This is literally the only way i can conceive of there not being an epic verbal throwdown.
Relief. The crocodile is gone, Swan is below, dazed in the release of the spell. Relief washes over him with all the intensity of the sea during a storm. His knees feel weak, his muscles turned to kelp, his bones to coral: he should be dead. Staring at the red heart in his hands, he knows this. By all rights, he should be dead, but Belle...
She didn't have to save him. She had every right not to.
Killian Jones is a man who pays his debts, and he would never be able to repay the bookish woman for what she has done, make amends for what he has done.
Steps on the stairs bring him back to the present. He tenses, and the relief flies away, his nerves singing in anticipation. Swan is giving him that look, the look that says she's not sure whether to kiss him or kill him. "Is that..."
"Mine? Yeah," he jokes weakly. "The dark one-"
"Don't say it," she says, the look turned to pain on her face. "Just... don't."
"Emma, I-"
She holds up a hand, and she looks away, a hundred emotions crossing her face to swirl in and hide behind her mask of stern indifference. His heart feels heavier in his hands, and he waits for the explosion: the anger, the hurt, the disappointment. Mary Margaret stands on the stairs, her eyes flicking between he and Swan with cautious worry. He wants to tell her to run, leave and save herself-the gods know he would in her stead-but at the same time he feels witnesses might make his retribution more just. Criminals were executed as such every day, and through such means achieved repentance in death.
He isn't sure he deserves that.
"Let's just... get out of here," Swan mutters, and stalks back down the stairs.
Killian's confusion meets Mary Margaret's. She gives him a pitying smile-she knows he's doomed. Before she follows her daughter, she grabs the cursed box. "Probably shouldn't leave this laying around," she says, wryly chipper.
Killian stands on the platform for a moment more, frozen in fear and confusion and stuck between 'fight or flight', before Swan's warning, "Hook!" calls him to her.
He stays several paces behind them as they walk back to the diner. Her steps are hard, her bootheels slapping the pavement with determination. The weight of his heart seems to increase further in his hand, hidden under his jacket. His is the walk of a man for the gallows; he feels the noose tightening with every step, until he can't breath freely as she leaves her mother and leads him to the back. She pauses when they are alone, the door carelessly swinging shut behind them; her shoulders square, her hands tremble and he imagines her righteous fury, and doesn't even take care to brace himself against her wrath, he deserves everything coming to him-
"Did he keep you from telling me?"
Her voice is calm when she turns to him. Killian hesitates, searching her face for any emotion other than worry and a hint of fear. "Yes," he says, not daring to raise his voice higher than a murmur.
Her eyes squeeze shut, and her hands go to her forehead, fingers dragging through her hair in a motion copied from Elsa but mixed with her own habits of frustration, and he knows she is putting all of the pieces together. She knew, he had seen it in her eyes more than once in the last few weeks, she had known something, but-"I knew. I knew and I... I didn't..."
"You've been quite busy, darling," he says.
"That doesn't excuse it," she says fiercely, and he isn't sure if the venom in her voice is for him or herself. "I let her get into my head. I let her mess with me, distract me, when I should have..."
He moves to comfort her, but he is still holding his heart in his hand. The glow catches her eye and she stares at it. "I'm so pissed at you," she says softly.
"I know." He deserves worse.
"But I'm pissed at me too."
"Emma, you were-"
"I know what I was!" She says, and this time the venom in her eyes and voice is certainly for him. He almost takes a step back. "But that doesn't excuse it. I'm the Savior. It's my job to protect you. I should have put the pieces together faster, I should have stopped Gold, I should have gotten over my freaking issues and realized you weren't pulling away from me!"
He stares in shock. "Emma..."
He moves to hold her, but she stops him. "No, not with... that. It's... weird. You're weird without it," Swan gestures to his heart.
Killian smiles crookedly. He holds it out to her, and she takes it carefully. "This is so creepy," she mutters.
'It's where it belongs,' he thinks. He dares not say it aloud. She will flee, perhaps before even returning his heart to his chest. She flexes her fingers around it. "Are you sure you want me to do this?"
"No one better."
She steadies herself, her mouth set in grim determination. "Just be gent-"
She slams his heart back in his chest, and the force alone says so many things her mouth cannot say: 'You're an idiot. I can't believe you got suckered into Gold's trap. I hate you for making me worry. I hate you for almost dying. I hate you for almost breaking your promise, for almost leaving me alone, for making me think I was losing you. I hate you. I hate that I might really, really like you and I hate that I hate it and you are so stupid Killian Jones, take your stupid goddamn heart back and I hate you for making me responsible for it.'
His flesh feels warm again, and he reels back in from the force of her. There is another rush of everything through his body and he feels heat, he feels desire, he feels. "Sorry," Swan lies, "I just thought if I did it fast, it'd be like ripping off a-"
He doesn't let her finish, as she didn't let him finish, and he swoops in on her, attacking her mouth with his, rushing her back, cradling her head so that when they hit the wall she doesn't see stars-he has other stars to show her, galaxies and universes full of them, but tonight it not a night for stars. Tonight is for healing. "I told you, Swan," Killian says hoarsely when they come up for air, regretfully pulling away from her silent plea for more. "I'm a survivor."
He breathes her in as she smiles, hoping she feels his love for her radiating from him. His heart beats the rhythm in his chest, 'I love you, I love you, I love you', so strong it would be inconceivable for her not to feel it, not with her hand still hovering over it. "I'm still pissed at you," she says softly.
"Aye, and be pissed with me all you want as long as you stop putting any blame on yourself," he tells her. "It was my own bloody stupidity that got me into that mess, and all that ire should be directed at me alone."
She hums in amusement. "You're going to regret that."
"I regret many things, Swan."
She pulls away slowly. "This isn't over," she tells him, her eyes flicking from where hands meet arms and chests to his own, regretful. "We've got a lot to talk about. But I need..."
He gestures towards the outside world. He knows this, accepts it as the price to pay for being with her, being allowed to be with her. "The world needs her Savior. Go on, go save it."
She smiles again, sadly this time, and presses another kiss to his lips, her fingers lingering over his heart once more, and she leaves him wanting, always wanting. He sinks against the wall, the adrenaline that had fueled him for the last hour finally crashing, fatigue settling around him like a comfortable blanket instead. He needs a drink. Or twelve. Or an entire barrel.