A/N: Title quote is from the The Snow Queen by Andersen-the song Gerda sings to her love, Kai. Plot elements based on a more traditional take on The Snow Queen myth; in it, she makes the boy forget about his love for Gerda with a kiss. What if Sarah caused Hook to forget about Emma?

"Well, love, you don't have to worry about me. The one thing I'm good at is surviving."

This was what it felt like. The crumbling sensation of the floor beneath her, the deep black pit in her chest where her heart had once been—was this what Regina had felt once, twice, with Daniel and then with Robin, and Emma hated herself again for the thought and for the pain she had caused—the twist and pull in her lower abdomen that made her want to reach out and touch, touch, hold the beautiful, utterly blank face before her.

"I'm sorry, lass, are you alright?" The dark eyes were concerned, but it wasn't the deep sweet gentle pervasive concern of her Killian, the one who always knew when something was wrong and who always made her smile even when she broke down and cried and who she had let behind the walls and oh, no, oh no oh no she was not going to do that right now, she was not going to cry, not right now, not in front of him.

This… new Killian.

David had found him, wandering around the ice wall, clearly confused and nearly hypothermic. He had rushed him back to the sheriff's station and Emma had nearly flown to his side, but he was swaddled in blankets, holding a mug of something, and she knew there was something wrong the second he looked up at her, eyes wide and innocent, and asked, "Mate, who's this?"

David met her eyes and his look was pained, and Emma fought to hold her mask in place.

This is what it felt like when you loved someone and they looked right through you, unknowing, uncaring, or worse, gently concerned or mildly interested. This was what she had felt with her mother, back in the Enchanted Forest, disguised as Leia; this is what she had put her parents through time and time and time again after the first curse had broken; this is what she had put him through, in Neverland, in New York, even after she had come back to Storybrooke.

So, really, the dark part of her whispered, it's only fair.

But he was waiting for an answer, looking at her with those liquid dark eyes, beautiful but blank, so she mustered her best smile and murmured, "I was expecting someone else."

It wasn't a total lie.

David slid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, but He was still looking at her and it stung, burned like wrapping salted hands around an ice cube, so Emma broke the embrace and attempted a business-like demeanor.

"David, if you wouldn't mind, take this man—"

"Killian," was the quiet insert, and her breath caught, but she steadied herself by turning away and shuffling some papers on her desk in what she hoped was a convincing manner.

"—take Killian to Granny's and get him settled in a room. Please." She turned and her mask was intact, a small smile plastered to her mouth. The man on the chair—she refused, refused, refused to give him that name—looked at her, and his mouth wrinkled a little, almost as though he were going to protest, or maybe to say something about the falseness of her expression, but he was swept up by David who blessedly started babbling about Storybrooke and freak weather events and heaven knows else.

Then the door slammed shut, and Emma crumpled, bringing her face to her knees once she was safely in the fetal position on the floor.

"You promised," she whispered, and then the tears came, and for once she let them overwhelm her.