AN: So, a new multi-chapter Captain Swan story! The idea came from a gif set made by the Tumblr user scotmcdoll, who granted me permission to expand upon it.

One. When I Feel This Cold

Regina had warned her against messing with the darker powers. The leader of her coven knew better than anyone the consequences that came with messing with dark magic. She had lost her love to them, killed in an attempt to bring her mother's reign of terror over the coven to an end. The spell had worked, but it had taken from Regina the thing she loved the most – Daniel – and she had never quite gotten over it.

Emma knew that Regina was right, that nothing good could come from messing with dark powers… but she needed to stop Peter, before he managed to drag Henry into his coven of dark immortals. It was said that the Spell of Souls would grant the caster power over an immortal soul, and if Emma could just gain power over Peter…

She could make him leave her son alone.

Henry's dreams were growing darker and leaving him with more shadows in his eyes every day that his thirteenth birthday, and the awakening of his powers, grew closer. If she didn't stop Peter now, then it would just grow increasingly worse until Henry agreed to join Peter just to make them stop. She had seen it happen before, with her childhood friend, August, and now knew that Henry was inclined towards Pan's alignment, due to their shared blood.

She cursed Neal – Baelfire – every day for not telling her the truth of his paternity, for abandoning her to run from his dark family, leaving behind Emma and Henry to fend for themselves. She cursed him because now here she sat amongst all the dark spells that Cora had left behind, preparing herself to pay whatever price it is that the other side demanded of her to complete the Spell of Souls.

All magic comes with a cost, Miss Swan. That is a lesson that I never listened to enough, until it was too late.

Regina's words haunted her, reminding Emma of the cost that could be demanded. But she had to believe that her price wouldn't be what she loved the most. That it would be something she could pay and keep Henry safe.

She lifted the candle – white at the top, gradually darkening until it became an inky, intimidating black at the bottom – and lit it, while speaking the words of the spell. Words she had read over and over, just to make sure that she would get the pronunciation right.

She wasn't going to mess this up, just because of a misspoken pronoun.

She finished the spell, the words falling from her lips, and blew the candle out. She waited for it to light again – the spell said it should light again- only nothing happened. Scowling, she read through the spell once more. Her incantation had been right.

She muttered a curse, lit the candle once more, and performed the spell again.

Nothing.

Growing ever more frustrated, she very nearly threw the candle across the room. But no one ever accused Emma Swan of giving up easily, so taking a deep breath, she waved her hand over the candle, lighting it once more. This time, she spoke slower, very careful to enunciate clearly. She kept her eyes closed for a second after the final words left her mouth, then opened them to blow the candle out.

Still nothing.

Her grip on the candle tightened for a moment, and her arm tensed, prepared to let the candle fly. But years of training held her hand, had her putting the candle carefully back in its place. She would go home, where she could throw pillows across the room and vent her anger freely before Henry got home. Then she would have to figure out a Plan B (Plan C, her mind whispered, because hadn't this been Plan B, when Regina had been of no help?). But she wouldn't give up.

She would save her son from Peter, even if it meant fleeing the coven and swearing off magic all together.

Emma sighed, giving the room of Cora's spell one last look, then slipped out as quietly as she had come.

As the door shut behind her, the black and white candle she had been using flickered to life.

(VS)

Killian woke slowly, as though coming out of a dream. It was a lovely dream, filled with Milah and Liam and a world where they were still alive, and he had never been cursed to become this… thing.

But as all dreams do, this one ended, replaced by thirst and the too-familiar anger that had haunted him for centuries.

He was trapped in the dark, and he shoved his hands at the covering over him, hissing when heat sparked, burning his fingertips. They healed nearly as quickly as they had burned, and Killian let out a vicious snarl. This time, he put more strength into his arms, shoving through the pain, and the covering flew off of him. He sat, and though the dark of the room wasn't as all-encompassing as his tomb had been, it was still dim. It didn't take long for his vision to adjust, however. His fangs bit into his lips as pulled himself clear of the coffin, and he scoffed to see it. The witch had been a dramatic one, putting him in such a place. He glanced around, recognizing the age and power of many of the objects around him, but none of them drew him as the candle did.

It flickered with pale orange light, and Killian found himself walking to it, drawn to it. I seemed to hold a scent – that of rain and something floral – and he breathed in deeply. Never in all the time since he had been cursed to be a monster had he ever smelled something so… so…

Tantalizing.

His fangs ached with desire for whomever the smell belonged, and he was sure that if he were to see himself, he would look quite monstrous.

But there was more to it. The smell didn't just speak to his appetite, but to something buried deep within him. Some bestial part of him that demanded he find the owner. Find them and… Killian didn't know what, just that instinct had made its demand, and now he felt a pull from somewhere outside the room.

A pull that, he was certain, would lead to the owner of the scent.

Emma, something whispered to him, a dark knowing that had come with his introduction to be a monster, and Killian felt a smirk steal across his lips. A name, whispered to him by the dark powers that surrounded this place. Whomever the owner of the scent was, her name was Emma, and something about her called to him.

He followed that call, unknowingly following the same path that Emma had just hours earlier. He moved just as silently, exiting the room in the same quiet manner.

And when the door shut behind him, the candle flickered out.

(VS)

"Do you have your pajamas?"

"Of course, mom."

Emma smiled at the exasperation in Henry's voice and ruffled his hair and he shouldered his bag. She had been invited to spend the night with friends, and though parts of her screamed to keep him near, to not let him out of her sight, Emma knew she had to let him enjoy his childhood. Perhaps if he wrestled himself to exhaustion with his friends, Peter wouldn't be able to haunt his dreams as easily. She knew it was probably an impossible dream, but he and the others would be at Jefferson's house, and though the man was odd, he was also aware of Henry's situation. He would be sure to keep the boy as safe as he could be.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow. Mary Margaret and David invited us for supper."

Henry smiled at the mention of his godparents and let Emma kiss his cheek before running out the door with a shout of good-bye. Emma hugged herself as she stood at the window, watching him run to Jefferson's car and get him. Jefferson glanced up, as though he could sense Emma watching, and tipped the odd top hat he always wore in her direction. Emma just pressed her fingertips to the glass of the window, feeling suddenly chilled without the warmth of Henry's presence in the house.

She had felt like that off and on since returning from Cora's crypt, and she wondered if maybe she were coming down with something.

The back of her mind whispered all magic comes with a price, but there should be no price to be paid. The spell hadn't worked, and maybe part of her was relieved about that. No, there was no price, so it must just be the onset of a cold. Tea would probably help. She knew that she had some of the herbal concoction that Mary Margaret was so proud of, that always seemed to be able to fight back illness before it had time to take hold.

She set to preparing the kettle and boiling water, ignoring that the chills seemed to come from deep within her, from the very center of her magic, and focusing instead on the movements of making tea. She was still new to witchcraft, having only discovered her own abilities when the nightmares first began to haunt Henry eighteen months ago, and so she was still apt to ignore them when they tried to tell her something.

She knew what Regina would say. Or Elsa and Mary Margaret. All of them would tell her she should trust her instincts, trust her magic, but it was easy for those born to the coven to say.

For Emma, who had grown up believing such things were fairytales, trusting in her magic was not something easily done.

She had just finished pouring the water over the tea when a chill, stronger than all the others, wracked her body. It started at her very heart and worked its way out, sending goosebumps across her skin and setting her hair on end. She had felt something similar, when she had first entered Cora's crypt – the feeling of dark powers and magicks far greater than her – but never before had she felt it here, at her home.

There was someone here.

Emma.

It was a whisper in her ear, that sent a shiver down her spine. Something about it was dark, yet it wasn't fear that caused that shiver.

It was anticipation.

Emma.

The whisper again. A man's voice. Accented and seductive and she found herself stepping towards the door, called there by the dark presence that danced across her nerve ends and into her ear.

She was turning the door knob before she really even realized she had made it there from the kitchen, and that's when she froze, her magic rising from her center and burning across her skin, as though it could drive away that dark presence and the promises it seemed to hold.

Her powers responded to the presence, as they had never responded to anything else before.

You're light, Regina had told her once, shortly after she and Henry had come and been introduced to the world of magic. Just as Elsa is ice, and Mary Margaret is nature. You are light in its purest form. And as such, you'll always be drawn to the dark, just as it will be drawn to you.

They had told her to listen to her powers and what they said. And right now, they were telling her that whoever – whatever – was outside her door was something incredibly dark. Emma had been raised in the dark, alone and forgotten in the foster system, and in that time she had learned that the darkness was overrated. The promises it made were empty, and just left you feeling colder than if you had never given in. So it could call all it wanted, but Emma had learned long ago not to answer. It took all her strength, but she released the doorknob and took a step back. Then another, and another. She slowly retreated, until she stood once more in the kitchen.

Emma, whispered once more across her skin, but Emma clutched the countertop with one hand and with the other she raised her teacup to her lips, letting the warmth of the liquid wash away the dark presence, or at least that's what she told herself she did.

In reality, her hand shook as she sipped the liquid, and her grip on the counter with the other was all that kept her grounded, away from the door and the dark presence that lingered there for far longer than it should have.

(VS)

The woman, Emma, hadn't answered to his calls.

It intrigued and baffled Killian. No one, male or female, had ever resisted his dark powers like that. And Emma of them all should have been an easier target than most.

Her presence had all but lit up the entire building. He had felt it from blocks away, calling and pulling at his darkness, drawing him in, just as her scent in the crypt had. He knew how such things worked – the ones bound closest to the light were always most attracted to the dark, and never before had Killian encountered powers as light as hers.

It should have been easy, but Emma had walked away.

And Killian had wanted her even more.

He loved a good challenge, after all.

He gritted his teeth, looking at the window he knew belonged to her. He could feel her within, a shining beacon, and he wanted nothing more than to draw her in. To sip from her vein and introduce her to his darkness until she felt consumed by both him and it.

He wanted to revel in her light until there was nothing left of it.

Instead, he stood across the street, a silent figure watching her building, waiting… waiting…

He had attuned himself to her and her light, and so he could feel it, the moment she let down her guard in sleep. And that was the moment he made his move. The connection that had been forged between them in that crypt allowed him to creep into her consciousness, to dig in and enter her dreams.

She dreamed of a boy.

Brown haired and eyed with freckles and a large smile. A boy that called her mom. Killian watched as they laughed, and then he appreciated his first sight of her. Of Emma.

Long blonde hair framed high cheekbones and green eyes. Her features were beautiful, but there was something heartbreaking about her, and Killian found himself enchanted in a way he hadn't been since Milah.

Milah.

The thought of her – with her wild black hair and equally wild blue eyes – made him set aside all thoughts of enchantment. This Emma had woken him from the spell that had bound him, but in return it had bound him to her. He needed that connection gone, so he could seek out the man that had taken his Milah. The man that had made him a monster.

Rumplestiltskin.

Just the name sent hatred shivering down his spine, and his powers moved out, making the laughing boy disappear, shrouding Emma's mind in shadows. She spun around as he moved behind her, and gasped when she saw that she was not alone in, or even in control of, her dream any longer.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Killian didn't reply at first, instead taking her into his arms and pulling her against him. He leaned down to her neck, running his nose across her pulse point and breathing her in. The scent wasn't as strong here, in her dreams, but it was still there, and it made Killian's mouth water.

"I asked you a question," Emma said again, and to Killian's surprise, he stumbled back a few steps as she shoved hard against his chest. He blinked at her, feeling somewhat dumb, but she shouldn't have been able to do that. The world of dreams were his, and she should have been at his mercy, putty in his hands. Instead she glared at him with sparks in her eyes, looking every bit the avenging angel to his tempting devil.

"Killian," he replied, taking a step back to give a flourishing bow. Never let it be said that he couldn't adapt to surprising situations, after all. "Killian Jones, at your service. It's a pleasure to meet you… Emma."

"You," she hissed, her eyes narrowing with anger. "You were outside my apartment earlier. What do you want with me?"

"Me? Why, I want nothing, Love. It's you that awoke me."

With a thought, he was behind her once more, running his fingers along her neck. He felt her shiver below his touch, felt her magic entwine with his, light happily dancing with shadows, and he smirked, feeling victory swell within.

Then he found himself forcefully removed from her dream, slamming back into his body with a rush that had him going to his knees. Her magic was suddenly dimmed, as though she had forcefully shut him out, and he gasped for lost breath that he hadn't needed since he had been cursed. He looked up with wild eyes, to see that a light had come on in her home. He saw here there, blonde hair, and he knew her eyes would be sparkling with anger, and she stared down at him. He stared back, and they stayed like that – her in her apartment, him on his knees – for a long, long while.

Then she disappeared from the window, and Killian could finally, with shaking limbs, regain his feet again. Still, Killian remained standing on the sidewalk outside her house, waiting for her to sleep once more.

It never happened, and Killian was forced to retreat as the sun began to rise, leaving to find shelter for the day. But even as he searched for cover, his thoughts remained on Emma. A witch bound to light that was inured to the dark.

Well now… that had never happened before.

AN: And there is part one. Let me know what you think! More about Killian and Emma's respective histories will be told as the story progresses (obviously), but it should be fun!