That's What They Said
"There's not a day will go by I won't think of you."
"Good."
He doesn't say it, and she doesn't say it back. But she knows what it means, and even if she forgets about it moments after, when she crosses the town line, it lies buried in the back of her head, a seed that starts to secretly, quietly bloom when she gets her memories back. And it's what makes him hold on through all that time, until he sees her again.
"You traded your ship for me?"
"Aye."
He doesn't say it, and she doesn't say it back. But she knows what it means, and slowly she starts to believe that maybe she has found her way home in more than just one way.
"I can't lose you too."
She doesn't say it, and he doesn't say it back. But he knows what it means, and for the first time he allows himself to believe perhaps she might feel the same for him that he feels for her, at least a bit.
"I'm a fan of every part of you."
He doesn't say it, and she doesn't say it back. But for the first time she feels she can truly be herself with all her strengths and her weaknesses.
"I'm gonna choose to see the best in you."
"And I with you."
She doesn't say it, and he doesn't say it back, but they both know what their words really mean. For a long time, nobody has seen anything better in them than the villain, the pirate, the jailbird, the burden nobody wanted; pass it on to the next foster home. But now, a little lost girl and an ancient Lost Boy have found their home in each other.
"Don't you know, Emma? It's you."
He doesn't say it, and she doesn't say it back. She's at a complete loss for words, actually. But she knows what it means, and for the first time she has the feeling that she is enough. Not the Savior, not the deliverer of happy endings - just she, just Emma Swan. She matters.
"I... I… want to thank you for sacrificing yourself."
She doesn't say it, she isn't ready yet, despite it being on the tip of her tongue, waiting to tumble out. But it's okay, although it hurts a little. She's almost there… almost. Killian Jones is a patient man. He knows she will say it, and soon, in a quiet little moment, precious like a diamond – which will probably be even more touching than if she said it now, in the overwhelming relief of seeing him alive. Of course he doesn't say it first – he knows Emma Swan better than to push her now.
"I love you."
When she finally says it, he's too paralyzed by his shock and fear to say it back. But it keeps him going and fighting to get back to her, to get her back.
"I'll never stop fighting for us."
He doesn't say it, because it's not what she needs to hear right now. She needs more. She needs to hear that this is not only about saving her, this is about saving their future, about fighting for more than just getting rid of her darkness.
"It's a reminder that you got a piercing eyed, smoldering pirate here who loves you."
"I love you too."
He says it, sort of, and she says it back. He means it, and she knows it... but his words are also meant as a reassurance, to give her the strength and willpower to tackle the difficult task laying ahead of her and come back to him. He says it, but he wishes he didn't have to say it for those reasons. He wishes to be able to say it in one of those precious, quiet moments, when there's no other reason for saying it but his heart threatening to burst with happiness if he doesn't.
"I loved you."
He doesn't say it, not to the Dark One in front of him masked as Emma. But he does say it, he says it to the woman he loves, the woman he knows is trapped inside that elegant shell. The lost little girl he knows is listening and will eventually understand what he really means.
"I love you, Emma Swan. No matter what you've done."
He says it, but again, it's more of a reassurance to her – the reassurance that he sees right through the surface, sees the lost little girl inside that begs to be freed. (Little does he know that he needs to be freed as much as she does, and that it's her fault.) She doesn't say it back this time. It's like she knows what she's done to him is so terrible that it might be stronger than his conviction, so terrible that it might venture beyond any forgiveness; her expression is so melancholic that it frightens him more than all the Dark One trickery she has displayed so far.
"I love you and I will come for you!"
She doesn't say it, she yells it as the ferry taking him away from her disappears slowly into the mist. He doesn't say it back, just wordlessly holds her gaze with his own, because he doesn't want her to have false hope, but she saw it in his eyes right before his eyelids fluttered shut when she watched the man she loves die for the third time. He died for the third time – for her, and she doesn't need to hear the words, because if that isn't a proof that he loves her she doesn't know what is. Also, she doesn't need false hope or any hope at all, because she has the certainty – the certainty that she will bring him back or die trying. Either way, they will be reunited.
When they are reunited, finally, they are both too exhausted to really exchange any words of meaning; they are back together, and for the moment, that's enough. They both need time; their wounds – of their bodies, their souls and their poor, tormented hearts – need time to heal. Sometimes closeness is the key, sometimes it's tears, shed alone. But slowly, they let the other one in, they find their way back to reality, work their way back to each other. Their future, it's still there, and they reach out for it, with trembling hands at first. But once they get a hold of it, they dig their fingers into it, and they know nothing will be able to separate them again. They calm down, soothe each other, they allow each other to take away the pain, to fill up the void left by the darkness. Life is getting back to normal – and now their life begins. Their future. It has a white picket fence, a king-size bed and a breathtaking view of the ocean.
Then, one day, she walks past him in the hallway where he's about to knock in a nail with his hook to hang up a picture, and a curse escapes his lips when he hits himself on his thumb:
"Bloody buggering hell!"
She picks up the nail that has landed in front of her feet and holds it out to him on her open palm, her eyes resting lovingly on his tousled, still too long hair. He reaches for the nail, and almost casually brushes his fingertips across her palm, the touch lingering. She looks up to smile at him.
"I love you," she says, just like that. He swallows, and a muscle in his jaw tenses, and for the fraction of a second she's afraid it was too soon. But then she sees the fine lines around his blue eyes crinkle, and although the experience of the last few weeks have deepened them a little, she knows that this is not due to sorrow. It's his little special smile, reserved only for her.
"I love you too," he replies, just like that. The corners of his mouth twitch a little, and for a moment their stares lock.
She's said it, and he's said it back, and they both know what it means. Pain, regret, guilt – It falls off of them like rusty flakes from an old iron door hinge unused for a long time and slowly set into motion again.
They don't say anything else, they don't repeat it or hug or seal it with a kiss. They know they will do that later. Both understand what it means: this is their life now, it's normal, it's random, it's just one of those quiet little moments.
It's precious like a diamond.