Killian focused on the tip of his hook as he slowly ground it into the wood of his desk. There was many a mark from his hook like that; all of them slow, impatient, meticulous marks. It was a method he had developed to restrain himself from becoming violent and to ease his restless, busy mind. Many times when he was strategizing or fuming about one thing or another, he'd sit at his desk and place the tip of his hook onto its wood, which had been previously magnificent before he had obtained the hook, and he'd slowly ground it out, gouging holes into it. Depending on each situation and how troubled his mind was, each hole differed in size. Some people paced, some tapped their feet, while others tapped their fingernails. Killian Jones had a hook and a desk.

He sat at his desk, waiting for a troublesome blonde to regain consciousness. She could remain out for several more hours, perhaps even days; there was no way of knowing exactly how long it'd be. Killian glanced at Emma, her pale face slack and the rest of her looking as if she were on her death bed. She still appeared like a drowned kitten even though Snow had gotten her out of her wet clothes. He scowled at himself, angry that she was in that state. Instead of attacking something like he wanted to, he dug his hook further into the wood, trying his damnedest to puncture the inflation of guilt and fear that grew quickly inside of him. It was to no avail. It just continued to grow continuously with every thought, every glance, and every memory. Everything kindled his guilt fire. The memory didn't only inspire guilt, but fear. He could remember it so very clearly.

He'd quickly raced to the ship, praying to the gods that he'd meet no interference or attack by the Lost Boys. He must have struck some cord of luck, for he'd made it to the Jolly Roger with little difficulty beside the fact that he was running, with a woman dying in his arms. Of course, he couldn't consider any part of the situation lucky because no matter what happened, he still held a dying Emma. She was very close to leaving him; he had to constantly jostle her and persuade her to keep her eyes open, knowing that if she slipped back into unconsciousness, she might not ever return.

Waiting on the ship was a disgruntled pair, Snow and the Evil Queen. He could hear them bickering, throwing snide comments at each other before he even reached the ocean's shoreline. Their voices were loud and carried over the silent woodland. Had he been in a different situation, he would have chastised them for drawing attention to them. Yelling at the Evil Queen and Snow for being childish was the last thing on his mind. He had a slowly fading Emma in his arms that he needed to take care of.

Killian knew that they weren't scheduled to rendezvous for hours yet and that the pair on the ship would sense something was wrong. They continued bickering until Killian came into their view. They talked amongst each other, probably wondering why they were back so early. He wasn't concerned or even paying attention to them, just rushing to the boat that would take him to the ship. Once they noticed the disorientated blonde in his arms, though, they ceased conversation altogether.

"Oh my God, Emma!" Snow screeched in fear; the sound of her terrified voice had made the hairs on Killian's neck stand on end. He couldn't focus on it though, ignoring anything that would delay him as he tried to get Emma to the ship. He had shoved into the longboat, ready to paddle as fast as he could up to the ship. As he was about to row, the boat had suddenly lurched forward, sailing him across the water, saving him from the task. He had glanced up to see the Evil Queen focused on the boat with a hand outstretched.

It was with great difficulty that he managed to get up the Jacobs ladder, but he hauled her up onto the ship as fast as he could with only one hand.

Snow had proceeded to yell hysterically—a lot. Killian didn't even throw any answers out, just rushed to his cabin, lying Emma's frail and damaged body on the bed. He blurted out instructions to Snow to keep Emma awake before turning to the other side of the cabin. His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he scarcely even heard his own fearful thoughts as he searched through his cabinets, looking for the antidote to the mermaid's venom. He broke a few things during his search, but paid little attention to any of it.

"What happened?" Snow asked once again as tears formed in her eyes, her voice raising a few octaves as she focused on keeping Emma awake.

He frantically searched through everything on the shelves; he answered curtly and absentmindedly, "Mermaids got to her."

Snow must have gotten the message that he couldn't focus on the conversation and didn't want to talk because she didn't push him for any more of an explanation. She just remained by Emma's side, lightly tapping her face, talking to her as Emma mumbled nonsense.

At last he found the bottle with the antidote and he ran to Emma's side. Snow stepped aside, letting him beside her.

"Emma, you have to drink this," he cooed against her, brushing hair out of her face with his hand, trying not to scare her in her disorientation.

"I don't want rum," she mumbled, meekly trying to push him away. He let out a breathy chuckle, unable to stop himself. Only Emma Swan would accuse a man of trying to intoxicate her while they were trying to save her life. Snow cried, hysterically urging Emma to drink it, not knowing what it was for, but assuming it was to make her daughter better. Killian didn't fall into hysteria, knowing that was no way to approach someone who was confused and disorientated.

"It's not rum, darling. It's going to help you feel better."

"Like NyQuil?"

"Yes, like NyQuil," Killian agreed smoothly, throwing a confused side glance at Snow. He had no idea what the bloody hell NyQuil was, but he'd agree to anything this woman said to get her to drink the antidote. Normally he found her stubborn tendencies almost enduring, a charm to the bracelet that was her character, but at the moment he found it frustrating.

She begrudgingly drank it then, like a child who didn't want to drink their milk. Killian poured more and more down her throat, even as she protested and almost gagged. He urged her to hold it down even though the antidote wasn't the most enticing drink. He made absolutely certain that she had more than enough to cure her. He'd waste his whole damn supply just to see that this woman would live.

After consuming the antidote and trying to ask nonsense questions, she fell into unconsciousness once again, which he knew would happen. The first time he had used the cure he'd thought it hadn't worked when his crew member's eyes rolled back into his head and he was out cold. Hours later, the man had awoken to his relief. That was the case for everyone who used the antidote after that. It varied from man to man, and in Emma's case woman, how long it'd take the antidote to take effect; some'd take minutes, some'd take hours, sometimes even days. In the end, each was cured.

It was just a matter of waiting from that point on; waiting to see if she would regain consciousness. She should wake up, she should be fine, but Killian had never dealt with anyone who had been so close to death despite the mermaid's venom-when his men were infected with the poison, that was all that was wrong with them.

That's how he ended up studying the tip of his hook.

Snow was by her daughter's side, worried to death and looking as if she'd been the one who was poisoned with mermaid venom. The Evil Queen had returned above deck to keep watch and make sure the Crocodile and Charming returned to the ship safely. Killian sat at his desk, absolutely fuming as he watched his hook. The hook's tip was still insanely sharp, despite his continuous grounding of it. He watched as it cut into the wood, as it shaved off layers. This hole was by far the deepest he had ever gouged, even deeper than his days of revenge. It was almost cliche, but these holes seemed so much deeper because they dug so deep that it punctured his heart.

He let Emma get into danger. She could have died—she could still die. He was supposed to be their guide, their handbook on Neverland, her protector. He was supposed to protect her from any harm. By neglecting to observe a situation, he'd let her down. Emma was hurt and in pain because of him; she was fighting death's summon because of him. Despite the fact that she could take care of herself, she wasn't accustomed to facing down monstrous creatures. She was used to humans and sleezeballs; not magical creatures and their malicious trickery. He knew that, should have realized that, should have taken more precautions. She deserved so much more of him. Despite having been on the island for three months, he shouldn't have slackened his attentiveness and worries.

It didn't matter that the mermaids were known to never venture into the dark bays. It didn't matter that he was merely 30 meters away as she swam back to shore. It didn't matter that he risked his neck to save her. It didn't matter that he did everything he could. None of that mattered. He should have done more.

Suddenly, distant noises could be heard. Footsteps to be precise.

"What happened to Emma?" Charming yelled, presumably at Regina. Charming's misguided and angry voice could be heard from below deck as if he were standing right in Killian's cabin.

Both Snow and Killian looked up, eyes going from the ceiling to look expectantly at the door, both knowing that the prince would soon come barging in. Snow looked worried, but Killian looked up wearily. The protective daddy was about to come. That persona rubbed Killian in the wrong way—it seemed just a tad hypocritical in Killian's opinion; that man can send Emma to another realm when she's merely a babe fresh in the world but gods be damned if another man throws an innocent flirtatious remark at her.

Loudly Charming barreled down the stairs in the most ungraceful and uncaring manner. Regina must have told him what happened to Emma, or at least informed him that she wasn't in the best condition. Not moments later, the doors flew open and Charming was bursting in, looking ragged and worn-and fearful like a broken man.

"Where's Emma?" The anxiety in his voice was palpable, his eyes going from Killian to Snow to his daughter. Immediately, Snow jumped to her feet, stepping in front of Emma, not protectively like she was worried what Charming would do, but as if to block Charming's view and shield him from the unwanted sight. She didn't want Charming to see the weak body that was his daughter. She wanted to spare him the grief and heartache that she (and Killian) had to endure

"David," Snow began, putting her hand up to Charming's chest, stopping him from advancing any further, "She's going to be fine."

Charming only spared her a glance, a moment's consideration of her words before he continued on his path. He looked past Snow and saw Emma's fragile body, and despite Snow's assurance that Emma would be fine, his face fell.

"Emma," Charming choked out, rushing towards Emma. All Killian's annoyance with Charming's overprotectiveness drained as his eyes landed on Emma once again, reminding him of what Charming was trying to protect; of what Killian had failed to protect. Killian watched with a heavy and guilty heart as Charming knelt next to Emma. Snow, despite feeling her own fear and unease, stepped up and placed a soothing hand on Charming's shoulder to provide what little comfort she could. Each was a stone when the other wavered.

Though Killian had felt included in the group during their trip, he felt like he was intruding in an intimate moment, a moment he shouldn't be a part of. He watched for a few moments longer, the guilt building inside him as he saw the pain it caused Charming and Snow. He couldn't bare it anymore; he left the room, seeking the deck and his helm for some little semblance of his own comfort. He needed his own stone which was his ship that had endured with him through his 300 years. He wasn't in denial, though-he would only relax and be relieved when his blonde beauty woke up and was throwing sarcastic remarks at him.

The Evil Queen and the Crocodile remained on the deck, much to Killian's dismay. He emerged from below and they both ceased their chatter, eyes turning toward Killian—Regina's eyes didn't hold anything in them besides slight annoyance, but the Crocodile's eyes had the darkness of man who thought he was looking at the lowest scum that crawled the Earth. He shot a glare at the crocodile, but did nothing else.

Besides their stares, they left him to his own thoughts as he made his way to the helm. Killian tried to ease his mind and worries as he looked out to the densely wooded island and porcelain blue skies, but all it served was to anger him further—the picturesque scene was mocking him. It tried to deceive one into believing that happiness could be found in it's luscious woods, beautiful trees, and inviting beaches-but it was only pain that could be found. Pan and his island were mocking them all, but they targeted Killian in particular. They mocked him the worst by never failing to reveal his inadequacies.

Killian's eyes eventually drifted down to the waters—the clear, crystalline waters. The water was so vibrant with the marine life you could see below its depths. It was so easy to see the life that prospered beneath the surface. These were the waters where the mermaids were supposed to be. It was so very strange that mermaids were in the bay. Behaviors had always been something Killian could catch on to and evaluate; behaviors always stayed the same, behaviors were a constant, behaviors were something you could rely on. Why would the vain things be in a place that hid them? They were attention seekers; praise of their beauty is what fed them. Despite the dark waters matching their personality, Killian couldn't think of anything that connected the two. His mind jumped from theory to theory as he tried to discern the reason for mermaids' uncharacteristic behavior. He became more frustrated by the second.

Only an hour passed before Charming emerged from below decks and was at the helm before Killian.

"What happened to my daughter?" Charming demanded, his stance meant to be threatening. He was red in the face with anger—surely covering up the amount of terror he felt that his only daughter had almost died.

"She was attacked by mermaids," Killian answered with a glare. He may feel guilty, but pride was one of his choice sins and he would not be bullied by Prince bloody Charming.

"How was she attacked by mermaids? Weren't you with her?" Charming questioned again.

Killian wasn't in the mood to be berated, he wasn't in the mood to share intimate details. He did feel bad for the prince, even understood where his hotheaded actions were coming from, but Killian had his own things to work through. He quickly spat out the bare minimum of the story of the day's events, sparing Charming the details.

"We were searching the woods for clues and she fell into the bay. To make it to the shoreline to meet her, I had to cut back into the woods and when I got there she was gone. I dove in and retrieved her and the mermaids poisoned her as I was getting her out," Killian relayed. Of course, he left out the parts of the flirting, the heart-wrenching fear, the feeling of her cold lifeless body, the fight with death's grip, all the pain.

"You didn't think to warn her about the mermaids?" Charming hissed, advancing towards the pirate.

"I thought there was no need," Killian said with narrowed eyes, growing more insulted by Charming by the second. He was already buried with his self-loathing; he didn't need this as well.

"No need? She almost died and you thought there was no need to tell her?" Charming said in an outrage.

"I know! I know she almost died! I am painfully aware that we almost lost her!" Killian bellowed, walking towards the railing of the ship, avoiding Charming's eyes. Killian didn't like to show anyone that he was affected by anything, but bloody hell, he was more than affected by Emma. "The bloody mermaids stay out in these open waters. They are known to never go in the dark bays. And I mean never. They are vain and live off of men's affections. They don't go to places where their beauty is hidden. That's why I felt like there was no need."

He gripped the railing hard releasing some of his rage as he stared out to the sea and hissed to himself, "It makes no bloody sense."

Charming came up beside him on the railing, gripping the railing similarly to Killian, his eyes staring out towards the sea. An acceptable silence lingered between them, but Killian was burning waiting to hear Charming's reaction. The man had every right to remain angry, to hate his bloody guts. Killian had the exact same feelings. Charming let out a broken sigh.

"I…I just don't know what I'd do if we lost her," Charming finally said.

Killian thought silently Me Either.