I wake up fine and dandy but damn, by the time I find it handy to rip my heart apart and start planning my crash landing. I go up, up, up, up, up to the ceiling, where I feel my soul start leaving, like an old man's hair receding...
"Come on."
Her fingers danced across his skin, almost reverently, as he laid his hand in her's. She eyed him, a smile hinted in those rolling depths and he could have sworn she held the wrath of the oceans in her gaze; her serene anger boiling just beneath the surface of the calm tides she laid out before him to bring him under her waves, under her spell. Like a siren.
"You know you can trust me."
The spell was broken.
He felt his mask shatter and in the silence of the room he could hear the remains of what little hope he had shriek on the floor as the doubt and the crushing, aching revelation came upon him. The storm was rising and all he could do was await, helplessly, to be taken into the depths of what the imposter before him had planned.
His eyes searched her features, desperately clinging to the dying belief that she was still there, fighting for her right to live; much as he was doing for her.
I'm pleading please, oh please on my knees repeatedly asking, "Why it's got to be like this, is this living free?"
"Swan," he breathed out, and for a moment he saw that the disguise she wore before him faltered. The innocence in her eyes seemed more genuine and her eyebrows twitched into a furrow at the sound of his voice. Then, it was gone. The curtains had fallen, and she tilted her head to the side as she smiled at him.
"Would you care to sit?" Emma asked of him, her voice a low murmur, and he knew despite whatever his answer would have been, she would have her way. He was helpless against this version of her, the one he could touch without feeling, look at but not see. She tugged his hand and lowered herself down to the chair at her side, and he followed suit without thinking, not once removing his hand from her's, and forced himself to sit down at the table. His legs brushed the checkered tablecloth and their joint movement stirred the flickering flame of the candle positioned at the center of the table.
Her thumb brushed his palm, and she smiled once again at him, an endearing twitch of her lips that had his heart aching because he knew this was not true. This was a lie.
It just made this all that much worse.
A short, distinct pop filled the air and he glanced down to the plate set in front of him, laddled with steaming grilled cheese and french fries smeared with ketchup. The wine within the crystal glass did not even stir, even though it had not been there before. Flicking his gaze back up to Emma he saw her nod towards her own plate of lunch.
"Let's eat," she said to him, and turned her attention to the table. His eyes narrowed, but nevertheless he complied and only then did she break their grasp to divulge in the food.
Killian had just taken a single, wary bite as a glass entered his field of view. Glancing up he saw Emma holding her wine out to him, a softness to her gaze he had not seen since their abrupt return to Storybrooke.
"Do you not know what a toast is?" she asked, almost teasingly if he did not know better, as he stared blankly into her gaze. She tilted her head and blinked slowly, once, indicating she would wait until he responded. His eyes flicked to his drink, and warily with his hand he cupped the glass in his palm, fingers wrapped delicately around the stem, and held it up. Emma tapped the rim of her drink to his, and the soft chink of the glass was muffled by their wooden surroundings, before she set the drink back down to the table.
Killian lifted the wine to his lips and slowly sipped the alcohol, savoring the flavor on his tongue and eying Emma through the falling strands of his hair as she lifted a sandwich to her mouth, her free hand laying across her lap. She seemed too innocent. The act was too good. The wine he had just drank threatened to rise in his throat at the thought.
The strained silence in the air threatened to choke Killian as he ate. Granny's cooking was just as he remembered, foreign to his taste but somehow he still savored the bites he took. His eyes watched the flame of the candle dancing through the air, but tethered to the dark stem of the wick and it reminded him of the Emma of the past; Light straining to break free of the Darkness. Emma cleared her throat next to him.
His eyes broke away from the flame and met her gaze, and once more he cringed inwardly at the soft smile on her face that was too alike to the old Emma for his own comfort.
"Do you remember when we had dinner on the deck?" she asked of him, toying with an onion ring inbetween her fingers. His gaze twitched briefly to the twirling food before he returned to looking at her.
"...Aye," he confirmed curtly, resting his hook next to his plate. Emma laughed quietly, taking a small bite of the onion ring while staring at him. Her tongue danced across her lips briefly, and Killian tensed.
"It was warm. You thought it would be nice for us to go sailing," he further elaborated when she said nothing, simply smiling ever so softly at him. "We had lobster and you showed me how to navigate the stars," Emma murmured, and she seemed lost in the memory, her gaze resting on the table. He said nothing in reply, and returned to eating in silence.
The air remained quiet, and Emma seemed to take the quiet as an indication that Killian had no further desire to talk. She, too, returned to focusing on her plate.
I don't want to be the one, be the one who holds the sun's blood on my hands out to the moon. Take this weapon forged in darkness; some see a pen, I see a harpoon.
Killian sipped on his wine and leaned on his arm pressed against the table, staring at Emma and all the while his eyes traced the planes of her face, the way her hair still seemed more white than blonde despite the softness of her dress, the sweep of her hair tied back behind her head and his heart ached as the chasm within him yawned and deepened. He wondered what she could possibly want from him; simply reminiscing surely couldn't be the Dark One's ideal date.
Either Emma took no notice of Killian's gaze or she chose to ignore him in favor of the food. Despite himself, the pirate's lips twitched at the thought that despite the curse, Emma's fondness for grilled cheese and onion rings had not diminished. The smirk faded, however, when her fingers lifted towards the wine. In a careful manner not common in Emma Swan; every move was calculated to perfection, the familiarity of the situation too was crafted by the Dark One to lure Killian in to the depths of darkness.
And oh gods, has it ever felt so good to hurt?
"I meant it, you know."
Killian twitched as he heard Emma's voice, and he blinked as she looked at him. He found himself wondering how it was possible that she could look so concerned when just moments ago she had been smiling. Her eyebrows dipped over her brow and the sadness of her eyes threatened to draw him under. His eyebrow arched in a show of confusion, prompting the Dark One to speak.
"I meant what I said," she further elaborated, not that it helped Killian grasp the situation.
"That I love you. I meant that, Killian."
Her voice bore into his chest and it was almost painful enough for him to cry out at the agony of the words. Instead, he turned his head away and downed another gulp of wine; how had his glass emptied so quickly?
"Aye," he muttered, staring at the bottom of the cup, "I'm sure you did, Swan."
"Why don't you believe me?" Emma asked suddenly, pushing her chair back and rising to her feet, standing over him. He refused to meet her gaze, though he felt her eyes boring into the side of his head, commanding him to look at her. Instead, he too rose to his feet, before circling around the table. His eyes remained trained on the wooden floor until he stood in front of Emma, and only then did his gaze meet her's.
She was smiling that damn smile again, he noted, and the vices in his chest grew tighter. He drew in a deep breath, then spoke.
"You need something from me, Dark One," he accused lowly, and cursed in his mind when his words drew no reaction out of Emma. "Tell me what it is," he pushed, aching to get that smile off her lips. It worked, and her expression flattened.
"All I need is your trust," the blonde whispered, and moved closer to Killian. And his anger peaked.
Stepping back, he glared down into those eyes, those damn eyes that no matter how hard he tried he was always sucked deep into them. "You won't get it," he said, "You aren't the same, Emma." His voice caught on her name and he raised his hand, pointing in her face and tilting his head. "That 'you', isn't here." The venom dripping from his tone had her expression falter slightly, and she took a step towards him. Was that desperation in her eyes?
She tilted her head to stare into his eyes, and he stepped back as she sucked in a breath. And four words uttered from her mouth that stabbed into him more painfully than any sword or bullet.
"Do you love me?"
Emma's quiet voice seemed to fill the room. "If you tell me you don't love me...I will let you go."
Killian gazed helplessly at her and could feel her expectations pressing on him like boulders. Either way, he was damned.
And he knew the only way to get through to Emma, the real Emma, was to fall apart. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, stepping towards her.
Hand and hook reached out to grasp at her waist, and he lowered his head as if to meet her lips with his. Emma leaned into the touch, and her breath ghosted across his skin; and in that moment, his heart broke.
"I loved you."
His eyes opened to see her.
She stepped away from him, out of his hold, and her eyes betrayed what her face would not.
It took so much effort to keep Killian from reaching for her, to repent and say "It's a lie, I've always loved you, Swan," as if he could mend what he had broken. It seemed as though Emma stood before him now, not the Dark One. One hand clenched at her side in a fist, the other held above her heart, where he had felt her heartbeat under his palm and he knew he had gotten through to her.
Emma's eyes darted over Killian's face, as if she were searching for some hope that he was lying. But he knew not to reveal himself to her; he knew this was necessary to survive.
A heavy gasp of air escaped Emma's lips as she continued to search the pirate's features, and he did not take his eyes away from her as she curled her lips into a snarl and marched towards him. The fierceness of her features did not match the tears in her eyes.
"Enjoy your lunch," Emma snarled quietly. In a swirl of black smoke, she had vanished.
And Killian let his pain shatter across his face.
I'll stay awake, 'cause the dark's not taking prisoners tonight.