A/N: The title comes from the lyrics of "Biblical" by Biffy Clyro, which has been playing on repeat in my head all week.

Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

She sat him on the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched tightly as he tried to hold back his pain. He was nearly covered in blood, hunched over slightly, his hook-less arm cradled on his lap, other hand holding tightly to bruised ribs. He looked so much worse than he had that day in the cemetery though he valiantly attempted to hide it from her as much as possible, occasional grunts and groans the only noise he'd made as they came upstairs.

She inwardly cursed her lack of magic - the price she'd temporarily paid for his release - her inability to whisk away his wounds pulled at her guilt. Regina had managed to heal the worst of his injuries, but she had her limits.

"You okay for a minute while I get something to clean you up?" she asked gently, her hand on his shoulder.

He nodded once, his right eye blinking back the sweat that trailed down his forehead, the left one so swollen… "I think I'll manage," he croaked, his lips twitching in a half smile. She grinned back and went to the bathroom.

She flipped on the hot water, letting it run a bit to heat up as she raided the cabinets in the Underworld mirror of the house they'd never used. Beneath the sink, she found a bowl filled with assorted toiletries. She dumped them on the shelf and placed the bowl in the sink, resting her arms on the porcelain while she waited for it to fill.

She was shaking, she realized, her hands trembling against the sides of the sink. She looked at herself in the mirror, regretting it instantly. Her sweater was covered with his blood, the red standing out sharply against the white wool, even in the red haze that pervaded the realm.

Emotions of every extreme rushed through her - concern for Killian, frustration at her non-magic status, anger, so much anger, at the man who'd put him through so much. She'd never wanted to punch someone as much as she did Hades, and, given her background, that was saying something. Then of course there was the guilt...

A splashing sound pulled her from her thoughts, and she glanced down at the bowl, which was now overflowing with hot water. She switched off the hot tap, turning on the cold as she dumped out half the water into the sink, evening out the temperature to something just warm enough. Tucking a handful of towels from the linen closet under her arm, she carefully walked back to the bedroom, to him.

He was nearly doubled over where he sat, his head down, and for a moment she worried that he had passed out. As she came around the bed, bowl balanced carefully in her hands, she saw he was struggling to untie his shoes, the laces firmly resisting his tugs.

"I'll get it," she said as she set the bowl on the floor, dropping the towels beside it. He sat back, wincing slightly, his hand returning to cover injuries she wasn't sure she was really ready to see.

She kneeled on the carpeted floor, her fingers deftly undoing the knot in his boot.

"Ankle's a bit swollen," he said softly, his voice rough. "I just wanted to loosen the damn thing." She yanked the laces, pulling the sides open wider. Reaching over, she did the same for his other shoe, trying to ignore the blood from the strings that now coated her fingertips.

"Better?" she asked, looking up.

He gave her that half smile again. "Much."

She got up and sat next to him on the bed, the mattress sagging under her, unsure where to begin. The man she loved was right beside her, the mission to this horrible place nearly over, and she couldn't think of anything to say to him. No, scratch that. She had too much to say, words that she feared would never stop gushing from her mouth if she ever managed the courage to start talking.

He turned his head to watch her, exhaustion evident in his good eye. Without a word, he slid his hand from beneath his jacket over to hers and slipped his bloodied fingers between hers, his thumb tracing lines on her skin, his gaze falling to their joined hands. Neither of them spoke, and for a moment, Emma wondered if she would ever regain her ability to talk to him.

He broke the silence first, his voice just above a whisper. "I still can't believe you came down here for m-"

He didn't get to finish, his words cut off as she threw herself forward, wrapping her arms as tightly as she dared around his wounded shoulders. He winced, his muscles tensing under her, but he didn't complain, not that she would have let him go for anything. He was here, with her, unchained, unharmed, save the injuries from which he would recover, in time.

Time. They had time now, time to figure out a plan, together. She never thought she'd have him again, not after everything she did, not after he died that final time in her arms, not after seeing him so close to falling into the river of souls.

He let out a muffled grunt, her grip tighter than she thought. She started to release him, but he wrapped his arm around her back, his palm warm against her, solid, pulling her closer still.

"Don't let go, love." His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion, and she could feel her eyes welling with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his neck, tears falling freely onto his skin. "I'm so sorry. Camelot, Excalibur, everything, I was wrong and you paid the price and I'm sorry." She knew she was babbling and probably didn't make sense, but it didn't matter. Nothing did, nothing but him, safe from Hades' reach.

"Shhh," he murmured, his hand massaging her back. "Emma, it's okay."

That only made her sob harder, her shoulders shaking against his chest. "It's not," she cried. "I didn't listen, I was stubborn and selfish, and I should have listened to you."

His hand disappeared from around her, the warmth of him fading in the cool Underworld air. His fingers were suddenly against her cheek, pulling her head back to look at her. She kept her arms around him but moved back enough to allow him a view of her tear-streaked face. Her eyes felt swollen from crying, they were probably red as well, but he looked at her the same way he always had, as if she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He had tears in his eyes and there were tracks of moisture on his cheeks, cutting through the blood.

"Stop," he said quietly, looking at her with an intensity she hadn't seen in a long time. "Don't do this to yourself, Emma."

"But I-"

He cut her off with his thumb pressed to her lips, his head shaking ever so slightly. "I know why you did it, and I probably would have done the same. You can't blame yourself, I was just as much a part of what happened."

Fresh tears, hot and thick, spilled from her eyes and he moved his hand to wipe them gently from her cheek and continued. "I hurt you, I tried to hurt your family. I gave into the darkness when I should have fought it, with you. But there's no point in going back to the start. It's over, and I know I have a lot more apologies to make than you. You owe me nothing, Emma, especially after all you've gone through to find me."

She nodded slowly into his hand, her arms still resting on his shoulders. He pulled her closer once more and she buried her face in his neck, his arm tight around her. She didn't know how long they sat like that, just two lost souls reunited against incredible odds, but she knew it would never be long enough.

Eventually, she pulled herself away, wiping her eyes on her bloodied shirt. Damn thing was ruined anyway. She reached out a sleeve-covered hand to his face and gently brushed away the tears from just below his swollen eye, carefully avoiding the long gash on his cheekbone.

"We should get you cleaned up a bit, before my parents wonder what's taking so long." She tried to keep her tone light but her voice wavered, emotion she still couldn't fully control breaking through. "Need help taking off your shirt?"

He raised his eyebrow, his mouth lifting in a one-sided grin. "You seem in an awful rush to rid me of my clothing, Swan," he said, his teasing tone so familiar, so normal, that she almost laughed. Almost, but not quite, though she could feel a smile of her own pushing through her teary expression.

He reached out and touched her chin. "We're going to be all right, Emma," he said gently. "I'm sure of it."

"You better be," she grinned, forcing a playfulness she desperately wanted to get back to, one day soon. "I'm all out of magic to trade for you."

He chuckled, then winced as it pulled at wounds she had yet to care for, his hand returning to what had to be bruised, or broken, ribs along his left side. "Bad form to make an injured man laugh, Swan."

She reached for his lapels, carefully peeling his jacket open. "Sorry, this might hurt a bit. You ready, Killian?"

He smiled. "For you, my love? Always."