I'm Right Here Waiting
For reasons he does not fully understand, and ones he does but cannot bring himself to contemplate now that she is gone, they let Killian keep the dagger bearing Emma's name. It is a dubious honor to be sure, but he also dislikes the idea of anyone else holding the implement which could be used to summon and control his lady love. And in some way, it feels as if they are assuring him their acceptance, and that he is trusted with safeguarding the emblem of their daughter they have left. He had been sure that her parents would insist that they were the best guardians, or that Regina would be deemed its best custodian, because she might have the power and knowledge to understand its hold over Emma.
Instead, Killian finds himself alone below decks of his beloved ship, sitting slumped and weary on the bunk in his cabin, clutching the infernal device in his hand, fingers clenched so tight that the metal digs into his skin and his knuckles have gone white. Staring down at the inscribed name of his Swan on the silver face, he realizes that in all the long years he sought this dagger, lusted after the instrument that would bring his Crocodile's downfall, it has never held such sinister beauty as it does now, bearing Emma's name. He traces the curve of his hook along the lettering, steel whispering on steel, insidious whispers of the hurt and betrayal and pain that come along with the curse this weapon controls. One single tear of the bitter, broken torrent he had held back in the presence of her family, breaks fear and slides from his face to rest glimmering on the dagger's face.
He knows he shouldn't call her; realizes that she very probably took herself away from them, where she couldn't harm them until she knew how much control she would have of the immense light and dark powers now encased within her lithe frame. And yet, it is so tempting. He needs to see her so badly, to know that she is still alive, not lost in torment or pain, not driven mad, but still herself, still the Emma Swan that he loves beyond all reason. The rough, calloused pad of his thumb rubs the moisture away, nearly caressing her name as he does. 'I'm right here, Love,' he murmurs into the stillness of the night. 'You know where to find me, whenever, whatever you need…just come back to me.'
It is the next evening before he sees anyone else. He is still on the Jolly Roger, but above deck, looking out over the choppy grey waves of Storybrooke harbor to the seemingly endless horizon. Not knowing what may come next, who may appear wanting to harness the powers of the new Dark One, or when he might need to have the device at hand to summon Emma if they found out how to free her, Killian has already found a safe hiding place for the blade, where no one but he could find it. The chill New England wind whips across his face, stinging his cheeks, but he welcomes the biting cold, letting it brace him, knowing he needs to find grounding for himself to think and figure out his course of action. Wherever Swan is, he cannot leave her there to languish alone. He needs to be off after her, attempting to make a dashing rescue, even if –as is often the case where his lady is concerned – by the time he arrives, she has managed to rescue herself. It that proves true this time as well, he will be only too glad.
Footsteps cross from the dock to the ship's gangway and alert Killian that he has a visitor. Turning warily, his hand goes almost unconsciously to the hilt of his cutlass, once more belted at his waist, despite still wearing his more modern garb. However, his shoulders lower and he relaxes once more when he sees that it is Henry who has come looking for him. Gesturing for the lad to join him at the bow of the ship, Killian tries to offer a somewhat convincing smile.
Swan's boy does join him, and they stand silently, both studying the stretch of water spread out before them and the limitless sky above. The youth is as gangly and awkward as he himself once was, so very long ago, and as he remembers his father, Baelfire, when he spent time aboard this very ship. However, Henry also possesses a quiet strength – an ability to put forth an aura of calm and belief even in the midst of a storm such as this one where they currently find themselves. It is an interesting amalgam of Regina's determination, Emma's spark, Bae's resourcefulness, David's honor, and Snow's hope. He's the best of all of them, Killian's thinks offhandedly, wishing that the boy had not had to develop all those qualities from the many trials he has already weathered before even reaching adulthood. Yet, he gets closer everyday, the Captain realizes now, as he notes that Henry's head easily passes his shoulder now as they stand side by side.
No words seem to be necessary between them; though they have not been given to deep, heart-baring talks, he and Henry have come to share an easy camaraderie, between sailing lessons, campfire nights under the stars with Emma where he has showed them both something of reading the stars, and more lunches and dinners of grilled cheese from Granny's than he could possibly count. The moment is just beginning to bring him some small measure of comfort, when the young man beside him bows his head and his face crumples in silent weeping. His still thin but broadening shoulders shake with the strength of his emotion, though no sound escapes.
Henry braces one hand on the ship's hull for support as he leans forward, trying to hide his face from the former pirate, as if ashamed of his tears. Killian reaches out automatically, placing a hand on the lad's shoulder, before fearing that perhaps the touch is unwanted and will only further his discomfort. Henry's words, when they come, are harsh, as if raked unwilling from his throat. "It's just…Mom's gone…S-She just vanished…She could…b-be hurt….and we aren't doing anything to find her."
It is then that Killian knows what is needed, what Henry is seeking but is too proud to ask for – more like his mother than he probably realizes. Pulling Henry to him and holding on tight, he lets this brave young man, who is still just a boy as well, cry on his shoulder, shedding a few tears right along with him. It does feel as if they are doing nothing, but until they have some sign, some clue, some way to get to either Emma or Merlin, they would only be venturing out blind. All he can offer are a few murmured words, "Let it out. There is no shame in missing her. I will be here, anytime you need to speak of her, or plan different routes we might take to reach her when the time comes…I…I miss her too…more than words can say."
After another minute or so, Henry's sobs ease, he steps back, and then wipes a shaking hand over his face. He gives Killian a somber nod of gratitude and meets the captain's eyes once more. A glimmer of that hope and belief seems to have rekindled his open gaze as he asks sheepishly. "If you have any maps of Camelot, could we look over them now?"
By week's end, Killian has grown better at swallowing the pain he still feels as his constant companion. He has ventured off his ship and gone back to the motions of his usual days. He spends a bulk of his time either sailing, or charting courses to various lands Emma might have gone, with Henry, or helping Charming at the station and answering various calls for help from their sheriff's office. He occasionally wanders in the forest with Robin, and gathers from the archer that Regina is feeling a heavy weight of guilt at the sacrifice Emma made for her happiness and at the pain her adopted son is now suffering. The former outlaw makes it clear that Regina has not given up and is exhausting every spell book and source of information she knows to find a way for them to locate the Savior. Killian can feel no ill will towards the Queen; it was not something she had asked or expected Emma to do. He merely accepts Robin's words with what he hopes is a fitting measure of grace and thanks them both for their efforts.
It is during one such evening, as he is preparing taking his evening supper order to the table in the far back of the diner, that his fragile poise finally breaks. Ruby hands him the beef stew, thick side of homemade bread and apple crisp dessert that he had ordered at the counter, and as he turns to carry the meal back to his seat, Killian loses his grip on the plate. With two good hands, he could have caught it, but his hook cannot grasp the glass flatware, though his hook arm jerks upward instinctively in a futile attempt. The plate and silverware hit the floor with what seem to him a deafening crash; glass shattering and stew splashing everywhere.
Killian has all he can do to hold back the tirade of curses too rough for the ears of many of Granny's diner occupants at present. He kneels, already apologizing to the wolf girl and trying to gather the larger shards of broken glass before anyone gets hurt. It is only spilled food and chipped place settings, but he feels moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes in frustration at everything: not just this momentary clumsiness, but their inability to find anything to help Emma, this endless, agonizing waiting, his own inability to protect her and keep her from making such a bitter sacrifice. It all seems too much suddenly, and Killian cannot even find the strength or desire to stand back up and offer to clean the mess he has made or order another helping of his meal.
He barely registers the bell over the door chiming as someone new enters or the footsteps as this person nears where he has crouched on the floor. A moment later, he is looking into the concerned eyes of Swan's boy, as Henry asks if he is alright. It is tempting to scowl, to snap that of course he isn't alright, but instead he swallows hard over the monstrous lump in his throat, and gives the tiniest nod of assurance. He will be fine; he has to be.
"It's just stew," Henry says, offering a tentative, lopsided grin as he stands again, and Killian feels his body doing the same even before he consciously gives it the order to do so. "Granny has plenty more, and it mops right up. No harm done."
Henry is a bright lad, more than sharp enough to know that Hook's downtrodden countenance is about more than wasted food or incurring their irascible innkeeper's wrath, but he is trying manfully to keep the conversation light, to guide it back out of despairing waters, as this man has done for him many times now since his birth mother's disappearance. He reaches out, easily resting a hand on Killian's brace, the first person other than Swan herself to touch it on purpose and without cringing away in fear or disgust, merely to offer support and comfort.
Killian's eyes fly back up to Henry's brown ones, and the spark, the faith in his gaze is what Emma had just begun to show when she looked at him. He could not have felt her presence anymore clearly if Emma had been standing right beside him, whispering in his ear. He hears her words as he looks at her son and shakily returns Henry's smile. 'I'm right here,' Swan's voice ghosts sweetly through his mind and echoes in his chest, 'Don't give up. I'll come back to you again…'