude. Ingrid had made her promise, before she'd passed, to go out and find people. It is not good for man to be alone, she'd quoted. But alone was safer. People couldn't be trusted, or rather... it was difficult to know who you could trust in a world that epitomized the every man for himself mindset. No, alone was better.
Emma pushed aside those thoughts and tamped down the loneliness that threatened to creep in, blaming the now unnerving quiet of the early hour for not supplying her with enough distraction. Hauling her bucket to shore, her attention shifted to the bank across the stream. She froze at the sight before her. Two men stood with their gazes fixed on her. Predatory, inhuman stares that sent a shiver down her spine and coiling dread to knot tightly in her stomach. Were they actually men, or were they Changed?
Emma wasn't about to wait around and find out.
Grabbing her rifle, she took off into the forest. Her pursuers would have to make their way to a shallower part of the river in order to cross, she could only hope to outrun them before they managed it. Brambles and roots caught at her feet while panic pounded in her chest and rushed in her ears. She chanced a look back over her shoulder as she wove through a narrow grove of trees, and collided with a firm, warm body. The impact toppled her to the ground, her knees slamming against the cold earth before she landed on top of the obstacle barring her escape.
Emma's eyes snapped open to find vivid, startled blue one's staring back at her. Their breaths mingled in the scant space between them, and Emma's skin grew hot under the grip of his hands on her hips and the press of their bodies against one another.
He was handsome. Probably the most handsome man Emma had ever seen, though she'd not met many, just the odd trader or vagabond. His disheveled hair matched the color of his brows, which were currently positioned high upon his forehead. But where those were dark, almost black in their hue, the scruff along his strong jaw had a reddish tint. A small scar high on his cheek was the only blemish she could see on his face, and she found that it did nothing to mar, but only enhanced his appearance.
Acutely aware that she was still plastered against this stunning stranger, Emma shifted her weight with the intent of getting back onto her feet… and getting as far from him as fast as she could. Before she could put her plan into action, the sound of snapping twigs and pounding footfalls grabbed both their attentions. Several yards in the distance were the two men she'd spotted at the riverbank, momentarily forgotten by the presence of a new potential threat.
"Bloody hell," the man beneath her whispered. She gasped when he wrapped an arm around her waist before rolling them, positioning them behind a fallen log with him now atop her. A cry of outrage was cut off by his hand, clamped down over her mouth as he gave her an intensely serious stare while bringing up his other hand to shush her with his finger pressed against his lips. She gave him a nod of understanding and compliance before his gaze flicked up to the two men, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he tracked them across the clearing.
Without warning, he moved off of her and pulled her upright into a sitting position. "Which direction?"
"W-What?" she stammered, watching him pull his shotgun from the holster on his back to check its readiness.
"Which direction do you need to go to find safety?" he asked again, his focus still on the task of arming himself.
"East," she replied. "I live east." Why did she tell him that?
"Alright. I'll lead them away from here in the opposite direction. Wait a few minutes then head straight home. Got it?"
Before Emma could respond he was up and over the fallen log, making more noise than necessary as he sprinted west, leading the men away from her position. She sat dumbfounded for several long moments before finally making her way back to her homestead.
~/~
Emma had looked back over her shoulder several dozen times before her homestead finally came into view. Once safely shut inside she'd trained her rifle through the slit in the door, ready to take on anyone who might have followed her back to her cabin. Unsure of just how long she'd stood there, she finally abandoned her post when her stomach protested its neglect. It took several more hours to finally shake off the anxiety the morning's events had cast over her (especially when she'd sworn she'd heard the sound of gunshots from far off in the distance), but no sooner had she fallen back into her usual routine than the chimes on the gate at the perimeter started to sound.
Peering out through the slit in the door, Emma's stomach flipped when she saw the handsome stranger inspecting her front gate and the fence that circled the property. She grabbed her rifle from where it sat propped up against the wall and slid the barrel out the opening. It took another few seconds for him to catch sight of her, and the gun.
He balked slightly and raised his hands above his head. "I'm not sick," he assured in the same accented tone that had caused a small shiver to run up her spine earlier, as it did again now, if she were being honest.
"What do you want?"
"I just wanted to make sure you made it home alright," he answered, arms still raised in the air.
"How did you find me?"
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips even as he fixed her with a firm stare. "You should be more mindful about covering your tracks."
Emma internally cursed herself. She'd been in such a rush to get back to her cabin, and distracted by the thoughts of this surprisingly kind stranger, that she hadn't taken greater care to not leave traces of a trail. Worry flared within her. If he had found his way there, then…
"I made sure no one would be able to follow your trail," he informed her as if reading her mind.
There was a tightness in his words and demeanor that had the hair at the back of neck standing on end, prompting her to ask, "And those men?"
"You've nothing to fear from them any longer, lass."
"And what about you?" she questioned as a fresh shudder caused goose flesh to break out over her arms at the possible implication of his words (as well as the implication of what she was now sure had been the sound of gunshots earlier). "Do I have cause to fear you?"
"You're the one with the rifle trained at me, love," he reminded. His brows rose high up on his forehead as if to accentuate his point.
"Yeah, but I'm not the only one armed." His shotgun was holstered behind his back, the buttstock visible over his shoulder. "Toss your gun over the fence."
His entire countenance darkened at her command. "I can't let you take my weapon."
"Unless you want a bullet in your chest, you will."
He considered her words for a moment before pulling the shotgun free from its holster. Emma tensed at the action and kept her finger steady against the trigger of her rifle, especially when he crouched down and momentarily disappeared from view. The shotgun slid under the gate. Before he could stand upright again, Emma opened the door and made her way out into the yard, her rifle still trained on him.
"Do you have any other weapons on you?"
He sighed and bent over again. When he came back into view a small knife was clutched in his hand. Emma jerked her head, indicating that he toss it over the fence, and he complied. They just stood there staring at one another. Anxiety crept over Emma's skin. She hadn't really thought any of this through.
Reading her mind once again, the man, arms still in the air, shrugged his shoulders and threw his hands back. "So, what now?"
"Now," Emma replied with a confidence and authority she didn't actually feel like she possessed in that moment. "You're going to tell me what you're really doing here."
The man swallowed and wet his lips before answering, and Emma had to force herself to mind his words and not his tongue. Why he was having this effect on her, she couldn't say. She knew better than to let a handsome face override her good sense. She'd made that mistake once before.
"I come from a village about three days south of here. I'm out looking for things that might be of use to the community. You're the first person I've come across in days." His eyes never wavered from hers, and his words rang true. Emma had always had an uncanny ability to tell when someone was outright lying to her. That didn't mean she couldn't be fooled though, which was why she continued to hold him in her rifle's sights. "I have seeds and textiles to trade," he continued. "I can see from the forge you have on your property that one of your people works with metal? Perhaps, we could come to some sort of an agreement?"
His brows were arched again in a look of hopeful anticipation. Emma chewed her lip and weighed her options. Seeds were a valuable commodity, and not one she could really afford to pass up. Plus, he had potentially saved her life earlier, and she had his weapons, that made him a little less threatening in her estimation. Still, Emma was cautious.
She stepped forward and collected his shotgun and the small knife. "Stay there," she instructed before slipping back into her cabin to stow away his weapons and her rifle, though she kept her hunting knife visible where it sat at her hip. When she came back into the yard his hands were relaxed at his sides. He said nothing as she opened the gate, swinging it wide to allow him entrance.
He took two measured steps inside then stopped and turned towards her. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself with a small, disarming smile.
"Killian Jones, at your service."
Emma glanced at his proffered hand before hesitantly gripping it with her own. Her pulse quickened at the contact, leaving her a bit breathless as she replied, "I'm Emma. Emma Swan."
His smile broadened, causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle slightly. "A pleasure to meet you, Emma."
~/~
The sun had started to set quickly after Emma had allowed Killian entrance into her property. Just enough light remained for her to inspect the goods he'd offered and for him to show her some of the tools he had on hand that needed repairing.
"So, you're the smith among your people?" he inquired when she started rummaging through her supplies to make sure she had what was needed to do the repairs.
"Um… yeah," Emma confirmed without offering any more details.
"Well, they're lucky to have you," he continued, casually surveying the property in the fading daylight. "We had a smith once, but he left us some time ago. Did you make all of these tools?" Emma nodded her response without looking. She didn't need to, she'd made all of the tools. "You're quite skilled. My village could certainly benefit from your expertise."
Ripples of suspicion broke out over her skin. "I'm good here, thanks," she answered with a clipped tone.
"Of course, you are. I didn't mean to imply-"
"Looks like I have everything I'll need to repair those for you," Emma cut him off. "I won't be able to do the work until the morning though."
"I understand."
His eyes had her frozen in their sights again. It was getting darker, and she really shouldn't let him linger. "Yeah, so. If you want to leave them with me, I'll get them fixed in the morning, and you can come back by in the afternoon to get them."
Something flashed in his gaze. Disappointment? He smothered it quickly before reminding, "That would be grand, lass, but there's one small problem… you've my weapons. Do you really intend to cast me out without a way to protect myself?"
Emma sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as her brows pinched together. He was right, she couldn't send him away without his gun and knife. She'd have to return them, but only if he agreed to relinquish them again when he returned.
Before she could turn back towards the cabin he offered a different suggestion. "If you're amenable, I caught a rabbit earlier I could prepare for us. We could just sit out here… eat, talk, then once your people return you might feel more comfortable allowing me to sleep inside your fence?"
"I'd rather you slept outside of it." The words popped out of her mouth before she could give any thought to them. Not that it would have changed the way she felt about that part of his proposition.
He let out an amused sort of huff and smiled. "You don't trust easy, do you love?"
Her heart skipped a beat or two before she could respond. "Trust is earned."
"Aye," he nodded. "I suppose that's one way to approach life."
"It's worked for me." Emma folded her arms over her chest and tried to match the intensity of his stare. It wasn't long before she felt her determination slip, causing her eyes to drop from his.
She could still feel his eyes on her when he made a small humming sound then softly suggested, "Perhaps it's time to try something new."
Her eyes snapped back up to his, but she remained silent; unsure of how to respond to the words she knew she ought to consider, but was still too uncertain of the man from whom they'd been uttered.
Killian sighed and took his eyes off her, looking once more around the dusk lit compound. "The offer of the rabbit stands, even if provision of your fence does not. So, what do you say, love? Care to dine with me?"
Emma couldn't see any reason to refuse, so long as he agreed to let her do the skinning and breaking down of the animal. She wasn't about to trust him with a knife.
She had to give it to the man, he could certainly cook. Food preparation had never really been Emma's strong suit. Always better at catching and cleaning than actually making it into something edible. She was okay with the gardening, though not as good as Anna had been.
Thoughts of her sister set a shroud of melancholy over Emma; one the all too observant Killian Jones was quick to pick up on. "Everything alright, Swan? Something wrong with the meal?"
"No, no. The meal's fine, I just…" she let her voice trail off, then switched gears. "It's delicious. I was just sitting here thinking how I'm a pretty hopeless cook. That's always been my mother's strength. Ingrid. She and my sister Elsa w-are the cooks. Anna and I do better with supplying the food than we do actually making it edible."
It was difficult, mentioning her family in the present tense, as if they were still with her, but she didn't want Killian to know just how alone she was here.
"Aye," he said on an amused breath. "It's the same way at my village. Each with his or her own strengths to serve the greater good of the community. It's nice you've got others to help carry the burden here."
Emma kept her eyes fixed on her plate, lest she give something away with their misted over glaze of held back tears. Silence descended as they finished the meal, and Killian offered to see to the task of cleaning up since she'd been the one to break down the rabbit. As he scrubbed the utensils at the nearby outdoor basin, Emma took solace in the sound of the crickets chirping throughout the meadow just beyond the property. It wouldn't be too much longer before their music would become dormant. Autumn was on the verge of taking hold and soon after, winter would follow.
Winter. How was she going to survive the winter?
With faith and hope, Ingrid would say if she were here. Faith, hope, and diligence of spirit to make her own fate.
"Your people are believers, then?"
Killian's question jarred Emma from her musings, and she looked up to find him studying the cross that hung on one of the columns of the porch.
"Uh, yeah," Emma answered, accepting the cup of hot tea he'd prepared for them to enjoy in the coolness of the early evening. "Ingrid taught us all to read from the Bible. She made sure we studied it everyday, we even had something like a church service on Sundays." Emma took a sip of the steaming beverage, unaware of her slip until Killian shifted in his seat.
"Had?" he prodded gently. Emma sputtered into her tea cup, her eyes as big as the saucer she returned the cup to as she tried to get her mouth to form words. "Emma," Killian soothed, his eyes full of sadness for her. "You don't have to pretend any longer, love."
Her mouth fell open at the knowing look he gave her. "How? How did you-"
"You're something of an open book, Swan. I deduced you were on your own some time ago."
Anger and suspicion sparked deep in her belly and roared towards her chest. "So your suggestion to have dinner and wait to see if I'd be more comfortable once my people were back was what, exactly? What are you planning to do?"
"Nothing," he insisted. His hands lifted off the table, and he took a yielding posture in his seat to convey he meant no intention of threat. "I wasn't sure you were alone here when I made the offer, that suspicion came later."
"Then why are you still here?"
"Because I… I thought," he struggled to find the words for a moment, and Emma cursed herself for not sitting in the chair closest to the cabin door. Closest to her rifle. Had he intended that when they'd sat down? Emma couldn't remember how they'd come to pick these particular seats. Her hand grabbed hold of the handle of her hunting knife, ready to pull it from its sheath should he try anything. "I thought… if I was correct, and you were alone here, that you might like some company."
Emma balked. She hadn't been expecting that answer. Hadn't expected it, because it was honest. She'd expected him to lie. To charm and sweet talk his way out of his predicament.
"I know you don't trust easy, Swan. You've made that quite clear. And I'm sorry I didn't voice my suspicion sooner, but if I had would it have made a difference to how you're reacting now?"
Emma chewed her lip and considered his question. "No. It wouldn't have mattered."
Killian relaxed his posture, his hands resting once more on the table as he assessed her with those too blue eyes of his.
"How long?"
"What?"
"How long have you been on your own?"
"Since the ground started to thaw this past spring," Emma answered quietly. The memory rushed back to her and made her eyes sting.
"Oh, Emma. I'm sorry." The sincerity in his voice started the cascade of tears down her face. "Your mother?" Emma nodded. "And your sisters? What of them?"
"Blizzard," she sniffled. "Two winters ago." His hand slid hesitantly across the surface of the table until it reached hers. He paused for a moment before covering her hand with his, and she let him. "They got caught in a sudden storm that came out of nowhere."
"Aye," he murmured. "I remember it. We lost a few good folks ourselves."
Emma stiffened slightly when he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket with his free hand, but relaxed her shoulders when he produced a square of clean linen. After taking the handkerchief from him she worked to compose herself while Killian sat patiently, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb every so often. At first the action had been soothing, but once her tears were back under control, she worried he might misinterpret the liberty she was permitting, and pulled her hand out from under his before placing it in her lap.
"My village," he began softly, testing the waters of her temperament. "As I said, it's only a few days from here. Positioned next to a lake. Plenty of fresh water and food. People trying to build a life together." He paused, brows raised in expectant anticipation of a response to his unspoken question. "We could use a metal worker, Swan," he continued when she'd remained silent. "You'd be safe there."
Out of everything he'd said to her thus far, that last statement was the first that didn't quite sit right with her. "I can take care of myself."
He chuckled lightly and looked about the darkened compound. "Aye. That much is clear, love." His eyes settled back onto hers, a look of hopeful persuasion resting upon his features. "But our Lord says in Genesis 2:18, It is not good for ma-"
"For man to be alone," she finished for him, earning her a soft smile and nod. "Are you some kind of preacher or something?"
"No," he answered with a faintly hardened edge to his tone. "I do not hold that distinction within my village." His features softened again as he added, "Just a student of the Word. Like you."
They finished their tea, switching topics as Killian asked her about how she'd learned to work with metal and what techniques she'd planned to use for the repairs tomorrow. Emma wondered if he was simply attempting to stay in her good graces, but appreciated the lighter conversation nonetheless.
Once the kettle was empty, Killian stood and declared with a bit of reluctance coloring his voice, "It's late, and I'm an early riser, so I'll leave you to get some rest." He picked up his pack from where it rested against one of the porch supports and swung it over his shoulders as he made for the gate.
"Killian?" Emma called out. Still unsure whether or not she could trust him, but willing to give him a chance to prove himself, she nodded at the tall tree in the center of the fenced property and said, "If you sleep on the south side of the trunk it'll help block some of the night wind."
His brows lifted in surprise. 'You're certain?" When she nodded, a wide smile stretched across his face. "Thank you, love." Before she could make her way inside the cabin he called out after her. "Oh, and Swan. Think about my offer? Sleep on it at least?"
She gave him a non-committal shrug of her shoulders then walked into the cabin, bolting the door behind her. She didn't sleep on his offer. She barely slept at all. Thoughts of Killian Jones and his village swirled through her mind as the hours ticked by. A village with plenty of fresh water and food and people to do life with, just as Ingrid had wished for her. People like Killian, with whom she could converse, and laugh, and share burdens. Killian with his hard body beneath hers, his brilliant blue eyes piercing into hers as he took action to protect her, a stranger, from the dangers this world was fraught with. Further thoughts of that hard body and what other services it might provide other than protection were blamed on her sleep deprived mind when the morning crested through her window.
"Morning, love! Sleep well?" Killian called out jovially when Emma groggily emerged from the cabin. He had a fire going in the open pit with what looked to be eggs cooking in a small cast iron skillet. "I hope you don't mind. I found them among your chickens this morning after your rooster woke me. Figured I'd prepare us some sustenance so you could get to work on the forge early before the temperatures rose." He reached up to scratch behind his ear, her stunned silence causing a level of discomfort to rise between them. "I apologize if I overstepped, Swan. I didn't mean t-"
"No, no. It's… it's fine," she rushed to assure him. "I just wasn't expecting…" Her words trailed off, unsure of how to express what she was feeling in that moment.
He seemed to know though. "You've been on your own for some time now, and have grown accustomed to having to do everything yourself. You've forgotten what's it like to have someone else to rely on."
It was unnerving how well this man seemed to know her after only a few hours in her company. "Yeah, well. In my experience the only person you can ever really rely on is yourself," she muttered as she made her way over to the forge so she could light the coals and get it ready for use after breakfast.
They ate in relative silence, Killian seemingly harbouring a sense that he'd somehow offended her, and not wanting to say anything more that might sour her further, while Emma stewed in guilt over her churlish behaviour. Other than one remark the night before, he hadn't said or done anything to invite mistrust, yet Emma couldn't shake off the self-preserving armour she'd put on right after Ingrid's death. Right after…
"I should thank you," she said some time later as they worked at the forge, he at the billows and her methodically heating the metal of one of the tools she'd agreed to mend.
If he was surprised by her words, he didn't show it, merely cocking his head to one side as a brow arched up his forehead. "Oh? For what?"
"Those men." She pulled the glowing metal from the fire and began to set a series of strikes to it. Her words punctuating the pounding rhythm of her hammer. "The Changed who were chasing me yesterday."
"They weren't Changed." His soft lilt was barely audible over the clanging, but it was her surprise, not her inability to hear that stalled her work.
"Then what were they?"
"Ordinary men," he told her with a shrug before he settled himself against the outside wall of her cabin, crossing his arms over his chest and his feet at the ankles. "We call them Berserkers. They keep to the abandoned cities mostly. I don't know that I've ever seen them stray this far out before."
That bit of news sent a shudder down Emma's spine. If they were straying from the cities then it might only be a matter of time before they ended up at her doorstep. Emma thought back to the two who'd appeared before her at the river. They'd had a feral look about them with unnatural markings on their faces. She'd never seen a Changed, but had heard about them from a friend who used to spend time with them during the winters. He'd come across several over the years and his descriptions of their appearance seemed to match those of the two men from the river.
"So, what? Are they just pretending to be Changed? Some sort of defense mechanism so people will stay away from them?"
"They worship the legend of the Changing. If they could, they'd probably infect themselves, but an actual Changed hasn't been seen in these parts for many years."
"Why? Why would anyone willing subject themselves to that?"
Killian gave her a scrutinizing look before responding to her question with one of his own. "How old are you, Emma?"
"Twenty-one," she replied. "Or nearly, anyway. Ingrid said I was born in the fall, so it'll be another month or so. Why?"
"You've never known anything different than this world, then. I don't remember much myself, just flashes of… memories? Impressions? But there are many at my village who do remember the world before. After the pestilence began to take hold, there were some groups who believed it was not some sort of plague, but a… new type of existence. An evolution of sorts. They believed we should simply accept our fate and give ourselves over to the Change. This… new existence, this inevitable fate is what the Berserkers worship."
"That's crazy."
He chuckled lightly. "You'll hear no argument from me, love."
Emma went back to work, and with Killian's assistance, was able to finish the remaining repairs before storm clouds blew in with a late summer rain shower. The two took refuge on the porch, taking the opportunity to have a bite of lunch while Emma selected seeds and textiles in trade for her work, listening to Killian as he told her about the villagers who'd cultivated the crops or loomed and knitted the fabrics. Each tale pulled at the strings of longing wrapped around her heart until it was caught tightly in the bindings of despair and panic at the prospect of being on her own again once Killian left. He'd said nothing more about his offer, and she wondered if he'd had second thoughts after having a chance to sleep on it as well.
"I don't mean to pry or be insensitive," he began gently when the rain had become no more than a light mist, "but I haven't seen any headstones. Do you mind my asking where they're buried?"
Emma turned her face towards the far edge of the clearing. "On the backside of the hill of over there. Elsa, Anna, and I used to play there when we were children, and Ingrid always liked the view."
"Before I go, I wondered if… if you wouldn't mind my saying a few words for them. Pay my respects?"
As they'd been wont to do far too often since Killian Jones' appearance in her life, Emma's eyes began to sting with the threat of unshed tears. "I think they would have really liked that."
Standing before the graves of the only family she'd ever known, Emma fought back those persistent tears as Killian eloquently spoke heartfelt words she'd never been able to utter. Before they could release themselves down her cheeks, she quickly muttered an amen at the close of his prayer and turned away to collect herself. She'd shown enough weakness in front of him as it was.
"Thank you," she offered when he approached a moment later. "I wanted to do that so many times, but I could never find the words."
"Blessed are those who mourn," he quoted, startling her slightly as he draped something over the front of her neck before clasping it at the back. Ingrid's cross necklace, she realized. The one she'd left hanging from the grave marker. "The living need this more than the dead," he said, adjusting her hair back into place where it hung from the high ponytail she'd pulled it into earlier. They offered each other a small smile before heading back to the homestead.
"I should go. Don't want to be stuck in the city at nightfall."
"The city?" Emma had just entered the gate when his words caused her to whirl around and face him, her concern drawing her brows together and pulling down the corners of her mouth.
"Aye. I know it can be dangerous, but I can't pass up the opportunity to do a bit of scavenging."
Emma stood frozen in place. She'd known he'd have to leave sooner or later, had been telling herself that sooner was better, but now the moment was before her she wasn't ready for him to go. Especially if it meant he'd be traipsing off to the abandoned city to the north. What if he ran into more Berserkers? What if he got injured or caught in the rubble of the decaying buildings? Emma shook her head and planted her resolve. It wasn't her concern. He wasn't her concern.
Killian gathered his pack and waited for her by the gate as she went into the cabin to collect his weapons. He said nothing about the fact she'd kept his gun loaded, simply smothered something that might have become a smirk then holstered it behind his back. After securing the small knife into his boot he made a show of adjusting the straps at his shoulders.
"I assume, though you've said nothing of my offer, that you've had time to think it over? I won't ask you to accompany me to the city, but I will be coming back by this way tomorrow. It would give you time to pack up what you need and make peace with this place before leaving. What do you say, Swan?" She tore her eyes from his insistent blues and fixed her attention towards the ground while her desire for companionship and common sense warred with one another. "You've done well for yourself here love, there's no denying that," he persisted. "Bloody brilliant and amazingly well, actually." The awe in his voice made Emma flush with pride and the corners of her lips twitched. "I don't know many in my village, man or woman, who could have accomplished all you have. The sheer strength it must have taken you, body and spirit, to bury your mother on your own, without aid is testament enough to how tough a lass you are."
Emma's head snapped up and she felt her armour fit itself against her in the face of the memory of that day, and the night that had followed. "I didn't bury her alone," she corrected in a clipped tone, causing him to balk. "I don't need anyone else to aid me."
He took a startled step back when she slammed the gate on him. The confusion over the change in her demeanor as she secured it was evident in his expression and Emma squared her shoulders, ready for an outraged response. He didn't look outraged though, only sad and discerning.
"I see." He shuffled a foot over the loose dirt at his feet before looking up and capturing her gaze once more. "Look out for yourself and you'll never get hurt." Emma swallowed and forced herself to not back away when he took a step toward the gate and placed a hand atop it. "I'm sorry someone hurt you, Swan. And I appreciate the trust you've given me in spite of it. I won't bother you again, love. But I do want you to know, that if you ever decide you want to be a part of something, to take that leap of faith, all you have to do is follow the ridge." He nodded to the south and Emma knew exactly what ridge he was referring to. "After about three days you'll reach the lake, just follow the shoreline to the west and you'll find me." His eyes bore into hers, willing a response, but she didn't trust herself enough to give one. Finally, he gave her a sad smile before stepping back from the fence, his jaw ticking with disappointment. "Take care of yourself, Swan."
Emma watched until he disappeared from view before heading inside the cabin. She kept herself busy for the rest of the day, slipping back into the routine that had been momentarily disrupted by Killian's presence. A routine that almost allowed her to ignore the tendrils of loneliness that desperately wished to bind themselves to the community he'd offered, ignore the pang of regret twinging in her chest that she'd let him leave without the invitation to call upon her again. She told herself it was best that way. No need for him to waste his time in stopping by when her answer wasn't going to change, though she knew full well that wasn't the reason. Truth was, she hadn't asked him to come again on his way back, because she knew how close she was to changing her mind, and seeing him again would probably be the thing to push her over the edge. Especially after a day and evening so full of heavy silence it nearly smothered her.
Without the busyness of chores to help fend off the grief, solitude, and anxiety that had hovered at the edge of her subconscious, Emma felt the full press of them as she lay awake in her narrow bed that night. Much as she wished she could deny it, Killian's presence and the events of the day before had changed things. It hadn't escaped her awareness how unwilling she'd been to venture out to the river to collect much needed water earlier, nor how her excitement over harvesting such wonderful looking potatoes from her humble garden had waned when there had been no other person to share it with. Ingrid's necklace had served as both a comfort and admonishment hanging over her heart; a heart that thudded and skipped each time she remembered the feel of Killian's fingertips brushing against the back of her neck when he'd secured the clasp in place.
Emma wondered where he was now and what he was doing. Had he reached the city? Was he safe? Had he found anything of use? Was he thinking about her? She rolled and punched her pillow, angry at the train of thought her mind seemed set on. She didn't need Killian Jones or his village. She was doing just fine on her own. Tomorrow she would go back to the river to collect water, and carry on with her life just as she had before those men had prompted her to run headlong into distraction and doubt. She would forget about Killian Jones and his too blue eyes, soft lilting voice, troublesome good looks, and perceptively understanding charm. She wouldn't think about how he'd come to her aid, possibly even killing to protect her, and hadn't asked for anything in return except simple hospitality. Tomorrow she would go back to life as normal, on her own. She was better off on her own.
She'd managed to hang onto that lie for the majority of the next morning as she continued to deceive herself. Dismissing her hyper awareness of each snapping branch or rustle of leaves as being anything but hopeful anticipation that Killian might have decided to stop back by on his way back to his village after all. Denying that her reluctance to go fetch water had anything to do with fear of what, or who, she might come across when she left the safety of her homestead. What she could not deny was the very real need she had for fresh water, so despite her reticence, Emma had no choice but to venture back to the river.
She was always cautious when she ventured out, but today her senses seemed to be on overdrive. As it turned out, there was no reason for them to be, the trip to the river and back had been as unremarkable as every other time she'd gone, not counting the last. Her pulse had just evened out, the additional exertion pounding in her chest from the strain of carrying the water and not from the nerves that had been thundering in her veins earlier, when her fence came into view. This small success of self-sustainability might have completely spurned the emotional turmoil she'd grappled with overnight had it not been for what awaited her at the gate.
A small bundle of wild flowers, tied together with a modest piece of string.
Water sloshed from the bucket onto her boots as she sat it on the ground in order to retrieve the gift. In addition to the delicate blue, pink, and yellow blooms, there was a rolled slip of paper. With trembling fingers Emma unfurled the note and read:
I couldn't resist stopping by and leaving you this small token. What I offered still remains, Swan. Should you wish it, there is a place for you beyond the fortification you've constructed for yourself. I very much hope to see you again love, but if not - then this blessing I leave with you. Ruth 1:8.
Yours,
Killian
Emma hurried inside, clutching the flowers and note close her chest, and retrieved her Bible from the bedside table. Carefully she turned to the book of Ruth and ran her finger down the page until she came to the eighth verse of chapter one.
May the Lord deal kindly with you, as you have dealt with the dead and with me.
A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, her lungs protesting against the breath she'd trapped there, and one she released on a shuddering gasp as her eyes continued to travel along the scriptures until they reached verse sixteen.
But Ruth said, Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God.
The page crinkled under the splash of her fallen tears, causing Emma to shut the book and cradle it against her chest. She couldn't deny it any longer. She wanted that. Wanted to go with Killian, to live in his village, and be with people she could share her life with. She didn't want to be alone any longer.
It took less time than she would have thought to pack up a life that could only be transported upon her back. Though she'd taken care to choose her possessions and provisions wisely, she was back on the other side of the fence, securing the gate one final time as she took one last long look at the only home she'd ever known before turning toward the future that lay ahead. She wasn't sure how long it had taken her to catch up to him, but when Killian peeked over his shoulder and caught glimpse of her, the smile that broke across his face left her breathless.
"Swan? What are you-"
"I decided to take that leap of faith."