So, "Black" by Pearl Jam came on my Sirius, and something about it inspired me to write a painfully angsty fic with Emma leaving Killian and just utterly breaking his heart. It's probably my favorite song by them, even though it's so sad. Maybe this popped into my head because Colin is admittedly a huge Pearl Jam fan. I'm starting with just a little abstract drabble based off the lyrics- I might flesh it out, write a backstory that details their love affair, if I feel like it and can work the whole thing out in my head. I tend to like happy endings, so if I continue it, I may try to add one. I have a tough time breaking poor Killian Jones' heart.
This is a pretty big departure from anything else I've posted on here- no smut, just lots of feels. But I was in the mood to branch out. (i'm still working on the other stuff, though, so if you happily associate my name with CS filth, don't worry too much.)
For anyone who isn't familiar with this song, you should absolutely look it up. "Ten" was one of the first albums I ever bought and one of the best albums to come out of the 90's without question.
He sat at his desk, pencil in his hand as he attempted to sketch her one last time. It had been so much easier when she was his- or he thought she was his, at least, when she was spread out in his bed and the rising sun's rays cascaded over her skin as she slept. He'd loved to draw her before she woke, tracing every beautiful curve of her body onto paper, sometimes focusing on just her lips, or just her hands, or the way her blonde hair flowed over his pillows. He could still see her there in his mind's eye, the emptiness in his bed seeming even more real because of it. He could still taste her on his lips; smell her on his sheets when he fell into bed at night. Like a specter, she lingered long after she was gone. Staring at the blank paper, he huffed out a sigh and climbed above deck.
The emptiness of the ocean mirrored the emptiness in his soul, threatening to swallow him up. The horizon stretched out in front of him in every direction, and though he could easily use the sun and stars to navigate his way back towards land, he couldn't help but feel alone. He had thought that putting out to sea would help to ease the ache in his heart, but it seemed that no amount of distance could compensate for her pull on him. A large part of him wanted to purge the memory of her from his thoughts, but feared that if he did, he would be well and truly lost.
She had been so broken, hiding behind walls of stone when he first met her, but his love had slowly torn them down, brick by brick. He'd always been able to see the light in her through cracks in those walls, always known the woman who hid inside, but the more of her the saw the more he'd loved her. As he'd slowly saved her, she'd nearly saved him, pulling his light from the darkness as well, making him want to be a better man, if only for her. When she fell into his arms for the first time, their passion spilling over into frenzied kisses in the hot Neverland jungle, he'd known instantly that he would never be the same. He wanted all of her, more than just her body, her very heart and soul. He had been so sure she wanted the same thing.
And for a time, it seemed that she did. When they returned, he found her coming to him in the night, crawling into his bed. At first, it was just for companionship, but soon for so much more. Her body had opened like a flower for him, and he had worshipped every delicious inch of her skin, her voice singing his name in ecstasy the sweetest music he'd ever heard. When they'd collapsed into each other, sweaty and sated, he'd held her so close, her body pressed against him as she slept and he daydreamed of a future with her, where he'd never have to be alone again.
Those dreams had all gone dark now, pushed aside when he realized they had been the desires of a damn fool. She'd never wanted what he wanted, never truly loved him, never wanted a family with him or a home with him, no matter what she had said at the time. He glared at the swan tattoo he'd added to his right arm, the ink there now taunting him twice with empty promises of love and happiness. He wished he could scrub the ebony color from his skin, but it was there to stay, lingering on his skin as her memory lingered in his heart.
He turned the Jolly Roger, returning to Storybrooke to buy more rum and other supplies. Walking through the town, he watched a group of children frolic in the schoolyard, careful to avoid being seen by her son, Henry. He couldn't take it right now, the burning feeling he had when he remembered her promises of being a father, not just a step-father, but of having children together of their own. It had been a dream he'd never expected to come true, and having it dangled in front of him and ripped away so harshly had been harder than never believing it could happen in the first place. Feeling sick, like the world was spinning out of control, he stumbled back to the ship, clutching his newly purchased run tightly in his fist.
He crashed into his cabin, taking pulls from the bottle as he tried desperately to drown his thoughts, drown his dreams, drown the memory of her. He knocked a glass off of his desk, watching it break into a million pieces as it hit the floor, the shards feeling as broken and sharp as the shattered pieces of his heart that burned in his chest. His vision swam, darkness swallowing him as his despair swallowed him up and he fell back into bed. It had taken him 300 years to find hope again, and less than a year to lose it.
He wanted to regret ever meeting her, but couldn't bring himself to do so. She was like the sun, like the North Star, brilliant and beautiful and shining. She deserved to be cherished, to be the light of someone's whole life. She deserved all the dreams they'd shared. She deserved her happily ever after.
But why couldn't it have been with him?