okay. i have been writing this fucking thing for forty days. it has taken all of my strength to finish it. i do not have a beta, so if there are mistakes (there will be, trust me) i am sorry. i'll find them all eventually and cry about it while i edit. but i wanted to upload it and just push it out of my space for a little bit.

it's basically a zombie apocalypse au centred around captain swan. it is very much an au and i take some creative license for some things. if you can't figure out the timeline, that's okay, just assume that it starts in november and ends in july. enjoy. or don't.

i own nothing but a headache.

They find each other in the middle of Portland, a swarm surrounding her, as he'd shoved a novelty sword through a zombie's head while she attempted to pick herself up from her sprawled position on the blacktop. Before she can say anything however, he's pulling her by the arm and running blindly through the creatures, hacking away until they're all gone. She'd only gone out to get water when the madness started, and she wonders why he chose to be the hero when he could have easily let her die.

He's yelling inaudibly as they run and in her stunned state she can't make out any of his words (later she realizes he was trying to tell her his name while at the same choking out a pick up line) but they clear the infected street and she doesn't care. Only when she notices her gun is missing does she get angry and go to turn back, but in seconds she's over his shoulder and he's still running, her fists hitting against his back.

She vocalizes her discontent when he goes through a doorway and stops moving.

"Get your ass out of my face and put me down," she growls and he sets her on the ground somewhat gently, laughing as she brushes off dirt and gore. Looking up, she takes in his appearance fully for the first time, and her knight in shining armour turns out to be a lean man in a heavy set leather jacket, dark jeans, and combat boots. His unruly hair and stubble match quite well with his 'fuck me' gaze (she tries not to make eye contact for too long); he leans against a wall and she realizes they are in a convenience store.

After looking around for a moment she finally lets out a 'thank you' and he smirks, tucking the sword into his belt. She was surprised he didn't wear a sheath, with how ridiculous the weapon was.

"Ah, but the pleasure is all mine." He cocks an eyebrow at her and she's met enough of his type to know he's asking for a name and despite being wildly uncomfortable he did save her life, so she grants him that. He extends a hand. "The name's Killian Jones, at your service."

"Apparently," she scoffs. With his accent he might as well be something out of a fairytale and she wonders why the world keeps gifting her men she doesn't need. She sighs, giving in. "Emma Swan."

He grins while she shakes his hand and Emma wonders how a guy can be so chipper in an apocalypse (the apocalypse).

"Swan, it is then."

The pair hide out in the convenience store for the remainder of the evening, barricading the decrepit windows and doors from any future creatures, and they make a meal out of what hasn't expired. She's been underground too long to know how fast people succumbed to the disease, if any part of the world she knew was still alive, if they were still making food at the factory level (she was smart, so she guessed no). She praises canned food internally.

"Whereabouts are you from, Swan?" He asks after a long silence, a box of crackers in his hands. She pauses for a few moments before answering.

"I was born in Boston, and I lived there for the majority of my life, but I've been all over in the last decade. I haven't been out of Oregon since the beginning of all this, though." He nods and she leans her head against a long-broken fridge. "And you?"

"London. I'd only come here to visit a passing relative, and once the world went to smithereens there was no hope for a flight back home." His eyes gain a heavy look and she waits for him to continue. "My wife accompanied me with a plan of going to New York. She said she was looking for something, or someone, that she'd lost."

"I'm sorry." She tries to push out thoughts of the shaking body in her arms, the look in his eyes when he died.

"She was gone very early, it's alright." I've had time to grieve, he doesn't say.

I haven't.

"I've heard that most of the major cities are wastelands, anyway. Populations helped it spread." She scoops out some more cold soup before continuing. "I've been underground for most of the last year, hiding with coworkers in the basement of our precinct. We were ambushed, though, and only a couple of us survived."

"I've been here since the beginning, but I've been wanting to go East to see if there's anybody left." She doesn't say anything in response and soon they lapse into another silence, both of them sitting on the dusty floor with their backs to fridges and old food in their hands. It's been a year and a half, however, since she's met another person that wasn't part of her team that hasn't tried to kill her, so she lets it happen.

She remembers the mother with a child against her hip and a shotgun in her hand, the one who found Emma camping out in her shed. The woman had given her little before shooing the blonde off her property. She hadn't let go of the shotgun the entire time, and Emma wondered just how messed up her kid was going to be.

There was also the band of teenage boys in one of the many abandoned churches, who had all held their guns with shaking hands, asking her for food, anything (she'd given them everything she had and left, not wanting to relive days where she gave the younger kids all her meals and went to bed starving).

Another hour or two later, they decide to set up camp in the back of the shop, reinforcing their barricade. He makes sure to keep his sword close and she checks the small handgun she keeps tucked in her boot (she's got one magazine, but she's still upset about her abandoned piece).

The two make an unspoken agreement as she unrolls her small sleeping bag and he crawls in beside her, an arm draped lightly around her middle.

He was warm, she thought, and in the late fall that it already was, she felt the night in her bones. He was warm, that's all it was, all it was every going to be.

Boy, was she wrong.

They don't fuck or anything like that (they're both too sentimental to just get busy in her sleeping bag and then part ways) but they do decide to pair up. She's wary about the whole operation, but they spend a few more nights in the convenience store and she learns more about Killian Jones than she'd learned about a person in a long time. Hell, he's the only person she's known the name of in a long time. In some ways his sincerity and intensity reminds her of Graham (she regrets the thought instantly and instead focuses on their task at hand).

Both agreed that if they were going to travel they needed a vehicle, seeing as winter was approaching and neither felt like losing any limbs trying to travel across the country. He wants to see New York (sentimental idiot) and she's curious if her apartment in Boston is still there (she hasn't lived in it for three years but she'd kept it just for a sense of stability in case the team fell through at some point).

Killian eyes a Harley, but quickly forgets the idea when she tells him she'll come back to bite him in the ass if any zombies yank her off of it in the future.

Venturing into the street, they find the beaten up yellow bug in the middle of an intersection with the driver still strapped in. Emma lets out a sound of displeasure, but the keys are in his hand so they roll with it. Killian extracts the dead guy and she searches the rest of the vehicle. Either the guy was smart or a complete nutcase, as his trunk was full of gas canisters and a reasonable collection of handguns and one long rifle.

Throwing her pack in the back seat, she loads a couple of guns and tucks them in a holster at her side before sliding into the driver's seat. He says nothing as he plants himself beside her, only adjusts his seat and crinkles his nose at the dead guy smell. She tells him about the air freshener in the glove compartment and he sets it to hang from the rear view.

"Gives it the homey touch, eh, Swan?" He smirks as she rolls her eyes. "Don't lie, you love it."

"Whatever you say, Jones," she laughs and starts the car (it runs beautifully, she finds).

They start driving through Oregon, making their way towards Idaho, then Utah. From her traveling experience, Emma knows that this drive is only supposed to take days, but she doesn't factor in the ridiculous amount of terrain blockage thanks to the abandoned state of the country. They go through gas at an alarming rate (he actually did the math to see how much they would need, and she had stared at him incredulously) and the pair end up pushing cars out of the way most days.

A lot of the driving is filled with silence, but he asks her many questions and she answers few. He doesn't seem bothered by that fact, but she knows he genuinely would like to know her, behind the smirk and comments. She's shared enough with him already, however, she decides, and so to get him to shut up asks about his wife.

They've been together two weeks now and he sighs, looking out the window after her bitter comment. She instantly regrets it knowing that all she has done is wound him after he's been so courteous and nice, but she says nothing. He doesn't speak to her for the following couple days, but when he does he asks about the keychain around her neck (she grits her teeth and doesn't answer) and the shoelace around her wrist (her hands go white against the steering wheel and she brakes a little too heavily). To block out his stare she pulls on a pair of pilfered sunglasses and keeps driving.

On the days she hands over the keys and lets him drive, she ends up falling asleep in the passenger side, her head lolling back and forth before it rests against the cold window. She thinks and dreams about the people she used to belong to, the team that had deserted her (not before Jefferson tried to kill her) after it all went to shit. She dreams about him the most, though, and how little time they had actually had as two people with feelings for each other.

Two thirds of the way through Utah, they're camping in another convenience store (he tells her it's now a tradition, somewhat of a second date) and he jokes about riding up into Canada for some reason and her entire body cringes.

He senses how tense she is and his expression softens. He doesn't ask who or what is in Canada and she silently thanks him for that, but the memories simmer under her skin, sitting on top of her chest like the key chain she wears. Part of her wants to take it off (and burn it) but she's been wearing it for ten years and he's probably dead, so there's really no point.

It hurt her (the both of them) to be sentimental, but when everything is ending there really isn't anything else you've got but memories.

"Not Canada, then." She shakes her head and grips her her necklace. "Never was one for snow." She has to laugh at his attempt.

"Well, now that we're entering winter, you're going to have such a great time." She laughs again despite her heart wrenching mood and exhales heavily. "Snow is fine. It's ice you have to watch out for." She remembers a foster brother pushing her head first down a hill and how much her head had hurt when it slammed against the block of ice at the bottom. She doesn't remember anything after that but later in the ER he has bloodstained hands.

To lighten the mood later, when they're huddled in her sleeping bag, she asks him about the sword and she can feel him grinning into her hair.

"Ex-navy. Always wanted to be a pirate."

A couple days later, they keep driving, skimming over the top of Colorado. They hope the cold will slow down the creatures (Emma has to clean blood off her wipers more than she would like to admit) and loot department stores for warmer clothes. He stubbornly sticks with his leather, but he isn't completely stupid, so he picks up a couple heavy sweaters. She finds herself a knee length black fleece coat and decides it will keep her warm enough. She ditches the worn out boots for a new pair and he only stuffs his combats with thicker socks.

Deciding heat isn't worth the gas, they suffer the stiffness in their bones.

They talk more. She softens to him and his idiotic, dashing smile. In his sleep he says a name (Milah, his wife) and his left hand balls into a fist, the knuckles going white. She wonders who deserves that punch and wakes him when he shakes too hard, not wanting his nightmares to completely consume him. On the nights in her sleeping bag, she lets him hold her for his own sake (for her, like she said, it's the warmth). In the car, when she wakes him, he takes to staring at her in his groggy state and she pretends that it doesn't eat away at her, that the look isn't one she used to know before she was abandoned.

Somewhere near Omaha they run out of gas and the car stalls in the middle of a ghost town (meaning there are only zombies and she lightens her bullet supply by a scary amount when they try and find their way to a gas station). They push the car into an alley and find a snowed in service station with frozen pumps that were probably empty, anyway. She wants to tear her hair out, but she isn't dying in a snowy abyss with a lovesick Englishman, so she breaks her way into the store accompanying the pumps. While he finds food that isn't completely frozen, she searches the building.

Forty-five minutes and one dusty Emma later, she finds a locked cellar door hidden under a stack of crates in the farthest end of the building. She shoots the lock open, thanking herself for bringing a flashlight along as she stares into a pit of darkness. Shining it down, she sees bodies and the smell of decay hits her hard.

Calling for her companion, she descends the stairs, covering her nose with her heavy red scarf, sweeping the light every which way. It's a family, complete with 2.5 kids and a dog, all bones and clothing, huddled in one corner beside what looks like a gas stove. She wonders how they found themselves locked down there (later she finds arsenic close by one of the bodies and she has to leave immediately, Killian calling her name) and continues her exploration.

It turns out that it is a gas stove, and finds the supply stacked against the opposite wall. It's almost thirty gallons and she lets out a low whistle. Killian comes down the stairs and curses at the family, but stops short when he sees her findings.

They take a couple gallons back to the car, driving it to the station and filling up the tank as far as they can before shoving as many canisters as possible into the trunk. She wants to laugh hysterically at the ridiculously lucky and sad event, but she does this all silently. Killian loads the food and extra findings into the backseat, where they store her sleeping bag, extra blankets, and clothes. The backseat looks suddenly so full to her and it gives her some hope (a first).

She only wishes she had snow tires, now that she has to be so damn careful driving when she isn't looking out for potential road blocks and creatures. Driving through unmoved snow is also difficult, and slows them down exponentially.

Hours later they are passing into Iowa when she asks him to grab her water. They've got a case buried under a couple blankets and he reaches into the backseat, moving things around. There's a lot of shuffling and she almost calls him an idiot for not being able to find it but he curses and pulls his hand back like its been burned.

"Bloody hell," he lets out and Emma raises her eyebrows.

"What?" He doesn't say anything until she pulls over. "You okay? Jones?"

He rubs a hand across his tired features, grimaces and motions for her to take a look.

She breaks and unbuckles and turns in her seat, seeing nothing until she looks at the floor behind her. Underneath a pile of blankets is a kid. He's asleep, but she can see through his jacket that his is a thin little thing, and he looks to be only ten. Her entire body goes still and she pales at this new addition.

"No." It's curt and fast and she moves to get out of the car. Killian stops her, a hand on her arm, his damned puppy dog eyes on hers and she shakes her head vigorously. "We can't just take care of this kid, Jones."

"Swan, we can't just let him die out in the cold. He's just a boy." They stare at each other for a couple moments, blue searching green and she wants to kick him and the kid out of her car and let them both die because she's attached goddamn and she promised herself not to do that.

She hates this goddamn stranger she's know for a little over a month, one that has such a caring heart even if it's bruised, that lets her know how much he's infatuated with her yet never pushes for anything. He knows she is broken, knows that it's so hard for her to love and be human, but if he thinks this kid is going to fix her and fill something inside of her, he's wrong, he's so damn wrong.

He interrupts her thoughts with quite possibly the worst thing she has ever heard.

"Milah was pregnant when she died." I was going to be a father, Swan, he doesn't say. He doesn't have to. He's looking at her with so much pain and longing and she narrows her eyes (he's technically manipulating her).

"I'm not here to replace your wife, Killian. I'm not this boy's mother, and I refuse to be the stand in because of the hell we live in." It's spoken quietly but it hits him.

They are quiet again, the boy still sleeping soundly.

"I'm sorry, love," he tells her after long contemplation. "But we still shouldn't just leave him."

She buckles in again, puts her hands on the steering wheel, and looks up to the sky (which is really only just the roof of the car) and lets out a shaky breath.

"God, why did you have to fucking save me?"

His name is Henry, they learn, and he's eleven, not ten, but Emma still notes how small he is. She barely talks to him at first, but Killian makes enough conversation for the both of them. The kid's only dressed in jeans, sneakers, a long coat and a striped scarf and she wonders how in the world he is still alive. He tells them that they should start locking their car and it makes her chuckle briefly.

Henry reminds her a little of the new kids that used to come to the foster homes, the ones that were young enough to still try and make the others like them (she was never like that, however, she only broke out the fake smiles for adopting families). They zip through the remainder of Iowa in a few short days and Henry eats spoonfuls of peanut butter and bounces in his seat to keep warm and goddamn he's cute, Emma thinks.

He's been with them for two weeks when they reach Pittsburgh and it's gotten so much colder (she realizes that it's January and that it's the second Christmas that she hasn't spent alone) and darker that they can't drive at night. Emma doesn't trust her headlights and the power grids don't work anymore so there's no street lamps to light their way. Approaching the more populated side of the country, they don't want to risk the car being stolen, so they sleep in their seats at night, waking up frozen and stiff each morning, Emma brushing snow off her windshield.

During the first day they encounter a group of creatures near where they parked and the two adults get out of the car, strict instructions to the eleven year old to stay put and lock all the doors. Killian hacks away with one hand while shooting out of the other.

She's got two guns and takes out half of them within minutes. When Killian pulls his sword out of the last one, he cleans it off in the snow before throwing it back into the car. When Emma's weapons are reloaded and they are in the car again, Henry is sitting with his eyes wide. Emma feels guilty for a moment but soon enough the kid breaks the silence.

"Are you a pirate?" He asks Killian with some wonderment in his voice, and the rugged man laughs delightedly. Emma thinks that this kid was made for him and a small part of her is glad that his attention has been shifted off her (not completely, though, as some nights he reaches for her hand as she drives).

She double checks the area and the car's locks one more time before settling in, her coat zipped tightly and a blanket around her body (she gave the kid the sleeping bag), Killian already out before she can get into a comfortable position.

Emma can't get to sleep, her thoughts ruling her as she watches her breath crystallize in front of her. The kid keeps shuffling behind her and either he moves a shit ton in his sleep or he's still awake too. She wonders where his parents are, why he's even still alive (he must be a smart kid) and if he's even going to see the end of it all. She wants to think that he's temporary.

"Emma," he whispers after ten minutes and damn, she can hear his teeth clattering in the calm of the night.

"Yeah, kid?'" She looks at him in the rearview mirror as he sits up, the sleeping bag too big for his small form.

"I'm cold."

She remembers nights where there were five in one single bed, all cocooned for warmth, and she stares at him for a couple seconds before making the tight climb to the back seat. Killian stirs at her movement but doesn't wake. They've pushed all of their supplies into a trunk (Killian found it on a sidewalk) on the small amount of floor space, Emma's pack under her chair.

Emma fits herself beside him and zips the sleeping bag around them, draping her blanket on top for added heat, and he curls up against her, his head nestled on her chest, arms hugging himself. She sighs and wraps her arms around the small boy, laying her cheek against the upholstery.

Soon he's asleep, his small breaths warm against her neck, and she remembers her comment Killian when they first found the stowaway. She was not this kid's mother (she wasn't anyone's mother, that had been taken away from her) and she doesn't want to be, but she can close her eyes and hold him and just pretend for a small moment. She can pretend the man in the front seat is her husband and that they're all on a nice road trip to New York. If Henry's eyes weren't brown, maybe it could work.

She dreams of a blue-eyed baby with dark hair.

They near New York but make more stops because Henry's just a kid and has never had to handle traveling like this. He continues to curl into her at night, and Emma pretends she doesn't see the smile on Killian's face when the boy reaches for her if he has a nightmare during a nap.

They have to cut the stops to a minimum though, as the trio's almost attacked by a group of nomads making their way through. To appease the group they give them half their food and guns (the group sees Henry and they understand why they can't abandon the car). From that moment Emma double checks every area they stop in, and makes sure Killian doesn't lose sight of the kid except for washroom breaks.

Some days when Killian drives, she sits in the back, Henry's head on her lap (she learns that he can barely stay awake in cars) as she passes a hand through his hair or along his back. Killian looks at her in the mirror, giving her tentative smiles, and she rarely returns them.

Emma likes the kid, she does, but she's still wary of getting attached (even though she is already, she's so goddamn attached and it aches).

When they reach Manhattan she finds it so dead and depressing, all the lights gone, the traffic graveyards, and the blankets of snow. She thinks of the coming months, and how the snow will only melt and reveal the damage below. Emma wonders how many bodies are buried in the snow at Times Square

"Where are we even going?" She asks Killian when they find enter the once-busy city. From where she's had to stop the car, she sees a few creatures mindlessly wandering.

"Ah, Milah gave me an address before she died." He pulls out a slip of paper he's had zipped in his coat for almost two years and hands it to her. "I've no idea where it is, but I'm sure you'll figure it out."

She knows the area, it's in central Manhattan, and she navigates slowly through the maze of cars, Killian shooting at creatures through their window. She checks the back to see if Henry is bothered, but the eleven year old is out cold, and it hurts her to think that he's so used to the sound of gunshots now that they don't even rouse him. Eventually, they reach the building that Emma hopes will give Killian some composure, and they park the car in the alley behind.

Killian wakes Henry with a soft shake and a Come on, lad. He follows the two adults groggily. Emma looks at him and has to stop the smile from spreading across her face (he's a dang cute kid).

They walk to the building's entrance and are glad to find the electronic gate inside is broken, guiding the trio to the dusty stairs (Emma can see footprints in them though, and for a moment there is a pang in her chest). She looks up the stairs and then at Killian. Putting a hand on Henry's shoulder, she steps back.

"We'll be here when you're ready." Before he goes though, she grabs his arm. "Be careful."

Patting the sword at his side, he smiles. "You as well, love."

Soon, however, he's gone and she's left alone with the kid. They sit on the stairwell and Henry huddles into her side, the walls doing little to block out the dry chill. She has her arm around him, rubbing his bicep to get the warmth into his bones. He yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Is Killian your boyfriend?" Henry asks and she flicks her gaze down into his brown eyes.

After a tense silence she breaks a smile and starts to laugh.

"No, kid, no." Emma pauses, chuckling again at the thought. "Uh, no. He saved my life a few months ago and decided to stick with me."

"You like him, though?" There is something akin to hope in the boy's eyes and Emma is baffled.

Before she can answer, however, Killian is shouting for her from flights above and she jumps up at the sound, ascending. Henry follows her and when she looks back, he's got a coy smile on his eye that she pretends not to see. Damn smart kid, she knows.

Soon they are rounding onto a landing and she sees Killian with a peculiar look in his blue eyes, and he's saying her name and Henry's, introducing them to someone she can't see yet.

When she does see him, she wishes she'd died in Oregon.

Hours have passed and it's the middle of the night and Emma is standing in his living room, looking at the surroundings that she can make out in the dark room, her companions asleep on the couch. Henry realized that she wasn't in the right place that evening and shyly asked Killian to take her place. The man had been delighted, and soon they were happily snoring together.

He somehow still had power, and earlier set the kid in front of a Disney movie (Peter Pan, she thinks) while the adults had a terse discussion in the other room.

Emma had ben curled up in an armchair (the bastard had offered her his bed but she'd declined) and watched the two before getting up to pace quietly. She fiddles with the dreamcatcher on the window and wonders what the many lockers hold. In one she finds an old camera, and thinks to herself that Henry, the curious boy he is, would like something like this.

God, of course Killian's quest ended with something that completely fucked her over. His goddamn wife just had to have a brother that had dropped off the face of the planet, and he just happened to be her ex-partner/boyfriend from a decade ago. The same one that set her up and left her to rot in jail.

She thinks about one bloody afternoon in the prison hospital and she can't breathe.

Donning her coat, Emma slides the window open and makes her way onto the balcony. She leans against the railing and watches the sun start to make it's way over the horizon.

Emma's only out there for a couple minutes before the window opens again, and she hopes to all the gods in the universe it's Killian, but she knows it isn't when Neal's gruff voice cuts through the silence.

"You look good, Em," is the first thing he says to her in almost twelve years that isn't being shouted and she stiffens.

"Please don't." She looks anything but good, the world's ending for fuck's sake. "Please don't act like you still know me, or that you are can just walk back into my life. You can't. I don't want or need your fucking pick up lines."

"It's been a long time since then, Emma."

"A long time since what, Neal? Since you lied to me, set me up, and let me go to fucking jail for you when I was seventeen? I was only seventeen and I was—" She cuts herself off before finishing and looks away from him his intense gaze.

"You were what?" He asks and she will not tell him this, he does not deserve to know what the two of them could have had.

"Nothing. I was nothing, and you didn't do anything to help that." He sighs heavily and they go quiet.

"He's got my eyes," he says to her softly, their gaze sweeping over the rising sun, the pink and yellow hues glinting off the snow. She presses her fists into the metal of the balcony as she quickly responds, the malice evident in her voice.

"Go fuck yourself."

She doesn't deny his claim that the kid is hers, doesn't give him any knowledge on Henry whatsoever. She hates him, hates him still even though it's been twelve years. All she does is rip off the key chain, throw it at him as he calls her name, and go back inside, grabbing her pack. She doesn't care that Henry and Killian are asleep on the couch, she needs to get the hell out.

Emma flies out of the apartment, quickly bringing the keys from her pocket, kicking at the fresh snow before reaching the car. The falling flakes set into her hair and dampen the top strands. She sits in the driver side, knuckles white against the wheel, staring out the window in order to gather some thoughts.

She sees a hazy figure among the flurries and for a second thinks it's Neal (she starts the car at that moment) or even a creature, but before she can pull away, she recognizes her wannabe pirate, carrying a sleeping Henry. He opens the back door, settling the yawning eleven year old in the sleeping bag before sliding into his customary position.

"Don't ever do that again, Swan," he tells her quietly.

She looks at him with wet eyes and before she knows what's happened, she's sobbing and he's holding her over the gear shift, Emma choking out sentences she doesn't understand, him just nodding and soothing her with light strokes against her hair.

"I'm so sorry, Killian," she gasps out against his leather jacket and he hushes her.

"It's alright, love. The man was a bastard." He hugs her to him more tightly and she cries harder than she has since Graham died and she curses Neal for being such an asshole and for not being dead or in Canada like she'd hoped. "He's a ghost now, love. Forget him."

She stops crying after a few moments and wipes her eyes, embarrassed, but there is a weight that is no longer in her chest, and she looks in the mirror at the sleeping figure in her backseat and the man next to her, and it warms her. She thinks that maybe she'll be able to forget the last twelve years spent fearing the future and fearing love.

They leave New York quickly, but not before letting Henry see the Statue of Liberty or Central Park (even though it's winter and everything's dead it's still quite beautiful). They don't go all the way into the park, they don't want to risk getting lost or putting Henry in danger, but the eleven year old deems it enough and they get in the bug and drive.

They're on their way through Springfield when they pass by a Sheriff's station, and Emma's first thought is that there must be guns in there, and she doesn't feel comfortable with the amount they have (she's reduced to two handguns, with less than a dozen magazines left). It takes a very long time to convince Killian to let the group search the station.

The door is smartly locked, and she takes no time shooting the handle off. She's surprised to find lights on when they enter the building, and the whole place looks relatively neat, unlike the many other places they'd passed on their journey. Emma had a feeling in her gut that something was very much off and she swung her gun to and fro like she was still in her old job.

Not long after clearing the foyer of the station do they find more evidence that someone is living there; the prison cots have been pushed together to make a large bed and there are blankets piled atop it. She can hear the hum of electricity and wonders how the hell they've managed that (soon she understands that there must be a backup generator considering this place had to be open 24/7 before the end). There's a fridge with food and (holy shit) running water in the taps, even if it is ice cold.

She reaches a door that clearly marks where the station's artillery is held, and enters, but before she can fully clear the threshold she has a crossbow to her head.

"Drop the gun, please," comes a wistful voice and she turns her head to see a pale and demure face, surrounded by cropped black hair.

Emma cocks an eyebrow before slowly placing the weapon on the ground. She's skillfully hidden her other one under her coat but pixie-cut doesn't need to know that. The second the weapon is down, the door moves and from behind it comes a lean man holding his own gun and Emma sighs, putting her hands up in a I come in peace gesture.

"My name is Emma Swan. I'm not here to hurt you," she introduces herself and keeps her hands up, but hears the patter of feet coming her way. "With me is Killian Jones and Henry Mills. We've come from Oregon and are headed towards Boston. I promise we're not here to cause any trouble."

She guesses that the couple assumes Henry is another adult but the woman gasps when she sees the eleven year old and immediately lowers the crossbow. She looks at her partner and gives him a pointed glare when he doesn't drop his weapon as well.

"David!" She admonishes and the man sighs, tucking the gun away.

Emma lowers her hands and stoops to grab her own, holstering it at her side.

Killian says her name in a question and she waves him off. She sees that he keeps Henry close, however, and silently thanks him for that. Pixie cut demands their attention again and pushes the group out of the weapon room into the office area with the cots and fridge, blubbering all the way.

"We're the Nolans, Mary Margaret and David. We're terribly sorry for the rough introduction, but we've been ambushed before and almost lost this place, so we take every precaution." Mary Margaret starts pulling chairs for the to all sit on and they end up being two short, but Emma leans against a desk and the looming David decides to sulk in the corner. "Can I get you anything? Water? Juice?" She looks at Henry for the last one and the dimpled kid grins at the idea.

Once he's got his juice (orange, his favourite apparently) and is curled up on the bed, flipping through an old magazine, the four adults look at each other awkwardly.

"You said you're headed to Boston?" The man, David, asks, his arms crossed defensively in front of himself. "Why'd you stop here?"

"Weapons. We're running short on supplies and thought this would be a good pitstop." She eyes pixie-cut before continuing. "I used to be a cop, I knew there had to be something left in here."

"I'm sure you and David will be able to swap glory day stories, then."

Emma nodded stiffly and they continued in their awkward conversation, pixie-cut finally giving her name (Mary Margaret, she'd been a school teacher). She asked the traveling pair many questions (too many) and was way too optimistic for Emma's liking. Killian was his usual charming self and while the station couple was wary of him, they couldn't deny he warmed them.

After hours of discussion (Emma and David did get around to cop stories, and the two blondes got along well) Henry was out cold, his magazine discarded, and Emma made her way to the car to get their sleeping supplies.

Reentering, she helps David secure the station, coming back to find Mary Margaret tucking in the kid (there's a pang in her chest she can't quite pinpoint).

It's decided that the women will sleep on the cots with Henry and the men will rough it on the floor.

"It's alright, love, I'm well acquainted with hard floors and a sleeping bag." Killian winks, taking the item in question from her and she rolls her eyes, settling beside the kid, his light snore in her ear.

She's still awake (a pattern that she's noticed) when she hears most of the breathing in the room evening out. Emma gets out of the bed and makes her way towards the door that separated the sheriff's office, opening it to find a dusty cavern littered with papers.

There's a desk in the middle that has a lamp and she switches it one, a yellow hue filling the room. There are a few broken photo frames lying on their face and she picks some of them up, brushing the dirt away to reveal one family member (a wife, she thinks), and then a group shot of the station's team. She spots David, tall and proud in his uniform, smiling alongside other burly men.

The date on the photo reads 2009 and she thinks that it's been so long since then, so long before everything went to hell. Emma wonders if he still smiles like that.

Taking a seat behind the desk, she lefts through an agenda and phonebook reading names and dates that were long gone, sighing. Moments pass, and soon the door is being opened quietly, Emma looking up to find her scruffy companion making his way in.

"You ever sleep, Swan?" He asks, voice groggy.

"You know I do, jackass." He laughs, though, and settles down beside her, leaning back against the desk. "Henry okay?"

"Sleeping like a babe, as always. You find anything interesting here?" He asks, scooting to the side to open a drawer. His leg rests against hers and she wants to put as much space as she can between them. He's always been too much to handle in close proximity, but she's never been able to push him any farther. Lost in her thoughts, she doesn't hear his soft gasp. "Look at this, Swan."

He's holding up a bottle three quarters full with amber liquid, smiling like a child on Christmas.

"Didn't know you were one for rum, Jones." She tsks, pulling it from his ring clad hand. "Must be the pirate in you."

He laughs and she twists off the cap, taking a swig. It's been a very long time since she'd had any shred of alcohol and she can't help but grimace. Killian laughs again as she passes the bottle back, before he takes a deep sip.

"Well, Swan, if this were a regular night in a pub I'd probably tell you all about my alcoholic and non-alcoholic interests." He gives her that devilish smirk-smile, eyebrows waggling dangerously.

"No doubt," she scoffs.

They talk for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, feeling the hum in their bones as the liquid settled into them. Killian drifts closer and closer to her as the night goes on, and somehow he ends up in between her legs, leaning towards her as they talk. He's so tall that she thinks he'll collapse if he tries to lean anymore forward.

They're talking about the weather, for god's sake, when he leans in and kisses her, and all thoughts of when the snow will start melting are off her mind as his mouth completely ravishes her. It's a little sloppy (they're drunk, she remembers), but she's got her arms around his neck and his go to her waist, pulling her out of the chair against him. He's still in between her legs, and when he picks her up to turn around, they go around his waist.

Emma knows she's drunk, but she doesn't find that she cares. It's the fucking apocalypse.

He sets her down on the desk, his tongue staking claim inside her mouth, hands roaming as she lets out a soft sound of content.

Killian's mouth leaves hers and trails down her jaw to kiss and tease her skin with his teeth, and she lets her head fall back, eyes to the ceiling. Emma thinks this is the best she has felt in ages.

The moment is cut short by the office door opening abruptly, the sound causing Killian to jump away from her. Emma turns her head to see David at the door with an uncomfortable expression and she's reminded of being caught by her foster parents, macking on her latest high school dirtbag.

Her cheeks are blazing as she hops off the desk and David shakes his head to clear it.

"Uh, Emma, your son…" He was still a little put out, but once her head cleared a little she could hear the whimpers coming from the other room.

She brushed past Killian, her knees wobbling slightly, trying to make as little eye contact with David as she made her way to the bed, where the Mary Margaret was sitting, trying to rouse Henry as he thrashed about, muttering words she couldn't hear. Emma crossed the room quickly, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and gently shaking him, calling his name. It took some effort but a moment later, his eyes opened partially and his movement stopped, his breath like pants.

"Mom?" He asked weakly, reaching for her.

Emma took her in his arms and even though he was a little too old for it, he was still very small, and she lifted him easily (the alcohol made it more difficult than it should have been), Henry hugging the life out of her.

"No, kid, it's me," she hushed him, holding onto him. "It's Emma, you're okay."

In the dark of the station, she made eye contact with Killian and he gave her a sad smile as she stroked Henry's hair, his cries quieting. She stood like that for a while until he calmed down, and in that time she hadn't noticed David placing a candle at the bedside.

She didn't really understand it but he shrugged and she gave him a small thanks.

Emma spent the night with Henry in her arms as she watched him go through more fits in his sleep (she didn't know what they were about, they'd never happened before), glancing over top of him every so often to eye Killian in the dark station.

After Henry had gone back to sleep, he'd come to her side and said her name softly, fingering strands of her blonde hair. She knew it was a question and she sighed, unable to look at him, the sliver of moonlight from a window illuminating his face. When she did look at him, his ocean eyes were so hopeful, she felt like she was about to kick a puppy.

"A one-time thing, Killian," she says and he nods, returning to his place.

She expects him to never speak to her again, but she hears a small "As you wish."

To calm him some nights, Killian would tell the kid stories about his days in the Navy (which only enhanced Henry's belief that Killian was a pirate in another life) while Emma stroked his hair. The pair would sit on the floor together, backs against the bed, and quietly talk the boy out of his nightmares. Being so close to Killian made Emma think about their night in the office, and she stiffened anytime Killian leaned into her.

They find out after the fifth night that he's having dreams about his family. David and Mary Margaret are out briefly to gather some things and Henry tells them that pixie-cut reminded him of his mother. It hits Emma in the stomach and she tries not to think about why.

They stay two weeks until Henry asks to keep traveling. His nightmares came and went, and he spent every night curled against Emma, Mary Margaret beside them. Emma herself was getting restless staying in the station everyday, and Killian's moods played off of hers more often than she wanted to.

When they bring up the news to David and Mary Margaret, the couple simply asks to come with them, which puts Emma through a loop, but Henry is saying yes before she can say no, and it's settled. Killian has no opinion on the matter (though she knows he is wary of expanding their group), and Emma wants to think that this will be the worst decision on the planet.

There's feelings inside her, however, that she doesn't understand, at the fact that people want to be around her, and so she shuts her mouth and lets the lovesick couple accompany them. Killian's Navy stories have made Henry hungry to see the ocean, and Mary Margaret apparently new a cute little seaside town that would be perfect.

Emma's annoyed about how optimistic pixie-cut is because holy shit they're all probably going to die together, and a harbour town isn't going to change that.

She says nothing, though, and gets in her bug with the kid and Killian, and starts to drive. David has unearthed his truck from the police garage, and they're on their way to Maine. Emma's done a couple case there, but it's been a while, and she has Mary Margaret write the directions on the map.

It's so goddamn pointless, all of this, but the kid is bouncing in the backseat with his peanut butter and if she shuts everything out, she can play her game where she pretends they're a family. It never works, but it makes her less confused (or more, she doesn't know) about her feelings for the two males she's been with for a little under half a year.

They're driving through back roads of Maine (there's less cars, they find) when they enter a heavily wooded area. Half an hour later, they find themselves in front of large iron gates that extend across the road and into the tree line. Emma assume they must go far.

Emma sees no one, but the light is fading, so she's unsure. Just feet in front of the ominous barrier is an old sign with the letters scratched off, and she doesn't remember seeing anything around here on the map. She thinks she can make out an S on the sign, but she's still unsure.

Stopping the bug, she gets out of the car, gesturing for Killian to stay behind. Seconds later, David is idling the truck. Unholstering her gun, she makes her way to the gates, finding a very heavy duty lock between the two halves. It looks like it will take a couple shots to open, but that doesn't phase her.

Bringing her gun up a little, she backs up and aims toward the gates.

Before she can shoot however, she feels something hit her left shoulder, and the force knocks her over, her head slamming against the icy pavement. The gun falls out of her hand, and everything is fuzzy as she turns her pounding head, expecting a bullet hole, but finding an arrow sticking out of her shoulder.

"The hell?" She mutters before everything starts going dark, and there are voices and pounding footsteps coming towards her from all sides.

She wakes up and for a few moments she can't see anything, just a blinding bright light. There's a pain in her shoulder and her body feels heavy when she tries to lift her arm. Moving her head from side to side languidly, it's still too bright to take anything in.

"Am I dead?" She asks no one groggily, and there's a voice she recognizes shouting and footsteps are coming again and there's a sense of deja vu she can't figure out.

Emma's eyes focus slowly as more noise comes into play, and she still sees a ton of white, but there's somebody with dark hair leaning over her, saying her name. Killian, it's Killian, and his blue eyes are so beautiful that she thinks she really is dead. He's looking at her like a lost puppy, searching her face.

"Swan?" Oh god, she thinks, he sounds so relieved.

"Emma!" That's the kid, she recognizes his small voice as she tries to shift her head.

Emma's eyes flick down to where the kid is sprinting across the room to her. Behind him are monitors and machines surrounded by clear glass walls. She's in a hospital. How is she in a hospital?

"What?" She asks, trying to sit up, before crying out in pain. Killian places his hand on her right shoulder and keeps her down.

"Easy, love." He says quietly, and she pauses, looking at him again. He looks so goddamn concerned. "Your shoulder is fine, but it will take a few weeks to heal completely, says the medic. The marksman is apparently quite a good shot."

His hand doesn't leave her shoulder but she ignores that.

"Where the hell are we?" Emma's full of questions, and Killian has no clear answer for that one, but she hears a rich voice from the door, and beyond Killian she can see what appears to be a scary woman in a blue blazer and black pants. The second she entered the room it was very clear that she was in charge.

"You're in Storybrooke, Maine, Miss Swan." The woman in question waltzes over to her bedside, causing Killian to stiffen, his hand tightening around her shoulder in what Emma could only call a protective manner. "My name is Regina Hood. Your little stunt of trying to breach our gates caused quite a stir."

"Yeah, well, they were in my way. What the hell was with Legolas back there?"

"The guard of this town were just doing their job, Miss Swan, I assure you. We take all precautions in keeping our own safe from the monsters beyond those gates. Had Mr Jones here decided not to start shouting about the fact that you had a child with you, I'm sure the rest of your team would be taken out." Regina looks over at Henry and smiles slightly, the young boy transfixed on Emma.

She squeezes the kid's hand and he lets out one of his toothy grins.

"Jesus, we were in cars, it's not like we were wandering around, I'm sure your guard could tell if we were zombies or not." Emma tries to sit up again, and this time Killian helps her, lifting her torso agains the pillows. She gives him a small thanks before turning back to Regina. "So what now? Are you just going to patch me up and then kick us out?"

"No, Miss Swan. Though it took some convincing, as the Mayor, I have decided to let your team stay in Storybrooke, if you so choose. Your weapon supply would be halved, of course, but all of your other belongings are entitled to you. The Nolans have already moved into their place, but if you like I would be able to find you three your own home." Regina finishes with a polite smile and a nod. She looks positively uncomfortable at the idea of letting insiders into her town, but Emma decides not to question the decision.

She doesn't quite like the plan of staying in one place indefinitely, it makes her feel like this is the set place that she will die. However, when Emma thinks of the kid next to her, it's the safest place for him to be. She decides it's time for him to stop sleeping in backseats and random beds along the way.

"Thank you, Madam Mayor." Emma says, and Regina nods once more before making her leave.

A doctor fills her place and soon Emma's bandages are being changed, letting her looks at the damage the arrow inflicted on her shoulder. It isn't as bad as she thought it might be, but Henry still utters a 'gross' after asking to see it. The three adults in the room laugh quietly at the kid. Once again, Emma's shoulder is bandaged and she is left alone in her room with her long time companions.

"How do you feel about all this, Jones?" She asks him and he shrugs.

"It's the safest idea, for the boy." He says flippantly. "And I've had my fill of the journey. There isn't anything left for me to find or to let go of."

"I know," she responds quietly.

"They have an ice-cream parlour," Henry says from the side, breaking the serious moment, and Emma laughs.

"Ice-cream does sound good, eh kid?"

Dr. Whale, she learns is his name, orders Emma to stay in the hospital another week just so he can observe how well her body takes to the healing process, and during that time Killian takes the kid and moves all their things into the house Regina gave them. It's small, near the harbour, Henry tells her, but she is secretly glad that the kid can finally get to see the ocean. They'll have to wait a couple months until the snow is gone, but Emma thinks that maybe Killian is glad, too, being near the boats and the salt water. She pretends to be sleeping one day while Henry makes him retell one of his Navy stories.

Somewhere along the road he's morphed them into a kind of ongoing pirate fairytale, and it makes Emma smile internally when she hears pure joy from Henry at the idea of a swashbuckling Killian. They spend the few nights at the hospital, curled up on a couch Killian made the nurses bring in for him and Henry. They go home (they have a home now) during the day to freshen up and make sure Henry gets full meals, but they are always back. One morning she finds the kid curled against her good shoulder, his small body warming her side.

Killian is awake, sitting in a chair next to her, and they lock eyes for a few moments, saying nothing. He gives her that small, sad smile of his and she realizes her hand is between both of his.

"You know, Swan, I don't know if I'm going to be able to continue saving you time after time," he says after a couple moments, grinning at her through his lashes, Emma scoffing. "Seems I keep having to carry you around like a queen these days."

"The only one who saves me is me, Killian. I'll be sure to keep on top of that from now on." She doesn't want to think about him having to carry her with an arrow sticking out of her.

"Yes, well as long as you don't go about shooting at heavily guarded fences I'm sure you'll do quite well."

"Bastard," she says in an amused tone and he laughs quietly.

"I prefer dashing rapscallion, princess."

"I thought I was a queen?"

"Ah, not quite yet, it seems. According to our little prince here, I'm a pirate captain who's kidnapped you, to return to your kingdom for the bounty on your head." Killian shakes his head disbelievingly, but smiles down at Henry, who is still deep in sleep against Emma. "Don't know where he gets the ideas."

"He's a neat kid."

"Aye."

"Any nightmares?" She asks, only because she knows Henry's attachment to her (she reminds herself that she is probably just as attached) and knows that seeing someone close to you get shot isn't the greatest memory.

"Just tonight. He didn't want to wake you, so I just had a nurse bring in an extra blanket, and tucked him in beside you. He's been fine since." There is a look in his eye that says so much, and she thinks about her dreams of a small family, and the air gets heavy.

They lapse into silence again, but Killian still has her hand, running his thumb across the palm soothingly. Emma falls back to sleep soon after.

Her stay at the hospital ends and she's brought to the house in the bug by Killian, Henry bouncing in the backseat (she almost expects him to be spooning peanut butter into his mouth) the whole journey. She's on a lot of pain meds, so moving around doesn't hurt too much, but both her men (pirate and prince) show her the small two story. It's fully furnished, and she tries not to think about who might have lived here years ago, but it's cozy, nothing like her crowded foster homes and utilitarian apartments across the years.

She's only been there for an hour but soon Mary Margaret and David are shuffling their way into her kitchen, and Mary Margaret is gushing about the fact that she can finally cook proper meals again after so many months in the station (David chimes in that he has never felt fuller in his life).

It feels really weird, for Emma, to be in this warm kitchen with a group of people who don't hate her after so much time spent alone or under glares of others.

David talks about how Regina's appointed him as a pseudo-Sheriff since this town has had no law enforcement besides the guard since the beginning of the end, and she thinks of his bright smile from the office's picture. She eyes his holster and wonders where her piece is (it's also quite strange not to see Killian with the sword at his side for this long).

That night after Emma's been stuffed with food and taken more medication, she's on the couch in the living room, close to sleep, and Henry is hugging her goodnight. He takes caution and stays away from her shoulder, and she smiles at him. He hugs her one more time, holding onto her tightly.

"I'm really glad you're okay, Emma."

"Me too, kid. Me too."

Henry skips off to bed with a toothy grin, and moments later Killian is at her side, offering a hand.

"Ready, my lady?" Killian says in an exaggerated tone, his eyebrows going, and Emma rolls her eyes, but allows him to help her stagger off the couch.

As he leads her up the stairs, she quickly notices the complete lack of a third bedroom, and silently curses Regina.

Emma has no problem with sleeping in the same bed as Killian, they've been in much tighter quarters, but the looks, smiles, and touches he gives her cause a warmth in the pit of her stomach that she's been trying to shut out for months.

He seems to sense her distress, and smirks.

"I'll take the couch, Emma, it's fine."

"Killian," she says, grabbing onto his arm. "It's not a big deal, just try not to roll over onto my shoulder."

"As you wish."

After changing in the bathroom, she settles under the covers, Killian at her side, keeping his limbs to himself (for once) and she has to suppress a sound of pleasure at the complete comfort of the mattress. Compared to her backseat, the floor, and the prison cots, she is in pure heaven.

Killian laughs, and she subtly snuggles in him. While she is used to new locations, it takes her a while to actually fall asleep, despite the fence that goes around the (quite weird) town and heavily armed guards, etc. She hears Killian's breathing even out, the hot air on her neck, and it's possibly the only relatively normal moment she has been granted in this whole experience, so she cherishes it.

They are there for three months before Emma feels anxious, before the fears and the cabin fever set in.

She learns more about Regina, and while the brunette does slightly warm to her, she is still very strict and stern to anyone (besides Henry and Robin) she speaks to. The mayor explains how Storybrooke came to be, how the gates were put up, and what happened to the residents of the town that became infected. It explained how eery some parts of the town felt, and all the empty buildings.

There was still a core population, complete with miners, a psychologist (who at the moment was busy running a sort-of orphanage), a half full convent, a librarian, a meagre hospital staff, the grandmother-granddaughter duo that ran the town diner, and a handful of others who gave some life to the otherwise quiet place. After some pushing, she was able to persuade Regina into letter her team up with David at the police station. It was mostly just keeping in control of the guard, but still better than sitting in a house all day.

Emma was introduced to the man who shot her, Robin Hood, and once he apologized for the incident, the three of them were able to get along quite well, and circulations of patrols and other duties became easier to control as the weeks passed. There was rarely any incidents (Emma's brigade was the biggest group to come in and had caused a lot of stir) but every once and a while the men found a zombie or a straggler by the walls.

Mary Margaret had found her place with Dr. Hopper, helping him with the dozen or so orphaned kids (Henry tagged along to make friends, and Emma wasn't going to let him play with the GameBoy he stumbled upon all day).

Killian did whatever he pleased most days, but one thing that remained the same was he was always home cooking dinner when Emma would pick Henry up from Mary Margaret's apartment. The snow was all gone and it's getting much warmer out; Emma is glad she no longer has to worry about watching Henry hold in his shivers on the short walk from apartment the diner to the apartment in the mornings.

He's still very small, but the eleven year has grown from the abundance of food and exercise that he can get. For Henry, Storybrooke is his only chance at a normal life.

And for the most part it's a pretty perfect situation, considering where she was less than a year ago, but she feels trapped in some ways. It might have to do with the literal walls surrounding her, but Emma has this impending sense of doom in her chest, like the pounding of her heart is going to lure all the zombies toward her.

It's stupid and she knows it, but she soon finds herself in Regina's office one afternoon, the brunette pursing her lips at the blonde's entrance. The mayor questions the sheriff on her presence and it takes Emma a long time before she can actually ask the questions she wants to.

"Does anyone ever leave this place?" Regina looks at her skeptically and sighs.

"The ones we've been forced to execute have been buried at the far edges of the woods, and before the walls were put up many people did leave, but no one has willingly left for a very long time, or even come into town for that matter." Regina sighed, folding her hands on the desk. "After the military shut down, my men went and scavenged the nearest towns, bringing those left with them."

"The military was here?" Emma asks, although she isn't surprised.

Regina, however, is caught off guard by Emma's comment and furrows her brows.

"Sorry, I was underground for a year. Didn't have a lot of contact with the surface." The blonde sighs (seems that's all she's been doing lately) and moves to flop down in the ornate office chair opposite Regina. "Where did you even gather the materials and muscle for this kind of operation? Were you some sort of government official?"

"Nothing like that, but my family does have a lot of power and money, and I did know about the virus long before it swept the whole damn continent." Regina brings a hand up and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I made a lot of preparations, had the walls built in the forests first and then when the town got infected I moved them to the roads. A lot of people were very angry, but those that understood the sacrifices stayed. Robin was in the army when he lived in England, and he had a lot of connections with other ex-soldiers, and they came here to form the guard."

"Killian and Robin should spend more time together, I'm sure they'd enjoy swapping military/navy stories. Lord knows the kid, Henry, loves that kind of stuff." At the mention of Henry, Regina lets out a small smile.

Emma knows that despite their limited interaction, Henry does enjoy Mayor Mills' company when it is available. After Emma left the hospital, Regina checked in daily to make sure they were settling (or that they weren't there to kill everyone, Emma had joked to Killian) and made conversation with Henry about all sorts of things.

"Roland, Robin's son, enjoys the same sort of things. He's a very sweet boy, your son." Regina compliments her slightly awkwardly and Emma just nods. She just lets the whole 'son' thing wash over her nowadays, it's just easier. Henry does still call her mom some nights after bad dreams.

In the early days, Emma had imagined keeping the kid for a little bit and then finding a safe place to leave him, but now that it's been longer than half a year, Henry's presence is something Emma finds she cannot go without. It makes all of her fears about Storybrooke and the world so much harder.

"I'm sure he would enjoy getting to know Roland. He spends his days with Archie's kids and he likes that well enough." Regina arches an eyebrow at the suggestion. "And I assume it gets boring for him to be around the same adults every day, and Henry does like you, Regina."

"Are you asking me to arrange playdates for your son and mine?"

It's awkward and it's weird for the both of them, as it's quite obvious neither have really had any other female friends (Emma is still getting to know Mary Margaret, but pixie cut is a little less prickly than Regina). Emma gives an embarrassed grimace.

"It'd be good for him, I think." Emma pauses. She did actually come to Regina's office with a purpose besides finding Henry a little friend. "Also, Regina, I was thinking of…patrolling farther outside Maine for more people, to bring back here. You've created a safe haven, and I'm sure more people could utilize it."

The mayor leans back in her chair and folds her hands in her lap.

"You want to leave?"

It's a simple question, but Emma feels a conflict in her chest that she's only ever felt after seeing Killian carry a sleeping Henry after she'd left them behind in Neal's apartment.

"Yes."

Killian had known something was amiss the second she stepped into the house after meeting with Regina. She'd left Henry at Mary Margaret and David's for the night, as Emma didn't trust herself not to completely break down in front of the kid.

Her pirate was sitting at the kitchen island with a book in hand (probably Moby Dick, he was quite fond of it), snacking on crackers. He looked up when he noticed her presence and smiled, though the light dropped from his eyes as he read her appearance.

"Swan?" He asked, discarding his reading.

"We need to talk," she replied, setting an unopened bottle of rum on the counter.

"I thought Storybrooke was dry." Killian had perked at the alcohol, but there was still concern written on his face. "What's gotten into you, love?"

"A gift," Emma rejects his question. "From Regina. Woman's got an entire wine cellar all to herself. No wonder she's so calm." She doesn't meet his eyes, only goes to the cupboard to get them two glasses. They're coloured plastic and she wants to laugh and cry all at the same time. Henry drank orange juice out of them every morning.

Killian is behind her, the scent of shampoo filling her space.

"Emma."

It's soft and a little broken, the perfect description of the man, and she is entirely overwhelmed by it all. She wants to leave, she knows that she does, but she knows that he is not coming with her, that Henry is not coming with her. Emma can't do that to the kid, can't uproot him when he's so damn safe. Can't put either of them in harm's way.

"Love, please."

She doesn't answer him, just pushes him out of the way and opens the bottle, pouring deep drinks for both of them. Killian sighs but takes it anyway, making a sound of contentment after the first gulp. Emma knows how much the man misses his rum (he talks about it in his sleep) and had forgone all the different aged wines Regina kept hidden. She had a vault in a fucking crypt, the weird woman that she was.

"I thought it was a one-time thing." He says to lighten the mood and Emma smirks despite herself.

"The kiss, not the rum, Killian." And it's been a few months since that incident, and god knows she's replayed it in her sleep a million times, and she internally hopes that it'll happen again, but he doesn't really need to know that. He won't want to touch her after she tells him what's going to happen. "Henry's with the Nolans tonight."

"I assumed. Wouldn't want to drink around the boy, anyway." He sighs and drinks heavily. She feels the warmth in her belly and revels in its calming effects, although she still has a bundle of nerves in the pit of her stomach. "I know what that does to a lad."

"I know," she says quietly, leaning against the island. Killian is still standing at the cupboard, his back to the counter. "Henry loves you, though. You've been very good to him."

"You as well, Swan." He smiles briefly. "He told me that his mother would be glad you're the one to fill in for her, that you gave him a home."

Emma can't respond, there's a tightness in her throat. She lets out a watery chuckle anyway.

"Technically, Regina did that."

"You know what I mean, Emma." He finishes his drink and pours another one, pulling Emma to the living room with bottle in hand. They flop onto the couch, close enough to feel each other's warmth but not touching. "Are you going to tell me what's troubling you, or are we just going to get drunk and forget about it?"

"Drunk seems like the best option right now. Don't know when we'll get to do it again." I'll be gone, she doesn't say.

So they drink, and Killian drifts closer to her as the night progresses, the bottle almost empty and the pair too hazy to care. Emma's lids are half shut as her back presses against the arm of the couch, Killian leaning lazily in her direction, fingering a strand of her blonde hair, which has grown so long that it's rare to see it down these days. Emma knows that Killian loves her hair, however, having pulled it from its bun hours earlier.

They've been staring at each other for minutes now without talking, and at some point Emma stretches forward and touches her mouth gingerly against his, feeling his dark stubble against her chin. When she pulls away, his blue eyes pierce hers.

"Swan, we're very drunk." It's a half hearted plea that she ignores, leaning toward him again.

After several hot kisses their clothing is discarded, and they make love on the couch.

It is sweet and slow at first, but Emma is hungry for more, making a wobbly ascent. She trails naked through the kitchen, and Killian doesn't let her reach the stairs. They fuck sloppily against the counter, and then in the upstairs hallway before they even make it to their bed, which has been sanctioned as only a cuddle space for three months. She thinks she'll have to sanitize the whole house before the kid comes home.

They fulfill almost a year's worth of desires until the early hours of the morning, finally stopping when Emma's head comes to rest on Killian's shoulder, the tears leaking out onto his too hot skin.

"I'm leaving at the end of the week," she says through a sob, and Killian says nothing, only pulling her small body tighter against his.

Emma drove away from the gates in her yellow bug, equipped with enough supplies to last her the next two months, until the summer. Regina made sure to stock her with as many weapons as she could lend out, most of Emma's original supply being returned to her. Madam Mayor had also given her a trunk full of maps that marked out the route to Storybrooke, Maine, to be given to anyone she found that were interested in going there.

Nobody liked the idea except Emma and Regina. There were a couple members of the guard that were open to the possibility of outreach, but none were enthused enough to come with her. Robin refused to leave his son or wife behind, and no townspeople were all that into leaving their safe haven, or to have possibly dangerous people come to them.

Not everyone was as docile as Emma's team, she knew too well.

After her night alone with Killian, the rest of the week had been roughly the same, with the exception of their clean spooning being replaced with sex every night. The eve of her departure, Killian cried into her chest, his head on her heart, arms tight around her. It was painful, leaving him.

Telling the Nolans was hard, as Mary Margaret had pulled her close and tried not to cry, but wished her luck and safety. David, who'd grown to be a great friend kissed her on the forehead and gave her what she could only describe as a bear hug. He didn't say anything besides a simple goodbye, but there was a look in his eyes that told her so many things. It felt like having a big brother, and it was too strange to think about for too long.

Henry was possibly the worst. Emma sat him down after picking him up halfway through the week and told him she would be gone until the summer. He shut down in front of her, going completely silent for what felt like eons. Henry didn't talk to her until the day before she left, and it felt like a knife was slowly being dragged through her gut. The look on his face caused her more pain than her miscarriage had, and as she drove away from Storybrooke, it replayed in her mind.

The objective was simple: canvas the closest states for survivors and direct them to Storybrooke, if they wanted it. Emma would not pick up strays this time, she was completely dedicated to getting her job done, getting some air, and then after two months deciding what the hell she wanted to do with her life. The world wasn't getting any better, but it wasn't really getting any worse.

In her glove compartment sat a walkie talkie to be used for emergencies, the other resting on Regina's office desk. Emma prayed she didn't have a crisis during a time the mayor decided to take a walk.

The first months didn't hold a lot of results, a lot of people bristled at the idea of leaving their camps for an unknown place, but Emma did her best to send as many people as she could, giving up as much of her supplies as she could to prove that it wasn't a malicious death sentence. Each place she went she gunned down as many zombies as possible, doing her part for the godforsaken planet. It was exhausting, traveling constantly without any real destination, not knowing whether or not people were going to kill her as she approached them.

She stayed with a family in Boston for a couple days before sending them to Storybrooke. It was comprised of a father and his two young children. They reminded her of Henry, all big cheeks and toothy smiles. They also slept through gunshots, which made her cringe. When Emma left them she hoped she would see them again one day.

The second month came and Emma swept through West Virginia, sending at least a hundred people in the direction of Maine. She was slowly running out of food, but that hadn't fazed her. Some groups would share what they had with her, and some would wave a gun at her and take her map with scared eyes. They eyed her car with envy, and she kept the bug close at all times. Assuming everyone knew how to hot wire was the safest option.

Emma met too many men who tried to get handsy, and after many blatant threats at shooting each one in the foot, was saved from having to kill people who weren't undead. Her bug was losing its yellow sheen from the amount of corpse she had to drive over, and she wasn't afraid to make a creep one of them.

There was a part of her that ached for her makeshift family, that made her want to turn on the walkie talkie and hear their voices. Regina would probably skin her alive, however, and so she left it tucked in the glove compartment. She hated sleeping alone, it was too cold. Killian was too warm, but it had been a gift on the road. She missed Henry's small body cocooned against her in the sleeping bag. With each new group she wanted to send messages back to them, but she didn't trust them to get delivered.

After encountering a large, starving family of six that almost cried when she found them and told them about her town, however, she did sent a small message back for Killian and Henry, just to let them know that she was okay, and that she missed them. The mother had smiled fondly at her, taking both of Emma's hands in her own. The message was safe with her, she'd told the blonde.

That night, she cried herself to sleep in the backseat, her sleeping bag empty and cold.

The summer came quicker than she thought it would, but soon, by her count, it was July, and the heat was sweltering as she made her way back east, taking a different route in the hopes of finding more people. She must have sent hundreds back to Regina, and hoped the mayor didn't regret the decision to let Emma be her scout.

As she was entering Maine, however, everything went to hell.

Emma knows the route too well after directing dozens of people, but it feels endless as she limps her way down the hot pavement, cradling her arm against her, her last gun clutched in her left hand. She's a shit shot with that one but her right one is probably too broken to shoot even with the amount of adrenaline keeping her upright.

There's blood in her hair, all down her front, and soaked into her pants.

The damn fucking car is long gone, crashed into a cluster of trees. A team of assholes ambushed her on the way back, shooting her bug and thankfully missing her tires, but they managed to break all of her windows, and she was covered in cuts. The heat had caused her to shed her jacket in the car, her tank top doing little to protect her pale skin.

She's so fucking tired, she's been walking for so long. Emma did her best to lose the group that tried to kill her, and after waking to the ruin of her car, assumed that they had pinned her a dead woman. Just her luck.

She was an hour outside of Storybrooke when it happened, and she hopes she'll make it to the gates before sundown and that Robin doesn't decide to do a repeat of their first encounter. She's got enough injuries, she doesn't need another arrow in her. Emma thinks she must look like a zombie to anyone from afar, and she prays that no one shoots her. She doesn't need the guard feeling guilty for killing her.

God, she hopes Robin is at the gate tonight, and not John. The bastard never liked her. He was also lousy with his crossbow and would probably end up hitting her in the heart instead of the shoulder, just his luck.

She'd pried the walkie talkie from the glove compartment and even though her arm was broken was still able to hold it in her grasp. As she walks on she shoves the gun in her waistband and tries to radio Regina. Madam Mayor, however, is not answering, and Emma is growling into the mouth piece with all of her strength.

There's a sign in the distance that she knows to be the one notifying her that she's on the outskirts of town, that the gates are close by, and because Emma is impatient, she growls the mayor's name into the talkie once more before flinging it away to fire a couple warning shots into the air. If the guard can't hear that in the quiet evening then they've got a surprise coming.

It's ten minutes before she sees the damn gates and Emma starts crying, actual human tears for the first time since she left her two biggest loves (goddamn she loves them both and she would really like to see them and not die). She starts yelling Regina's name, her own name, Killian's, Henry's, everybody she knows to make sure the guard knows who it is, and the gates are opening and she's crying harder, because she's in so much fucking pain.

Emma wasn't supposed to come home like this, she was supposed to come home strong and composed, put together, not broken and emotional. She wanted to come home with arms that were able to hug her damn kid, but one is broken and the other is trembling around a gun.

She's five feet away from the open gates and she doesn't expect to see him. but she locks eyes with Killian and cries out his name, collapsing. Emma feels a strange sense of nostalgia as he runs toward her, her name on his lips, and the last thing she sees is his blue eyes before she is in his arms and everything is black.

Emma wakes to a flurry of voices and machines, but the pain is gone and so are her tears, and that's always a good sign. She recognizes Regina's rich voice arguing with Dr. Whale's clinical tone, the whir of something probably keeping her alive, and Henry's voice. He's reading aloud to her, from a book of fairytales. Emma hears the name Snow White.

She can't open her eyes yet, she knows it'll be too bright, so she just listens to her kid. There's a gruff hand grasping hers and it's warm, she knows it must be Killian. There's a woman sniffling somewhere. Mary Margaret. No doubt David's got his arm wrapped around her.

It's all so surreal and familiar, and she isn't in pain, she feels almost happy, and despite almost dying, Emma just lets it all happen. She's been gone for too long, lonely for so many years, that she just lets herself feel happy. Despite trying to remain unseen, she smiles, and Killian must think she is sleeping, because his hand clenches against hers briefly. He lessens his grip moments later.

At some point she falls back asleep, but there is a warm body at her side that must be Henry, and a hot breath in her ear. Killian's fallen asleep with his head on her pillow, and Emma thinks that this is paradise, right here, in this hospital room in Storybrooke, Maine, at the end of the fucking world.

fin.