400 AD, Rome
"Do you suppose what they say is true?"
"About what, love?"
"About soulmates."
Emma and Killian lay entwined on the private balcony of her room, a thick rug below them and only a thin sheet covering their naked forms. Her stola lay abandoned on the stone next to his armor.
She could remember hearing fairy tales about soulmates when she was a child in the chambers she now lay outside—stories of a love for all ages, knowing no end—but had always thought them to be some combination of childhood fantasy and ancient paganism.
Now, though? She was rethinking her disbelief. Because how else would this have happened: she, a member of a high-ranking family, and he, merely a footsoldier tasked with guarding her home, should never even have been familiar. But each night when he escorted her home from whatever ball or party she'd attended, she found it harder and harder to send him away, until she finally didn't.
"If you had asked me before I met you, I'd have said no; but now, I know it is certain."
Fading torchlight softly illuminated his face as she traced the scar on his cheek, and not even the stars above shone brighter than the love in his eyes. She routinely cursed the status of their births that prevented them from proclaiming their love, but these stolen trysts were better than nothing. It was impossible to know what was to come—there was always the chance that her parents would arrange her a marriage, or that he'd be called up to the Colosseum to fight—but here, in this moment, all that mattered was that they were together.
"Promise me we'll be together for always?" she asked.
"I would follow you to the end of the earth, or time," he promised.
1869, Arizona Territory
"Well, that was fun."
"You always think running for our lives is fun."
Emma was panting just as hard as her horse was; they'd only just found a secluded crevice in the rocky, dry terrain to evade the town's sheriff, who'd been shooting at them.
"Isn't it, though? You weren't complaining in Scotland a few centuries ago." Killian casually hopped down from his own steed before rushing over to help her from hers, ever the gentleman even in the middle of the desert (a first for them, actually).
"Maybe I liked you better in blue paint and a kilt," she teased as he lifted her from the saddle and set her down.
"I'm sure that can be arranged," he flirted back with a salacious wink, his long black jacket—appropriate for the dusty, unsettled land they lived in, but not much else—swirling around his legs with every move.
She had to admit, the breeches she wore were a nice change from the various forms of skirts she'd been wearing the past thousand or so years, but all the adventures were beginning to blur at the edges. The wars, the balls, the famines, the feasts—they all started to look the same, but when he was at her side for each one, how could she complain?
They made love under the stars that night, just like they had all those centuries ago, and so many times in between. Neither of them had known what "always" meant when she made him promise her back then; it turned out that soulmates really were timeless, and in every life she'd lived, she found him every time.
Lying between their rough woolen blankets as the cool air settled around them, Emma traced that all-too-familiar scar as she gazed into his blue, blue eyes in the moonlight.
"Still want to be with me for always?"
"Of course, love. As you wish."
1998, Storybrooke, Maine
"Don't you know how to play anything else?"
They were sitting in her dad's garage, a worn-out boombox playing the local rock station somewhere in the background, as Killian picked at a hand-me-down acoustic guitar.
"I'll have you know I can play plenty of songs."
"Show me, because you've been playing the same three chords for the past half hour."
"And if history tells you anything, it's that it only takes three to make a hit." She swatted his plaid-clad shoulder; even if grunge was on the way out, Killian was keeping it alive with his wardrobe and attitude.
(Or maybe that had to do with the fact that they were two old souls in the bodies of teenagers? Sometimes it felt weird, having memories of growing old together—watching each other live and die, and all the people they've loved and lost over the years—when they'd barely started this life.
She supposed that was the price of whatever magic it was that let them keep finding each other over and over. At least it was easy to put the past aside and live in the moment, as they'd been doing for millenia.)
Killian's deft fingers began to pick out an old sea shanty, one she hadn't heard in ages—not hyperbole: it took her back to a night on a ship in the Irish Sea three centuries ago. She rested her head on his shoulder as she toyed with a tear in her jeans, reminiscing.
"Do you ever miss it?"
"What?" he asked, not missing a note.
"Anything. Everything."
He stopped playing and reached over to lift her chin level with his. She opened her eyes to find his staring adoringly back, that scar on his cheek fresher now, and she smiled at the memory of how he got it: by getting into a fight on his first day at school after he and his brother moved to town, "defending her honor" or something equally ridiculous against her douchebag ex.
"How can I miss any of it when we get a new adventure every time?"
2983, New Rome Colony
Killian was pulled unwillingly from sleep by the blather of the video screen coming on to wake him. It was still tuned to the vintage game show channel he'd had it on the night before; there was something soothing in that ancient history.
(And also something familiar about that blonde contestant who won a "jet ski", whatever that was, the night before. It was like he'd seen her face a million times, but also couldn't quite place her.)
The clock on the window ledge next to his bed showed 0530; he had a half hour to report for duty. He took a moment to gaze out at the never-ending galaxies beyond his window, though. It had been a year since he signed up for the fleet and began to serve on this deep-space station, and though he still wasn't sure why, it sure beat being alone, like he had been ever since Liam died.
His thirty-year-old bones creaked just a bit more than they should have as he rose and dressed in his uniform, then added a bit of rum to his thin coffee to start the day. He probably should shave, but there were no restrictions against a bit of stubble.
The video screen shut off as he left his lonely quarters and made his way down to the navigation station, where he was to train new recruits. He still couldn't shake the image of that blonde woman from the game show, even though he knew she was long dead, but the sparkle in her eyes was intoxicating, even on the grainy old footage.
He was so lost in thinking on her that he wasn't paying attention to his path, and suddenly collided with something solid, slight, and feminine, splashing his coffee everywhere.
"I'm so sorry, sir!" "Apologies, lass." They spoke over the other as they gathered her papers, now strew across the hallway.
Their fingers brushed when he handed her what he'd picked up, and he felt a spark.
And he looked into her eyes, and it all came back: every lifetime, every meeting, each happy and sad ending, the highs, the lows, and all the adventures in between—Rome, Scotland, Boston, London, Arizona, Paris, Maine (including that trip to California when she made it onto The Price is Right), and so many other places and times he could hardly keep track.
"Emma," he breathed, gazing on the face that had been a ghost in this life but so real in all the others.
"Killian. Finally," she whispered back, hand coming up to cup his face and trace his scar, like always.
"Did you miss me?" he teased, winking.
"You know it."
Neither wasted a moment, leaning in for what was probably their hundredth first kiss, each as memorable as the last and this being no exception—never before had the entire universe bore witness to their meeting.
They stayed close after their lips parted, not wanting to be any farther away from the other than was absolutely necessary. The thick-paned window of the hallway showed all of space beyond them, and Emma spoke up.
"Well, it looks like you've followed me beyond the end of the earth. Now what?"
"We still have until the end of time."