Graphic here: tmblr . co/ZVRwvr1uqBe9u

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Stories are simple. They have a beginning, a middle and an end. Stories have structure and syntax and plot. They have an ebb and a flow. A music. A rhythm.

They are not this. Breaths shallow, heart fast and running, running, running.

They are not holding on to a small hand with a desperation that is splitting at the seams. They are not hiding under the giant roots of a tree trying to quiet the thudding of your heart, so the horses galloping a storm above your head don't hear. They are not watching every happy ending fall apart in front of your eyes as you stand there with a bloody sword and a dead man at your feet.

There is no poetry in running.

A smear of blood on the cobblestones and an abandoned knife are all that are left of the man she loves.

Loved.

And as she stares at the streak of red marring the ground, she wishes she could go back to before. To the blissful lack of thought brought on by adrenaline. To when all there was, was the immediate. The world stopping as Rumplestiltskin's sword slowly descended upon her son. The scream caught in her throat as she had rushed to deflect the blow. The wedding bells ringing out, slow and unhurried, telling them that they had failed. The sound of a quill snapping in half, their last hope fading with a soft click. Her hand crushing Henry's as they had run from her parents.

Her world reduced to basics.

But later, standing in Regina's hideout, the air filled with harsh breaths and shaky voices, it had all come crashing down. His face as that last breath whooshed out of his body, his mouth trying to form her name as he faded away. She had run again then, pushing her legs farther than they could manage. Slipping quickly and easily back into her sharp focus on the now.

Find Killian. Find Killian. Find Killian.

She had kept up the chant, focussing on the words and trying to drown out the voice whispering in the darkest corners of her mind.

Find his body

But, she is here now and there is nothing left of him. Nothing left for her to mourn, no keepsake to steal away, nothing physical, tangible to remind her that he had existed.

That he had loved her.

Nothing but the abandoned knife, his blood on its blade, her father's touch in its hilt. She moves to pick it up, her hand hovering over it before falling away. She can't–

Her heart feels like it is about to burst, growing and growing in her chest. All she has left now are the ghost of his smile, the shadow of his kiss, nebulous memories that could change and warp and shift until one day she will wake up wondering what his laugh had sounded like.

Her eyes close as she tries to calm her suddenly erratic breathing, a sob threatening to escape her throat, her arms wrapped around her middle as her corset begins to feel too tight. She pulls it away from her chest, pinching at the fabric just below her breastbone.

She wishes that she could go back to before. To the convenience of desperation, to the immediacy of danger. Back to when her mind wasn't clawing with fake memories of being trapped in a tower all her life, when it wasn't grappling to hold on to the sound of his voice, to the heat of his skin, to somehow keep the image of him alive and true in her heart.

Abruptly, all the things that she had forced herself to ignore before, come back to her. The foreignness of her clothes, the smells in the air, the sounds. The pants she wears tied at the waist, her hair held up by a piece of ribbon, her boots pinching at her feet. The feel of the wall she braces herself against too rough, the scent of the food wafting towards her from the nearby market too rich.

She feels like a child caught in a nightmare, a scream bubbling within her, morphing along the way into shuddering gasp as she realises that there's no way out.

He's gone.

And he's taken a piece of her with him.

"Milady? Swan?"

Her eyes are closed still, her breathing only just calming down when she hears it. His voice is odd. Strained and soft, it curls differently around the sounds of her name.

"A hallucination," she thinks, "wonderful."

That was quick. She'd hoped it would take some time before she began to hear him. Something between a sob and a laugh escapes her as she turns. Perhaps some part of her mind was trying to give her this comfort, give her the chance to look upon him one more time.

There he stands, an arms length away from her, his hand stretched out to touch her shoulder but because she had turned, it now hovers near her cheek. And it is the heat of it, the same absurd heat that he always seems to radiate, that breaks her out of her trance. Every nerve ending alive with feeling as she realises that the man standing in front of her is flesh and blood.

She all but jumps him then, her arms around his neck, her tears softly staining his vest as she breathes him in. His scent, his presence, his warmth, his solidity.

She's held him a thousand times before and it is almost always the same. His arms slowly coming around her, pulling her just that tiny inch closer until there is no space between them. His nose nuzzling at her jaw, his lips soft on her neck, his smile pressed against her skin. He holds her like she is something precious, like there is nowhere in the world he'd rather be than here.

Or at least, he used to.

Now, there is only a sharp inhale as her arms come around him, his own stiff at his sides. A small, uncomfortable noise rising from the back of his throat. She holds him tighter instinctively, as though hoping that her desperation would be enough to make him respond. But all it does is make him flinch and pull away with a gasp.

Her eyes still shining, she notices the bandage that is wrapped around his middle, his hand grazing across it as he puts some distance between them.

"How?"

She whispers, her hand drifting forward to touch it but drawing back, her eyes rising to meet his.

"The queen doesn't seem to have many friends around here," he says, his eyes dropping to the ground, "A kind woman took pity on me and managed to patch me up. Quite umm, terrifying really with all her potions and such."

A nervous chuckle bubbles out of him.

"I believe I saw a crossbow."

He shakes his head and looks up at her and her mouth opens to say something, her hand drifting forward again. She wants to ask him a million questions. How do you feel? Does it hurt? How did you find me?

(Why won't you hold me?)

(Why don't you know me?)

She tries to speak but before she can, he smiles that soft smile again, the unsure one. The one where his lips curl slightly at the edges, his eyebrows rising as if to ask if it was alright to do so. His eyes appraising her reactions, trying to learn her.

"Apologies. I didn't mean to surprise you before, I just saw you and–"

He breaks off, his hand scratching behind his ear in an achingly familiar motion. But, the air between them is fractured now. Like she is looking at him through broken glass.

And suddenly all she can see is all the ways that he is not hers.

"You have to kiss him!"

Henry's voice is a fierce whisper as Killian stands at the entrance of Regina's temporary home, his eyes wandering about the small space coming back again and again to meet hers, looking at her in question. She hadn't told him where they were. She hadn't told him why they were hiding under a tree. She hadn't told him anything and yet. Even in this world where she is nothing but a strange woman he had met in a tower, he is there. Supporting her, standing by her.

The ache in her chest intensifies as she wonders why the thought hadn't occurred to her. All they need is a happy ending after all and there he was. Her love, her happy ending, standing not four feet away from her and she knows why the thought hadn't occurred to her.

She hates herself for it.

"Go on!"

Henry's hands push her towards Killian before he walks out the door, muttering something about keeping watch and joins Regina outside.

Killian's eyes widen as she takes a deep breath and steps closer to him.

"Killian, I just- I- "

She stumbles over her words and his face twists in confusion, his eyes looking over her with concern.

"Is uh, everything alright?"

She wants to break then, to cry, to let him soothe her, her skin thirsting for his touch but all she does is laugh. It is a pathetic thing, a hoarse noise from the back of her throat as her vision blurs again.

Her fingers slowly reach into his hair, her thumb brushing his cheek as she steps even closer. Perhaps she could pretend. Perhaps it would be enough.

"Is it okay if I kiss you?"

Her whisper is husky, her throat still sore somehow and it sounds inviting, seductive and she is glad that he can't hear the tremble hidden away in the back of her mouth.

He doesn't answer, but she sees the conflict in him. Even though he does not know her anymore, she still knows this part of him and it is a small comfort that no matter what, some things truly will not change. She watches him struggle, worrying about propriety, about honour.

As if those things matter now.

And yet, her mouth curves into a genuine smile.

"It's okay. I want to."

Her other hand grips the lapel on his vest, smaller than before and she idly wonders where his coat is. His eyes continue to search hers and she sees him coming to a decision, nodding once to acquiesce, smiling that same infuriating smile again.

(The one that makes her feel like she is a stranger to him.)

(She is a stranger to him.)

She kisses him then and immediately, it is all wrong. Even though his lips are the same lips, his warmth the same warmth. He is too tentative, his hand around her waist too soft. He kisses her like it is his first time and perhaps it is, so she is soft too. Her mouth pliant and open, waiting for him to learn her again, waiting for him to know her again but by then it is too late and nothing has happened. No great flash of light, no magic flaring out from their bodies.

They break apart with soft pants, their foreheads resting against each other. She feels his thumb coming up to wipe the tears off her face.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you get back to him."

The first night is difficult.

Sleep eludes her, the night too quiet and too dark. She has never been one to fall asleep easily but even as she had lain awake in her bed at home, there had been light filtering through the curtains to her room, filling it with a haze of artificial yellow. There had been sound. Of people going about being alive, quieter in the dark but still warm, comforting. The opening and closing of the refrigerator as someone moves downstairs in the kitchen, an errant car driving past below her window. David's gentle snores and Mary Margaret's soft groans of annoyance as she tries to sleep despite the sound.

She smiles at the memory, shifting closer to Henry who is tucked into her shoulder, her arm around him. She tries to remember the way that David would hold her, the weight of his hand. She tries to remember how it felt to have Mary Margaret smile at her.

It is already a battle, trying to separate the truth from the memories that had been put in her head. She doesn't know how long she had truly spent in that tower but her mind tells her that it had been years. She remembers the food, strange and bland. She remembers every inch of the walls. She remembers being intensely alone, her heart struggling with a thousand different realities as she tried not to forget. She remembers walking around the room, her fingers tracing the tiny dips and crests in the stone as she reminded herself of what she knew was true.

She does it again now.

My name is Emma Swan. I live in Storybrooke. I have a son named Henry.

She looks down at him, his eyes closed, his breathing soft as he sleeps. She presses a kiss to his hair.

He is alive.

My parents are Prince Charming and Snow White. They love me. They have always loved me.

She breathes deep, swallowing down the lump in her throat as she stares up at the ceiling of their cave. She continues.

Killian Jones is my- I have him. He loves me.

Her eyes squeeze shut as a stray tear escapes. She looks at him now over Henry's shoulder. He lies a little ways away but close enough that she feels his every movement in her gut, as though there is some sort of string connecting them. He keeps shifting in his sleep, trying to find a comfortable position, flinching when he accidentally nudges the bandage around his middle. Her hands twitch, her fingers yearning to soften the crease in his forehead, to run through his hair, to hold him to her.

But, she does not know if she is allowed.

I have a family. I am not alone.

She holds Henry tighter to her chest, her hand compulsively stroking his hair, dropping kisses to his temple.

But, her eyes never leave Killian and she wakes with her hand outstretched in his direction, fingers reaching for him.

I have a family. I am not alone.

He wakes with tousled hair and a rough voice and he is so much like her Killian, her chest aches.

But then, he smiles that same alien smile, looks at her with eyes that don't know her. She grips Henry's hand tighter.

I am not alone.

He stays with them.

They never really talk about it. Nobody makes any declarations of loyalty or friendship. But he stays.

And Henry is overjoyed. His face had lit up with hope again as he'd told her that that the kiss hadn't worked only because Killian didn't remember her. Maybe if they stayed with each other long enough, he could remember. Maybe if they tried again, it would work.

(He would fall in love with her again.)

(She doesn't know how to tell him that it might not be him who needs to fall.)

(She doesn't know how to tell herself that a world might exist where she is not in love with Killian Jones.)

"Emma, get up! We have to go!"

She shoots awake at Regina's urgent whisper, her hand reaching out, looking for Henry but he's already standing near the door, pack over his shoulder. They had prepared for this. Packed little kits for survival and planned escape routes. So, even as her heart feels like it is about to beat out of her chest, she is steady in her motions, following Henry outside. They walk agonisingly slow, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to be detected by their pursuers but her heart still pounds a deafening rhythm as her eyes scan the area around their little group.

They walk single file. Regina leading, followed by Henry and Killian and she brings up the rear. She is glad now that she had insisted upon being last.

It eases her hammering pulse just a little, being able to keep them in her sight.

Her hands twitch with restlessness as they continue, looking for something to defend herself with. Her gun, a blade,something. They had been doing this for a week now, running from one hideout to another, from cave to hollowed out tree. Never stopping, never resting, trying to stay hidden. They hadn't been allowed many opportunities to go looking for weapons.

She misses her magic acutely, misses the low thrum of power running through her body, misses the warmth and safety that its presence had begun to make her feel. She has tried multiple times now to bring it back, searching under her skin for the familiar light but she never finds it. There is only her heartbeat in the darkness.

She wonders, now that the story was over, could her power return? Could the power of the author's quill eventually fade? Could everyone remem–

A twig snaps behind them and immediately, she finds herself pressing up against Killian. His arm comes around her as she pushes him closer to the tree that they are now hiding behind. Her eyes frantically look for Henry, darting up and down the path they had been following. She finds him crouching next to Regina behind a large rock. His jaw clenched, he nods at her to let her know he is alright.

She meets Killian's wide eyes then, his mouth open in surprise. He hadn't expected her to grab him like she did, she supposes and even though she knows that she should let go, that they should move on, she can't seem to bring herself to do it. They haven't been this close since they had kissed and god she has missed it. She has missed the weight of his arm around her waist, the feeling of his chest hair between her fingers, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee.

So, she lets herself have a moment, a tiny fragment in time where she can pretend that he is just on the verge of saying something suggestive, his lips just about to curve into that smirk, his tongue about to slip out to lick his lips.

But then, his mouth opens to say something and she breaks away brusquely, signalling to Regina that they need to move on.

(She allows herself to pretend for just a little longer.)

They keep walking in the same direction and she can now hear the faint sound of approaching horses, like low rumbling thunder. It is a constant noise, getting steadily louder and she knows that they cannot outrun them much longer.

She walks up to Regina and finds her fidgeting with her pack, reaching for her bow and arrow and pulling back again and again. She looks about as uneasy as Emma feels.

"How did they find us?"

Emma's voice is a whisper and even though she is fairly certain that her mother is following their every move, she wants to keep up the illusion.

(It seems it is all she does these days.)

"I don't know! They couldn't have possibly known. Unless, they've been following us, I–"

Regina breaks off, her hands rising in frustration.

"You know, I never had this problem before you lot came around, stomping all over the wood."

She meets Emma's eyes as she speaks and even though her words are sharp, there is no bite behind them. This Regina is different in that way, her words softer, more tactful. But occasionally, she makes a remark like that and Emma can't help but smile, happy to see the shadow of the woman from before, all fire and spark.

"Sorry, we can't all be good at–"

There is a noise behind them, a harsh shout followed by the rumbling of horses getting suddenly louder. She looks back and finds Henry and Killian watching a shadow at the end of the path. It is getting larger every second and she knows then that they have been caught. Her heart racing and her mind running through a thousand scenarios, she looks back to Regina to–

But, Regina isn't looking at her, she's looking at Killian who has now caught up with them, Henry by his side. He nods back, looking quickly behind them to track the shadow.

"Regina, what–"

"Emma, you have to go. I can distract them while you escape."

Emma's gaze moves rapidly between the Regina and Killian, a rapid unease building in the pit of her belly as she understands. They'd planned this. While she and Henry had spent the last week in a breathless rush to rewrite their story, locked in conversation with one another, trying to find a way for somebody to find a happy ending, they hadn't seen the way that Regina and Killian had gravitated towards one another. Two people caught in a story where they didn't know the plot and they had–

"Why are you doing this?"

Her voice is a soft thing, low and restrained as she feels her body grow heavy, the helplessness of the situation washing over her.

"Mom, we're not going to leave you. There has to be another way. We could–"

Henry's voice is strong but he can't seem to find the words, his hands taking Regina's. She softens then, leaning down a little so she can meet his eyes.

"I'm so sorry Henry. I know you believe that I'm your–," she blinks rapidly, her eyes beginning to shine "and believe me I wish I was. You are such a wonderful young man–"

Her eyes rise to meet Emma's over Henry's head.

"But, they're after me not you and trust me, there is no escaping this. The only way for you to finish your quest," she looks back to Henry, whose grip on her hands has tightened considerably,"for you to be safe is for you to leave with Killian right now."

Regina looks at Killian again, her face hard and determined. He moves closer, his hand rising to go on Emma's shoulder, freezing mid air. He is trying his hardest to appear impassive but she can see the fear, the regret in the tightness of his mouth, in the clench of his jaw. She shrugs him away with a quick jerk and faces Regina fully.

"Look, I know you think you're being noble or whatever, but we can't leave you. I promised you that I would help you find your happy ending and I'm going to keep that promise."

"Maybe the only way for you to do that is to find a way back to a world where it might be possible because here–"

Regina looks down the path, the rumbling of horses getting louder.

"Emma, please. Go!"

Killian comes closer once more, his hook on Henry's shoulder as Emma's eyes search Regina's.

"I will come back for you."

Regina only smiles, giving Henry one last hug, kissing his forehead before running towards the dark shape making its way towards them.

And as Killian leads them to whatever escape that they had planned, she wonders if this will be yet another promise she breaks.

It almost feels like before. Him, her and a boat.

And yet, it is nothing like before.

He does not stalk the deck with purpose, moving from one task to another, his steps in harmony with the ship's movements. He does not move as though he is part of the vessel they travel on, like he knows her ever nook and cranny, every scratched railing and loose floorboard.

He does not walk like he is at home.

Here, he is a passenger, just like her.

He had bought them passage to the Maritime Kingdom upon a trading vessel. Regina had insisted, he had said, that they leave Misthaven just in case she gets captured. Just in case she is forced to betray them.

And Emma wonders again if it is the story or if it is Regina herself, willing to sacrifice so much for people she had known but a week. And Killian–

"Sleep well?"

He comes to stand beside her near the railing, his legs moving with just a touch of a wobble as he grabs hold of the wood, a small laugh escaping him. A tiny, nervous half of a laugh. A sharp, self-deprecating inhale and she turns immediately back to the waves.

"Well enough."

"And the lad?"

Her eyes automatically look at the hatch that leads below deck. Henry had been up most of the night, and for the first time, he hadn't been speaking a mile a minute, concocting schemes to fix this, lighting up the room with the belief, the hope in his soul. Instead, he had been quiet, answering in monosyllables and gazing out the peephole in their quarters until the sun had begun to peer over the horizon. Eventually, giving in to exhaustion. He still sleeps and she feels the ache in her chest- almost constant now- grow.

He's lost so much and so often, She wishes she could take away every tear in his heart, every stab of pain in his gut. She wishes she could take it upon herself. She wishes she knew how to help him.

Killian must notice something because he moves just a touch closer.

"Regina is a capable woman. I am certain that she evaded our pursuers and is quite happily hidden again."

He does that little laugh again as she turns to face him, her throat feeling full. Even now, even when he doesn't know her, this hasn't changed, the way he tries to comfort her and she grateful for it. Misplaced as it may be.

She lets her mouth curve into a small smile.

"She's probably glad we aren't there making a ruckus and trampling all over her carefully hidden paths."

He laughs again and it is less anxious this time, a small chuckle of amusement. Their eyes meet and he sobers.

"Emma, I don't know if you and your boy are right and that there is another world out there where I am a man of courage and honour and strength. I don't know if we will be successful in returning you to your home. But, I do know this to be true," he moves his hand closer to hers on the railing, staring at the space between them.

He looks up again and for a second she could have sworn that it is her Killian is looking back at her from behind those alien eyes.

"I know that you are important to me, that your boy is important to me. I feel it in my heart," He laughs again and shakes his head, "even if I cannot explain it."

"And I know that I am not what you have wanted and I am not what you deserve. But please know, that I will do everything in my power to help you and stand with you as long as you'll have me.

She closes the distance and takes his hand.