I've had this in my drafts for a long time. I finally got around to editing it, and I'm actually really glad with how it turned out in the end. I don't think I'll continue it, but who knows!
Hope ya'll enjoy. Reviews keep me going!
Thank you, lovelies. 3
She's the sea I'm sinkin' in
He's the ink under my skin
Sometimes I cain't tell where I am
Where I leave off and he begins
Storybrooke was a tiny, quiet town in Maine. Everyone knew each other, and had known each other for forever. Which meant that everyone knew everyone's business. The town was rather boring, and everyone just did their normal routine and pretended it didn't get old.
Everything had always been the same as far as anyone could remember. Nothing ever changed. The clock in the clocktower never changed. The people never changed. Daily life was the same every day.
But change was coming.
'Jane Doe' was scribbled on the chart at the end of the bed. She was a stranger. A beautiful sleeping stranger.
She was very much alive, but fast asleep. She looked like a lovely little porcelain doll laying there amidst the scratchy hospital blankets.
She never woke. Never really moved at all.
She had been there for as long as anyone could remember. A fisherman had found her washed up on the shore near the harbor. But when had that been? Months? Years? No one seemed to remember.
No one ever came looking for her. No family, no loved ones, no one at all.
Often times the only one who graced her little room was the occasional nurse to check her stats. Sometimes sweet Mary Margaret would stop in on her hospital rounds to leave her some flowers on the girl's bedside table or adjust the braids in her hair.
But other than that, no one else.
Except the fisherman who found her.
He wasn't a bad man, not really. He might have been possessive and a little unstable, but he hadn't ever done anything to hurt anyone. No, he had just gotten tangled into some things that labeled him as a bad man. He liked pretty things, and Mr. Gold's store was full of them. So maybe he was labeled a thief and a scoundrel now. Maybe anytime anyone talked to him, he had nothing but a growled response. Maybe he liked that no one would come near him. Maybe he liked being left alone.
And maybe he was in denial.
He liked being alone with the sea, at least. He could live on his boat and no one would bother him. The sound of the crashing waves soothed him as he drank himself to sleep every night. Rum was warm and kind. It soothed the memories of a life he didn't live that appeared daily in his mind. It numbed him enough to make it all go away, to make his thoughts dwindle away into blackness. He didn't need anything else, really. Just his boat and the bottle.
But when that girl washed up on the shore, something sparked within the quiet fisherman. He had seen her on a cold night, as a storm rolled in. He was drunk, so when he saw the clump of white silks and pale skin washed up on the shore, he thought perhaps he'd had too much rum. She looked like a mermaid, the white silks wrapped around her body looked more like a tail. Perhaps it was finally happening. Perhaps she would drag him beneath the black waves, steal a kiss that would end it all. Perhaps it would finally all come to an end.
But the waves had begun to pull her back, to sweep her away into the blackness.
More memories of a life he didn't recognize flashed into his mind.
And that's when he realized it.
She was there, she was in those blurred memories.
He had moved quickly, and when he scooped her out of the water, she coughed up salty water into his shirt. Her body had trembled, and her eyes had cracked open for a brief moment to stare up at him before she slumped in his arms. He cradled her close against him, and wrapped his coat around her to ward off the harsh winds. Her breathing was normal, but she didn't wake. He'd stumbled to his feet and carried her to the hospital as fast as he could. When they had pulled her from his arms, he swore she whimpered from the loss of his body against hers.
After that night, something in his heart changed forever.
The machine that monitored her heart would beep in a steady pattern, and her chest would rise and fall in the softest of patterns. She was lost in a dreamworld. No one thought she would ever wake. But everything about her was healthy. It was her mind that had drifted away in the ocean.
He tried not to let anyone see him visit her. He went late at night, when sleepy orderlies didn't even notice his dark figure slip in.
He didn't really know why on earth he would visit her. She wasn't waking up anytime soon. It's not like she could actually thank him for what he had done.
And he wasn't even sure he wanted her to.
He was just...curious.
Curious about the images that flashed in his mind.
Curious about how his cold heart had skipped a beat when he held her.
This girl was a regular Sleeping Beauty. The kind of girl who belonged in fairytales the mayor's son always spouted on about. She truly had an otherworldly beauty to her.
Sleep was quite becoming on her sweet features.
He would never do anything during his visits. He'd just sit on the edge of her bed. Sometimes he would find himself being rather daring and toy with a soft honey curl. But otherwise, he kept his hands to himself.
He wished he could just leave her be, forget about it all and just go back to his boat in the harbor.
But something kept him there.
Something in his cold, hard heart seemed to soften when he was around her.
This nameless, lifeless, little woman brought life back to his heart for the first time in what felt like centuries.
His visits always ended the same. He would finally stand up after a long while of just sitting in silence with her, and allow himself to brush his fingertips along her jaw.
He was no prince. He didn't belong to fairytales.
But there was always something about kisses in those silly fairytales that would wake the princess from her spell. And princesses deserved kisses. He knew that much.
So he'd leave her with a soft kiss on the forehead, and sometimes he liked to fancy the idea that her heart monitor jumped when he did that.
Regardless, he would always hurry out and back home before anyone could notice him. He would drink himself to sleep and pretend the girl wasn't really a princess. Maybe she was a total brat and wouldn't give him the time of day when, or if, she woke.
Maybe she would never wake, and he would be left in this torturous curiosity for the rest of his days.
Sometimes he would talk to her.
It was therapeutic.
Sometimes he would talk about all the things he couldn't say to anyone else. Sometimes he told her how he wanted to run away. He promised the sleeping girl he would take her away too.
He laughed at his own stupidity.
Sometimes he would ask her to wake up.
He would touch her arm and lean over her, wondering what she looked like when she smiled, how her voice sounded when she laughed.
"Wake up, sweetheart." He'd whisper, hoping that by chance she would obey.
She never did.
One evening, a little yellow bug drove into town.
The townspeople were all aflutter. Storybrooke never got visitors. Never.
And this one was special. She was the mayor's son's birth mom.
Storybrooke hadn't had such juicy gossip in ages.
He sat with her one night in silence.
The rain pounded down roughly, like the night he had found her.
He felt anxious.
He sat with her longer than usual, something in him just wanting to be sure she was safe, and not floating out into sea.
At a harsh burst of thunder and lightning, he reached out and grabbed her hand. What if she was scared? Maybe she could feel him there. Maybe the storm frightened her.
Her hand was soft and delicate, and he brushed his thumb along the thin flesh of her wrist. She seemed so breakable, so fragile. He could break her easily with a flick of his wrist. She would break into pieces in his hands, like a porcelain doll would if dropped.
Dr. Whale had already seen him sneak in. The sleazy doctor had made a little drunken comment that made Killian's skin crawl. He'd hate for the man to pass by and see Killian holding the girl's hand. He began to pull his hand away, but the slightest pressure of soft fingers closing around his made him freeze in his tracks.
He quickly looked up at her, wondering if maybe she had finally woken.
But no, she was fast asleep, a content expression on her lovely face.
He bolted out of there like the devil himself was chasing him out.
With the Swan girl's arrival, things started changing.
The townspeople seemed to realize that there was a whole world out there.
Nothing was staying the same any longer.
Mary Margaret stopped him in the convenience store one afternoon. His fridge was too bare. He needed some sort of sustenance. And his rum was out. Of course, it meant going during the day. With other people out. People who whispered and shied away when he entered a room.
The little schoolteacher didn't seem phased by his grumbles. Instead, she gave him a kind smile and told her how sweet she thought it was that he was visiting Jane Doe.
When he tried to deny it and turn away towards the assortment of cereal on the shelf, she just stepped closer.
"Then it won't make a difference to you to know that she's woken up, then?"
Her name was Rory, apparently.
It suited her.
Not that his opinion mattered much.
What sort of name was Killian anyways?
She didn't have any family. She didn't even know how she had ended up in Storybrooke. She couldn't remember anything about her life before, or who she was. All she had was a name. Anyone else in her shoes would have been in a panic. They would have struggled, fought and cried. They would have left Storybrooke as fast as possible. But she didn't. She saw Storybrooke as a fresh start. She was willing to make the sleepy town her home. She was taking each day one at a time, and with a grace that shocked everyone.
Of course, that's just what Mary Margaret murmured to him on another trip into town.
His rum was running out a lot faster lately.
Soon enough, she was released from the hospital. She was able to secure a room at Granny's to stay in for the time being. Mary Margaret gave her clothes and helped her get a job at the library with Belle. She discovered she was really good with books, and children as well. She hosted storytime with Storybrooke's children during the week. Her new bookworm friend was kind to her, and didn't treat her like she was made of glass.
Town life was all very new to her. Everyone was kind to her, but they all tiptoed around her like one wrong word would made her shatter. Her situation wasn't normal, and yes it was unnerving, but she wasn't going to sit by and wait to be rescued. There was a strength deep within her that didn't feel quite like her own.
How she had gotten there was also something that crossed through her mind on more than one occasion. She had woken up in a hospital. Was she sick? Did someone find her and bring her there? Was she in some kind of accident?
She couldn't remember her previous life. She didn't know where she came from, if she had a family, nothing.
Sometimes there would be flickers. Full memories never appeared. Just flickers, really. Flickers of blurred, unrecognizable faces. Quiet whispers in dark rooms. Sweet kisses under the stars. Bitter tears. A feeling of utter dread and sacrifice. Warmth. And then, nothing.
None of it made sense.
All she had was a name and a chill in her bones that never seemed to go away.
She came up to him once.
He initially thought Mary Margaret had blabbed everything about him finding her to Rory.
Thankfully, the schoolteacher knew when to keep her mouth shut. Something about him needing to be the one to go up to her first. His story of saving her was one that needed to be told by him, not Mary Margaret.
He had tried to avoid any contact her. He started doing his shopping trips just before the stores closed. It irritated the townspeople, but it was safer for him. He couldn't risk being caught off guard, of interacting with her when he wasn't ready.
But of course, the one time he went into town at a different time of day, there she was.
Rory had been bundled up in a warm blue coat and a little hat on top of her curls. Hand me downs, of course. Her arms were full of books, and she was heading down the street towards him with an easy smile on her pink lips.
He almost ran down the nearest alley when he saw her, but he was no coward. He wasn't going to run away. He glanced up at her, expecting a fleeting glance in passing. But her wide lilac eyes brightened as looked up at him.
Her hand was featherlight against his arm as she stopped him. It was such a simple gesture. Just a touch to catch his attention. But it was much more than that. He didn't know why. But it was.
"Excuse me? Could you tell me how to get to Mr. Gold's? I have to drop some of these off to him for Belle and her directions were confusing." Rory's voice was sweet. He hadn't been expecting her voice to sound so sweet and warm.
"Uh...Just up the street that way and uh...a right at the diner." He said quietly, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. She was just a girl. Just a girl he had pulled out of the water like he would a fish. She wasn't anything to him, and he wasn't anything to her. She was just a lovely little stranger.
"Thank you so much." She murmured, looking in the direction he pointed.
He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets as he nodded, lowering his eyes to the dusty books in her arms. She was shivering, even with the coat around her. When he met her gaze, he noticed the way her breath caught in her throat.
"Have we met before?" She asked curiously, tilting her head to the side. "You...you seem so familiar."
He could have chosen to tell her the truth right then and there. He could have told her how he scooped her out of the water, how he saved her from the storm and the crashing waves. He nearly did, but something stopped him. Telling her would make things worse. She would latch herself onto him and thank him profusely and he refused to have a weakness. He refused to have someone care about him, to give Gold something to hold against him. She was in his mind, yes, but there she would stay. He wouldn't drag her into his darkness.
"No...no I don't think so." He said quietly.
"Well, I'm Rory." She held her small hand out to him, managing to keep her books balanced in one arm. Her pink lips quirked up into a sweet, inviting smile.
He swallowed hard and forced his hand out of his pocket. He clutched her small hand, the tight feeling in his chest from the contact rather unnerving. Her hand was cold from the chilly air, but just as soft and fragile as the night he first held it.
Something flashed in her lilac eyes and she looked down at his hand in hers for a moment before looking up at him with an expectant smile.
"Oh...I'm Killian." He said softly, giving her a slight smile.
"That's a nice name." She said, her fingers squeezing around his before she let go. Something about his hand around hers felt familiar. In fact, everything about him seemed familiar. "I don't think I've ever seen you around town before." She murmured.
"I keep to the sea." He shrugged.
"Oh, are you a sailor?" She asked curiously.
"Fisherman."
"Hm." She stared at him for a long moment, and he felt rather uncomfortable under her probing, curious gaze. Imagine that. Him. Uncomfortable. By a girl. It was laughable, really. But she wasn't just any girl. "I...I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep you. I just...have this weird feeling we've met before, or that I've seen you before." She mumbled, biting her lower lip.
"Maybe you dreamed about me." He smirked, unable to help himself. Around women, he was all teasing comments and flirty advances. It was second nature to him. He hadn't meant to let it slip.
He was certain she be offended and roll her eyes and stomp off. But she just giggled and her cheeks colored prettily.
"That must be it." She grinned. "Thank you for your help, Killian. I'll see you around." She grinned at him one last time before turning away and heading in the direction she needed.
That night, he dreamt about her.
Only it wasn't Rory.
It was someone else entirely.
A princess in a pretty lilac dress.
The face was Rory's. Her smile was Rory's.
But she was not Rory.
There was happy music, warm air, laughter, low firelight.
He was dressed in fine clothes, almost like a prince.
She was dancing with him, her little form spinning around him as she laughed. She had no cares in the world.
And when she kissed him, he woke up drenched in sweat.
It didn't feel like a dream.
It felt like a memory.
Rory wished she could sleep.
She had done months of sleeping.
Peaceful, quiet sleep. Sometimes images had flashed in her mind. Perhaps they were memories or just things her mind made up. Regardless, her sleep had been peaceful.
But every night when she lay down to sleep, nightmares would wash over her.
They would always be the same. Images of a life that couldn't possibly be hers.
Sharp spindles. The smell of blood and fire. Screams. An otherworldly roar. The burn of smoke and fire. Death.
Sleep was overrated anyways.
A month passed.
Rory lived in an apartment on her own now. It was small and didn't have much inside, but it was her own.
Life was about new beginnings, right?
On the nights when she couldn't sleep she would practice cooking up new recipes, or read. When those options got old, she would lay in the dark until morning came. Mary Margaret suggested Rory take something to help her sleep. It wasn't that she couldn't get to sleep. No, she was pretty exhausted. Snuggling up and falling asleep was easy. It was the images that came when she slept that was the problem. Something inside her told her it was all real, that everything she saw in the twisted nightmares happened in real life once before. It didn't feel like her imagination.
Sometimes when the nightmares would shake her soul, she would sit in her loft and stare out the window. She had the perfect view of the ocean. Her exhausted blue gaze would focus on the ocean, and before she knew it, the sun was peeking up. The sky would be a burst of color over the calm waves. It was enough to take her breath away.
It seemed calming. She wondered what it would be like to float in the waves, to sink deeper and deeper until everything was silent and dark.
It had to have been better than drowning in her dreams.
Rory knew nothing bad would happen to her.
Storybrooke was so quiet, and everyone knew and trusted each other.
Nothing would happen to her.
So she bundled herself up and headed out.
It was freezing, but at least it was quiet.
She didn't really pay much attention to where she was specifically going.
She just kept walking.
Until she almost walked into the ocean, that is.
Her foot caught in a loose board on the dock, and she tripped, crying out as she landed on the hard, wet wood.
"Ugh." She grumbled, pushing herself up. There were a few lamps on the dock, casting a yellow glow over each boat. The ocean waves crashed together, making the dock and the boats creak. Her nose crinkled at the sharp saltiness of the air. "How did I get here?" She asked herself, rolling her eyes at her stupidity.
"I could ask the same thing." A voice behind her chuckled.
She nearly jumped out of her skin, but the warm tone of it calmed her heart. When she looked over her shoulder, the bright light of a flashlight caused her to squint. The light moved to the side, to reveal Killian's warm smile. "Are you alright?" He asked. "You're not uh...sleep walking are you?" He was sure there would be side effects from her coma, but he didn't know the extent to them.
"No...no..." She stammered, unsure of how she had gotten there or why she was there. He reached out and grabbed her arm, and she was rather surprised as he helped her to her feet. She gave him a shy smile and brushed at her coat absentmindedly once she was standing. "I just...was taking a walk." She quirked her eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here." He murmured, ignoring the accusing tone of her voice. He gestured to a decently sized ship tied to the dock a few feet away from them. "I thought I heard something and came to make sure no one was trying to take off with one of the boats."
She had every right to believe him a scoundrel. Everyone else in town did and he was sure they were filling his little flower's mind with awful stories about him.
The questioning look in her eyes disappeared, and she flushed, glancing down at her feet shyly. "I'm sorry if I woke you."
"Don't worry, you didn't." He gave her a smile. "I don't mean to pry, but what are you doing out here in the middle of the night? It's not exactly the safest place to be on your own."
"I can take care of myself." She said firmly, a spark gleaming in her lilac gaze as she looked up at him.
"I have no doubt about it." He held his hands up defensively, an amused smile on his face. "I just... could think of safer options. Like sleep."
"Storybrooke seems safe enough." She shrugged.
"Says the girl who almost ended up sleeping with the fishes just now." He murmured.
She quirked her eyebrow and he winced, instantly regretting it, especially considering how he had found her. By the look in her eyes, she took it as a teasing remark and not offense. Perhaps that goody goody Mary Margaret really didn't tell Rory about how she ended up in Storybrooke.
They were alone. There were no prying eyes. He could tell her, right now.
Instead, he fell silent.
"I don't sleep much." She sighed, hugging her coat around her tightly as she stepped away from him. Everything in her heart told her to stay. She had come here for a reason, and she hated to leave without finding out what. It couldn't have been to find Killian here, to see him again. He was a stranger to her. And yet, she was there, with this warmth in her heart that had only appeared at the sound of the waves. "I'm sorry I bothered you, Killian. I should go."
"Wait." He found himself saying before she could get too far.
She turned back, cornflower gaze looking him over.
I was the one who found you. I pulled you out of the water.
The words died on his tongue. "Ah...would you like to come inside and warm up?" He asked.
Aurora knew she should just leave and go back to her quiet apartment and bake something or try sleep again. It would have been the practical, better decision. She didn't have any reason to trust Killian. She didn't know him. But despite the stories about him that flew around town, she found herself trusting him. Something about him was familiar to her. It was something she couldn't seem to shake.
Her lips quirked upwards, and he grinned, waving his arm towards his boat.
"After you, sweetheart."
All he had to offer her was rum and a few stale Oreos. It's not like he had been planning on ever talking to her, let alone inviting her inside. Not when she was doing so well on her own.
"You need some real food." She mumbled, daintily eating her cookie. "How can you expect to have guests over if you don't have proper snacks?"
"I don't." He shrugged, taking a swig of his drink.
She looked up at him, quirking her eyebrow. "I'm a guest." She murmured.
"One I wasn't expecting." He responded.
"You weren't prepared, and yet you still invited me in." She said without skipping a beat.
"True." He smirked.
She licked her lips free of frosting and brushed her hands over her coat. "I'll provide the snacks next time."
Killian had tried to keep Rory at armslength the first few times she appeared at his door. It wouldn't ever work out. They couldn't be friends. They couldn't be anything. If she knew who he really was, she would run away from him. It would be better for her not to get attached to him, or he with her. He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to push her away.
Worst of all, he didn't want to be so attached to her that he couldn't live without her. She was a treasure. But he couldn't steal her, couldn't keep her all to himself. He wouldn't taint her sweet, pure soul with his possessive darkness.
But how could he turn her away? When she appeared outside his cabin with a little basket of goodies and a sweet smile on her face, he couldn't bark at her to go away. Every opportunity that arose where he should have pushed her away, he kept letting her in.
Their visits became a regular occurrence. She had tried leaving him lunch on the dock once or twice when his boat was out to sea, but he always came back to find it ripped to shreds by pesky seagulls. So she started coming at night. She couldn't sleep much anyways, and he was up late holding his bottle close.
He found the more she visited, the less he sought comfort from the bottle of warm liquid.
Rory liked knowing she could take care of someone. She had discovered she was an excellent cook, and her previous late nights of baking and trying new recipes had paid off. She always came with delicious treats and meals and things he could keep in his fridge to eat at other times.
Killian was warm and familiar. As hard as she tried to remember her past, she couldn't. But he had been part of it. She knew it. Even though he denied it, he was in her mind, in those memories she couldn't see.
Something about Killian made her feel at home. Storybrooke might not have been her home before her time in the hospital, but Killian helped her feel like it had been. It was like they had known each other forever. Rory may have made friends with a few people in town, but Killian was special. She didn't have to pretend that everything was going swimmingly. She could trust him with the way she felt.
Killian tried to keep himself closed off, to simply let her talk and let her take care of him. But she had pushed, had broken down his walls, hoping to see the good in him that he wasn't even sure was there. She didn't believe the townspeople, didn't believe the truth in their hushed whispers.
He knew he needed to tell Rory everything before it was too late. She was beginning to trust him, beginning to latch herself onto him. She needed to know, deserved to know the truth. She would either run away from him for keeping something like that from her, or she would only burrow herself in his company even more. She would soften and melt and crave his company and he would be weak enough to let her in.
But every time he looked into those dewy blue eyes of hers, he found he couldn't find the words.
He didn't want to hurt her, but he also didn't want her any closer than she already was.
They made an odd duo. The slumbering stranger and the outcast fisherman.
Rory made Killian join her at Granny's one morning for breakfast. Everyone got breakfast at Granny's. Rory wanted everyone to see that Killian really wasn't all that bad. A person's past didn't define them. Whatever had happened didn't matter anymore.
He had fought her on it, but in the end, she won.
He didn't want people to talk badly about her, to think she was doing something wrong by being in his company. He didn't want someone to slip up, to tell Rory that the man she spent her time with was the same man who had saved her. But she had insisted, and he was finding it harder to deny her anything.
Killian was openly confident, but Rory caught the cocky mask he wore fade every so often. Deep down, he was nervous. He didn't like all the thin smiles and gawking stares.
Her evil plan seemed to work, though. Even if he didn't like the townspeople gaping at them, he enjoyed her company. And he enjoyed seeing the looks on everyone's faces when Rory walked in with her hand on his arm.
If there was one thing Storybrooke loved, it was definitely good gossip.
Everyone told her to be careful around Killian.
He was a scoundrel, they'd say. A thief and a cold hearted man.
Rory didn't understand why everyone hated him. So he had a past. Everyone did.
Except her, it seemed.
Nonetheless, she just brushed off warnings from the townspeople. None of them knew Killian. No one had taken the time to get to know her quiet fisherman.
Besides, even if he did end up being a scoundrel, she could take care of herself.
Sometimes when she couldn't sleep, or worse, when she did sleep, she would call him in the middle of the night. She found comfort in his sleepy voice as he reassured her that everything was okay. If she was too frightened to be alone in the darkness, he would invite her over. She didn't like being alone at night anymore.
They would sit up together on his worn couch and she would let him put his arm around her as she curled up at his side. She would voice her fears and he would assure her that everything would be okay. He hated seeing her so distressed. He would tell her everything he could think of that would take the fear from her beautiful eyes. They would talk for hours, and he would tuck her close to him and let her curl her fingers into his shirt.
When she would calm down and get sleepy, he would offer to drive her back to her apartment.
She always refused, and would weakly attempt to keep herself awake and perky.
But he saw the purple circles beneath her eyes, the way her eyelids drooped heavily, and how she would hide her yawns in his chest. For having been asleep for so long, the poor girl was exhausted. Her nightmares really did take a toll on her.
"Don't make me go to sleep." She'd always mumble as she dozed off against his chest.
"Hush, love." He'd laugh as he tucked a blanket around her.
She liked snuggling up against him, with her head on his chest. He was warm, and his scent was enough to drag her under some kind of spell.
It just felt so familiar, like she had experienced such comfort before. From him specifically. She didn't know how, but there was no denying the familiarity of his touch.
And the best part was, there was no nightmares with him. Somehow, he made them go away.
When she would wake, he would still be there, his head tilted against hers as he snoozed, his arm around her enough to make her feel safe.
He was getting attached to her.
He was caring about her.
He wanted her.
He had saved her. She had no one else but him. She didn't come to anyone else but him. She couldn't talk to anyone else like she talked to him.
Killian had spent so long pushing her away, trying to keep her away from his darkness, from his past mistakes.
But now, he wanted her so badly he was willing to drag her down with him.
He was tired of being cold, alone, and afraid.
I'm going to make you mine, flower. Somehow, someway.
"It's weird." She says one night, her fingers closed around a mug of tea. "No one has come looking for me."
She had been rather quiet all night. She wanted his company, but didn't want to talk. So he'd tucked her comfortably on his worn couch with a blanket and a mug of tea while he mended one of his fishing nets.
He forced himself not to look up, not to see the distant, heartbreaking expression in her dewy eyes.
"You never know. Someone might be looking for you." He mumbled.
"No." She took a deep breath. "Maybe I don't have anyone." She whispered. "Maybe nobody cares about me."
That made him look up. She was staring down at her mug, lower lip quivering slightly. "What am I? Chopped liver?" He teased in a weak attempt to cheer her up.
Rory looked up at him and rolled her eyes. "Forget it." She lifted her mug and drank a gulp of tea. She set the mug on the coffee table and scooted back against the couch, tucking the blanket up to her chin.
He sighed, and set his tools aside before rising from his chair. He brushed his hands against his flannel and went to sit on the edge of the couch. She looked up at him and shot him a frown. Killian, on the other hand, gave her a warm smile. He could have kept teasing her, told her not to pout. Instead, he had every urge to comfort her, to make sure she was okay. Before she could snap at him for being so close to her, he leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead, just like he had when she was in the hospital.
"You will always have me. I promise."
His lips on her forehead.
She had felt that before.
Killian never overstepped boundaries when they were together. In public, he would let her hold onto his arm and nothing more. Even when they were alone, he never did anything ungallant towards her.
It was obvious there was a spark between them. They cared for each other. They looked after each other. Their connection was special. Unique. It was like they weren't supposed to be together, but somehow fate threw them together anyways.
Rory didn't know why his kiss had made her jolt like it had.
She tried to concentrate, tried to think back on whatever memories she could dig up. The flashes she remembered never made sense. She tried thinking about the feelings Killian brought about in her heart. Sometimes she could hear a faint beeping, feel a warm pressure on her hand, feel her heart skip a beat. When she thought back to Killian's lips on her forehead, she swore she could remember a muffled voice, and lips on her face.
But nothing added up. Not the familiarity of Killian, not the blurred memories in her mind, or the nightmares of someone else's life. Nothing made sense.
"Mary Margaret?" Rory asked quietly as the schoolteacher looked through the children's section of books in the library.
"Mmhm?" She hummed, thumbing through a picture book.
"Did...did anyone ever come visit me? When I...when I was in the hospital?" She asked, fiddling with a button on her shirt. "I don't even know what happened to me, or why I was brought in. But...that doesn't really seem to matter." Rory paused, and chewed on her lower lip. "Just...did anyone visit me while I slept?"
Mary Margaret tensed, and Rory instantly caught how her friend began spinning her ring around her finger. Her nervous habit gave her away. No, of course not. Her suspicions had been true. No one cared about her. She had no loved ones. Rory wasn't shocked. No one had been sitting at her bedside waiting for her to wake, no one had come to her after she woke, so of course no one had come visit her. Except Mary Margaret. And the sweet woman had been constant through it all. But no one else?
"If no one visited me, I understand...I figured...but I just thought I'd ask." Rory sighed, turning back to her cart of books.
"It's not that." Mary Margaret gently touched her arm.
"So someone did?" Rory asked, quirking her eyebrow.
Mary Margaret sighed, and gently nodded her head. "I thought he would have told you a long time ago. I...I thought that's why you two were so close."
Rory furrowed her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side.
"What do you mean?"
"He hasn't told you anything, has he?"
"Who?" Rory asked quietly, though something told her she already knew the answer.
"Killian. Stubborn man." Mary Margaret grumbled. "Rory, I didn't want to be the one to tell you. He was supposed to. And he still needs to. It shouldn't come from me."
"But-"
"It's better if you talk to him about it. Trust me." Mary Margaret said gently before turning away with her books.
It was a rather sunny day, but still cold. Normally sunny days were the bane of his existence. Sunny meant cheery. And he was never a cheery person. But today, he couldn't help but whistle, couldn't help but happily work on his boat. He couldn't remember being happy before. Ever. His existence had always been bleak, purely darkness and loneliness.
Letting Rory in hadn't been as bad as he thought. She brought sunlight to his dark world that he was sure he'd never have. She made him hope again, made the dull chill in his heart disappear. He didn't deserve her, didn't deserve to be happy. But she hadn't given up on him. And she had been the first person to remain steady, to remain at his side and never give up. She had forced her light into his darkness, and he hadn't fought her like he should've.
He wanted to keep her, just hold her close and never have to tell her the truth. Maybe he could make her his, and never let her go. They could sail out to sea, away from Storybrooke, away from this life, and start over.
Soft heeled footsteps on the dock made him perk up. Rory's blue figure stopped just before the steps onto his boat. Instead of climbing aboard, she stayed where she was.
"Well hello, sweetheart. This is a nice surprise." He murmured, setting the mop in his hands aside. "I wasn't expecting you until later. I reek." He laughed easily, wiping his hands on a towel. "I can clean up, and we could grab some lunch, if you'd like. I've worked up quite an appetite and you're much more appealing than scrubbing fish guts off the deck."
Instead of laughing and shooting him a snarky comment, she looked down at her boots. She had immediately left the library after her talk with Mary Margaret, and came charging down to the harbor. She hadn't thought of what she could actually say. Her stomach was a knotted up ball of nerves, and she found it hard to breathe. Was she even angry? What was she actually feeling in that moment?
Killian frowned. Rory wasn't acting like herself. Something was wrong. He came closer to her, and stepped up onto the dock with her. Despite her coat and the warm sunshine, she was shivering. He tilted his head down and caught how wide her lilac eyes were. Were those tears in their depths?
"Rory...what's wrong?" He asked tenderly, his hand reaching out to touch her arm.
Before he could touch her she flinched away, her hands outstretched defensively to keep him away from her.
"I'm sorry, do I smell that bad?" He asked with a nervous laugh. That wasn't it. He knew that wasn't it.
She finally looked up at him, but her voice was gone. Her wide eyes flickered across his face, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Rory...what's going on?" He asked nervously. She knew. She had to know. He'd seen her in other signs of distress before, but she had always ended up being okay in the end. They were usually because of her nightmares, because of the images behind her eyes. He had been able to soothe her, and make her feel safe.
This was completely different.
"I...I asked Mary Margaret...if anyone visited me in the hospital when I was asleep." She said quietly. "She said I needed to talk to you." Rory bit her lower lip.
Killian should have known this would happen. He shouldn't have let himself think this wouldn't happen. He had fooled himself into thinking he could be happy, that he could keep her. He stepped aside and held his hand out towards his boat. "Why don't you come inside, love?" His voice trembles. One wrong word and he could lose her forever. One misstep and she would disappear.
"No. We can talk right here." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Did you visit me?"
"Yes." He answered simply.
"Why?" She asked quietly. "Do you know me? Did we know each other before?"
Somehow, they did. From another time, in another world. Nonetheless, he did know her. But he didn't know how. How could he tell her that and have her believe him? How could he tell her and have her stay with him? He shook his head slowly, images of a lilac dress and the open sea flickering through his mind.
"Not quite."
Her blue eyes brightened with anger. "Well...then why, Killian? What was the point in visiting me?" She swallowed hard. "If you did anything to me while I was unconscious..."
"What? Rory! I'd never do anything like that." He raked his fingers through his dark hair, his body suddenly trembling. How could she ever think that? He would never hurt her, never lay a hand on her. "Have I ever done anything in any way to make you think otherwise?"
No, no he never had. Everything he had ever done was honorable. Even when she wished he would reach out for her, steal a kiss or hold her closer, he never did. She didn't know why she had said that. She knew he would never do anything like that towards her. He had taken care of her more than anyone else. His presence was so familiar. He had chased the nightmares away.
It still didn't make sense to her. If he didn't know her, why would he watch her sleep? Why would he push her away, despite being there from the beginning?
"Rory...I would never...never harm you." He breathed, his voice catching in his throat.
"Then...then why..." She began, her voice trembling.
He cut her off with hard steps across the dock. She couldn't take her eyes off of him, couldn't get the image of the pain on his face at her accusation out of her mind. His hands reached out and grabbed her arms, and she gasped from the tight grasp. "Why? Because I...I was the one who pulled you out of the water. I was the one who carried you to safety." He swallowed hard. "You washed up onto the shore, and I found you."
His admission took her breath away, and she grew slack in his hands. Her eyes were wide and dewy, and she parted her lips in shock. Rory found it was getting harder to breathe. He had saved her life. He had been the one to look after her while she slept, while no one came to find her. He had found her. He saved her life.
"I had to make sure you were okay." His hands grew tighter around her arms. "I...I kept coming back because...I was drawn to you, Rory. I...I don't know why but...you're so familiar to me...you were in my life before, I know it. I don't know how or when or why, but I know you." He notices how her body trembles, how tears flood her blue gaze. His hands soften on her arms, but he doesn't let her go. He tugs her closer, and she comes, bracing herself with her palms pressed into his chest. "Which is why I came to see you so often...I...I had to make sure you were safe, that you were taken care of." He shakes his head and his hands smooth gently over her arms. "I care about you, Rory. More than I ever wanted to, more than I have ever cared for anyone." Her fingers curl into his shirt, and he notices her step closer. "I've never...I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you, Rory."
Before he can say anything else, Rory is launching herself at him, her arms slipping around his neck and pulling him down, down, down. Her soft, petal pink lips capture his, and he knows he shouldn't, but he kisses her back with a bruising force. She whimpers against him, and his hands move from her arms to entwine around her waist. He pulls her tightly against him, forcing her to mold into his body, so that they never have to part, never have to be alone again.
He loses himself in her sweet mouth. She's a priceless treasure, something that should slip through his fingers, something he could never deserve to hold. But something he would want to steal, a pretty treasure he can keep to himself, away from the rest of the world. He doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve the way she's kissing him like she can't breathe without him. And yet he clings to her, grabs for her, holds her tighter, tighter still. His lips grow desperate against hers, branding her, making her his. Because she is. She's always been his. From another life, in this life. It doesn't make sense, but it's true. She's his. And he'll be damned if he's about to let her go.
Rory whimpers against him, and she forces herself away. Her hands dig into his shirt as she sways dizzily. Rory gasps for air greedily, much like the night he found her. Her bright blue eyes flicker up to his, and he wants to kiss her again, wants to force the blush in her cheeks to move downwards. He wants to paint designs into her skin, to follow that blush and see where it travels.
She melts against his chest, her small fingers raking through his dark hair. He smells terrible. The scent of fish and salty air clings to him. And yet, she can smell his musk, smell the very essence of him. It's so familiar it nearly makes her weep. She knows him too. She can't imagine leaving him, can't imagine losing the one thing that was always constant ever since she woke.
She leans in, and her lips mesh against his in a more tender kiss. He allows her to lead him, allows her to be soft with him, caring, and sweet. He's in way too deep. She was never meant to mean so much to him, never meant to be his weakness. Her mouth makes him feel like he's drowning, like she really is a mermaid come to pull him beneath the black waves to his death.
She pulls away again, and her darkened blue eyes lift to his face. He stares down at her fiercely, shivering from the warmth of her breath on his lips. She's breathing life into him again. His cold heart has grown too warm, too soft. It's almost unbearable how weak she makes him. And yet, he refuses to let her go.
Even as her arms move away from his neck, even when her hands fall from his body, he keeps her against him. She's pushing against him, her small body pulling away. "No...no..." She whispers, her voice not her own.
"Rory..." He growls. "Please."
She feels the burning of tears in her eyes. He'd kept this from her, he'd held back. Nothing would ever be the same anymore. She had thought to know him better than anyone else. She hadn't wanted to listen to the words of the townspeople, to believe that he could do something like this.
But what had he really done? He had saved her life. He had brought her to safety. When she awoke, he had been the one to help her through the nightmares. He had bonded himself to her, had left a mark upon her heart. The distant memories in her mind, the familiarity of him, it all meant something. He was something to her, something warm. All of these things should have kept her there, should have made her want him.
And yet, she was scared. Scared of what else he wasn't telling her. Scared of what he was capable of.
"Rory...Rory please...don't go." He holds her tighter, despite her resistance. "I'm sorry, Rory. I'm sorry...please...please don't go." He pleads with her, begs her to stay, begs her to forgive him. He's utterly weak, a complete fool. If it would mean something, he would get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. He needs her. He needs her more than he ever wanted to need another soul. "I won't do it again...I won't ever do anything to hurt you...I'll do my best...I'll do better, Rory...please...please don't leave me."
Rory sniffles, and tears fall steadily down her cheeks as her fingers curl into his shirt again. "You frighten me, Killian." She whispers. "How...how can a person want another person so much?" She lifts one hand and gently touches his face. His jaw is tightened into a hard line, and she brushes her fingers over the stubbly skin in hopes of coaxing it into softness.
He has no response. None that would ease her. For the first time since she had appeared on the shores, he could not comfort her. He could not ease her pounding heart, could not wrap her into a blanket and comfort her with tea. He could not hold her close, promise her the world, make the nightmares go away.
Because being with him, his want for her, it would cause her pain. He would never let her go. He could never let her go.
"I've never wanted anyone like I want you." He whispers hoarsely. "And I know you want me too."
Rory swallows hard, and before she knows it, she's kissing him again. Because as frightened as she was, she did want him. He truly was the only one in her life that had been there for her, who kept the nightmares away. Leaving him would be foolish. She had no one else but him. He was her home, he was the one in her distant memories.
His mouth is hard upon hers, and he grasps her tighter against him. She's dragging him down, drowning him in the light, drowning him in her warmth.
Drowning in light is suffocating in one so dark.
And yet, he can't help but fall willingly into her siren's trap.