He watched her. Embracing the townsfolk upon their triumphant arrival back in Storybrooke. Sitting with her boy in the diner while he "threw back a few with the dwarves" as Neal had put it. Leaving the celebration when the crowd had begun to thin.
He watched her because she was the most beautiful sight he'd beheld in all his years. Because everything about her fascinated him in a way that nothing…not even the sea in all its terror and wonder…could. Because just when he thought he had memorized the entrancing shade of green in her eyes or the curve of her lips when she smiled, there was some new unique quirk to behold.
But the memory of her…the moments already spent with her…would be the only comfort he would find. He'd made his decision. The boy…Henry…the bright-eyed boy with dreams of being a hero, reminding Killian of another young lieutenant setting off on a hero's journey to an unknown land…that boy deserved a happy ever after. A family, united. For Henry's happiness would provide Emma with the true happiness she deserved.
He stumbled his way onto the deck of the Jolly, spinning around after a moment and finding no trace of crocodiles or lost boys or beautiful blonde saviors. He was alone. No matter the path he chose or the choices he made, he always found himself here. Villain or hero. Dark or light. Vengeance or love. They all ended the same way.
Casting a final glance out across the harbor, he caught a glimpse of a head of blonde hair over by the docks. Whipping his head back in that direction so quickly that it very nearly made him sick, he realized that it wasn't a trick by a pair of drunken eyes.
She was there, sitting alone, staring out at the open water. Her long locks blew softly with the slight breeze, though after a moment she tucked it all back behind her. He longed to call her name…to go to her. To search those emerald eyes for whatever lay just beyond their depths. To read her like the open book she was only to find her more mystifying than anyone he'd ever known. Just to be with her, if only for a moment.
But he didn't. He couldn't. Every moment he spent with her, he realized that much more how impossible it had been to ever live without her. So he took a long pull from his flask, searching for that escape - the numbing of the pain - he often found and welcomed when he reached the bottom.
Is rum your solution to everything?
All he could taste was her. The burn in his throat was a flicker in comparison with the blaze that she'd filled him with the moment that her lips met his. It burned through him, wild and untamed, every second since that moment. And no amount of alcohol would ever again compare to the intoxication he found in loving her.
The world had begun to spin around him, his ship falling through an imagined portal, though still she remained the anchor he found and fixed upon. For a fleeting moment, he thought those eyes that haunted his every moment had found their way to his. He felt it more than he saw it. A shiver that traveled down his spine as the flame within him burned so hot he felt as if he would burst into flames at any moment. And then, without warning, it faded ever so slightly back to the still overwhelming though somewhat less consuming burn he had come to know so well. And when he finally brought the world back into full focus, she was gone.
It wasn't a dream. He knew that for certain. And as he fell onto his bed, exhausted in his knowledge that sleep would never come, he held tightly to the hope that when he finally slipped into unconsciousness, his dreams would be enough.