I feel like I'm falling,
I've just got to close my eyes—
and I'm looking for something
to recognise
.
.
They're the only ones left outside of the diner.
Ruby had turned off most of the lights (even the big neon one) as an indication that it's closed, that they should really leave, but neither one of them so much as withdraws their shoulders. Emma doesn't stop kissing him, doesn't stop leaning into the curve of his body and pressing her lips mutedly against his.
She pulls away to smile at him once more, and the one Killian returns is quiet. Tentative. There's uncertainty clouded in his eyes, almost as if he's afraid. Emma feels a little sad then (a little guilty, even) as she thinks of all the times she'd pushed him away, desperate to run from her feelings. Tonight, though, the feelings are bubbling up in her heart, ready to split it open and burst through it. She gives him another kiss, one that lingers long enough to erase his doubts that this is truly happening, that Emma wants this just as much as he always has.
Killian rests his head against hers — his face crinkling up in a grin — and lets the tips of their noses sweep. She runs her thumb across the bristles on his jaw.
"Do you miss her?"
"A little," he admits. "Some days more than others."
"I'm sorry." She'd always seen it as nothing more than an old ship, but now it hits her that the Jolly Roger is to Killian what New York had briefly been to her; except it isn't made out of lies, it's all real. Every memory carved into the woodwork of the vessel is true, from the death of his brother, to falling in love with Milah, and taking Baelfire in. Everything that had shaped Killian into the man that he is today had been in the palm of the ship.
"Don't be, love." Killian twists a lock of her hair around his forefinger. "I don't regret what I had to do. If it meant finding you — saving you, even—"
Emma cuts him off by letting her lips fall into his again. It's almost natural now: the way his warm mouth feels pressed upon hers, the way his heavy breath hitches just before she kisses him, they way their smiles complement one another against their lips. They've both been too sad for too long, and to find happiness — in each other — is a miracle in itself. Now they're both practically shaking with exhilaration, because it's too much all at once, too much relief and freedom so they're picking it up slowly, carefully, with one soft kiss at a time.
"Thank you," she says, not recognising her own whispered voice.
"You've already thanked me."
"Not just for bringing be back, for—for everything. For helping us in Neverland, for looking out for Henry, for jumping into the portal with me…"
"You can't get rid of me that easily." There's a teasing glint in his eyes. "New York may have given me pause, but you may as well know this now: I'm not leaving you, Swan. I'm not going anywhere."
"Good." Emma feels the back of her eyes stinging, and before she can stop the tear from falling, his thumb is already swiping gently at her cheek. "Me neither."