AU: Killian came over with the curse. Emma doesn't break the curse by kissing Henry. She can't take the pain of losing her son after just getting him back. Based on Self-Conclusion by the Spill Canvas.
Disclaimer: I, sadly, own none of these characters.
Yeah we all flirt with the tiniest notion
Of self-conclusion in one simplified motion
You see the trick is that you're never supposed act on it
No matter how unbearable this misery gets
Emma ran as fast as she could away from the hospital. She couldn't stick around to watch his heart stop, couldn't bear the fact that it was her fault for not believing in the curse. Her life had been turned upside down over the months that she'd come to Storybrooke. A birthday wish she hadn't even realized would carry so much came true in the form of her son showing up on her doorstep. Despite the long, tiring drive from Boston, there was something about Henry that made her want to make sure that he was okay. At some point, she thought maybe it was her latent maternal, lying dormant for the past ten years.
Emma barely registered the blaring horn of the car that she was headed for before it skidded to a stop. She didn't have time to think about who it was; her feet continued to move on their own. She heard the car's door open, and then the patter of feet coming after her, as well, as she rounded the corner of Gold's shop and started her way down the path toward the run down toll bridge. The thing that finally pulled her from the void in her mind was that voice, that unmistakable voice that had haunted her since she'd arrived in that town.
"Emma! Emma! Swan!"
Emma had just left Henry at his mother's house after a short discussion with her. She couldn't believe that he had this illusion in his head that the entire town was cursed and his mother was the Evil Queen from Snow White. She knew kids had imaginations, but she wondered if that was taking it too far.
The Sheriff of the town had told her there was an inn somewhere on Main Street, and she'd thought for a minute that she might just go ahead and stay, but she wanted to get back to Boston. She just wanted to curl up in a blanket on her couch with a cup of hot chocolate and the cupcake that had been left uneaten. It had been a long night and she didn't need anything else ruining her birthday.
KATHUMP!
The yellow bug halted to a stop when Emma started hearing a rhythmic thump, thump, thump after the bug was jostled. Fantastic, she thought, just another thing I need tonight. She pulled herself out of the car and confirmed her suspicions when she saw her back driver's side tire was flat. She went about getting everything she'd need to change her tire. Part of her just wanted to go find that inn and nurse her car in the morning, but she was determined to leave. After jacking up the car, removing the old tire, aligning the new one, and tightening the nuts back on, her outfit was a bit worse for wear, but her ride was ready to go. She'd just put the jack and tire iron up when the door of a building opened.
"You know you're bleeding, right, lass?" The smooth accent flowed from the man standing in the doorway of the bar, arms folded across his chest. The sign hanging above the door shown with bright neon light and simply read, "The Crow's Nest." The man standing there was dressed in nice jeans and a hooded jacket, but the thing that drew Emma in were the brighter than bright blue eyes shining at her in the darkness of the night.
Emma was pulled from her thoughts when the man's eyes were even closer than before. His comment finally registered with her, and finally feeling the sting, she looked down at the blood dripping from her palm.
"I need to go. It's fine, really," she tried to reason.
"No, it's not." He took her wrist, not giving her a chance to protest, and pulled her into the bar. "Come into my humble abode."
She was surprised to see the entire bar was empty except for the two of them. She knew it wasn't that late in the evening for it to be closed, and yet not a soul occupied. He quickly led her to a stool at the bar before walking around it.
"Where is everyone?"
He took a sad look around the bar. "Early last call tonight," he said, bending down behind the bar before pulling up a silver flask. His sad look was replaced by a smirk. "Mind unscrewing the top, love?"
Emma flashed a not so amused look his way. "Why do I need to do it?"
The man simply held up his left arm for her to see. There was no hand there for her to see, and she immediately felt bad for asking. "I'm a righty, love. Now, if you please."
She immediately reached over and unscrewed the top of the flask, still a bit confused at what he was doing. Once it was open, he bit the top of it, pulling her hand closer, before letting go quickly and pour the contents of the flask on her bleeding palm. She flinched away immediately, letting out a string of curses.
"What the hell is that?" she yelled loudly.
He sat the flask down and grabbed her wrist again, examining the wound once more. "Rum and a bloody waste of it. Wait here." He let go of her wrist and walked into the back room.
Emma didn't know why, but she continued to sit on the stool, nursing her now stinging hand. She had no idea who this man was; he could've been going to get a knife or something to kill her with, and yet she was rooted to the spot. She didn't have to wait for long, before he was coming back with what looked like a handkerchief in hand. As he looked at her hand expectantly, she gave the handkerchief in his hand an odd look.
"I made sure it was clean, love," he said, taking a seat on the stool next to her, taking her wrist again.
"Emma," she said, without thinking. She had no reason to tell him her name. She'd be leaving as soon as he finished with her hand.
He smiled at her as he started to wrap the handkerchief around her hand. "Owen." Only having one hand put him at a disadvantage, he leaned down and used his mouth to finish up the tie. He stared at her for a moment before pulling away from her hand and inspecting his handiwork. "There you are. Good as new."
Emma's eyes fluttered at the sensation going from her hand up through her arm, before collecting herself and slowly pulling her hand away from his. "Thank you," she said, sliding off the bar stool, "but like I said, I have to be going." She moved toward the door before opening it, him following right behind her.
"You're not staying?"
"Nope. Just dropping off the Mayor's kid," she replied, opening up the door to her bug.
"You could stay for a drink, or if you're not up for that, I'm sure we could find something more enjoyable," he said, smirking.
She turned around to look at Owen and asked, "Would Milah be upset that you're flirting with me?"
He realized that she'd seen the tattoo on his wrist, and scoffed, though the name always pained his heart for a reason. "There is no Milah. It was a drunken mistake." He shrugged, trying to get the feeling away. "Don't even remember getting it, actually."
She sighed, before giving him a small smile and sticking out her uninjured hand. "Thank you for your help."
He happily took her hand and gave it a good few shakes. "Drive safely, Emma." He took a few more moments before finally letting go and backing way toward the bar once more.
Emma climbed into the bug and made her way back from where she'd come from, trying her best to keep her eyes open. She suddenly felt like she'd forgotten something and looked down in her passenger seat. Sure enough, Henry had left his book. She didn't have time to register anything else before looking up and spotting a wolf in the middle of the road. She swerved, hoping to leave the animal uninjured before her bug came into contact with something and she blacked out.
When she woke up, she had the worst headache she'd had in a while. She vaguely remembered dropping the kid—henry—off at his mother's house before her tire went flat. She realized then that she was sleeping on something that was entirely too uncomfortable and immediately sat up, though regretting it instantly.
"Careful, love. You'll hurt yourself even worse."
Her eyes shot open to see Owen sitting at a desk, his feet propped up, and a smirk plastered on his face. It was then she realized she was looking at him through the bars of a jail cell.
"I mean first your hand and then your head. Are you accident prone? Should I have an ambulance in standby?"
Emma simply sent him a glare. "Why am I in a jail cell?"
"Generally, it means you did something wrong, sister," came a voice from the cell beside her. She barely glanced over at the man slouched in the other cell.
Owen ignored the comment. "I've no clue. You were here when my shift started. Graham left to get us coffee."
"And he's back," said the Sheriff, entering the room and setting the coffee down on the desk. "Leroy, I'm going to let you out. You need to behave. Put on a smile," he continued, unlocking the door. "And stay out of trouble." The man immediately got up, put on his fakest smile and whistled as he left the station.
"Seriously?" Emma complained, placing her chin on the vertical bars.
"Well, Regina's drinks are a bit stronger than we thought."
"I wasn't drunk. There was a wolf standing in the middle of the road," she replied, obviously annoyed.
"A wolf. Right. That's why we could smell alcohol on you from a mile away."
At that Owen stood up, clapping Graham on the shoulder. "Actually, Graham, that'd be my fault. The lady hurt her hand outside my bar, and I couldn't just leave her in distress. Did some in the field damage control was all."
"If you say so, Deputy Raines," Graham replied before dropping the keys into Owen's now open hand.
Owen flashed Graham a smile before making his way over to the cell, unlocking it quickly. "You're free to go, Miss Swan."
She didn't think twice about him knowing her last name now, given the fact that he seemed to work here. "You own a bar, and you're a cop, too."
"Gotta cover my bases, love. Consider myself a double threat," he finished with a wink—a wink she found herself half smiling at.
He'd finally caught up with her at the toll bridge. She'd had a good head start on him, but he was thankful that he wasn't so out of shape to arrive there shortly after her. She had her hands braced on either side of the open side of toll bridge, knuckles as white as snow.
"Emma, love, what's going on?"
She jumped at his voice, having half expected him to give up the chase a ways back. She turned toward him, the tears streaming down her face. "Henry! She took Henry away! He's not gonna make it and it's my damn fault for not believing him!" Saying it out loud made it that much more real to her.
Owen's heart squeezed tightly in his chest. He'd grown fond of Emma and her son over the months that she'd stayed in their tiny town. To see her breaking down like this over the possible loss of her son was killing him. "Emma, can you come here, please? You're dangerously close to the edge."
"Haven't I always been? Ever since I decided to stay her, things have been going wrong for everyone. Henry's already fucked up relationship with Regina just got worse, the whole Kathryn fiasco and poor Mary Margaret getting framed, and August is gone!" She let out a strangled sob. This wasn't the Emma he normally saw. He'd only seen that side of her one other time. "Graham died in my fucking arms, Owen!"
He remembered the days following the incident in the station. She'd been given the other deputy position not long before it happened and the Sheriff's death had hit her just as hard as those that had known him their whole life. She'd refused to go into the station the first few days afterward; her first day back after the funeral proved too emotional and he'd held her at her most vulnerable. Once she'd recovered, she went back to the Emma he knew, threatening him if he ever told anyone about the incident. "You can't blame yourself for Graham's death, Emma. We've talked about this!"
"You don't know what I know, Owen! What I learned tonight changes the entire game and it is too much!" She sobbed again, looking back out off the edge of the toll bridge. "I was fighting so hard for Henry, and now he's gone! I have no family! They're all gone, and I have no idea how to get them back." A long sigh escaped from her lips. "I don't know how…"
"Emma, please. Come down, love. You have me," he said, inching forward slowly as to not scare her off the edge. "Please Emma, I've got you."
The laugh that came from her had hurt Owen to the core. "Owen, you don't know the half of it! You don't even know who you really are, and that's one thing that hurts about this. And you have absolutely no idea. Everything is so messed up and crazy and doesn't make any sense!"
"Dammit, Emma, you're not making sense!" He yelled back at her. Maybe if he yelled, she'd finally listen to him. "Now, you're too close to the edge, and I need you to come back. Please. For me! Just step back. Even if it's just a step, please, love. Whatever's happening is not worth your life, okay?"
"I can't make sense of it, Owen! It doesn't make sense to me. If I were to say everything I learned tonight, you'd think I was a fucking lunatic… And maybe I am! Maybe something bad happened to me and I just concocted all of this—everything—in my head to cope." The curse couldn't be real, and yet it was. Henry had been right about everything and she'd been too stubborn to listen to what he had to say.
"Emma, I can promise you I am very real. And crazy people don't think they're crazy; they think they're getting saner. So, that proves it, all right?" He'd made his way to three feet from where she was standing. "Please, Emma, come with me. We'll talk about this away from the edge. You've got people to live for—people who need you. Mary Margaret and Henry—he could still make it and me, love."
Their relationship hadn't been the steadiest of things. In the beginning of her stay, Emma had made a deal with Gold to give Owen more time to pay rent on the bar. He hadn't been happy about that one bit, but she'd reasoned that the bar was his home, and it was done. And though she'd helped him plenty through the months, Emma's main goal for staying in town was to make sure Henry was all right, and once she realized he wasn't, her goal was to make sure he was in a loved home—preferably with her. Somewhere down the line, though, Owen had started to flirt and worm his way into her heart. They weren't together, but everyone in town knew that there was something between the new Sheriff and her Deputy and knew not to mess with Owen on the subject. He was very fond of Emma; she'd done so much for him since she'd arrived, things that she didn't even know.
"You've got all of that, so come back. Please."
"You have no idea how wrong you are! There is no you, and I can't explain it, but there is no you! There is no Mary Margaret! There's not even supposed to be a Storybrooke! None of this," she sobbed, gesturing to the general area around them, "is supposed to be here!" She hung her head in defeat."
Owen tried to ignore what she was saying, because she really wasn't making sense, but he attributed to her possibility of losing Henry. "Emma, darling, you're not thinking straight. We'll get you back to the hospital, and you'll see. Henry can still make it."
"And what if he doesn't?" She yelled fiercely, whipping her head back toward him. "What if he doesn't make it? What am I supposed to do then? I've fought too hard to lose him this way. I'm supposed to save everyone, and I can't even save myself."
"I'm not saying it would be easy, because it wouldn't be at all. No parent should have to go through the ordeal of burying their child, but Emma," he was now upon her, placing his hand on hers, "I can promise you that if he doesn't make it, I will be there to carry you every step of the way. I know that's not much. I'm just as broken as you are, you know that. But we could work this out." He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "You can save yourself, love. Just step back for me.
Emma rolled his words around in her head, tears still streaming down her face. She knew Henry's death would devastate her, and he was right—Henry was on the verge of death, but he hadn't been claimed just yet. Taking a deep breath, she took ahold of his hand and slowly backed away from the edge, and then pushed herself into his arms, letting sobs rake her body. "If he dies," she got out in between trying to catch her breath, "I'll never forgive myself. I have to save him."
I have to save him. I'm supposed to save everyone.
Owen smoothed her hair down with his hand, cradling her head into his shoulder. "Love, you have no idea, but you've already saved one person in this town."
"How?" Her voice came out a muffled cry.
He pulled her head back to look into his eyes. "That night. The one that you broke down out in front The Crow's Nest?" She'd been the best part of that dark night that he tried to no longer remember the beginning of. "Before you got there, I was sitting behind the bar… I was drowning in the debt from Gold that he wouldn't let up on. I was going to lose my home, my pride and joy. That damn snake was going to take it all. I had no family to speak of and nothing to my name. I'd decided that night, I was going to put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger."
Her eyes grew wide at his admission, but he continued before she could speak. "I was back there, ready to do the deed when I heard your tire smacking the pavement over and over. I stood up in time to watch you change you tire, cursing like a bloody sailor while doing it. I knew there was something about you. You were out there for a reason." He reached up and wiped the tears that were no free falling down her face, knowing he was probably doing the same. "Emma, you saved a life that night. You saved a life and you didn't even know it. So, imagine what you could do if you tried."
Emma looked up into his shining blue eyes and saw the honesty there. She couldn't believe it. She was already a savior—his savior. She let out a small smile as she slowly and tentatively started to lean in. The moment before them had been a long time coming, and to have it ruined would be dreadful. His lips barely touched hers before she was closing the distance completely, and this pulse neither had felt before surged from them.
He held her there for as long as he could before pulling away, the effects of the pulse being too much for him. Memories of the last three hundred years of his real life flooded his brain, mingling with those that he'd made over the past twenty eight years. Killian Jones no longer lay dormant in the back of his mind, Owen combining with the man he used to be and was now again.
"You did it, Emma," he said, softly. "You saved us."
"Owen?" Emma asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.
He hesitantly looked up into the eyes of the woman he knew he no longer deserved, but that kiss had said a hell of a lot to him, and he was going to figure it all out. With her.
"Well, I go by Killian, really, but that's for another time." He took her hand and quickly started back up the path toward town. "We've got to get back to your boy!"