Killian's heart stopped.
After everything he had been through, after everything he had done…he hadn't thought that anything could surprise him anymore. Not like this.
Not like the face of the man in the picture.
The face that, until now, had been just another dark smear on his heart, another black smudge from his past.
The face that, now, was yet another barrier between himself and Emma. Because how could he ask for her hand, forever knowing that her father's blessing was false. Or would be. After seeing David tonight…Killian knew the man would never look at him the same way again, not if he knew what the pirate had done. No, he couldn't ask Emma to marry him. Perhaps he would never be able to. Because he'd promised himself that he would build this new life on honesty, and if he told David the truth, and David hated him…he couldn't ask for Emma's hand without her father's blessing.
And yet, as he watched Emma slip back into the house, going off to finish making her popcorn and…whatever the bloody hell the other thing was…he wondered if he was anymore able to stop himself from marrying her.
What was one more lie, after all? They all had secrets, right? And until this moment, he hadn't known who the man in the picture was. If he had, he would have told David. Wouldn't he have? And if he'd known – back then – what he knew now…he wouldn't have done any of it. He wouldn't have been that man, the cruel pirate. He would have known that it wouldn't be worth it, in the end. Wouldn't he have?
For the first time in a while, Killian didn't know. All he knew was that he had tried so hard to rebuild his life, to change, and now it was all crashing down on him. Emma had gone to the bloody Underworld to save him, and now…
Once again, Killian felt sure that he wasn't worth it. She shouldn't have done it. He didn't deserve her. But she had done it, and now they were here. And he didn't have a bloody clue what to do.
Moving up the walkway, Killian sat at the bottom of the stairs that led into the house. The house that, in his mind, was already filled with the many memories they would make. Him and Emma. The house that, in his mind, was already populated with the children they would have. He wanted that future, the house with the white picket fence…he wanted it so desperately. But was it worth reverting to the man he used to be? Wasn't that exactly what he'd been fighting against?
His head dropped into his hands, and he felt like his heart was being squeezed in his chest. He knew the feeling well enough, and it was no less painful now than it had been then. Perhaps more. Because the more time he'd been given with Emma, the more painful the idea of losing her was. The idea of being without her seemed impossible. She was the entirety of the reason for his existence. She was the reason he had changed.
And if that was true, what would happen without her?
The thought terrified Killian: shook him to the very core of his being. The man that had stabbed David's father for a few chests of gold…he was always right there. Just a breath away. It had only been hours before, after all, when David put the handcuffs on him, that he'd felt that man rise up. He'd wanted to kill the prince, if only for a moment. And then he'd managed to bury the thought, and look at the situation logically. For Emma.
He needed her. The very thought of being without her was unbearable. And yet, his past was always coming back to haunt him. Would it ever stop? He'd killed Emma's father's…father. How was that forgivable?
David had held a knife to his throat only a few hours previous. Killian had seen the thirst for revenge in his eyes. Would he have pulled away, if he had known the truth? Or would he have slit the throat of the man who really murdered his father?
"Killian, come inside!" Footsteps walked across the small porch. Killian hadn't even heard Emma open the door. "Wait, is something wrong?" The concern in her voice was almost tangible, and Killian hated that he felt himself on the brink of tears at hearing it. He desperately wished – as he had for a very long time – that he could confess everything to Emma. The entirety of his past. That, as David had sobbed on the floor of the cell tonight, he could cry…and that Emma would hold him and tell him that things would be fine, that they would be fine. That somehow, with her forgiveness, he would be able to forgive himself. But that would be weak, or so he told himself. And after tonight, he couldn't admit everything, so what would be the point?
"Sorry, love, I'm fine. Just tired. It's been a long day." Killian forced strength into his voice, and turned to look up at Emma with a half smile. She gave him a strange look, but for perhaps the first time dropped the issue. Or perhaps the darkness was enough to cloud his face and keep her lie detector from working. Either way, she didn't ask any more questions.
"Okay. Well, come inside. Henry's been waiting all day to introduce you to Harry Potter, and we'd better not keeping him waiting." Emma held out her hand, and Killian took it without hesitating. The idea of pretending to be fine – no, happy – for the next few hours seemed almost an impossible task. But he couldn't tell her, not now.
Perhaps not ever.
"Alright, love, lead the way," he said, faking a smile as he let Emma lead him back into the house. With a cold calculation that he'd built up over the years – and kept himself from using in the last few – he shut off his thoughts. The mental act was exhausting, and sent a cold chill down his spine, but it was the only thing he could do to keep himself from falling apart.
To keep himself from losing everything.