It's his hand she misses the most. Not in the gross way; not in the way he used to grab one boob and make a squeaky noise after he discovered what squeaky toys were. Although, she does miss that because while she rolled her eyes more often than not, it also made her laugh. She misses his hand, and his hook, because whether she was holding either one of them, or they were holding her, they were a sense of stability in her life. The only time that ever changed was the brief time Killian had both hands back, and honestly, she couldn't have cared one way or the other if he had both, as long as he had one.
She really misses the way he rubbed his hand down her back when she needed that extra bit of comfort. Touch became such an important part of their everyday lives that now trying to deal with anything without his hand resting on her lower back feels like emptiness and hollow bones.
When she walks, she does not have a pirate to link her arm through his, lean her cheek on his shoulder, lace her fingers with his as they cross the street. She misses a lot about him, hell, misses him and her family and everything she knows and loves and was just getting used to before she had the idea to spare everyone else by sending herself to this new level of misery.
When it gets especially difficult to be alone, she thinks of every moment of the last few years. She starts with blowing out the candle on her birthday cupcake and the doorbell ringing, Henry standing on the other side and ready to completely fuck up her life in the best way possible. She thinks of breaking the first curse and her mother and father hugging her with such intensity that all she could do was attempt to hug back because she didn't realize family would feel like this. She thinks of this with fondness, even though the memories of Snow and David's lies are still fresher in her memory, because she knows with more time that all would've been resolved. They just needed the chance.
She thinks of the evolutions of the relationships with each member of Storybrooke. She thinks of how lonely her life had been before Henry found her, and then how lonely she wasn't. Sometimes, in the beginning, she really didn't want it, but she admits they all grew on her. Except for when they would come running and screaming about the next new terror. Although, given her options right now, she's sure she would even take that one yell of panic and the flurry of going to battle.
Emma spends an unquestionable amount of time thinking about Killian. She thinks of the moment they first met, the way he looked up at her while trying to shade his eyes from the sun shining behind her. She thinks of their climb up the beanstalk and his persistently annoying attempts to know her better. She thinks of him wrapping that damn scrap around her hand and tying it off with his mouth, the way he tucked the dangling edge back into her hand.
She thinks of the way she panicked a little when he didn't respond after the giant fell and she was worried (she hardly likes to admit she was worried about him back then) that he had gotten himself killed. She huffs out a small laugh when she thinks of the way he yelled that they made quite the team.
She doesn't like to think about leaving him shackled, leaving him with Anton, and the great depths of pain she saw in his eyes when she was locked in Rumplestiltskin's cell and he assured her that he wouldn't have done the same to her. She thinks of the fact that it was a partial lie, because the first moment he had to prove he was part of something, he took the magic bean and ran, but she immediately thinks of the way he came back, and how that negated the first action because he came back.
She thinks about that kiss in Neverland, her claims of one-time thing, how she knew even then that she was lying to both of them about that. She thinks of him confidently telling her that he would win her heart. She thinks of how it was less of a challenge than he probably thought it would be, but she certainly gave him a run for his money.
She thinks about his promise before she and Henry left, that not a day would go by that he wouldn't think of her, and she thinks that the same could probably be said for right now, for right at this moment. She thinks if she thinks hard enough that she can simply wish them all here, where she is, because she's tired of being away from home and family and love.
She thinks of all the times she denied what was in front of her, when even the mention of his name had made her heart pound in her chest in uncomfortable familiarity. She thinks of how their stupid love story is stupidly perfect in its imperfection, that it's more ridiculous than all the fairytales kids grow up with because they don't know what it's like to be The Savior, and they don't know what it's like to fall for Captain Hook.
And she thinks of every touch, simple or complex, every kiss, every conversation, every time he looked at her with either innuendo or honesty in his eyes. She misses those. She misses being able to be mad at him for saying something ridiculous, only to make up for it with a wicked smile and a raise of his eyebrow. She misses each and every way he said her name, whether Emma or Swan, and all the different emotions he could use in just a syllable or two.
She thinks about the moment he admitted she was his happy ending, and how afraid he was of losing her. That last one brings about an ache that, no matter how hard she presses on her breastbone, she can't get rid of.
And as she curls up, exhausted but still unable to sleep, she curls her hand reflexively, and mostly misses his hand.