October 22nd…somewhere.
Emma rolled onto her back with a long sigh and stared up at the unusual constellations that peeked through the foliage of the Dark Jungle. It was well after midnight, and she still had yet to sleep. Between the lonely cries of young boys that permeated the air an hour ago—as seemed to happen like clockwork at eleven each night—and the remembered echo of Pan's taunting words and downright frightening threats, trying to sleep in Neverland was, to be blunt, a bitch.
Emma scrubbed her hands over her face and moaned quietly, finally deciding to get up and see who was on watch and relieve them. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well at least be doing something useful and let everyone else get all the rest they could. They were going to need it if they were going to make it to Henry's location in one piece, let alone win him back in whatever final game Pan was playing at.
She sighed again and rolled to her feet, grabbing the sword Hook had given her before she made her way quietly to the southern edge of their camp, taking great pains to not wake the rest of the sleeping party behind her.
It had been several long days since their little group had made violent landfall on the island after the storm had done its worst to their emotions and wrecked the Jolly Roger. They now were making their painstaking way through the Dark Jungle, and honestly sometimes it seemed like they were backtracking more often than they were making steps forward.
Hook had become more and more grim with every new obstacle he found in their way, and he seemed to be taking it almost as a personal insult that the whole place had grown worse since his last stay in Neverland. But he was still their best guide through the hellish landscape, and he kept them at as steady a pace as they could manage, steering them out of more than one deadly trap on their seemingly endless journey.
Emma knew they were making progress, but the Jungle had a way of playing tricks on her mind, making her despair rise at each turn. It seemed like it would be an eternity before they found her son, and as time wore on, each new doubt would try her resolve and cause her to examine herself more negatively than she ever had before. Night only seemed to make that worse.
She forcefully shook the thoughts out of her head and pushed past the last few leaves before she came out on the ledge near their camp, eyes darting around in the dark trying to locate whoever it was that was supposed to be keeping a lookout here.
"You should be taking your rest, Swan. I've got this hour's watch."
Hook's quiet voice sounded from directly behind her and she nearly jumped out of her skin, sword halfway drawn before she recognized the dark coat and his glittering blue eyes as they stared at her from a mere three feet away.
"God, Hook, I almost took your damned head off."
He raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Really? Then allow me to commend you on your level of restraint. And I must say your form and reflexes are vastly improving."
Emma shoved the blade back into its sheath and turned away from him with a snort, moving to place her back against one of the trees that clung to the edge of the overlook.
"Yeah right, thanks."
Hook moved up to stand a short distance from her, eyes on the dark expanse of jungle below them as he pulled his spyglass from his pocket and expanded it with his teeth.
"Having a hard time sleeping, love?" he asked as he placed the glass at his eye and carefully scanned the tree line for signs of movement.
"I'm sleeping well enough, I'm just not tired," Emma lied stiffly. "Thought I'd trade watch with whoever was up here."
Hook tilted his head and studied her for a long moment, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. Emma met his gaze with defiance, thinking he'd call her on the lie. But after a long, quiet moment of scrutiny he merely shrugged, placing the glass to his eye again and resuming his watch.
Emma breathed a sigh and embraced the silence with relief, Hook content to let her be as he scanned the trees carefully for any sign of danger that could threaten the relative sanctity of the makeshift camp that lay in the clearing behind them. The companionable quiet between them somehow managed to soothe her still tightly drawn nerves despite her restless thoughts, and she began to realize how grateful she was for this part of Hook's companionship. He didn't pry like her well-meaning parents, didn't feel the need to fill the silence with impatient goading or sarcastic insults like Regina. He was simply there with her, quiet and real, a dependable force she knew they could rely on to get them to Henry.
Emma felt the question that had been burning in her thoughts all night tugging its way forward in her mind, and as she watched him, she realized the only person she felt comfortable asking was standing not ten feet away her. She hesitated a beat and then broke the silence.
"So how much time do you think has passed? Back home I mean, in Storybrooke?"
Killian brought the glass down from his eye and glanced at her, brow furrowed in thought.
"I'm certainly no master of time, but given how your world's perception seems to move with that of the Enchanted Forest, I'd wager no more than three days at most. Possibly four."
Emma hummed in reply and lapsed into silence across from him, tension still obvious in her stance and in her furrowed brows. Killian collapsed the glass with the tip of his hook and turned again to look at her, the nature of her inquiry puzzling him.
"What's so significant about the date, love?"
Emma glanced sharply at him and then barked a bitter laugh, shaking her head at his choice of words.
"Significant? Not a single damn thing."
She pushed off from the tree and took a few steps away, kicking viciously at a root before she whirled around again, one finger in the air.
"No, wait! There actually is something noteworthy about today. How could I forget? The township of Storybrooke was established on this date. But considering just how it was founded I doubt anyone's celebrating that joyous event back home."
Emma regretted her own bitter words the moment they left her mouth. She'd sounded like a whiny child to her own ears and she winced, turning abruptly away and hoping she hadn't said far too much.
Killian frowned, watching her pained expression and trying desperately to fit the pieces together in his mind. He had seen a touch of self-loathing and despair in her eyes and the knowledge of it clenched around his heart like a cold vise. But there was something else, something deeper that she was holding back. It was like she had deliberately told him the exact opposite of what was really bothering her and had left it at that, hoping to get him off the subject by mentioning something as mundane as the seaside town's origins. And then suddenly all the pieces clicked into place…
"The curse…" he breathed, as the answer dawned on him.
Emma tensed. "What about it?"
"This is the day the curse was enacted those years ago…"
Killian hesitated, watching her face carefully in the starlight before he spoke the next words.
"Which was also the day of your birth…"
Emma's shoulders slumped a fraction and she slowly turned around to meet his eyes. Hers were defiant and cold, but he could read the barest hint of anger and sadness in their depths.
"Congratulations," she murmured. "You got it right. Happy Birthday to me…"
Emma sighed and returned to her spot by the tree, slumping back against it with her arms crossed defensively in front of her. Her gaze drifted beyond them to the distant sea where it shimmered dully in the misty starlight at the edge of the jungle.
Killian watched her, completely and utterly at a loss. Emma's lonely past wasn't much different from his own, of that much he was certain, considering what he had gleaned during his time spent around her. Yet something about this particular date at this particular moment in time was taking a toll on her remaining strength, and he wanted nothing more than to see her get it back. But now for the first time in as long as he could remember, Killian Jones found himself clueless as to what to say next.
"Well," He shifted awkwardly, fidgeting with the glass in his hand and offering her a rather weak smile. "I suppose it would be poor form on my part to wish you many happy returns of the day, considering the…less than happy circumstances?"
Emma stared at him as if deciding whether to be insulted or amused, and for a brief moment Killian thought himself doomed. But then a blessedly genuine laugh escaped her, and she shook her head.
"I appreciate the sentiment, Hook, but…no, totally not appropriate."
She continued to laugh quietly for a moment before lapsing once again into silence, the smile on her face dissolving gradually back into lines of worry and strain. Killian studied her in the faint starlight, wishing he could somehow bring back the light he'd seen briefly shining in her eyes a moment ago, and gradually a sliver of an idea came to him.
He turned it over and over in his mind, examining it and wondering if this idea would prove to be a success or one that would earn him a swift fist in the jaw for his trouble. Risky at best… but then again, his entire life at the moment was a series of dangerous wagers, so why was he hesitating? Another swift glance at her troubled face and the decision was practically made for him. He stepped up beside her and finally broke the silence, sealing his fate.
"Emma… I wonder if you'd mind keeping watch here for a moment. I'd like to check the campsite, make sure all is still well for the rest of our party."
Emma cocked a brow at him sarcastically. "You don't need to make an excuse to go whiz behind a tree, you know."
Her frankness startled him and the look he gave her was bordering on scathing. "If that term refers to what I think it does…I wasn't. Now if you don't mind…?"
She rolled her eyes, not buying the 'check-the-campsite' excuse, but finding Hook's thoroughly insulted look to be pretty damned amusing, anyway.
"Okay, okay, fine. Do…whatever you need to do, and I'll keep watch. But only if you let me hold onto that while you're gone," Emma pointed to the glass he still held in his hand.
Killian glanced down at it and hesitated, fingering it gently. He'd had it with him for most of three hundred years, and he had to handle it delicately now, fearing someday soon it would break just simply from how long it had been used. Neverland was really not a place he desired to be without it. He turned it over in his palm and then shrugged, raising an eyebrow and handing it over carefully.
"As you wish, Swan. Happy Birthday. And if you break it, I'll take it out of your rations."
She took it from him with a gleeful smirk and shooed him away with her other hand.
"Like hell you will. Go do your thing, Hook. I'll keep your precious spyglass safe."
Killian grunted skeptically but he couldn't resist returning her smirk with one of his own as he turned and made his way back through the trees to their camp.
She'd been right, the sharp lass; he was lying about checking the campsite. The only way something could have gotten past him would have been if it had managed to squeeze through the rocks that sheltered them from the southern end. And nothing, save perhaps a shadow, could have done it without rousing the over-protective Prince…a Prince he now hoped would stay very soundly asleep as he did what he'd come here to do.
Killian approached their supply stash where it rested near Emma's rumpled and empty bedroll and crouched down, gingerly picking up the pack he knew contained the items he searched for and reaching inside. He closed his hand around one of them and pulled it out, gazing down at the simple object and tightening his jaw as memories of a life dead and gone flooded back to him.
Many happy returns, indeed…
He himself hadn't celebrated the event of his own birth since…since Milah.
Killian shut his eyes and swallowed hard as her name and memory seared across his mind, taking him back to a time and place he had tried to bury entirely under his quest for vengeance. But curse it if Neverland didn't have a way of making it all come vividly back to him now...
Dim visions swam in his mind, Milah's warm smile, the small silly trinkets she tended to give him, always wrapped in a ridiculous amount of ribbon; her ringing laughter as he would teasingly complain about how silly it all was, even though deep down the gesture had warmed him to the depths of his lonely, love-hungry soul. Killian's heart ached at a fleeting memory of her soft grey eyes shining at him in the light of the candles she had always lit for the occasion. There was nearly always candlelight in his quarters when she was with him, but each year she would light a special taper she herself had made, burning it for them to herald the turning of another year.
He remembered her smiling at him from beyond it as he extinguished it before she would light it once more and blow it out herself. She did it for her own passing years, she'd explained once, and for her son, marking the time that was passing for him as well. And Killian had nodded in quiet understanding, though he hadn't truly known the emotions that should lie behind the sentiment until years later when he himself had found and then lost Baelfire.
That tradition had only lasted for a fleeting few years before it had abruptly ended, leaving the burning light of hope for another blissful year forever unlit under the dark shroud of emptiness and hate that had claimed him next.
After Milah had—no…after she was gone—everything had changed. Killian had buried her and her laughing memory at sea, leaving the pain that came of happier memories behind and sailing through the portal to seek the key to his revenge on the Dark One. There were no more candles, no more trinkets wrapped in too much ribbon, and no more foolish celebrations to mark the passage of years.
While he was in Neverland decidedly not aging, he'd fiercely abolished the traditions at least for himself, counting the years as obstacles in his way rather than dates to be celebrated. He had seen no point in remembering it—since age was not a thing that was changing anymore for him anyway—and the only thing it served to do then was pain him more than he thought necessary. So he had simply buried the memory of his own birth date with the death of his love, refusing to think of it again of his own accord. Until tonight, that is…
Killian winced and shook his head in the darkness as the lance of newly reawakened pain shot across his heart, forcefully shaking the painful recollections out of his mind and pulling himself back to the present. He focused instead on the item in his hand, turning it in his fingers thoughtfully and remembering Emma's words as well as what the date must mean for her. Especially now that she knew all there was to know about her past.
Emma Swan had been born a princess this day twenty-nine years ago…probably even at the very same hour that he'd stood next to Cora in her magical shield, protected from the acrid black cloud of the Dark Curse as it consumed every inch of the land around them. He had unknowingly watched as it had taken everything from her; her life, her family, her future…And now, under the weight of his growing love toward her, he felt in a way as if he owed her for that moment; for simply standing by as Regina's curse destroyed her happiness while he remained untouched in the middle. He was in no way responsible for its origin or design, but his inaction in the moment hung heavily against his heart tonight.
Killian couldn't blame her for hating the date if she did, considering everything she now knew it had cost her. Memories of lives cut short and days unattainable were harsh, no doubt about that, but he wondered just how much worse it was for someone who had no memories like his at all, and for such an unbelievably cruel reason. Neverland could only be making that lack of memories worse for her, spreading loneliness like a plague that ate away at one's soul.
It was a bit overwhelming to realize that he had fairly watched her life begin and end at once, as they were now of the same age and the same understanding. Strange that after twenty eight years of being frozen in place on opposite sides of the darkness, they were now working side by side on the same mission; both of them mourning someone they'd once loved dearly, and facing the Neverland-conjured memories of past lives they both desired to forget above all else.
Killian closed his hand around the object he held and felt a new resolve burn in his chest. It was high time to forget the pains of the past and build a new tradition. If not for himself, then for the mother, the Lost Girl, the strong-willed woman he'd left on watch a moment ago.
He pocketed the items he had come for and rose to his feet, turning around to step soundlessly back into the trees where he knew Emma waited for him, still standing watch in the darkness.
She didn't turn as he approached, but he saw the edge of a smile turn up one corner of her mouth as she stood gazing through the spyglass.
"So how's camp? Any Lost Ones or evil creatures of the night lurking in the shadows?"
Killian moved forward to stand by her side. "No sign of the former, however it appears we have somehow managed to allow the latter to slip into our midst. Seems we've even provided her with her own bedroll."
Emma turned her head to glare at him. "Very funny."
He grinned shamelessly at her. "I thought it was."
"And I'm so sure Regina would agree if I told her about it in the morning."
Killian gave her a mock pout, reaching into his pocket to withdraw the bottle of rum he always kept there.
"Come now, don't be cruel, love. I brought you a gift."
Emma raised her eyebrows as he waved the bottle in her direction, offering it to her.
"Really? This again? Seriously Hook, if you're trying to cheer me up, save your energy. I'm fine."
"This is rum, darling. Rum doesn't do any cheering up. But I will say, it does a fair job of creating a pleasant haze through which one can enjoy the irony of a Birthday spent in Neverland, playing games with an obnoxious little demon of a boy."
He waggled the bottle under her nose. She eyed it for a long moment, glancing from him to the bottle and back again before reaching out a hand and snatching it from him.
"When you put it that way, it sounds like exactly what I need."
She took a long pull of the fiery alcohol and winced as it burned its way down her throat. Killian paused to chuckle at the grimace that crossed her face before he moved past her to a boulder that sat a few feet away. He turned his back on her and prepared to carefully arrange the items he'd retrieved, laying them out on its bowed surface.
"What're you doing?" Emma's curious voice came to him after a few moments.
He didn't turn, still intent on what his work at the boulder, and he could sense her moving closer beside him to peek over his shoulder at what he was doing as he answered her.
"There's a legend where I come from that claims that a flame represents life, or the spark of inspiration and hope. Tradition holds that each year on the passing of one's day of birth, a candle is lit to celebrate that hope and to pass it on into the coming year."
Killian talked as he worked, scattering the items out and putting them in precise order on the makeshift stone table. He pulled the small, round tinderbox he'd brought with them from the ship out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open, removing the flint and arranging the dried coconut fibre they used as tinder inside the tin where the soft night breeze wouldn't reach it.
"Supposedly, if one blows out this candle before the day passes, the smoke will rise, carrying all the luck of the previous year up to the sky and into your future."
He continued to poke at the wad of fibre while he spoke, prodding it with fingers and hook until he was completely satisfied with its position inside the box.
"They say the smoke travels from us to the thing we desire most in the world, carrying good fortune with it to light the way to our destiny. Some people even make a wish, though to be honest, I've never taken much stock in that quaint theory. Even hope has its limits, I'd venture."
He paused in his speech, concentrating on using the steel of his hook to strike the flint until a spark lived long enough to settle in the tinder and burn. He immediately crouched down and began to blow on the tiny ember, urging it to light the rest of the fibre. Emma took a step back as the flame caught and smoldered slowly in the tiny box. She watched as Hook pulled a small white object she recognized as one of the spare lantern candles from his pocket and held it over the flame.
"Um…why are you lighting that?" she asked warily as he turned the candle upright to shield the new flame burning at its top.
"Because, Swan. It's your Birthday…somewhere," he shrugged over that conundrum and lifted the candle. "And though I myself haven't celebrated the day of my own birth for a number of years, I figure some traditions are still good to keep even if they aren't proven to be true. Everyone could use a little hope every now and again, and here in Neverland one could use all of it they can get."
He smiled with satisfaction and held the flame out toward her. Emma stared at it, blinking back a sudden rush of emotion as she realized exactly what this scene reminded her of.
"My name's Henry. I'm your son…"
She was instantly overwhelmed with the memory of that night—was it only a year ago?—in her empty Boston apartment, devoid of sentiment, decoration, of a sense of home; the pitiful little lone candle with the blue star, stuck into the top of an even more pitiful cupcake; the childlike longing in her heart for someone…anyone to be with so as not to be alone; the wish…oh God, the wish. The single burning light in Hook's outstretched hand was too similar, too dangerous…and far too tempting.
"Did you put a baby up for adoption ten years ago? Well that was me…"
Emma backed away slowly, shaking her head. The light blurred as if she was seeing it through water and she realized that her eyes were wet with unshed tears.
"Swan..? What's the matter?"
Hook's voice barely registered in her mind as all the insecurities that had kept her from sleeping came rushing back with renewed clarity. That was it, the reason this day was draining her of all hope. It was because somewhere, deep in the dark recesses of her mind, she was remembering a year ago when Henry had come into her life—admittedly for the second time—and comparing it to now.
Now he was out there, lost in the darkness, just beyond reach, getting farther and farther away each time they got closer to the place the map marked as being their goal. It was a nightmare, and she was living every agonizing second of it. As hard as she might try to deny it, some part of her blamed herself for making it happen, for wishing him into existence that night a year ago as she blew out a single candle.
The flame in Hook's hand danced in the night breeze, taunting her. He lifted his hook to try and shield it, concern marring every inch of his expression as he took a single cautious step toward her.
"Swan?"
Emma shook her head and took another step back.
"No."
The whisper escaped her without her knowledge, gasping out in protest of the memory, the doubt that followed on its heels, the candle Hook held in his outstretched hand… everything.
"Swan…Emma. Look at me, for pity's sake!" He sounded panicked, and that alone was what pulled her eyes up from the taunting flame to focus on his face.
He relaxed visibly when her eyes met his and she could see him actually stop himself from moving forward another step.
"Emma, please…tell me what's wrong?"
What's wrong? What's wrong?
She wanted to scream at him, at herself, at the entire darkened jungle that surrounded them.
I'M wrong. Me, Emma Swan. I'm messed up and screwed up and this is my fault…
Emma shook her head against the negative thoughts that crowded on her tongue, desperate to escape.
"I…I can't. Please, Hook, just put it out, okay?"
She stepped backward with her palms out, trying to distance herself from both him and her memories. But it wasn't that easy when he was still there, holding that damned candle and asking her; "Why?"
He hadn't meant to ask, hadn't meant to push her or pry, but his surprise at her sudden change of mood quite honestly frightened him and the question slipped out before he could stop himself. He'd meant only to try and make a small gesture, something that could possibly make her feel stronger going forward, give her hope. But somehow he sensed he'd been a bumbling idiot and done exactly the opposite. So he asked.
"Why?"
"Because," She took a ragged breath, blinking hard against the blur of emotion threatening to overwhelm her vision and spill down her cheeks. "Because the last time I blew out a candle just like that one, I did make a wish, and no more than ten seconds later a little boy I'd never seen before knocked on my door and told me I was his mother."
Killian's eyes widened. "Henry…"
So that was why his seemingly harmless gesture had hurt her so deeply...
Emma nodded. "Yeah…Henry."
The light of the candle Killian still held reflected off the moisture in her eyes and softly illuminated her face, putting the pain in her expression into deeper, more telling shadows. The hot wax of the candle began to drip down its sides and a drop of it reached Killian's fingers. He felt the minor sting of it against his skin, warm enough to cause discomfort but no longer hot enough to burn; but he didn't move to extinguish the flame, his focus still entirely riveted on the woman standing across from him.
She stood tense, staring past him at the vast jungle below them. She looked utterly lost and hopeless, and Killian felt his heart go cold at seeing her this way.
Emma took a ragged breath and tried to brace herself against the tears, unwilling that any of them should fall.
"That night I wished that I wouldn't have to spend another birthday alone…because up until then that's all I ever had been. Maybe it wasn't the wish that did it, I don't know. But maybe magic, maybe fate, providence; maybe some sick, twisted fairy godmother was at work. All I know is that I just made a tiny selfish wish and there he was."
Her hands balled into fists at her side and she gritted her teeth.
"And you know, ever since that night I haven't once stopped making his life a living hell. I didn't want to be alone, so I made a selfish, stupid wish on a candle just like that one. And now Henry's here, lost in the middle of that jungle down there. Now he's alone, trapped with some sick, twisted male adolescent who wants to do God knows what to him."
She laughed humourlessly and shook herhead. A single tear got the best of her and rolled down her face as she continued, her voice dripping with the same self loathing that made Killian's blood go cold.
"And do you know what the worst part is? The worst part is, that I am a huge part of the reason he's out there. Me. The first night we spent out here I claimed to be a mother, Hook. But what good has that been to him? What kind of mother have I really proven myself to be?"
Her voice wavered on the last question and she bit her lip to stop it from trembling. God, but she was doing a lot of that lately. It was driving her insane how emotional she had been since getting here.
Killian didn't hesitate. He closed the distance between them and leaned down close to her so she couldn't miss the fire in his eyes and the conviction with which he spoke.
"You're the kind of mother who's here, Emma. You've crossed worlds and come to bloody Neverland, knowing that this is a place even the Dark One fears. You are the kind of mother who loves her son enough to come to the worst place in existence, risking everything just to see him safe. That's far more than any child can possibly hope for, especially here."
He tilted his head, gazing down into her shimmering eyes with a sad, knowing smile.
"And I think you and I both know it's far more than most children ever get to have…"
Emma swallowed hard, startled by the last sentence and wondering just how alike their pasts really were.
"I tried to leave him, you know," she murmured. "Once, right at the beginning. I tried to just let him go and forget he existed because I thought it was best for him," She laughed wryly. "I didn't get any father than the gate to Regina's front yard before I changed my mind. I tried, I really did, but I just…"
"You just couldn't do it," Killian finished for her. "You couldn't leave him. Because somehow at some point, he has managed to fit his way into your heart and bind himself to you in such a way that you keep coming back for him, no matter how hard you try to stay away."
He trailed off and looked away for a moment, fidgeting a little with his hook.
"Even when you think you're doing the sensible thing in leaving…you still just keep coming back."
Killian's eyes rose again to meet hers as he finished, the blue of them dazzling in the flickering light of the slow-burning candle he held between them. Emma blinked again at the emotion she saw there and suddenly wondered if they were talking about Henry anymore.
"You could say that…yeah."
Killian half-shrugged. "I believe I just did."
Emma fell quiet, her eyes on the flickering flame in his hand. A small frown still furrowed her brow and Killian ached with a sudden desire to smooth it out with a kiss and hold her close. But he held back, his need to give her space and not push her winning over against the desires of his heart.
"Emma, you love your son. That much is glaringly obvious. And in this land, having someone that cares for us is all anyone trapped here can ask for. He has that in his favour already. You are that for your son."
"I know…I just hope he knows that too."
Killian smiled softly, remembering their last stand in the Diner back in Storybrooke, the expressions of trust he'd seen on Henry's face when he'd looked at her.
"I was only around the lad for a few moments. But I can tell you he does," He lifted the candle a little, holding it out to her. "So why don't you send him a little of that love and your past year's luck?"
Emma rolled her eyes. "You know, I don't think this year has really been all that lucky, to be honest."
"Oh I don't know. You met your son, broke a curse, escaped Cora and managed to get home. You've even bested me a fair number of times, and that's an accomplishment in and of itself."
He flashed her a cocky grin and she laughed, the sound ringing like music in his ears.
Bloody hell, Jones. Just how hard have you fallen for this woman?
Emma arched a brow and crossed her arms over her chest, unaware of his wild thoughts.
"Don't inflate your ego too much there, buddy. I didn't notice it being to difficult to win that sword fight."
Killian looked away and shrugged, fidgeting with the candle in his fingers.
"Well, now perhaps I might have let that one go for you…"
Emma's eyebrows shot up and she opened her mouth to protest, but Hook cut her off before she could comment.
"My point is, Emma," He raised the candle to eye level. "Call it luck, call it hope, whatever it is you have, Henry needs it more than we do right now. If you won't blow it out for yourself, do it for his sake. Send your hope to him."
Emma sobered, glancing from the candle to the vast, dark jungle that stretched out far below them. She wouldn't wish. Wishes, she suspected, came with a price just like any magic. And she was still not ready to risk that price with Henry hanging in the balance. But maybe a hope, a prayer…
"Okay," she breathed, shutting her eyes tight and leaning forward.
She focused on an image of her smiling son and held it in her mind, clinging to it like it was a lifeline. Pursing her lips, she blew out her breath with a sharp whoosh and waited, eyes still closed. Part of her was afraid to open them, as if the act of blowing out the candle might have whisked her far away where she could never reach her son. But as she slowly opened her eyes she saw Hook, still standing with arm outstretched, the smoke from the extinguished candle flowing up and out from the smoldering wick.
The wispy tendrils of white haze lifted and spiraled immediately out away from them, travelling out over the dark forest below in the direction the map currently pinpointed as Pan's Hideout. Emma watched it go; not reading much into the direction the smoke was travelling in until a slight breeze lifted her hair. And then it suddenly dawned on her… the smoke was drifting into the jungle against the pull of the wind.
She gasped and looked back at Hook, seeing her stunned expression mirrored in his own.
"Well…It looks as if you had a bit of luck to spare after all."
He shook himself from his shock and grinned down at her. "Happy Birthday, Swan."
She stood agape, wide eyes still staring out at the jungle where the wisps of smoke had disappeared into the darkness below. A warmth spread across her and for the first time that evening she felt herself relax, an easy smile finding its way across her lips. Emma shut her eyes and let her thoughts return to the smiling boy she'd pictured as she blew out the flame.
We're gonna find you, kid. Just hang in there…
Killian stepped quietly back from her, letting her be alone with her thoughts. He moved to set the candle on the rock, but a quick tug on his hook stopped him. He turned back to Emma in surprise as she pulled him over to the rock and picked up the flint from where he'd left it next to the tin box.
"Emma, what are you doing…?"
She ignored his protest, holding his hook out over the unused tinder and striking it against the flint she held in her hand. A spark flew out and she leaned down to blow like he had done a few moments before, coaxing the ember into becoming fire. Snatching the still-warm candle from his hand, she held it over the flame, reigniting the charred wick and bringing it up to eye-level with a satisfied quirk on her lips.
"If I have to blow out a candle, then so do you," she announced, holding the candle out to him with a steady hand.
Killian felt a shock roll through him as the earlier memories of Milah sped back into his mind. It was like he'd traveled back in time, only now the woman standing across from him was golden haired and green eyed, a small trace of a tear still visible on her cheek. But otherwise, the similarities of this moment and the one from his memory were uncanny.
"Emma, my own birth date isn't for another…"
She shook her head, cutting him off.
"Doesn't matter. You said yourself that you haven't done this in a number of years, Hook. I figure that means you've got a lot of lost time to catch up on. You might as well start now. So…"
She twisted the now relit candle in her fingertips and held it before his eyes.
"Your turn."
Killian stared at her, his heart racing in something close to panic. He shook his head and tried to reason with her as best he could.
"My luck hasn't been all that spectacular this past year either, if you hadn't noticed…"
She smiled coyly and tilted her head to the side. "Oh I don't know. You met me, made it to Storybrooke, survived a duel with a car, and then made it back from New York without getting hit by another one. I'd say your record's been pretty good so far."
She leaned closer and arched a brow. "Not to mention the fact that you apparently threw that sword fight with me and managed to survive with no more than a bump on your head to show for it."
"I'll have you know that bump turned into one hell of a headache later on," he protested, still avoiding the glowing flame that burned between them.
Emma sighed, her expression sobering. "Just blow out the candle, Hook."
Killian's brow furrowed, unsure. This wasn't at all what he'd had in mind when he'd filched the candle from camp. The prospect of counting years again somehow seemed so foreign to him that he cringed from it as if it would burn him, and he wasn't entirely sure he had had enough luck in those skipped years to amount to more than a single small step in the wrong direction. But as he looked into the intense green of Emma's eyes, he realized there was no one else he'd rather start counting them with than her, even if the moments he shared with her were destined to be few and far between.
He slowly let his eyelids close and concentrated, imagining the light from the candle becoming every ounce of good fortune and happiness he'd experienced not just in the last year, but in every year of his life. He dredged up old moments that up until now would have done nothing but rake across his heart with searing pain, focusing only on the good ones. He unburied his past and set it loose in his mind, remembering things he had tried to forget…all for the sake of the woman standing across from him. She deserved every bit of hope he could muster, even if it left him raw and bleeding on the inside when they were done here.
He gathered his thoughts and moved forward slightly, exhaling a sharp breath and blowing the candle out quickly as though he thought it would betray him if he didn't catch it unaware. The light was extinguished in an instant, plunging the hard lines and contours of his face back into the cool blue shadows of starlight. He opened his eyes cautiously and stared down at the candle, not trusting himself to meet her eyes just yet.
This time the stream smoke drifted upward, gathering in an almost deliberately stationary cloud above them before it blew straight back, curling in a ribbon around Emma's head like a halo of white light. Her eyes followed it in surprise as it drifted down over her, and suddenly Killian's words from earlier seemed to ring loudly in the silence for both of them.
"They say it travels from us to the thing we desire most in this world, carrying good fortune with it…."
Emma blinked, fixing her wide, shocked eyes at the pirate standing less than a foot from her. His gaze followed the ring of the wispy halo until their eyes met, and he offered her a soft smile and nod.
"Well. All my luck to you, Swan."
Emma slowly lowered the twice-extinguished candle, taking a ragged breath.
"Thank you," She whispered, voice too shaky to speak aloud.
"Likewise," Killian raised his hand, gingerly taking the candle from her and turning it over in his palm. "It's been far longer than I can imagine since I've done… anything like that. It seems to be oddly cathartic."
He set the candle down on the boulder next to the tinderbox and picked up the bottle of rum from where Emma had placed it earlier, raising it to her in salute before taking a swift drink.
"Here's to many…Happier returns of the day, Emma."
He offered her the bottle and she took it from him carefully, raising to him in return. "I will most definitely be drinking to that."
Killian left Emma standing watch a few moments later, recognizing the desire to be alone for a while in her eyes. She agreed to wake her father in no more than an hour so that she could rest, but in the meantime she was content to stand watch under the unfamiliar stars for a while. And so Killian had taken his leave of her and retreated quietly to his bedroll where it lay as far from the others as he could place it.
He moved silently in the darkness, feeling deeply accomplished when he managed to do so without the Prince moving so much as a twitch. He settled himself against the folded blanket he used as a pillow and reached down to fit his hand into the pocket in which he carried the rum and candle. He pulled the candle from it and rolled it in his palm a few moments, remembering the way the warm light had played on Emma's features and golden hair, and how the pale ribbon of smoke had twined itself around her in an embrace of silver.
Killian smiled fondly down at the lump of melted wax and charred wick, cursing himself in the dark a moment later when he suddenly realized that he wanted desperately to keep it. Wonderful. If he didn't cease being so sentimental about these foolish trinkets he kept acquiring, he would no longer have room to live, even aboard the Jolly Roger.
He sighed to himself and carefully wrapped the candle with a length of cloth he'd had folded in his breast pocket before pressing the bundle securely down to the bottom of his coat pocket where it could rest safe and sound beside the bottle of rum and…the spyglass.
Killian slumped back against the makeshift pillow and suppressed a wry chuckle.
Bloody hell, Jones…
He'd left the spyglass with the blessed, blasted, beautiful Swan who was still standing guard beyond the trees. Well enough, he thought. She would take good care of it, he knew. And anyway, it was probably good that she had it with her to keep a weather eye on their surroundings.
Besides, he mused as he burrowed himself down under a blanket; He wasn't the only sentimental one. He'd seen the scarf from their time on the beanstalk tucked away in her desk drawer and careful way she handled the sword he'd given her. The glass was in the best hands besides his own, and if he never got it back from her, well…he was content knowing another small piece of himself was in her care.
Handle it carefully, Swan. He thought just as he drifted off to sleep.
It's existed for three hundred years and is far more delicate than you'd expect. If it should be damaged now, well… I doubt it would ever be the same again…
The last thing to cross his mind as sleep claimed him was that it wasn't just the glass he was referring to.
It was his heart.
~Finis
A.N.: I'm working under the assumption that it's been about a year since the Pilot, since Henry is eleven and we haven't seen another of Emma's Birthdays celebrated on screen. I'm probably wrong about it, but since I couldn't find any exact time frame I just went with instinct on this one.
On Candles: According to extensive research I did, Birthday candles represent the light of life, and in some cultures it's believed that the smoke from them can carry good luck and even prayers to heaven.
Written in honour of Emma's canon Birthday, October 22nd, and the anniversary of the first airing of The Crocodile. Our ship has come so far!