Just a little something for the wonderful Gissane's birthday. Hope it was as beautiful as you are, darling. Sorry for this being a tad late!

Set after the Dark One has relinquished its hold on Emma.

…

We Made These Memories For Ourselves

…

She keeps the dagger even after everything has settled down – after the Dark One's energy has dissipated from their world, after Emma's heart was released from the beast's grip, after her name had been wiped from the sharp blade. The ornate metal holds no power now, has no special connection to any living being – it is simply a dagger. So, naturally, Killian worries about why she needs it at all.

They've settled into somewhat of a routine since the whole ordeal, Emma finally finding her own place just down the road from Granny's, facing out towards the water. Killian often docks the Jolly within eyesight of the two bedroom apartment and walks up to spend the night with the people who seem to have built a little family around him. It's something that he never thought he'd have, so it feels quite surreal a lot of the time. Not to mention how accepting Henry has been of a pirate in his mother's life.

(There had been one night that he'd arrived at their place late, windswept and bouncing from foot to foot to keep warm. Henry had opened the door with a look on his face that had suggested he wasn't entirely impressed with being woken up at 2:46am.

Killian had apologised profusely but Henry had not had the patience to listen, simply telling the pirate that his mother had been called into a drunken disturbance in town, marching into the kitchen and procuring one of their spare keys from the top drawer next to the sink and effectively inviting Killian to stay whenever he pleased.

He remembers looking at that key like his whole world balanced on the edge of the small golden trinket. The rituals and traditions of this world often confuse and befuddle him, catching him off guard, but he understands this – the boy trusts him in his home, he trusts another man to enter his domain and to court his mother. And, in any realm, that is a huge leap of faith.

Henry simply tells him that he thinks he's had his fair share of interrupted nights in his lifetime and that the key is to stop him from having to get up unnecessarily during the night. Killian still holds onto it as though it means the whole world to him.)

For a while, and for the most part, things become normal. Which is a weird enough concept in an average life, let alone a life filled with fairytale characters.

But, soon after their lives feel settled, Killian starts to notice Emma disappearing into the night and not returning until the sun peeks over the horizon. He pretends that he's not aware, rolling into her cool body and nuzzling her neck until their lips meet and they forget that they've spent the night apart.

It frightens him how fast it becomes a routine.

At first he thinks it might be that she's going out on work related calls, that Leroy is having a binge week and causing disturbances wherever he goes. But he sees the dwarf out one morning, his hat tucked neatly under his arm as he enters Granny's with a pretty brunette and he realises that he may have misjudged the gruff man before giving him a chance. It leaves him with more questions than answers though and, after her leaving again for the fourth night in a row, Killian brings it up with her over breakfast.

"You must be tired, lass," he starts, "working all those odd hours of the night."

She keeps her head down, eyes averted and focussed on the banana that she is slicing, "Mmm, sorry for waking you."

He opens and closes his mouth a few times trying to come up with a way to open the conversation up again after her odd dismissal of the whole thing but, before he can think of a thing to say, she turns to him, holding up the fruit in her hand and gesturing towards his bowl of porridge, "Banana?"

He sighs, nodding, "Aye. Please," before taking a seat at the table and ignoring the way she is ignoring him.

Eventually he just ends up following her one night. Every prospect of where he may be led by her terrifies him but, when she slips into the Sheriff's station, he starts to wonder if his paranoia is simply because of the kind of life they have usually lived in this town. He catches the door before it closes, slipping into the dark corridor behind her. She opens the door at the far end and he matches her footsteps to catch it before it, too, closes. Watching through a thin sliver, he sees her walk over to her desk and pull out her box of childhood memories. Curiosity washes over him as she opens the lid and begins to pull items from the cardboard container until she finally gets to the dagger.

He sees her turn the blade over in her hands, testing the weight of it and looking upon it intently. She places it down after a few moments, returning to the box to pull out another item. She returns to the dagger several times though, always turning it and gazing at it as though she longs for something inside of it to return to her.

He'd be lying if he didn't say he had been concerned that there would be side effects of her having had the Dark One inside of her. He's heard the nightmares, seen the hollow look in her eyes as she stares into space sometimes – but this is something else, this is a respect for the darkness, a reverence and pride. His eyes certainly don't miss the way she polishes the silver blade. It worries him that something within that dagger will forever be tethered to something within her.

"Are you ever going to speak up or are you just going to stand there and speculate with your loud thoughts?"

Her voice startles him momentarily, but then he remembers her past and understands that he never stood a change of remaining stealthily hidden. He pushes open the door and comes into the room with his hand and hook raised in defence, "I apologise for following you, lass,"

She shrugs her shoulders, "I wasn't really giving you much to go on. I can't blame you."

He makes his way over to her, leaning against the edge of her desk and folding his arms, "Darling, what is ailing you?"

She looks up at him then, something in her expression that is unexpected and happy. "Do you think that I am sad?"

He shrugs now – this morning he would have been confident and sure that she was upset, but now he's unsure what she is feeling. "I would not profess to know what you are going through, Swan."

She stands, stepping in between his legs and resting a cool hand upon his warm cheek, "The thing is, you would probably be the only person to even come close to knowing." He doesn't answer her, unsure what she wants him to say. So she continues, leaning in a little closer, eyes staying locked with his, "I'm not unhappy, Killian."

The corners of her mouth tilt upwards in a secret smile that he can't help but match, "Then why run each night? Why let the past engulf you?"

Her eyes flicker to the box at their side then slide back to him, "I've made my peace with the past. I keep these tokens as reminders of different things."

"So the dagger…"

She kisses his cheek, turning to pick up the blade, "It's a token."

She holds it between them, turning it in her hands the way he had seen her do so earlier. She holds the hilt towards him and he slips his hand from her waist to the offering. He frowns when his skin touches the ornate blade, warmth spreading through him like wildfire. The last time he had held this object it had felt cold and bitter – he could feel countless centuries of hatred flooding his veins – but, now, it's filled with lightness and hope. It makes him feel the way he does when he rolls over in the morning and sees Emma looking back at him, it's like when she kisses him in public as though she can't wait another moment, it's like when Henry asks him to go sailing and Emma waves them away with a little grin on her face.

The dagger feels like home.

"And what is it a reminder of?"

She smiles, hearing the change in his voice, knowing that the magic within the blade has the same effect on him as it does on her, "It reminds me of what I am so lucky to have. It reminds me of the lengths everyone went through to ensure my safety and of how I could never have dreamed for all of this when I was a child." She takes the dagger from his grip, setting it down on the desk and leaning into him once more, hands on his chest, clinging to the material of his shirt, "It reminds me of how much love I have in my life."

She kisses him then, long and slow, tilting her head and moaning when his hand grips her hip once more and pulls her into his space. She is comfort and passion and everything he could have ever dreamed of in the person he was to fall truly in love with and he can feel that perhaps he is that for her as well.

She clings to him with the same respect with which she holds that dagger, she looks upon him with the same reverence and, when he says, "I love you," he knows she returns it with the same intensity.

…

Thoughts?