A/N: Thanks, pirate-owl, fo reminding me about that scene and how nicely it parallels that other scene. I blame you.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.
She came home to a dark house, empty. Odd, she thought. He should be here by now.
"Killian?" she called softly into the entranceway.
There was no response.
"Hello?" Still nothing.
Thinking maybe he was upstairs, she strode to the kitchen to deposit her purse, dumping her keys beside it on the kitchen table. She was about to flip on the light switch when she saw him.
He was outside, perched at the edge of the top step leading down into the yard, his back to her in the fading evening light. His thinking spot, she called it, the one place around their home where she could find him if something was bothering him. He claimed the sound of the ocean in the distance and the view of their peaceful garden centered him, calmed him, helped him focus when he just needed a moment to think.
She headed to the door and stepped out onto the porch noisily, letting him know she was there.
He whirled around as the door closed, saw her, and quickly turned back to face the yard, but it was too late. She'd already seen his face.
He was… crying?
"Uh, hey," she said gently, walking slowly over to him. "Everything okay?"
He sniffed. "Yeah," he said, his voice thick, strained. He wiped his hand across his face and turned to her as she sat, his eyes red and watery. "Sorry, I sort of lost track of time."
"Killian, what's wrong?" she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.
He shook his head, his throat working too hard as he swallowed. "Nothing, love, I just…"
"Killian," she started. "Please don't-"
She didn't get to finish. He shook his head, turning away from her as he drew in a deep breath, his shoulders shaking.
"I'm sorry, Emma," he whispered brokenly. She saw the tears falling to his lap. "I'm so sorry."
"For what?" she asked, her hand holding his shoulder tightly. "Killian, what's going on?"
She'd seen him cry before, but not like this, not recently. He looked… pained, in a way she hadn't seen since right after returning, the nightmares and memories still so fresh and raw in his mind. They'd been fine for so long, it had been weeks since coming back from the Underworld, Storybrooke finally quiet and uneventful, the future they'd dreamed about finally happening. She had absolutely no idea what could have set him off like this.
He was quiet, his breath steadying somewhat as he calmed, and she waited.
"I had no idea," he finally managed quietly. "I didn't even think…" He fell silent once more.
She gripped his other shoulder and turned his body to face hers. He didn't fight her. His head was bowed, hair falling across his forehead, blocking his eyes.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, ducking her head to find his gaze. "You're not making any sense."
He took a breath, a stuttered sigh escaping his lips.
"I nearly finished the book," he almost whispered, his eyes trained on his lap. "I never realised, I never thought about what you must have gone through that night."
"What book? What are you-"
It hit her just then. The book, book twelve in the series he had started on her recommendation weeks ago, the series he had fallen into so completely that he could be seen almost anywhere in town with a paperback tucked into one pocket or another.
The book she had read years ago when it first came out, before her life was filled with actual magic and fairy tales. She had forgotten most of the details, and how it paralleled almost exactly the events from that night, the night she thought she had finally lost him for good.
"Susan," she murmured softly, remembering all too clearly what happened.
He nodded and looked up.
"They're characters in a book," he said in a voice so broken, "I know they're not real, but I felt like I was the Dark One all over again, begging you to kill me with that damned sword. I don't know how you did it, Emma, and I'm so sorry for even asking it of you."
His head fell to his chest and this time she recognised the shame, the guilt they had worked on so hard over these last weeks to move past. She reached out and held his hand tightly, his fingers softly stroking hers in response.
"It had to be me," she said, "you know that, Killian. It was an impossible situation."
"I know," he whispered. "I know, but that doesn't change how hard it must have been for you."
She thought for a moment and shrugged. "You're right, it was," she said simply. She squeezed his fingers, her other hand touching his chin, urging him to meet her eyes. "I won't lie to you, it hurt, Killian. It hurt a lot. But I'm sitting here with you right now, on the steps to our home, and that night is only a bad memory. This is real, we are real, and that's all that matters anymore."
He nodded, swallowing hard before managing a quick one-sided smile.
"I don't think I can finish the series, Emma," he said. "Not after all that."
"Nonsense," she said with a smile. "The great Captain Hook doesn't just give up. You know Harry wouldn't."
"Perhaps I consider myself a little wiser than the wizard Dresden, love," he grinned, the broken look slowly fading from his eyes, though the redness remained.
She laughed. "Do you really want me to comment on that? Besides, I think you'll really like book fifteen."
"Why?"
"Let's just say it has a certain… familiarity to it," was all she offered.
"I'll think about it."
His smile faded somewhat and she felt his hand tighten around hers. "Thank you," he said softly, "for saving me. I don't think I tell you enough how grateful I am to be home."
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek in a quick kiss. "You can show me later just how much you appreciate it," she grinned.
"I think I can manage that," he smiled, raising an eyebrow.
"Great, so you'll do the dishes then," she smirked.
He groaned, but pulled her close, touching his lips to hers, and she could feel his grin in their kiss.
"As you wish," he murmured.