A/N: Just a short one-shot I developed from a head cannon of mine where Emma realizes the depths Killian has gone to in the past and what that signifies. *CS fluff*
"300 years," she cried, the gasped incredulity baiting her tone as she burst into his tiny room.
Killian looked up from his seated position at the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with a dazzled confusion.
"Swan?"
"300 years," she repeated slowly, breathing hard as she planted her feet solidly within the doorframe. Her brows were drawn low in an almost pained expression, and it was then that Killian noticed the book in her hands. He took a deep, steadying breath, the muscles in his neck pulsating lightly as his features drew into a sad smile.
"What of it, love?" he coaxed, his face wearied, but his voice soft and encouraging. She took a heavy step forward, her breathing still rapid, her eyes glued to his. She tapped her index finger to the book in her hand.
"I read your story," she stated emphatically. Killian blinked back at her, and an embarrassed flush briefly dusted across her face. She hurried on, as if to defend herself, "Henry—let me have it, and told me I should—get to know you more." The flush spread, and her eyes flickered their attention to the floor.
"Anyway, that's not the point."
She glanced back up at him, still staring back at her with his unwavering gaze, and her breath visibly caught in her chest.
"The point is, you—you went after her, for—300 years," she continued on, her tone escalating as she spoke. Killian rose a single eyebrow, and Emma brought the book to her chest and screwed her eyes up tight. "I mean of course not literally, she was—well, gone, and—but—you kept her there. In your memory, I mean, and you—everything you did—"
She opened her eyes, and he was standing in front of her.
Where he'd always been, right there for her.
His flush lips pulled back in a small smile, crystalline eyes gazing into hers.
She gazed back, and swallowed hard.
"Everything you did," she repeated, her voice hardly above a whisper, and this time he knew she wasn't speaking of Milah.
"Yes," he nodded softly, reaching up to graze his fingers lightly against her cheek.
She took a short breath, expelling it in a constricted huff, and tears sparkled at the tips of her lids.
"You're not going to leave," she whispered, a statement, not a question.
"Never, love," he whispered back, bringing his forehead down to her own. "You have me 'till the end of time."
Fin