A/N: This is inspired from the 'game' Katniss and Peeta play in the end of Mockingjay because of what happens to him in the Capitol; I tried not to make that connection super direct or distinct here just because that's an element I really love for them in that series. I'm really just trying to find my muse is all. Hopefully by the finale we'll see them happy again :)
The Underworld left him broken.
It took everything the savior had to get him out of the death grip of Hades, and even when she finally had him in her arms, he felt weak. Sure, it was True Love's kiss that helped them escape death—she felt the light of their love in the depths of Hell as she kissed him. It lit the flames before quenching them out with truth and hope.
They walked out of the shadowy depths hand in hand, like they did everything else. But Killian was doubtful. He had always been, and even death as a hero couldn't supplement the ramifications of the Underworld.
But he had his Swan, and she was all he truly needed. It would just take time, like everything else.
The days were long and spent in their home. He and Emma would look through the spyglass at the ocean because it was calming. One day they actually made the visit, and another day they took Henry who helped sail the ship with the largest of smiles on his face. There were days spent at Granny's, picking at onion rings and French fries, focusing more on the intense presence of the other than anything else. There were days spent on the couch, the warmth of the hot cocoa and cinnamon in their hands keeping them present when emotions threatened to drown them. Days where they watched Back to the Future, Pirates of the Caribbean, and The Princess Bride.
And Emma really did feel like Buttercup, because she was lucky enough to have her True Love in her arms. Even if he wasn't there mentally, his physical presence was enough; Killian Jones was enough for her; they would just have to work for what once was together, like they once did everything else.
It didn't matter that there were days Killian needed an extra kiss, the extra squeeze of his hand, the extra smile. He'd been doubtful of their love before. He once told David he was unsure what Emma would do for him, but was confident in his words—to the end of the world or time—for her. Now, she did the impossible: saved his soul from the ends of the earth, defeated the darkness of the one thing that seemed permanent: death. And still there was fear in his eyes.
They'd sit on the couch, his head in her lap, and she'd toy her fingers in his hair, whispering sweet nothings to him—sweet nothings that meant the world because that's what they had now; that's why they travelled to and returned from both Camelot and the Underworld: the future the world of Storybrooke had to offer them and their dream of a white picket fence life.
And even though sometimes she'd look at him and see death in his eyes, she would kiss him until he forgot; kiss him until his hand would tangle in her Rapunzel-like hair and he remembered all the adventures they had together, until he would look at her, voice her name, Emma Emma Emma, over and over and over like a chant. Until he remembered offering his hand out to her, offering his trust to her; she had taken it then, and so now he would take hers.
It was Henry's idea to tell him stories. They often began, Once upon a time, a pirate and a princess fell in love. Other times, she would tell him of the man he was: the man who gave up his ship, the man who literally followed her to the ends of time; the man who showed her he was the only wall she would ever need; the man who gave his life—the man who was given a second chance.
He asked the same questions he did before he knew the true extent of her love for him. So it's even worse than I thought? There was the night they were eating rocky road ice cream and he said something about wanting to protect Emma's heart—hoping he was the one to protect it—when it was really his that currently needed protecting, his that had been twisted, crumpled and destroyed by Hades in the Underworld.
It turned into a game between them; Killian would ask a question, and Emma would respond either 'true' or 'false.' It was simple, unlike the tortuous complexities of the Underworld. He'd been taken under, and all that Hades had taught him there was doubt, until his love for Emma was unfinished business, until he didn't know any longer what was true and what wasn't. The love he had fought so hard for was taken away from him; and like their game, they had to start over, continue to fight until that's all they had—until all that remained was love.
Emma was patient with him like he had been with her; she'd trace circles on his palm, kiss his hook, place her forehead against his, fall asleep with their fingers intertwined; every little show of love she could.
He improved one day. They were leaving Granny's walking arm in arm. They'd just eaten grilled cheese, onion rings and fries; Emma had suggested it with the hope of old times. He suddenly stopped, turned to her and stated, "You're my happy ending." Emma stared at him the way she had that day, a tear rolling down her cheek, and answered, "True." He kissed her slowly like he was remembering, kissing away what the flames of Hell had done to him. They moved forward, Emma's head finding place on his shoulder as she whispered, almost too quietly to hear, "And you're mine."
It wasn't until one day he tested her, slow and sure. His half a heart was still so full of pain; the pain would have been more bearable if he had his complete heart, or Emma's—but because both of them could not live that way, they each held half of Emma's heart. (Sharing hearts seemed to be the way of True Love.) He watched her slowly as he murmured, "You love me—usually I'm the first to say it, but I love you still."
Tears flooded her eyes as she affirmed that she knew all those things to be true. She did her best to kiss the pain of the past away, until all that was left was their mutual hope for the future.