Just a little drabble that popped into my head when I heard Emma tell Happy to hold onto things that have your name on it. This is a little dark. Nothing too bad, but I was told to warn you anyway.

Let me know what you think!

Love,

Annaelle

PS The next chapter of Sands Of Time is being worked on. Promise I'll have it out ASAP!

"If your name is on something… Hold onto it." –Emma Swan

Darkness is a funny thing.

She had been a tad possessive of the things she considered hers before she became the Dark One, but she had been reasonably good at reigning in the urge to snap at people when she had to share—especially when it came to food.

Now that she is the Dark One, the things that are hers are hers alone, and she refuses to share with anyone. It is as she told the dwarf, she likes to keep the things that bear her name close now. That is also the reason she keeps the Dagger safe in the little cardboard box that holds other little keepsakes from her early life, locked away behind several spells and curses that only she can bypass.

She almost wishes she had become the Dark One earlier; she can recall quite a few situations in which she wishes she would have been selfish enough to demand that what was rightfully hers—she certainly would not have kept Killian and Henry at an arm's length.

Her boys.

They may not literally bear her name, but they are hers nonetheless, and she will make sure the entire population of Storybrooke is aware of that fact.

It is with that thought in mind that she wills herself to appear at Granny's, where she knows the family will be gathered, undoubtedly plotting to somehow 'save her'. She doesn't so much as blink when the entire diner falls silent at her appearance and focuses on the table that seats her parents—though they have done little to deserve that title, after what they tried to do to her in Camelot—and Regina.

As she scans the diner, she feels a twinge of unease when she is unable to locate her boys, though there is also a modicum of relief when she sees her baby brother safely tucked in their mother's arms.

Where they may have failed her as parents, at least they seem to be doing a decent job at caring for her infant brother—in case they should fail him as well, she has a plan in place and a nursery in her new house with white picket fence where she can care for her third boy—which pleases her immensely.

"Where are they?" She demands, strolling towards the table as she raises an eyebrow.

Regina spits something undoubtedly snarky and sassy back at her—she does not even bother to listen—while she stares down her mother, waiting for the woman to break beneath her cold stare.

"Emma," her father pleads, "please, you don't have to do this alone. Whatever it is that you're trying to accomplish—we can help." His offer would have been nice, had she not had his betrayal still firmly in the forefront of her mind, the look in his eye as he had the sword at Killian's throat—so willing to kill the man she loved (loves) to save her soul.

It was as though no one understood that without him, she didn't want her soul to be saved.

Of course, it was of no consequence right now—at this moment, she simply needs to find her boys and mark them as hers, so that everyone will know that they are untouchable, and that to harm them would incur her wrath.

"Henry," she drawls insistently, "and Killian. Tell me where they are."

"I'm right here, Swan."

She turns lazily, smirking at her pirate—pleased with his presence—until she realizes, for the very first time, that he is wearing short sleeves for the first time since he has been introduced to modern clothes. She has no problem with his clothes; she enjoys looking at her handsome man; but she does have a problem with the tattoo on his right arm that is now on full display.

MILAH.

It is as though the name mocks her, taunts her with its mere existence.

He does not bear her name.

But he bears another woman's.

That will not do.

She vibrates with anger, and she can feel her magic humming beneath her skin, begging to be let loose, to rectify this unacceptable situation instantly. The voices in her head hiss at her, telling her to kill, destroy, annihilate, and she almost gives in.

Almost.

Killian distracts her from doing so when he steps forward and catches her raised hand in his, his eyes glowing with the same dark anger she had seen when he had told her he no longer loved her, and she needs him to understand that he is hers.

"Mine."

She doesn't blink as the black clouds envelop them, thinking only of getting him home—into the bed that she had chosen for them. She pins him down as they land, curling her fingers around his wrists as she straddles him, keeping her eyes focused on his.

"You are mine," she hisses, deliberately ignoring the way his entire body stiffens beneath hers, "Do you understand?" When he doesn't speak—stubborn pirate—she digs her fingernails into his skin and rolls her hips against his, reminiscent of a peaceful afternoon in a field of roses that he no longer recalls, knowing that it will break him if he would not give in.

But he will.

She knows him as well as he claims to know her.

"Yes, love." She ignores the way his voice breaks and moves her hands up from his wrists to his hand and hook so their fingers lace together before she leans down to press her lips to his.

As they kiss, she strokes her fingers over the tattoo on his arm, letting the magic rush through her veins and drip from her fingertips, pulling back to watch with satisfaction as that other woman's name disappears and is replaced with her own.

"Much better," she nods, running her fingers over his cheek as he squeezes his eyes shut, "My pirate."

It's like she told the dwarf.

If something has your name on it… Hold onto it.

Especially when it's a person.