A/N: Set after "Think Lovely Thoughts." More explanation afterwards because I don't want to spoil the ending. (And props to Sara Bareilles' "Cassiopeia" for the title.)
After they got back to Storybrooke, she never wanted to see firewood again. Ever.
Well, she amended, placating the rational part of her brain, at least I won't gather it myself or chop it up. It was Maine after all, and she could avoid wood-burning fireplaces like she could avoid clam chowder.
(She bent down to pick up a fallen branch, giving it a withering glare for good measure.)
It was their last night in Neverland. In just a few hours, they'd have Henry back and then they'd leave this place. Emma's mind had been in such a whirlwind going over their attack plan, thinking about everyone's strengths and weakness and how Pan might exploit them, making herself sick with Wendy's revelation, that she couldn't sleep. She needed something menial and mind numbing to do, so here she was, tromping through the jungle to get enough firewood to make breakfast in the morning, dodging dreamshade, and seeking exhaustion in her own war against the elements.
It all began to look the same to her, hunched over as she was. Shades of green, shades of black, splatters of moonlight on the ground and leaves—all blurring into one indistinguishable brushstroke in the same way the island blended Time on its artist's palette. Honestly, she found it soothing ever since the red and shadows of Dark Hollow.
How much longer and how much farther she went she didn't exactly know, but after what felt like a good half hour, she had an armful large enough to justify calling it a night. Still, she wasn't ready to head back to the camp just yet. She was tired, yes, but nowhere near ready to sleep. So, she trudged on, relishing the burning in her triceps as she carried the awkwardly shaped load.
Suddenly the jungle ended and Emma's momentum made her stumble forward, dropping the firewood as her arms flung out to keep her from faceplanting on the rocky outcrop. Yes, she thought it kind of absurd that she'd noticed that in her graceless fall. (And had she really made that oomph sound, too?)
With a low hiss, she rolled onto her back to look at her hands and forearms. No scratches or cuts, thank goodness—she needed to be able to hold a sword. Just a few pebbles to brush off, which she did pushing herself up onto her knees and looking around. The firewood was everywhere! This Neverland firewood she was getting to cook their breakfast. Snow White's and Prince Charming's…and the Evil Queen's…and Tinkerbell's and Wendy's…and hers…
The jumble of names struck Emma then.
She kept trying to pick up the sticks but her stomach kept pulling into itself and she couldn't get enough air and she couldn't see the damned things anyways with all this ridiculous laughing and crying, so much stupid laughing, she didn't feel like she'd ever be able to stop…
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Neverland has finally gotten to you."
That right there, though, was a slap of reality across her face.
After what she was sure was an undignified struggle to stand up, Emma brushed the hair back from her face and met Hook's wary gaze with her own.
"I was just…" she trailed off, gesturing at the mess around her.
"Enjoying a private joke with the landscape," he finished for her as he bent down and began to pick up the firewood.
"No—leave it. I-I'll do it. I don't expect you to—"
"Let it never be said that Captain Hook let a princess toil away while he sat by and watched." He stood and began walking towards her, stopping just a couple steps away. "Mere pirate though he is."
The joke that was in his words was not reflected in his eyes, and Emma winced when she recognized the echo of their earlier conversation—though she ignored the rest of it. (Too much to think about. Too much. She couldn't handle this tonight.)
"Hook," she said, reaching across and taking the bundle from him, also ignoring the smoothness of his coat's leather against her bare arms and the smell of it and him and what that combination reminded her of, "that's not what I meant, you know. At least…that's not how I meant it. I—"
He cut her off. "It's alright, love. Tonight, Neverland might just be getting to me, too."
The clouds threw a shadow across his face just then, and Emma could have sworn that in the moments prior to it, his look was fierce and almost desperate. But, no—the moon was out again and all she saw was the brief smirk he gave her before he turned to sit at the cliff's edge.
She was relieved to have the distance between them. All she wanted to do was get Henry and go home. Yet she hesitated…she could say goodnight…she could go back to the camp…she knew he wouldn't hold it against her if she left without even saying anything. All that seemed to happen anymore when they were alone together was something that seemed to shake her so hard, trying to veer her off course. But, well, maybe the island was messing with her head because even after Hook and Neal fighting over that stupid lighter—fighting over her—and how she'd told them both to keep their distance, there was part of her that knew she felt more comfortable here with him than back at the camp, even with the winning her heart and this is not a contest simmering under the surface of every look he gave her. Still, he left it there, offered but not forced, truth not trickery. His honesty made her feel safe. So she sat down next to him, the firewood in a heap behind them.
The spot was unfamiliar, but she had to admit, the view was impressive. Before them stretched the whole of Neverland, a patchwork of the deep evergreen of the jungle and the moon-bleached stone of the strange rock pillars that dotted across it. To the right the jungle went on and on, relieved only by a solitary mountain. Dead Man's Peak. She repressed a shudder. Whipping her head to the left instead, her eyes followed the bright curve of the shoreline as it arced against the dark water. On and on it went to the horizon and she tipped her head back to continue its path into the sky.
She gasped.
The stars. Clusters upon clusters of them. Flickering blue and white and yellow and orange. Some were small, distant pinpricks of light; others so bright and close that she wanted to grab one and put it in her pocket. Really, there had to be millions—more than she had ever seen in her life. Was Neverland really just the center of the universe and all the stars just paraded around in its sky?
"Beautiful, isn't it?" There was awe in his voice, too.
"There's just so many."
"Neverland has very few redeeming qualities, but I believe this is one."
She huffed. "No kidding. You definitely don't get to see this in Boston."
"Well, the stars here aren't quite in the same position as you're probably used to. And I've never been to this Boston place—"
"You'd like it. Lots of places to park a big boat like yours." She peeked at him and saw his cheek dimple in a smile.
"—but I imagine that you'd recognize some of the constellations here."
Squinting, she tried to connect the dots above her to make something, anything, out of their multitude. "Yeah, not really."
"How about that one there? Those four stars?" He pointed to just in front of her, slightly to her left. "Where I'm from, it's called the Bear Mother. I noticed in my time in your land that it has a similar name: Ursa Major."
Following the line he traced, she made out a rectangle with three stars trailing up to the left. "The Big Dipper."
"Yes…I see," he murmured, considering this new terminology.
"And I know that right next to it is the Little Dipper."
"Or the Bear Cub."
"And it leads to the North Star."
"Which I call the Lodestar."
Their eyes met then, twin expressions of caught ease and grins. It was so simple with him, talking like this, sharing their knowledge, just sitting there. So disarmingly easy, she thought as the moment lengthened and the tug in her chest reminded her of what it felt like being even closer.
She took a breath, about to plow ahead to avoid anything that he might say…except—
"And that one," he began again, slightly hurried and pointing a tad higher, "is the Serpent, starting at Eltanin—the leftmost reddish star—you can follow its body over the Bear Mother. Particularly useful when navigating the passage to the Black Sea."
She stared at his profile, wondering why she felt like she'd stayed her ground but that she had lost footing in the process.
He started going through name after name, and she honestly did try her best to keep up. But after a while, he got so caught up in the view in front of him that she just leaned back on her hands and watched him. His eyes jumped from point to point like he was reading a book, shaping meaning from the smattering of dots, translating a language spoken in jewels nestled in black velvet. For the first time since landing there, she could picture him as part of this place, in the way she'd grown up thinking of the inseparable fate of Neverland and Pan and Captain Hook. Not that she thought he was evil, but in this moment, he was suddenly just…more.
More than just a pirate.
Remorse hit her like another slap in the face. Wrong, wrong, wrong, it scolded. It was being stuck in Rumplestiltskin's prison cell all over again, his Actually, no knocking her off-balance more than she'd ever expected he, of all people, could do. Thank god he wasn't even paying attention to her right now because her shame felt like a scarlet letter smack dab on her forehead.
"Something I've been wondering about, love."
"Huh?" She started and folded her arms to cover it.
"You and this whole savior business—I take it that it's more than just about rescuing Henry. Yet you don't appear exactly enthused by the title."
"Oh." It wasn't what she was expecting him to ask about. Their last conversation, maybe…but not this. This was okay. A good distraction. "Um, well, you know that Regina cast the curse on everyone."
"Not me," he smirked.
"You've got no bragging rights there, buddy. You were teamed up with Cora."
A chuckle. "She knew about you before the curse hit, though."
"Did she?" Huh, that was surprising. "I don't understand a ton about what happened before I was born other than Snow White and Prince Charming…my parents…were told by Rumplestiltskin that the curse was coming, what it would do to them, and that their child would break it twenty-eight years after sending her through a magic wardrobe. And, I did."
"You," he whispered.
She fiddled with the shoelace wrapped around her wrist, trying to ignore the weight of his stare. "Me," she whispered back.
"How did you, though? Break the curse, that is."
"True love's kiss." She laughed at how absurd it sounded still, even months later, but he was quiet. Too quiet. "Henry! I kissed Henry!" she blurted out suddenly understanding. He'd thought—he'd assumed—someone else…
His sigh was almost brittle. "Ah."
"And now, here I am, in Neverland, trying to save him from Pan." A half-hearted shrug. She'd never felt special, and besides capturing the Shadow, she'd been pretty much useless here. But there was something else that was bothering her. "I can't claim to be much of a savior anymore, though, if I'm not the only one doing the rescuing. Besides, everyone knows that's not who I really am—otherwise, that map would have worked the instant I admitted it."
They were both silent for a long while, her revelation echoing between them, hollow and hurt and…damn it, all she'd wanted to do tonight was forget about all of this crap anyways. Apparently, even gathering firewood was no longer a safe activity. She started to push up from the rock when he said her name.
"Emma? Can I tell you about one more constellation? Please. And then you can go back." The look in his eyes was like an invisible hand that grabbed onto her, the same look that kept surprising her again and again during this exhausting quest to get Henry back. And despite her brain telling her to say no, that she'd already given away too much tonight—or maybe because her brain was telling her exactly that—she nodded and sat back down slowly. Because her instinct was telling her yes.
He took a deep breath as if steeling himself for something, and then turned back towards the view in front of them. She did the same.
"Many years ago," he began, low and unhurried, drawing her in instantly, "before the kingdoms in my land had divided and when the gods still condescended to intermingle with mortals, there lived a king and his queen. He was brave and she, beautiful, and together they ruled with honor and justice and compassion.
"Then one day discord shattered their reign when war was declared on them. The king, duty-bound, left his beloved to sail away into battle. Every day she prayed to the gods for his safe return but dreamed visions of his death every night. She became desperate and in her despair, she cut her golden hair—" she didn't miss the way he'd paused slightly, "—as a sacrifice to appease the gods and guarantee him safe passage home. Indeed, the gods were so pleased by her offering that they hung it up among the stars showing the king the pathway home to her, that all sailors may find their way home…"
He trailed off, and the world seemed to still in the vacuum left after the lilt of his voice. Some part of her felt strangely bereft without it, yet there was something behinds his words that filled the void.
"Even now," he murmured, "even here in Neverland, I can see it; and if there were no Pan or magic binding us to this island, she would be able to guide my ship home."
Emma stared at the sky above them—she had to. She had to or else she would look at him—like she knew he was looking at her, and everything would…it would all…just…
She started when she saw him reach out towards her, heard the creak of his jacket as he did, and felt herself tense at what was coming.
(Did she want it? She didn't know right now. Not until they got Henry back.)
In the first time since they'd kissed, he touched her, his fingers running down a section of her hair, a tremble in them against her arm where he'd stopped.
Between her tremulous breaths, she heard whispered in that same voice that cast its magic earlier, "You are a savior, Emma."
And in his eyes—she noticed as her own finally met their pull—were firmaments of constellations and promises.
A/N cont.: I realize this is no longer in canon, strictly speaking. This is a piece I've had tucked away in my fanfic file since November. It's one of the first ideas I had, and I was always waiting for the right way to bring up the two elements at the very end of it—Killian's knowledge of the stars and his thing for Emma's hair. The last constellation is based on Comae Berenices. It's my headcanon, forever and forever, that Killian tells Emma about this constellation—this exact story—at some point in their relationship and that she keeps her hair long for the rest of her life because he loves it and she loves that he loves it, what it means for both of them.
Also, since I'd never planned on publishing this piece, I stole a couple of lines to include in my "Between the Shadow and the Soul." Because I can. ;)