As she watches the crowd slowly dwindle out the doors of the town hall, she can feel him beside her. He doesn't speak. He doesn't have to. She can simply feel him there.
She knows he doesn't like the plan. She saw it in his eyes as she carefully explained their strategies to the volunteers, could practically feel as his muscles got tenser and tenser as she spoke. But it wasn't a matter of his comfort. She and Regina need to be close for their magic to work properly. And it needs to be both of them.
As the last of the group drifts out the door Emma's heart beat picks up, because there's one more piece, one more vital bit of the plan she's yet to say aloud. She takes a breath and slowly turns to face the pirate, who has been watching her (she can tell by the way his eyes soften so deeply).
When she meets his eyes it's a rush. The softness is tinged ever so slightly, a wetness at the edges that betrays his fear— and a wideness that is his respect for her. Her heart pounds even harder as the corner of his lips tug into a weak smile— one that doesn't reach his eyes.
"You've quite the knack for leadership, Swan," he says lightheartedly, but his voice is choked and dry. A strange silence falls between them, uncomfortable in the way it never is.
"You don't have to pretend to like the plan," she finally tells him softly, so softly that she's surprised the words have come from her mouth. His eyes flicker slightly and she catches a glimpse of the part of him struggling, struggling to come to terms. But its gone as quickly as it came.
"I'm not pretending, love," he offers her another contrite smile, "The plan is brilliant. These people." he motions vaguely around them, "Are quite lucky to have a leader such as yourself…" his voice trails off.
"But?" Emma urges him on, because there is always a but. She watches him closely, studying his face for any signs of a lie. He takes a step, clearing the space between them and coming to settle just in front of her. She can't ignore the way her heart is pounding at her chest.
"But nothing," he extends his hand so it hovers just beside her cheek, and hesitates.
The hesitation reaches all the way to his eyes, where she again catches a flash of his internal battle, again disappearing before she can read into it. Then the hesitation is gone as well and he cradles her face gently, running his calloused thumb softly across her cheek.
"There's something else," she mutters, and she has to force the words across her lips because nothing would make her happier than to stay standing there with him touching her for eternity. Her head is buzzing softly and she struggles to contain it because now, there are more important things.
Blatant worry flashes across his eyes, and he slowly drops his hand back to his side.
"Go on?"
She takes a deep, solid breath, filling her lungs until they burn and then letting it out just as slowly, until her head spins.
"I can't have Henry in town," she says, and she can't meet his eyes, "I can't risk the witch… finding him," and now she forces herself to look into those wide blue pools because this favor is too important to ask of her shoes, "I need someone I trust, someone who I can count on, to watch over him," she forces her words to be slow and deliberate, but her insides feel anything but, "I want… I need you… I need you, Killian, to take him away. Take him on the Jolly, as far from Storybrooke as you can. I need you to protect him for me."
She can see the turmoil that's taken him as clear as day, he doesn't bother to hide it anymore (whether it's knowing she can read him anyway or inability to she isn't sure). Another second and he closes his eyes and deep regret paints his face and her heart pangs and aches.
"I can't," when he finally speaks his words are soft and slow and he opens his eyes ever so gradually and the pain and pure regret is almost too much. "Swan, I can't," he repeats, before turning his head angrily to the side and cursing to himself (none too quietly).
Emma opens her mouth to ask why but the coolness in his eyes stops her. Instead, she reaches out and cautiously touches his shoulder in a way she hopes is soothing— he faces her again, looking as if he forgot she was there.
"Why?" she finally asks, looking firmly into his eyes. He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, then takes a softer breath, and finally meets her eyes.
"I had to use something to get back to you, Swan."
The realization hits her hard, and she momentarily can't remember how to properly breath. She feels her eyes widen and her pulse race and she just can't deal with this right now. She can't afford to be feeling what she is now, she can't manage to properly feel, she doesn't have the time for it and she just can't do it.
"You destroyed the Jolly," her voice comes out placid enough, but she knows her tone isn't fooling the pirate, "To get back to me?"
"Someone had to bloody save you, princess," his voice is quiet, lacking what has become his usual sass and bravado.
So this was what he's been hiding from her.
"How could you give up your home for me!?" she asks, and she thinks there is a twinge of annoyance in her tone. He doesn't miss it, and his eyes flash angrily.
"She's only a ship," he tells her, teeth clenched, and he doesn't get it. He doesn't get that she isn't worth his goddamn home, he doesn't get how infuriating it is that he'd do this to her, that he'd make her owe him such a debt, and she can't stand that he doesn't see what he's done to her.
"A ship you've lived on for what, 300 years?" she's not sure why she's so viciously angry— or if she even is, for that matter. She's overstimulated, she's scared, and that feeling, that terrible, end-all feeling, is encompassing her.
"Past time to move on then, aye?" he answers coolly.
"Move on to where, Killian!?" she cries, "You—You're a sailor… It's your ship! Your home!"
"Maybe," he cuts in before she can explode, voice devoid of any anger there was previously. Now he's only looking at her with those wide wide eyes and she can't hardly breath. "Perhaps I've found a new home."
Oh.
She blinks. Once, twice, again. She can feel the tension burning between them and its her cue to turn, to walk away and cool off and not look back.
She tries to listen. She really does. But then she meets his eyes one final time, his eyes that are so open and intent and clinging to her every move. She sees herself reflected in the cautious hope, and her heart hits her chest.
And she can't walk away.
Instead she hesitantly reaches to him, pressing her hands to his chest and running them cautiously towards his shoulders, slowly wrapping her fingers into the lapels of his jacket until she's clutching the worn fabric. He looks shocked at first, eyes widening and falling to follow her movements. She watches his lips part, just barely, and tugs him gently closer, so their lips are nearly brushing. She tries to think of something to say, something to fill the void before she jumps. But her mind is fogging and his breath is bated and warm on her cheek and he just hovers there, waiting for her.
She takes a deep stabling breath, and before she can change her mind, brushes her lips to his. It isn't like in Neverland and it doesn't last long, but as she pulls away she can see in his eyes that she's told him what she needed to. She hesitantly releases him and steps back just a bit, giving him his space. He still hasn't moved, but as she steps away from him his eyes lift to her.
"I'll take your boy…" he says, voice breaking, "I'll take him, I'll acquire another ship from the docks."
His expression tells her that still doesn't like leaving her, but he respects her request nonetheless.
"Thank you," she manages, staring deeply into his eyes. Her tongue runs nervously across her upper lip and she tastes salt and rum and him. "For everything, Killian. Thank you."
He stills again, and she thinks she can hear his heart racing.
"Shall I meet you at the docks tomorrow, then?" he asks, voice still cautious.
"Yes," she answers, still studying him, "Seven okay?"
He nods.
When he starts to walk away she can't help but grab him and kiss him again.