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I
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Every day that she was here wandering, aimless (wasn't there) – always messing up – was another day Henry spent with him (murderous, treacherous, conniving little piece of shit), was another day that the tenuous connection between the two of them strained a little bit further. One of Emma's greatest fears lay in her relationship with her child, and the can it/will it/might it conversation about lasting. It was new, she was new, she had abandoned and been abandoned and although she loved him with every broken fibre of her being she knew (like any lost girl should) that his trust in her could only go so far.
She'd left him once before, despite the noblest of intentions (not all noble, she had been so young and so scared and so bitter)
And there had been the Neal thing (the not-dead bastard) and the lying thing and the fighting with Regina thing and sure, Emma did not doubt that Henry saw the best in her (because he was Henry, the brightest light in the whole god damn world), but she was so scared that there might not be any 'best' to see.
It left her feeling frustrated and useless and constantly on the verge of tears.
As if that hadn't been enough (it had) – the one she loved most in the world kidnapped and threatened to be twisted against her – all this other shit just had to pile on top, because this was Neverland where apparently everything you never wanted to happen did.
Thus Emma grappled with her parents being torn from her (again) (and again), with Mary-Margaret wanting to try for another baby – as her first time had clearly not been good enough – and with David being trapped on the island forever, torn away just as she was warming to the idea of family. And she felt like such a…failure, like she wasn't fit to be a mother or a child, she was just…Emma, always just Emma, all alone (and for good reasons).
She could barely even think about Hook or Neal because they just emphasized her lack – her lack of commitment, her lack of love, her lack of determination and willpower and strength and everything else that was good and honourable and that she supposedly should have when two men were looking at her with those eyes and those intentions. The very things she had never more strongly felt she was without.
So Emma did the only thing she could think of, she compartmentalized, she shut down everything but the one problem she couldn't ignore, Henry, Henry, Henry, and she refused to talk about anything else, refused to think. Anything else would cause her to break, to snap, and Emma Swan was not the type of person to fall apart at the seams during a crisis.
(She refused, willed away the panic and the pain, as well as the hope because she couldn't hang onto one thing and not the other)
- and she would never mention the thrum she felt in Neverland, the one she had been feeling since the diamond and Regina and the fucking magical candle that caught a shadow, which set her every nerve on fire –
It was too much. She had twenty-eight years of normal, twenty-eight years of knowing that the only way you could fly was through a machine, the only way to curse someone was with fuck-off's and piece of shit for brains'. But she would cope (somehow, from whatever cranny or nook she could disparage herself to find). She had always been so great at learning to deal.
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II
.
He knew she was another tragedy from breaking and it did more than just worry him – it fucking sent him into a spiral of anxiety. Because this was Neverland and there was always another tragedy around the corner, and the only way to get through it was to face each problem head on and find some measure of resolve because otherwise Pan would prey on each chip in your armour until you were a mere spectre of your former glory.
Killian should know – he had been that spectre; perhaps still was.
Watching Emma around the campfire, her eyes lost to the flames (but so open, to him at least, because he too, had been there, had known an unbearable weight and faced down an unsolvable challenge), paced his heartbeat at a steady thrum. That he felt such concern, so strongly and so suddenly, should frighten him (not invigorate or rejuvenate). After all, it had been centuries of time sped up and slowed down, centuries occupied with plotting a revenge that had never seen fruition. The crocodile was now his ally (frustrating, vexing) and Milah had been gone for such a long time…
- sometimes he wondered indeed if vengeance still counted when your enemy no longer acted like your enemy, when your love was but a faded memory due to so much passage of time, and when it came at the cost of the only hope you had ever known –
…and it hurt, being so consciously aware of his place on her shoulders, as another burden to bear on a harrowing journey, but he would be damned if it continued that way.
(he could hardly expect anything of her and yet despite her reluctance she seemed incapable of doing nothing but give)
Because he had been there, had known pain like no other and he had focused in on that one thing until one day he woke up and it was…acceptable, that Rumplestiltskin was alive and on his ship of all things, and he was agreeing to be finished, to be done, to choose life over revenge (and Milah, because it had been for her, even if he had the sneaking suspicion she would hate the man he had become).
That was thing about letting your darker emotions best you. They only gave back exactly what you had put in, and he had meant it when he declared vengeance an end and not a beginning.
- and it had been a fine plan to choose death and retribution as long as he wasn't the only one on a sinking ship, until her; she had to turn those pleading eyes up to him and tell him she understood him and that everything is okay until it isn't and he had to go and fall into the depths, left only with his own mistakes and a dark past (far too dark for her, he feared, but he could not stop, refused to stop or even try to) in order to dig himself out of the pit and show her that maybe, just maybe, he could be worthy.
Would be worthy.
It was as she had said – they understood one another. And every good pirate knows that you have to fight for what you want.
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III
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"Love, you need to get some rest."
Emma cocked her head up at the shadow lurking beside her (although never so terrifying as actual shadows, and how weird it was to be making that distinction). "I'm…keeping watch."
Hook took a seat next to her, on a log she had chosen specifically because it wasn't close to anyone else, and raised an eyebrow – as if daring her to commit to her lie. "No, actually, that would be your mother."
She glanced back towards the campsite, where the fire still provided some light, and where Snow sat (her back towards them thank god). Emma raised her chin and narrowed her eyes and stuck to her story. "I'm keeping watch on this side of the camp."
"You can continue telling that to yourself sweetheart, but I think it's best if you just admitted the truth."
She scoffed. "What truth?"
"That you're a frightened-"
"Yeah, well, Neverland just sets my teeth on edge." She interrupted, spouting Lost Boys and mermaids and Peter fucking Pan.
"Perhaps." He admitted, looking so infuriatingly all-knowing as he stared down her gumption. "But then you would not have so much sorrow accompanying your fear."
- and it pissed her off that he spoke like-like…he knew her, knew everything about her, and so because he happened to stumble upon something even remotely true-
"I will have you know that the only thing accompanying my fear is a whole lot of anger, so don't go poking around, pirate."
Hook chuckled, that wry half smile that was nothing like the way he looked at her when she surprised him, or impressed (or enticed, a treacherous voice whispered, sounding an awful lot like Emma herself), and instead reminded her of the man lying in a hospital bed, laughing bitterly because his revenge just never really took. "No need to get angry love, I'll have you know that even though I may be a pirate, I am also a man who knows the feeling all too well – and I do imagine you are quite infuriated. But you are also upset. And scared."
Somehow, by acknowledging it, she felt her ire soothe. Just a little. "I'm nothing. I'm fine."
"You are not."
"I am." She insisted.
"Emma –"
There was something so…ugh, just so, about his tone (complacent, persistent, fucking understanding). "Don't you 'Emma' me."
"I apologize – Swan, please."
"That is not any better."
"Fine. Wench? Lass? Which term of endearment would you have me address you by as I try and help-"
She interrupted him, again, with words said on the tip of a snarl. "Oh yeah, wench, absolutely that one."
He answered with a soft growl of his own. "Emma." He said again, settling on the only one that mattered. "Emma, love, I am not trying to…to-oh I don't know, exploit some weakness of yours. You know I would never dare, on my honour I would never breathe of this to anyone, so could you please just be honest with me."
Honestly? If she had to pick her biggest sin, it was pride. Followed very closely by wrath. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You gain nothing by refusing to admit-"
"I'll lose everything if I do!" She whispered, harsh and desperate, but still so keenly aware of the bodies slumbering just a small distance away. One breath that vented all of her need for this feeling to stop, and then another one after that, another, and another, until finally she had calmed down a little (oh she hated the way her emotions seemed to run, knew that she was damming everything up and that it would take only a well-placed prod for it to come crashing down and damn it Hook).
"I will lose it Jones. So don't push." She repeated, lowering her gaze so that she spoke to the log (which had been damn good company up until then, and had never tried to encroach on any personal boundaries).
(unlike him, who encroached on absolutely every boundary she even attempted to put up, and then some)
It was silent for a moment, during which she felt god damn fucking stop it tears well up in her eyes, with only the crack and snap of the fire behind them.
And then she felt a hand on her shoulder, just staying there, just right, and his voice in her ear. "Emma." He prodded, his voice touched and serious and genuine. "It's okay to lose it once in a while."
And she couldn't decide if it was better to hit him in that annoyingly perceptive (smug, compassionate, infuriating) face of his or to let the water just flow, and somehow managed to do a little bit of both. She looked up at him, half crazed, definitely exhausted, with tears in her eyes. "But I won't, I won't, I'll just lose, like I'm always…always losing things."
Hook quirked an eyebrow at her, and she could read the question in it, even though he knew she had lost, and even though she shouldn't be playing this game with him, knew that he knew, she continued on "I lost my parents, I lost my childhood, I lost every chance of happinessuntil Henry and then I go and lose him too – I can't…I just can't."
His hand moved slowly, over her shoulder, pulling her closer, not exactly subtle but soft enough that she didn't try and fight it – besides he was still going on and on even while she was on the verge of hysteria. "You can find the things you've lost lass – isn't that your parents' eternal maxim?"
She laughed softly, but it ended in a sob. How utterly embarrassing this all was, or would be rather, if Hook hadn't drawn her into his chest ever so gradually and if she hadn't just whimpered and (okay, ya, later she would look back on this and it would be cheeks aflame and eyes averted).
But it happened and Emma didn't even have it in her heart to worry about Mary-Margaret sitting a few feet away or the fact that the man who held her had professed his affections and his intentions – not when she had finally, thankfully broken.
And maybe that was all there was to it; she knew a liar when she saw one and Hook hadn't lied, not since getting here (okay, maybe the sexton thing had been totally false, but that was for David). Logically she should never trust him, and yet inexplicably did, almost had since the time she had met him – at least, trusted him if not to lie, to keep his word when he made it.
They stayed like that for a while, her every vexation simply seeping out (but not crying, just…comforting), a moment for her mother and father, for never having them, barely having them, and then only having them in the sense that they have been ripped away (or threatened to be), a moment for the saviour that she never thought she could be, for Henry, for Neal, for Pan and Neverland and even, in a small way, a moment for Hook because she had not expected this and in her calmer moments was not sure she even wanted it.
She wanted to be brave and worthy and not fall apart. But she also wanted to be softer, gentler, easier to know, not all hard edges and Emma and walls –
"There we are, love." He soothed, deep voice rumbling over top of her, a hand smoothing over her back and tucking her into his shoulder. "You can let everything out, you're safe here."
That definitely had her laughing into his shirt. "In," sniff "Neverland? Really? That's the case you're going to make?"
He shrugged, the movement only deepening their sideways embrace. "Well, I'll admit, there may be a few more risks here, but I imagine they are nothing you can't handle."
She raised her head, flushed and shy but feeling oddly better. "Yeah?" She asked, softly.
And his face was so close and she could read the answer in his eyes even before he spoke it. "Yeah."
She stayed that close for a while longer, still able to feel the warmth radiating off of this man (he had been unapologetically male from the moment she'd met him but somehow it was becoming more obvious as the days passed by).
(more obvious as the seconds ticked by)
Emma smiled, just slightly, but it was warm and genuine and soft and all of the things she hadn't been in so long. "Thank you." She said, her voice low of happy with implications (of trust not that, geeze). "Really."
"It was my pleasure love." he grinned, each word rolling off his tongue, imbued with sincerity.
She stared and stared, then stood, knowing that it was only a matter of time before someone ruined this moment (or she ruined this moment) - and found that the jittery magic holy shit feeling had decreased enough to beckon sleep back to her side.
She was grateful for the yawn. A sleepy (shy) smile accompanied her parting shot. "G'night Killian."
(totally worth the admission)
(he grinned like a loon)
… (a very attractive loon)
And there were still so many problems to fix, so many variables to account for and the weight of the world on her shoulders, but for this moment she felt…lighter. Like it had suddenly just occurred to her that there were other pairs of shoulders willing to bear the burden with her.
And finally, she found she was willing to let them.
AN: That's right, I accidentally went and found another fandom. I don't even know if this is canon, and the show itself is going run-oof-the-tracks crazy, but I can't seem to break away from cute/dirty/fluff Emma and Killian (so expect much much more).