Author's note: Wow I haven't posted in a long time! But after last night's episode I just couldn't help myself. What better way to recover from a sad episode than to write angsty fanfic?
Spoilers for episode 5x20 if you haven't seen it yet! This takes place immediately after the episode "Operation Firebird."
Disclaimer: Also I don't own OUAT. No shit, right?
The first time he died, she hadn't felt anything except for pure shock disbelief, because how was he even dead since it technically wasn't even real, just an alternate universe? (In retrospect, she realized that she'd been truly and completely terrified, although she'd shoved that thought aside because she had a mission, which would essentially serve as a giant Undo button.
The second time he died, she was oddly reminded of the time she broke her favorite mug. As she'd helplessly watched the sudsy mug slip almost in slow motion out of her hands and into the sink, and as she just stared at the shattered pieces, she'd thought fleetingly to herself that she could fix this. I could still fix this, she' d thought desperately as she went against every instinct that told her to just let it go.
The third time he died, she'd tried to keep herself rational as she'd stabbed him with Excalibur, because he had to die to stop all the Dark Ones, although her efforts had been a big fat failure; the second the wound reappeared on his neck every thought flew out of her mind as she tried to hang on to him for the last few horribly long yet simultaneously way too short seconds. She'd never been one to believe in the
The third time was probably the final time, at least in everyone's minds, because that's when his spirit left his body, and when his body ceased to be him.
But no. To Emma, the final time would always be the last fleeting moments she'd ever spent with him as the elevator carried her back up to the Underworld's version of the library. He hadn't exactly died then seeing as he was already dead, but that was the moment all of the hope she'd been hanging on to disappeared.
Yet it wasn't real. As she stood silently alongside a stoic Henry, an openly crying Snow and a teary eyed Regina, she stared at the casket before her. Inside lay his body, although her mind struggled to wrap around the fact that the Killian who'd, at the last minute, brushed his lips against her hand, had once been part of the body rotting in the glorified wooden box.
Her mother and (much to her surprise) her father spoke, their hands clasped together as they spoke in tandem.
"Without Killian, we'd all be in a much worse place right now." Snow said. "Because he did it out of love."
"Out of love for Emma, for Henry, and for us," David picked up smoothly. "His family."
Snow's eyes met Emma's, and her mother cocked her head as if gesturing that Emma should come and speak next. She just stared back. As pure as her mother's intentions were (she'd been the one to plan practically the whole funeral), the person she'd described was not the Killian Jones Emma loved so deeply.
No one could've captured his spirit with their words. The way he always abused that damn spot behind his ears to cover up his embarrassment, the way his smile never failed to cheer her up, the way his beautiful lilting accent always warmed her from the inside out and the way he never ever stopped believing in her even when she didn't deserve it. Or the way his eyeliner almost looked better than hers…Emma started to choke out a laugh and quickly coughed to cover it up, earning a strange look from Regina. What the hell was wrong with her?
But not saying anything would mean not doing justice to everything he'd done for her and everything he'd stood for in her heart. Why hadn't she told him sooner? Why hadn't she accepted him sooner? If she'd known that this would happen…
(Although if she'd known she would've considered keeping him at a distance altogether to avoid the heavy coldness inside her right now)
So with some prodding from Henry, she found herself walking slowly up to the podium. Her parents wrapped their arms around her for a moment in a show of encouragement. It helped, sort of, until she was inevitably struck with the thought that if he was here he would've pressed his lip to hers and cupped her cheek with his hand and…
Shut up, Emma. Shut up.
She looked out at the surprisingly large group of Storybrooke citizens who'd left their beds to attend this windy, rainy funeral. Yet another thing she hadn't known about him. She'd never even realized how much of an impact he'd had on anyone besides herself and Henry.
She hadn't deserved him.
"I, um…" Emma's voice wavered. She'd barely spoken since returning home from the Underworld and now it felt strange to. "Th-thanks for coming out. Today."
Oh God. Although she kept her eyes down, she could feel everyone's gazes trained on hers. She could feel their pity. She didn't want their pity.
Emma knew she could probably push all of her feelings aside, slapping a bandaid over it until she was in the privacy of her parents' apartment (because how could she return to the beautiful home Killian had picked out for her). She could likely speak robotically about how much he'd sacrificed for her and how much he'd mean to her. But doing so would mean ignoring everything he'd done for her. He wouldn't want that.
Although he probably doesn't want to be dead either so…
Emma cleared her throat. "…he, um…he would be…or well I guess I meant he would've been…" She opened her mouth to say happy because he would've been happy to see that so many people besides her cared, in the same way that he was so touched that they'd all come to rescue him in the Underworld. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, tried to say something, anything that would stop her from gaping at the crowd like a dead fish.
Happy. That's all she needed to say. Come on, Emma.
The crowd disappeared, and all she could see was him. Killian falling, crumpling to the ground as her arm that held Excalibur retracted. His thumb coming up to cradle her cheek once more in his attempt to comfort her when he was the one dying. His last "I love you." Their actual last "I love you," exchanged moments before she stepped into that damned elevator. The way tears pooled in the beautiful blue eyes she'd never see again.
Four times. She'd had to say goodbye to him four times. Four times she'd had to watch him die.
The crowd was probably still watching, murmuring amongst themselves about how bad they felt for her, someone so broken beyond repair she could barely string together a sentence.
"Happy."
What…did I say that?
"He would've been happy." A crisp voice beside Emma said. She turned her head to see Regina, who had someone come to stand beside her. "Killian Jones, or Captain Guyliner as I preferred to call him, would've been very happy to see all of you here today."
Regina somehow nodded and shot Emma a sympathetic glance while still managing to speak in a loud, clear voice that suited the mayor side of her. "Whether you know it or not, this town meant the world to him, as it does for everyone here today…"
As Regina continued to speak, Emma could feel her mother's arm wrap around her, pulling her aside to where she and David stood. Emma rested her head against her father's shoulder as they listened to Regina's speech. She hadn't even known that Regina prepared a speech, and a rather elegant one too.
I'm sorry. I tried, I really did. I should be the one up there saying those things, not Regina.
Emma could imagine what he'd say. It's alright, love. You did the best you could.
But did she? She should've seen Excalibur coming moments before it sliced through his skin (and Arthur would pay very, very dearly for this). She should've found a better way to save him, damnit, because she was the Dark One and she should've known how. She should've forced Hades to find some more ambrosia so that she wouldn't be standing here right now, staring at the big dark hole where his body would lie.
No, I didn't Killian. And I'm sorry.
Emma didn't want his unfinished business to be her, because out of anyone he didn't deserve to wallow in the Underworld for eternity.
But he would be hers. Yes, she wasn't dead (although part of her was in fact dead now that he officially was), but she knew without a doubt that as long as he was dead and she had to live with the knowledge that she had a hand in causing all of this, she'd never be able to truly let go.
Author's note: Thoughts?