Storybrooke, Maine .2016.
Moonfall bathed over Killian Jones' hair like a sea of waves reflecting lunar brilliance. He sat in the shadows, bodily exhaustion making it impossible for him to do much more than sit in torturous apprehension. His own restlessness seemed to be increasing by the minute. His mind told him to sleep, and wait until the morning to continue his search for a solution. But his heart? The fiery organ beating his chest told him to fight, fight, fight. So he poured through endless pages, one pointless book after another stacking in a messy pile beside him. No book had the answers he was looking for.
"You don't look too hot." Killian spun around to see Henry standing in the doorframe, shoulders scrunched in a little. The boys eyes lingered on him for just a second too long, and he was probably taking note of the redness around Killian's eyes and the dried residue on his cheeks. "I take it you haven't found anything."
"You'd be the first to know, lad," Killian promised. He reached out a hand, a humble request. Henry walked over and allowed the man to wrap an arm around his shoulders. It was a subtle, momentary exchange of support, but it was something they both needed.
"No progress at all?" Henry asked quietly. Hook was silent for a moment, as if speaking the answer aloud would make it real.
"No," Killian said quietly. "I haven't found anything that will help us wake your mother from her curse."
Henry broke away, crossing his arms around himself in what Killian recognized as the acceptance of failure. His eyes followed the boy as he stormed in front of the window to peer out at the sea.
"It's been six days, Killian," Henry spat. It was six days too many. Six days of Emma being tied to a hospital bed while fed artificial life. Six days of alternating between sitting at her side, praying to all the gods that she would wake up, and tearing through the library for any book that could offer even the slightest bit of a clue.
"We're doing all we can." Killian's voice broke in the middle of the statement, as if not believing it himself. If they were really doing everything they could, surely they would have found some inkling of an indication. He remembered how Snow would still teach during the days instead of searching for a way to wake her daughter, or how Regina had the audacity to formulate a spell to cure baby Robin's minor cold before even glancing at her books on sleeping curses.
Sometimes it seemed that he was the only one who cared about waking Emma. Well, with the exception of Henry of course.
Killian rose from the kitchen table, blowing out the candle he had placed beside his books. Finding the space next to Henry, he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.
"You and I are doing all we can. And we'll keep persisting until we can get her to open her eyes."
They'd gone to bed after that, having decided that what they'd accomplished that day, while not seemingly much, was enough.
In the morning, Killian rose to the warmth of the sun on his face. He nearly reached out beside him and murmured a sleepy good morning, but his fingers paused just as his mind reminded him that there was no Emma beside him. His first thought was I should have stayed with her. At the very least, he could have woken up beside her.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool air sending a slight shiver through him. What else could he do? He'd read through almost every book, English and Greek. He'd shaken the crocodile to see if answers would tumble from his lips, but he was left with what he started with: nothing. They still didn't know how this happened to Emma, and they knew even less about how to save her.
The only books he hadn't read were the ones on his own bookshelf back in his cabin on the Jolly. He doubted that-
Bloody hell, how could he be so stupid? He was one of the oldest residents in Storybrooke, certainly with one of the largest collections of old texts. Many of the books he'd wasted time searching through were written in more recent years, and while their contents were up to date, there was a good chance that the works in his own possession had secrets that might have been lost over the years. He had to look.
As luck would have it, sitting between nautical writings was the decaying spine of one of Killian's oldest books. He had never read it, as it was handwritten in a dead language he was significantly out of practice in. Scrawled across the front in faded black ink was the title His Sea of Stars. Killian skimmed through the pages, brain straining to remember how to read such an old tongue. Page after page flew by, a detailed account of some exciting tale, but the sight of a single sentence gave Killian pause.
"And because of the fisherman's heroic actions, the princess' sleeping curse wasn't for naught," Killian translated aloud. A finger trailed over the words, his breath caught in the back of his throat. Was this it? The answer they'd been searching for over six long days?
One concise phone call to Henry, and within five minutes, the boy was bursting through the cabin hatch. Through heavy pants he gestured wildly at the old text.
"Read it, read it!" Henry hurried. Killian could not help but feel nervous at what he would find in the book. Would it be just another dead end? Or could the answer be in the very pages of the work? If this novel did hold the solution to waking Emma from her sleeping curse, he wondered if he could be like the man in the story and save his love, or if he would just fail her.
Exhaling a shaky breath, Killian flipped the text to the first page.
"There once was a fisherman who was not known for his skill to collect fish for his village, but rather his ability to make the stars turn their gaze at the sound of poetry from his lips."
The Kingdom of Misthaven .1498.
Killian Jones was a fisherman who had spent the majority of his life feeling the gentle sway of the ocean beneath him as he stared into an endless sea. He gripped his net in his hand, paying attention to the signs the briny deep whispered to him as he waited for a cluster of fish to swim by.
It had always been like this. Push away from shore, drop net, and pray to the gods that he wouldn't have to go hungry that night. It seemed the gods gazed down on him in favor, for each night, the fortuneless fisherman always caught more than he needed for himself, and just enough to earn a profit.
As time passed, Killian would hum to the sea, as if singing to the waves would keep them calm, and keep him safe. Tonight it seemed that his low shanty was a gentle lullaby to bid the sea farewell as he sailed back home. Strong arms rowed his meager ship back to land where he'd make the short walk to his home and prepare to begin the process all over again the next morning.
It was a lonely life, but he had fish to eat and a lifework to keep him busy. He could not complain.
There were parts of him, though, that longed to feel hope that someday, he'd row back into the harbor and find someone waiting for him.
But the unfortunate truth about this fisherman was that he had no one. Not his father, nor mother. Not his brother, nor his first love. So when the sandy shores of home welcomed him home, never did there stand a soul waiting for him.
Except for one night. It was an evening when his muscles were feeling particularly exhausted, mind especially hazy with the need for sleep.
Yet there she stood. As Killian's eyes rose from his oars, before his eyes was quite possibly the most lovely woman he'd ever laid eyes upon. She wore a fine grey dress, embroidered with beads and other precious crystals along the edges. Traces of fiery orange and a warm magenta from the last traces of sunset glimmered on the gold of her hair. He was struck frozen the second his eyes caught hers, green as emerald.
"Can I help you, lass?" Killian asked, brushing a wild strand of dark hair from his face. He didn't appear to be in any condition for such an audience.
"I believe you're the man I'm looking for," she spoke in an even voice. Her tone was practiced and polished, but her eyes watched his every movement. "Are you Killian Jones?"
Killian felt the shock take over his face, eyebrows raised and lips parted.
"Aye, and you are?" Something about the woman before him caused his heart to beat as fastly as a racing horse. His mind screamed for him to run away, but his feet kept him planted in the ground.
"I am Princess Emma," she said, as if it were obvious.
The word princess made him drop to his knee, head bent before her.
"Your highness." He glanced up to see her reaction, then lowered his head even deeper. "My apologies. Had I known I was in the presence of the princess, I would have-"
"At ease sailor," the princess interrupted, sounding tired. "There's no need for formalities."
"I beg to differ, but if you insist." Killian rose from the ground, eyes not leaving hers. For the life of him, he could not stop looking at her. Was it her status and riches, her beauty, or the simple hint of fiery passion hidden beneath her eyes. He could see the walls built around her, but if there was one thing a sailor loved more than the sea herself, it was hidden treasure. "May I ask why you given me the honor of your presence?"
"I'm here to request your services," the princess stated. "And not your fishing services."
Killian's eyes narrowed. He bent to grasp his fish filled net and hauled it over his shoulder.
"I hate to disappoint, your majesty, but what you're seeking I haven't done in many years. I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else."
The princess took a step forward, a burst of her floral perfume meeting his nose. Her scrutiny on him made his knees feel weak, but he tightened his grip on the net and lifted his chin.
"Unfortunately, the request was only out of courtesy. I do not often use this power, but as I am princess, your refusal of my offer is considered an act of treason. If you'd like to continue fishing on our shores, I suggest you accept."
The net of fish fell off his shoulders and onto the ground as he stared in horror.
"I never took you to be that type of ruler, highness," he spat at her. "I'm just a lowly fisherman trying to leave his past behind him and create a new life, but I can create that life anywhere."
"Is this it? Your new life? Fishing alone, eating alone, living alone? At least what I'm asking you to do will make a difference. You know that you're not just a fisherman. You could be so much more." The princess took another step further, invading the space around the man. His gaze switched between her eyes and lips as she spoke. "Before you now, I'm not trying to be the princess marching around making demands. I'm just Emma, trying to find someone to ease the pain of her suffering mother in her last days. The only one who can help me is you."
Killian's shoulders sank with a resigned sigh. He could not find it within himself to say no to this woman.
"Alright. It's getting cold. Why don't you come with me and you can tell me all about what you have in mind?"
He'd never admit it, but the smile that fell upon her lips was enough payment for anything she could ask him to do.
.2016.
"Does it say what his other services are?" Henry asked. His chin was perched in his hands as he listened to Killian read the story.
"Afraid not, lad," Killian answered, flipping through the last few pages and shrugging.
"And it doesn't list the name of the fisherman or the princess?"
"No, it just labels them as such."
"But they do sound a lot like you and my mom."
"A pleasant coincidence, I'm sure."
Henry dropped his hands and gave Killian a look that said You're drowning in your own denial.
"Keep reading," Henry requested gently, so the pirate opened the book once more and continued.
.1498.
The fisherman did not have much to offer the princess in terms of refreshments. His cottage was quaint, and while he'd never been concerned with its size before, it was beginning to feel like the walls were closing in. Seeing the princess crouched sitting on one of his stools, he could not help but feel self conscious of his humble living space.
"I have not read aloud in many years," Killian said. "How did you come to hear about it?"
"I am princess of the entire kingdom. It is my job to know who excels in their crafts should I ever find myself in the position to call upon them." She paused, her gaze falling upon his bookshelf. "You've many volumes in your collection. Are they all poetry?"
"Most of them. There are a few books on the procedures of fishing," Killian explained. "I still don't understand what exactly you want from me."
Emma leaned forward, her sudden proximity causing heat to rise in his cheeks.
"My mother is very ill, as you are most likely aware. It's all she can do to sit upright in her bed. Her hands are so weak, it's difficult for her to read for extended periods of time. She'd like to hear stories and poems read to her, but I'm afraid my father and I aren't very good at storytelling."
"And that is where I come in?" Killian asked quietly.
"Yes. All over the kingdom, everyone I have asked has mentioned you, Killian Jones the fisherman. They say that your words are beautiful enough to make even the stars turn their sights and listen."
A spot behind his ear began to tingle with embarrassment. The intensity of her gaze was tangible. It made his mouth dry, his heart pound, and his soul feel a strange desire.
"When would I visit the castle to read to Her Majesty?" Killian asked, attempting to use his practicality as a distraction from the enchantment of the woman before him.
"Well that is..." Emma paused. "You see, Killian, I would need you to be available to her at all times. You'll need to stay at the castle."
Killian's initial argument got caught in his throat as his brain took a moment to think about the implications of such an arrangement. He weighed his options.
He could continue living in this miserable excuse for a home, waking up every morning at dawn, and sitting on the ocean hour after hour just waiting for the right moment to drop his net. Or he could accept the Princess' offer and finally have something to be known for, do something that could make a difference in the lives of the Royal family.
It also meant that he could see the princess more often.
"I accept."
.2016.
Killian brought Henry back to their home, a heavy air between them. They'd decided to pause the story to have lunch together. Henry had actually insisted that Killian keep reading, completely entranced with the story.
"It's just getting good! He's going to live with her!"
"I can't bloody well read with that noisy stomach of yours distracting me," Killian had answered, a weak attempt to keep the atmosphere light.
Killian was just putting their plates in the dishwasher - a skill he'd mastered over the past months - when a call from Mary Margaret lit up his phone. Killian felt his blood run cold. Henry snatched the phone from the counter before Killian could wipe his hands and answer it himself.
"Grandma? Is Mom awake?" Henry asked in a rush. He pressed the speakerphone button, and gestured for Killian to move closer.
"I'm sorry Henry. I wish I had better news. She's gotten worse. Before she was just sleeping, but now her body is slowly degenerating. Dr. Whale says we only have a few days before the damage becomes irreversible. If we don't find a way to stop it soon, there's a possibility she might..." Her voice hitched.
The news came like a kick in the gut to Killian. He had to remind himself to take a deep breath, and calm down before his heart could break any further. His sweet love, his beautiful, impossible Swan - if something more were the happen to her...
Even just the thought was unbearable.
Killian grabbed the phone and lifted it to his ear.
"Henry and I are getting closer to an answer. We'll save her, love. I promise," he spoke, although it seemed more like a reminder to himself. "If we discover anything, we'll call you right away."
After the call ended, a heavy silence settled over them once more. Killian's eyes fell onto the old text waiting for them on the coffee table.
"I suppose we should get back to it."
.1498.
The castle's guest bedroom alone was twice the size of Killian's small little cottage. He could only imagine how large the master suite would be, or even Emma's bedroom.
A smile rose on Killian's face at the thought of Princess Emma. He hadn't seen much of her since arriving to the castle, but she'd always been friendly when he saw her in the corridors. She'd ask questions like "Do you have everything you require?" And "Are my servants helping you sufficiently?" Sometimes she'd even slip in the occasional, "Thank you again for doing this, Killian."
Just seeing her for a brief moment was enough to brighten his entire day.
As the weeks passed, Killian even found that he enjoyed reading to the queen. She was a very kind soul, who sometimes would ask him to recall his own tales of his experience in her royal navy as a lieutenant. He was happy to tell her what an honor it was when he served under her dignified flag, even if mentioning his late brother caused his throat to close up.
One night, Killian found himself alone in the castle's library. He'd actually stumbled upon it by accident a week before, and the vast expanse of books was enough to send Killian going back night after night. It was still lonely, but at least he had hundreds of books he'd never read, and a comfortable place to peruse through them.
He was halfway through a collection of faerie tales when the door opened. Killian's eyes snapped up to the princess, who seemed just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.
"It's late, Highness. What are you still doing awake?"
Emma shrugged. "I could probably ask the same of you."
A smile graced Killian's lips, one that made Emma's own lift upwards. She did not think that the man realized how beautiful he was, with his long dark hair that swept across his forehead, to the shimmering blue of his eyes that caught glints of candlelight.
"I'm searching for new material to read to your mother. We've just finished our first collection of poetry and she told me she'd like to hear some happy faerie tales. Many of them end quite tragically, I'm finding."
Emma chuckled, sitting down beside him. He was smelling less and less like fish each time she saw him, and more like clean cotton and sea salt. Something about it was just...intoxicating.
"Perhaps you should just change the endings yourself," the princess suggested.
"You're full of brilliant ideas, your highness." They mirrored each other's smiles, bright and warm.
Killian felt the overwhelming desire to reach out and caress her hair, trace a finger down her cheek, hold her against his chest, anything to relieve the ache to touch her. With one single word, he knew he could have anything he wanted in the castle, but the affection of the princess was possibly the one thing he would have to live without.
"Can I tell you a secret?" Emma asked quietly.
"You can tell me anything and I will take it to my grave," he answered seriously. "You have my eternal trust."
Her eyes fell down into her lap, a sheepish blush warming her cheeks.
"Are you always this genuine?"
"With you, highness? Always." The answer came tumbling over his lips before he could stop it, but the princess was not frightened. If anything, it made her smile more vibrantly and want to continue.
"I have magic," she said in a dangerously low tone, a hint of mischief lilting in her voice. Killian's eyes widened, but not in fear. He was intrigued, amazed, and even a little dazed at this beautiful creature before him.
"I would be more surprised, if I did not already think that you are magic itself." He stared at her with more reverence than a man should when he has only held a few conversations with a woman - especially when that woman is the future ruler of his kingdom.
His admiration was not one-sided. In the silence when their eyes locked together, Emma had moved closer to him. She studied his face as if he were a painting, each line of his jaw and every gentle color a unique element that made him so beautiful. Her fingers were about to reach for his cheek, a comforting gentle touch.
But then the door was swinging open, and in walked the head guard. Emma's hand tore away from his face, the presence of someone else enough reminder of who she was. The adoration was gone from her eye in a second, and was soon replaced with a poise Killian could tell was completely artificial.
"Your highness, are you in here?"
"Yes Graham, I'll be out in a moment. I'm just picking out a book to read before retiring to bed for the evening."
Emma stood up, leaving Killian sitting there with his jaw hanging open. He longed to call out to her, ask her if he made her uncomfortable, but instead he could only watch her walk away.
And suddenly she stopped.
Without turning to face him, she simply called out, "Killian?"
"Highness?"
"Can we meet here tomorrow around the same time?"
And meet her he did. She found him the next night standing by the window, watching the moon and stars reflect on the waves.
"Do you miss it?" she asked. Her voice pulled him out of his lonely reverie and centered his focus on her luminous face.
"I'm surprised to find I don't miss it at all, your highness," he answered, walking over to greet her. Emma waved a dismissive hand.
"It's been two months since you've started residing here in the castle. Call me Emma." And he was more than happy to oblige.
They settled on the upholstered seat adjacent to the window. The princess wore her hair down, soft curls cascading down her shoulders in a chaotic ocean of golden thread. It was seeing the princess looking much like an ordinary woman that caused him to stare for just a few moments longer. After all, Emma was anything but ordinary.
"How did your reading session with my mother go? Was it tolerable?" she asked. Killian had a feeling in his gut that Emma was more concerned with her mother's happiness and health, rather than the actual quality of their story-time.
"Her Majesty fell asleep before we even reached the end of the third chapter, but truthfully, I must blame the mundane writing of the book's author," he explained, trying to keep the atmosphere light and pleasant. After a pause he added, "Every moment I spend here is more than tolerable. I'm very grateful that you knocked some sense into that lonely fisherman and made him accept your offer."
And when she said, "The queen is glad you accepted my offer too," she was truly saying I'm the one that is glad you accepted the offer. His gaze lingered on her, the same heavy feeling washing over his heart that he felt the day prior in her presence.
"Why did you ask to meet me here?" Killian wondered aloud. The sudden question startled Emma for a moment, as if she did not know the answer herself.
"Can a princess not request the company of her most treasured friend?" she murmured, turning her head so that he may not see the warmth clouding her pale skin.
"Emma, you can request anything of me and it shall be yours. And just as surely as you know this, I am just as sure that there was another reason for your calling me here."
The soft pink skin of her lip found its way in between her teeth. She looked up at him through light eyelashes, a momentary display of bashfulness.
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, love. It's only me." This seemed to soften her resolve, giving her just enough courage to lift her chin and tell him the truth.
"I was wondering if I could tell you about my magic, and maybe hear you read some poetry. All this time, you've been reading to my mother, and I've yet to hear this voice that can move the stars." She nudged him, a gentle smile forming on her lips.
"I would be honored to hear about your magic, though I hardly think any poetry I could read to you that would come close to comparing to your incredible powers."
"I think you misunderstand sailor. I want to hear poetry you've written."
Killian's ears turned red. It was not every day a beautiful creature asked to hear the words that he'd spewed from his lonely heart. What could she possibly want with his meager words, his poor excuse for lyrical verse?
"What-" he cleared his throat, "what would you want to hear about?"
Emma considered this. It would be easy for her to ask to hear everything he was willing to recite to her. After all, he had years of poetry memorized after spending everyday alone on a ship with nothing but his net and vocabulary.
But what she craved to hear, she had chosen very carefully.
"I want to hear about you, Killian. Surely you have written poems about yourself, yes?"
He had, many times. It was strange, the feeling of being considered. Through the years, many people had asked him to recite poems he'd written about love and loss, but not once did they want to know about him.
And now here was this beautiful woman, this amazing princess, who wanted to hear about him. She could have asked for anything, yet she just wanted him.
No one had ever wanted just him. Not even his father.
"As you wish," he answered, feeling like a rock was forming in his throat.
Emma folded her hands and waited, like a child about to be given a confectionery.
"Forgive me, you meant right now?" Killian gawked. Her response came in a simple shrug and nod. Well he had just told her that anything she desired, he'd provide to her. But how could he simply just spill his heart to her without proper preparation? Many of his poems he'd never even said aloud!
As if sensing his apprehension, Emma reached out and squeezed his hand.
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's only me."
So he opened his mouth and spoke.
.2016.
" -ey! Killian! Earth to Killian?"
Killian's head snapped up from the book, blinking a few times to clear the hazing film that had settled over his gaze.
"Yes, lad? What is it?" Henry stared back at him as if he had lost his mind.
"You tell me. You stopped reading. You just kinda...zoned out. Is there something there?"
The pirate lowered his book and set it on the table.
"It's just, um, this poem. The one he's about to recount, it's one I've always known. It looks a little different, I suspect because of the translation differences. But it's all there, and seeing it again feels..." He cleared his throat to prevent his voice from cracking.
"It's okay, Killian," Henry coaxed gently. "Read the poem."
Killian did not want to read the poem. In fact, he wanted to skip over all reminders of his past and get right to the end, preferably the scene that had the answers of how they could save Emma. But he understood where the boy was coming from. All details were vital to discovering the truth to saving Emma.
And so read he did.
.1498.
"...Both sadness and the tossing waves took the life out of her and me so when you look at fading stones remember the love that used to be." The fisherman finished the poem, an old ache in his chest beginning to crack away, and ease away decades of pain.
He looked up, nervous to discover what he might find in Emma's eyes, but there was only shimmering tears. She reached out shaky hands with a gentle, understanding smile and pulled him into her embrace. The moment they made contact, he felt himself melt into her touch. Each caress of her fingers down his back elicited a new eruption of chills.
Unable to help himself, Killian burrowed his nose into her hair, letting the floral scent of her skin ease the tightness in his chest.
And they stayed like that for several minutes, holding each other and slowly tearing the other's defenses down brick by brick.
Several nights later they found themselves in a similar position, only this time, they were laying on the library's reading couch, arms wrapped around each other. This intimate, shared embrace was like a trail of opium smoke, as addicting as it was calming.
Emma felt herself being lulled away on a dream to the feeling of Killian's fingers trailing up and down her arm. It was so easy to be like this with him. Out of all the people she'd been brave enough to open herself to, with Killian it was surprisingly easy. His ears always listened. Eyes always soft with empathy and arms always open after a long day of diplomatic discussions.
Of course, if you asked her, it was simply friends taking comfort in one another. No more, no less. She absolutely did not feel a skip in her heartbeat when Killian whispered compliments in her hair. Absolutely not.
"Tell me about your magic," Killian mumbled into her hair. Emma tightened her arms around him, pulling him closer.
"I was born with it. Quite an abundant amount, actually. It's been dormant within me all throughout my childhood, but we've just started seeing the effects fairly recently."
Killian sat up, causing Emma to follow up in and lean on the other arm of the couch. His eyes were wild, as if already enchanted by this tale.
"And you've been practicing?" Emma nodded. Her eyes fell to her lap where her fingers fiddled with the skirts of her dress.
"I...I haven't told you yet, but the Dark One has his sights set on me."
A pit formed in Killian's stomach, his heart rising into his throat. The Dark One? He was the single most horrific man the world had to offer, with his impenetrable magic and immortality. If he wanted Emma, he would have her. Just the thought made Killian's blood boil.
"What does he want with you?" he asked, a feeble attempt at remaining calm.
"My power. The Dark One has all the power and magic in the world, except for the magic bestowed upon a person when they are the product of True Love. It's the rarest love of all, and the magic is even rarer. I'm his only option for obtaining what he desires."
Feeling as if he might burst, Killian rose to his feet, paced over to the window, and steadied himself on the sill.
"What are you going to do to stop him?" he asked in a trembling voice. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, let her see the terror that was eating him whole.
"No one can stop the Dark One," she answered just as quietly. Killian's knuckles turned white as snow, gripping tighter than he felt possible.
"So you're just going to let him take you?"
"Of course not!" Emma snapped. "Do you think I want to be doomed to be slave to the Dark One? I'll never let him get me. I will fight until my dying breath, but if that imp would like to ensure that he has a future, he will do well not to trifle with me."
Killian peeked over his shoulder to see her fuming, arms crossed, eyes fiery. And then he did something strange. He chuckled.
"What are you laughing at?"
"I'm sorry, Highness. I simply had forgotten how determined you are beneath your starry, dreaming eyes." Emma rolled her eyes and sauntered up to him.
"Did you honestly think that pulling out your sweet poetic words would make me calm down?" Killian's gaze was fixed on her mouth as she licked her lips and lifted an eyebrow to challenge him.
"Aye, lass, I did. Was I wrong?"
A sigh escaped the princess' lips.
"No. You were frustratingly right. I wish you were wrong every once and awhile."
The space between them was limited, but Killian still took one step further. He caught a glance of Emma's eyes widening as he took her hands in his own and brought them to his lips.
"I will always be right when it comes to you, so believe me when I tell you this. You will become strong enough to defeat the Dark One, because you're strong and unsurmountable."
It was in that moment, with his hot breath escaping onto Emma's fingers that she realized a very important, very frightening fact.
She was in love with Killian Jones, and it was very, very likely that he loved her too.
But the strange thing about love is that you may feel it, overwhelming and crushing, and simply choose not to do anything about it. Such was the case of the princess and fisherman, who skirted around each other during the day, only greeting each other in the castle hallways, yet fell into the routine of casual touches in the evening hours.
Neither spoke of the staggering passion that made it difficult to breathe. They only exchanged adoring glances, linked their fingers, and occasionally would hold each other in the moonlight.
Killian still read stories and poems to the queen, who seemed to never worsen or improve in her health, but he always saved the poems he wrote himself for the late nights with Emma. It was the most uncomfortable routine that he had ever experienced. In between lines of poetry, he would feel himself leaning forward just an inch to capture her lips, barely catching himself in time to continue reciting.
The moon shone brilliant light across the kingdom the night that Emma was late to their nightly rendezvous. Killian waited on the couch, feeling like the cold and empty fisherman he was before he had moved to the castle. He flipped brainlessly through a text about etiquette, much too distracted on the empty space beside him to read seriously.
But then she was bursting in, bright as the stars, loud as thunder, and as beautiful as the mountainside.
"I did it, Killian! I finally did it!" She raced into the room, hair and dress billowing behind her. He met her halfway, body aching to fill the gap between them.
"Did what, love?"
"I healed my mom. I used my magic! She's not sick anymore. All those tiresome hours practicing spells finally seem worthwhile now that she'll be alright."
She pummeled into him, knocking him back a few steps with her arms wrapped tight around his neck. As automatic as a reflex, Killian was holding onto her just as tightly. He lifted her from the ground and spun her around in excitement.
"I knew you could do it, I knew you had it in you."
Emma pulled back for a single moment, long enough for Killian to catch the bright glimmering in her pupils.
Then she buried her hands in his hair and crashed her lips onto his.
Killian's mind went numb, his body acting before he could process a single thought. As soon as he felt her lips moving against his, he was meeting her, each press matched by the other. They moved in sync, kissing as though they'd been practicing for centuries.
It was everything. It was months of pining exploded like canonfire. It was the sweet ache of love reaching its peak of tolerance. It was finally, finally getting to hold their love in their arms, no longer hiding the truth behind passionate eyes and formality.
With just a gentle push, Killian was walking Emma backwards until her back was up against a bookshelf. He pulled his lips away from hers to start a desultory trail down her throat, a mix of soft lips, hoarse facial hair on porcelain skin, and his tongue hitting her nerves so sweetly, it made her knees weak.
His name escaped her lips on a breathy sigh, a noise that spurred him on even more, but called for him to pause.
"Are you alright, my love?" he asked, hope lighting his eyes. If she rejected him here, denied him of allowing this passion between them to blossom, the heartache would surely eat him whole.
"I'm more than alright," she answered with a wide smile. "I just...I need to catch my breath. I want to tell you something."
His lips worked back up her cheek and toward her earlobe, hands holding her at her waist.
"Anything, darling."
But what he wasn't expecting-
"I love you."
Killian tore away, the confession stunning him to his very core. It was obvious that Emma held some feelings for him in her chest, but love...He had been so sure that if she would ever love him, she would need time. But she hadn't needed any, and neither did he.
"My sweet love, surely you must know that I am completely yours. I love you more than I'd believed possible."
And then she was kissing him again, tongues tasting the salty tears that trailed down their faces.
The princess did not care that he was a fisherman, for she could easily reinstate his old ranking as lieutenant. She only cared that he looked at her as if she placed the stars in the sky and held her heart in his hands.
And the fisherman needed nothing but the princess. As long as he had her, he would be fulfilled.
.2016.
Killian sat alone in Emma's hospital room, his mind slipping into a haze while he listened to the steady beeping of her heart monitor. The zig-zagging lines on the monitor were apparently a good sign, though it was hard to rely on the positivity of an electronic machine when Emma was laying half dead before him.
He'd been translating and reading his book all day, and he wanted nothing more than to just furrow his head into her chest. The frantic search for answers could continue later. He just needed to rest, focus on her breathing, her beating heart.
But for Emma, Killian would have stayed awake for centuries. He could stay up for a few more hours to complete the tale.
Henry was long gone, he had left earlier -trying to seek out some normalcy with his girlfriend, leaving Killian to analyze the book for answers himself.
"How're you doing?" a voice broke into Killian's thoughts, but it wasn't Emma's. David stood in the doorway, a sympathetic eye on the pirate. "You look like you're on the verge of a meltdown."
"Aren't you?" Killian deflected, but David was right. The stress of wanting to save Emma had started affecting his physical health, sending a thrumming pound behind his eyes and a tight feeling in his chest. He looked at Dave through bloodshot eyes.
"I hear you're making some good progress," the prince commented, nodding a head down at the book. Killian shrugged.
"It's slow going because I'm translating as I read. I don't even know if it has the answers we're looking for."
David picked up the book from Killian's lap, and flipped through some of the pages himself. His eyes narrowed in distaste, nose scrunching from the smell of centuries old dusty parchment.
"How did you say you found this book?"
"I happened to remember it was on my ship, just a passing feeling."
This caused David's attention to snap back up at Killian. A gentle change passed over the prince's features. Shock, to pride, to unadulterated hope.
"I think there's something that led you to this book, be it a True Love's intuition or the power of Zeus. Don't give up hope yet, Hook. I think you're onto something."
Killian ran his fingers over the cover of the book and snuck a glance at Emma. Even sleeping in a hospital gown, she was breathtaking. She'd be even more beautiful if she were awake, smiling, blinking, anything.
"For her sake, mate, I sure hope you're right."
.1500.
Two years had passed since the fisherman and the princess shared their declarations of love. Killian was still living in the castle, an arrangement that had been the queen's idea, especially after hearing about his prior living arrangements.
The fisherman also finally retired his fishing net and rowboat, moving all of his belongings into a small chest and carrying it on his shoulders to the palace. The princess had greeted him at the gate, insisting they tote the chest in together. It was one of the happiest days the Castle of Misthaven had ever seen, only third to the restoration of the queen's health and, of course, the birth of the princess.
The years had only strengthened Killian and Emma's relationship. Each day came with the blossoming of new discoveries about the other, an endless yet exciting exploration.
Emma reinstated Killian into the royal navy, yet his passion for the art of words lingered in him. Occasionally it would appear in his work, like the way he complimented his fellow crew or managed to use his persuasion to put their trust in their captain during impossible situations.
The kingdom held its breath, waiting for the reformed lieutenant to finally propose marriage to the princess, but no such news ever came.
Emma herself even began to grow impatient.
"Darling, you're glaring at me," Killian noted one day, looking at her from over a text of poems. "Do you not like this one? Is there one you'd rather-"
"Do you not want to marry me?" she interrupted. Of course, she hadn't meant to be so blunt. In fact, she had not intended to say anything at all.
The book was closed immediately, forgotten and dropped onto the floor. It was the most shocked Emma had ever seen him. He seemed even more surprised than he was the night Emma told him she had magic (which had grown to be one of his favorite things about her, among several others).
"What the bloody hell would give you that idea?" His stare was so heavy, that it made Emma scrunch her shoulders down in an attempt to hide herself.
"We've been courting for two years. We're both well old enough, fully capable, and I had thought that we were ready. Was I wrong in assuming-?"
"No!" Killian exclaimed. His hands reached for hers. "You were right in all your assumptions. I've simply been waiting for the right time, and futilely fighting my own self doubts. My courage has failed me, yet you never have, and I should have known better. I want nothing more than to have the honor of being your husband."
He did not seem to realize that the short declaration was much like a proposal, and Emma found herself unsure how she should answer. But she had waited many months for this moment, so she brought the back of his hand to her lips.
"I should have known. You've always waited for my approval, though I'm surprised you did not know you have it. You always will."
"What are you saying, Emma?" Killian asked carefully.
"You told me long ago that you whatever I should request, you would give it to me. Well here if my request for you, sailor."
A moment passed, where Emma pulled all the strength she could from the magic bubbling and her enduring love for the man before her. One look into his ocean blue eyes, and all fear abandoned her.
"Marry me, Killian. Be my partner in this life, and in every life after."
A wave of emotion seemed to overcome Killian like the tide rising. Emma could only watch as the man dissolved before her, half blinking back tears and half grinning like a mad fool. Every opportunity his mouth opened to speak, the lump in his throat made it impossible to choke any words out.
Emma's heart throbbed happily in her chest, her own emotion becoming just as overwhelming. She pulled him into her arms, needed to feel him pressed against her. Killian's head fell to the space between her breasts, where he nodded vigorously.
"Yes, yes my love," he gasped out. "I will marry you."
They moved together, her hands lifting him up, his head reaching to hers. They met in a kiss, one that froze time and erased every ounce of loneliness Killian had ever felt.
Killian enjoyed the bliss of a painless life for the entirety of a few seconds, before it all came crashing down.
Emma tore away with a pained gasp, leaning away from him to curl into herself. She cried out, grasping at her chest. The color had fled from her skin, drops of blood falling from her lips.
"Emma? Emma, what's wrong?!" She was only half aware of Killian's hands on her back, his voice calling out to her. Her eyelids fluttered, a sure sign that she was fighting to stay conscious.
"Her magic is tearing itself away from her and being poured into moi," a sinister voice called from the doorway.
There stood a very lanky man whose skin shimmered with a murky gold color. His eyes were completely black, teeth rotted away, fingers outstretched toward Emma. They gripped an invisible object, as if he were squeezing her very heart in his hands.
The Dark One.
"No," Emma cried out. The plead showed in her eyes where the pain shining in them was enough to make Killian's own chest tighten in agony. He was powerless. "Please, don't take my magic. Anything else you want, it'll be yours. Jewels, riches, anything!"
"I'm afraid that I'm not currently in need of anything else. Your magic is the final ingredient in my formula for ultimate power," the Dark One explained in an even voice. His fingers tightened in the air, causing Emma to collapse onto the floor.
"She's dying!" Killian shouted. Rage was bubbling in his chest. "You're killing her!"
"Not dying, only falling asleep," the Dark One answered. Killian's gaze fell on Emma. Pained tears streamed down her cheeks as her magic was drained from her like a lifesource. It was all he needed to see. Just as he was about to leap to his feet to stop the demon from succeeding, Emma's hand was on his wrist, yanking him beside her. Her lips fell upon his ear, and he could hear her struggling for breath.
"Put it somewhere where no one can find it. Save it for a day when you really need it. Let it be my last gift to you", she whispered so that only Killian could hear. "And know that above all, you were my greatest treasure, my dearest friend, and my truest love."
"Emma what are you talking about? You're going to...You can't, you won't, just hold on. Just-"
He was cut off by the most pleasant feeling he'd ever experienced. It felt like butterflies were creeping into his arm, spreading warmth all over his entire body. As the warmth increased, Emma's sobs turn into shrieks of agony. It was horrendous euphoria, and Killian was powerless to stop it. In a stark revelation, he realized what it was.
It was her magic. She was draining her magic somewhere the Dark One would never look for it. He probably wouldn't even know it was gone until it was too late.
As her powers began to drizzle, nearing the completion of their drain, Killian lifted her into his arms and rocked her gently, trying to soothe her aching.
"One last poem, please Killian," she asked. Her last request. He was powerless to deny her. Tears welled behind his eyes as he took a shaky breath.
"You are the moon, dear love, and I the sea:
The tide of hope swells high within my breast,
And hides the rough dark rocks of life's unrest
When your fond eyes smile near in perigee.
But when that loving face is turned from me,
Low falls the tide, and the grim rocks appear,
And earth's dim coast-line seems a thing to fear.
You are the moon, dear one, and I the sea."
When Killian had reached the end of the poem, Emma's eyes were already closed. Her breathing barely existent. Although she slept, she teetered on the edge of death and life.
"Something's wrong," the Dark One muttered to himself. "That can't be all there is. She was the Savior. Her power is as vast as the stars in the sky. Where has it gone?"
Killian looked up at the demon with tired eyes, a broken heart, and a chest filled with the magic that once belonged to his true love.
"Somewhere you'll never find it."
The Dark One released a scream of rage.
"Insolent princess. She should know better than to trifle with the Dark One," he bit out from between his teeth, nearing the princess' sleeping form on the ground. Killian scrambled to lift Emma away from the Dark One's reach, but in a puff of smoke, he was standing before them.
Killian fought to tear away, but his feet were literally planted in place. The Dark One's magic gripped him, making it impossible to escape. Unable to move a single muscle, Killian could only stare in horror as the beast reached into Emma's chest and extracted her heart.
Before his eyes, Emma's heart pulsed at a painfully slow rate, and just as Killian realized what the Dark One was about to do, the villainous monster tightened his grip around her beating organ, reducing it to dust.
A tortured scream escaped Killian's lips, the dust of Emma's heart slipping between the Dark One's fingers onto the floor. Salty tears trailed down his cheeks, horror frozen on his face.
"Take that as a warning, lieutenant. I always get what I want. Wherever she has hidden her power, I will find it!" And then he was gone.
Killian fell to the floor as soon as the Dark One's magic was lifted from him. In a shaky movement, he trailed a trembling finger down her cheek.
"Emma, darling. Wake up. Wake up, my love. He's gone now. Your magic is safe, and...and we can get married."
But Killian knew that Emma would not be waking up. Out of his trembling lips came shaky whimpers.
"No," he choked. "No."
And like a man broken in two, he buried his face in her neck and wailed.
In his lifetime, the fisherman had learned thousands of words. He had put them together, created poetry that made the stars turn and listen. But none of his words could ever describe the agony of losing his true love.
.2016.
"Killian, you're crying," Henry said quietly.
The pirate only turned his face, and shook his head.
"They were us," he muttered. "They were us."
.1500.
The fisherman stood by the sea, glazed eyes fixed on the moon hovering above the horizon. In that moment, he wished he still had his meager row boat so that he might sail into the middle of the ocean under the moon and let the storms take him.
But he had a promise to fulfill. He had to put Emma's magic somewhere safe, somewhere the Dark One wouldn't find it.
In the days following the princess' death, Killian had been completely numb. His mind tried to block out the pain, but everything around him reminded him of her floral scent, her gentle smile, her fiery character. Just the slightest trace of a reminder would reduce him to a sobbing mess.
He knew what he was going to do with her magic.
"You've listened every time I've spoken before," he said to the stars above his head. "You've turned and moved to listen to my voice and my poems. Now it is time for you to repay me."
The stars twinkled in response, showering light on his face as if to wash his tears.
"Hold onto this magic. Keep it safe," his voice cracked as he added the last important part. "Use it to bring us together in every lifetime, and when the time comes, I will be back for it. I'll use it to save her. I won't let her get away."
Killian focused on the magic humming inside of him. He closed his eyes, tears sneaking out between the lids, and outstretched open palms. The glowing began in his fingers before extending throughout his entire body.
A final offering, Killian lifted his arms toward the sky and let the heavenly lights take away the burden of the magic. With it, they lifted away his grief and his sorrow. The magic exploded out of him in a flash of bright white light, but just as soon as it came, it was gone. Because of the fisherman's heroic actions, the princess' sleeping curse wasn't for naught.
Killian was alone again. But when he looked up the stars were shining brighter than before, and knowing that it was the power of his love gave him some peace.
"What have you done?" Killian did not need to turn to see who it was. He had expected that the Dark One would come for him, but it was something he welcomed. "You will pay."
The fisherman just turned, and let the Dark One drive his blade right through his chest.
His last thought was of glimmering emerald eyes and her beautiful laughter.
And then, nothing.
.2016.
Killian closed the book, and wiped his cheeks with a deep inhale. Henry watched him expectantly.
"I know what I need to do," Killian said quietly.
"How did he save the princess in the story?" Henry asked, grabbing Hook's wrist before he could walk out of the room.
"He didn't," Killian answered quietly. "But he made it possible that I could. I think your mother's magic is being drained from her by something, but if we can get some magic back in her, I think it'll wake her up."
Henry nodded, fully trusting Killian. The sailor walked over to his love's hospital bed and deposited a gentle kiss on her forehead before walking off.
It was right that Killian sought the company of the sea as he carried this out. He had no idea how to extract magic from the stars that had been there for hundreds of years. Part of him wondered if he had become too attached to the story and was playing out in reality what had really just been fiction. Most of him, though, the overwhelming part of him knew that this was right.
The magic in the stars could save her.
He stood at the edge of the dock staring right at the stars. He rubbed his hand on the denim of his pants, nervous about holding a conversation with the sky.
"It's been centuries since you've seen me," he spoke in a false bravado. "But I'm here to collect what I kept safe with you. She...my soulmate, my love, she needs my help. She needs her magic back or else she'll die. Help me change her fate."
Killian held out his hands before him, just as the fisherman did in the book, but nothing happened. He faltered. What if something had gotten lost in translation? Or had someone already gotten to the magic? Or maybe he wasn't the reincarnate of the fisherman at all.
Just as he was about to lower his hands, a stream of stars descended from the sky and surrounding him from every angle. The light was blinding, but Killian could not tear his eyes away. They were small stars, like grains of sand floating around him.
Give us a poem. One last poem. Let us hear your voice.
He heard the stars speak as clearly as if they were people standing beside him. Clenching a fist, he took in a sharp breath and spoke.
"How still, how strangely still the water is today, it is not good for water to be so still that way."
The words were not his own, but those of the fisherman of his lifetime previous.
A pause. Then, the stars were rushing into him, entering his body, his soul, depositing the magic back within him. The feeling was strangely familiar, and enchanted.
The touch of True Love can deliver the magic back into the Savior.
Killian closed his eyes to allow the magic to penetrate him, and when he opened his eyes once more, the stars were gone.
But as for himself? He was buzzing with magic.
He pictured himself beside Emma's bed side, and with a rush of magic, he was there. Henry jolted up from his seat, a gasp coming from the Charmings sitting across the room. Killian didn't stop to offer explanation. He simply peered down at his truest love.
It felt as though he were seeing her for the first time in 500 years.
Perhaps part of him was.
Channeling every ounce of love he had for her, Killian pressed his lips to hers.
It was True Love's Kiss, but there was no rainbow. There was only yellowish light that mirrored the brilliance of the stars. It filled the room, sent warmth down everyone's spines, and most importantly...
It woke Emma.
When Killian pulled away, she was looking at him, an overjoyed smile on her lips. The room around them erupted with cheers, laughter, tears, but to Emma and Killian there was only each other.
"Emma," Killian gasped her name like a prayer. She launched herself into his arms and held him as close as she could. "Emma, my darling. You've been asleep for six days. Not even True Love's kiss would wake you."
Emma pulled back enough to hold him by his face.
"Wait - what? Then how did you do it? Six days?"
"It's a long story." He paused. "It's a little bittersweet, but it's got a happy ending. Oh love, you're the happy ending."
In the morning, they'd search after the person - or thing - that did this to her, but for now, they had each other and that was enough.
Killian's lips found hers again, and in that moment, he believed there was never a time that he loved a woman as dearly, and as ardently as he loved Emma Swan.