there's mountains in my mind
I keep on trying to move them
and I'm just wasting time
cause you can't move a mountain
and they'll never move for you
there's gotta be more than this
"I... care about you, too. You know that, right?"
"I'm sorry."
The words from the conversation he'd had with Emma the week before repeat themselves over and over in Killian's mind, and he knows that soon enough, they'll drive him mad. He knows what the descent into insanity feels like, and he's fully aware of the beginning stages.
If only it were so easy to stop letting her voice fill his thoughts.
Along with her words, full of honesty and overpowering grief, comes the broken picture of the woman that he loves, sitting on the floor as if she is utterly defeated. A sense of longing accompanies the image, as he wishes he could just find her, pull her into his arms, and take away the pain she feels so deeply.
He's seen her upset. He's seen her doubtful of herself and unsure of what the future may hold. She's strong, though, his Swan, and she's proved it to him so many times, he stopped being surprised.
It's one of the things he admires most about her, and that list has gotten rather long.
He never imagined he would have to see her so devastated for such a prolonged period of time. It's understandable, of course. She's lost someone important to her, and there has to be a period of mourning. Killian knows all too well how that feels.
He knows better than anyone that a mourning period for someone important can go on for years. Even the toughest fall privy to its despair, no matter how much they try.
It makes him feel practically useless, because this hurt is much too deep.
This isn't a cut he can wash with rum and wrap a bandage around. This is not self doubt that he can take away with words full of assurances and faith. It's not a battle or a journey that friendly company and a helping hand can make easier.
This isn't something he can fix.
He hates that.
"We certainly have had our share of adventure this week, haven't we darling?" Killian says out loud to the Jolly Roger, patting the side of the ship. He pulls out his flask, taking a generous drink and welcoming the burn that accompanies the liquid down his throat.
"You alright, mate?"
"Yeah, I just... I have a really bad feeling about today."
Killian sighs, heading down to his quarter's and sitting down on his desk, his entire body feeling as heavy as his heart. Baelfire had been so adamant about the sense of dread he'd felt. Perhaps if Killian had listened to him, he could have saved him.
"As long as everything goes according to David and Emma's plan, I feel certain that things will work out alright."
"I don't know. I know it's a good plan and I'm sure Emma will be fine. I mean, she always is, but... I don't know. I just have this feeling like something bad is going to happen."
The scene is playing out in Killian's mind, the way Baelfire had stared off into the forest for the longest time before making eye contact again. He squeezes his eyes shut, downing another swallow of rum.
"I think maybe... we should promise each other that if something happens to one of us, the other makes sure Emma is taken care of."
"Emma takes care of herself, mate. She doesn't need one of us to do it for her."
"Just promise me. I'm promising you."
Killian had hesitated, but the sincerity and desperation burned into Baelfire's features were piercing, and so he had offered his hand.
"Promise, mate."
He should have bloody listened. Maybe circumstances would have worked out differently if he had.
Another toss back of the flask, and the scene becomes a little fuzzier. He swirls the liquid around in the container, thinking he definitely has enough that he can get drunk off of and forget, just for the night.
Nothing can be done about could haves or should haves. The past can't be rewritten.
But Killian desperately wishes that it could.
He sees Emma around the forest over the next few days, but he doesn't let his gaze linger on her for too long. His heart isn't ready for what would happen if she happens to feel his eyes on her and see him watching her. None of the scenarios he pictures in his mind are pleasant.
She seems fine to the naked eye, and the people greet her kindly with smiles that don't quite scream sympathy, but it's close enough. Emma is gracious, just as she always is, accepting their kindness with a smile of her own, but Killian can see the circles under her eyes. There's a tiredness in her features that he couldn't miss.
It's only been a week, he tells himself repeatedly. She still needs time to heal.
And she doesn't need him for that.
It doesn't make him feel any less bloody useless.
Her family has her well taken care of, and often, he sees her walking around with Henry on the beach or on a path near the castle. This is time that he knows they need, together, to mourn the loss of someone they cherished so deeply.
An intrusion would be bad form.
A few days later, he finally makes a visit to Baelfire's grave. It's a simple set up, as everyone agreed he would have wanted. There is no elaborate decorations or fancy arrangements.
It's perfect for him.
Killian sits down on the bench just beside the slab of stone, staring down at the small carved words. He'd done some of them himself, though that wasn't a well known fact. It hadn't needed to be.
Two names are listed first on the rock- the one Killian knows him by and the one Emma knew him by. Next is the years that he lived with a dash of immense meaning between the two numbers. Just under that are the simple words, "Father, Son, and Friend".
The scene painted seems so serene and peaceful, but the shadows of the stone and fresh dirt hide the pain and devastation that the death has wrought on the entire Enchanted Forest. Baelfire was a friend to the kingdom, and this loss is felt throughout the land.
"I should have listened to you," Killian whispers, feeling a bit silly for talking to a tombstone, but there are things he needs to say that he can't say to anyone else.
Because there is no one else that seems willing to listen for the time being.
"Perhaps... I could have done something if I had been paying more attention. I could have saved us all this trauma if I had taken heed to your words." His voice sounds strange to his ears, and he uncaps his rum and takes a sip. The alcohol offers a comforting warmth, the only one he can seem to find lately.
A temporary solution to a permanent problem is all it is.
He knows that, but he's denying it until he figures out another way to get by.
The answering silence around him is deafening, with not even the sounds that usually plague the forest reaching his ears. There are no noises of crickets or birds or other wildlife fluttering about.
Perhaps even they are aware that this is a time of deep sadness.
"Maybe if I had considered your words with more seriousness, I could have prevented Emma and the others from feeling the agony of this loss." Killian swallows thickly, closing his eyes tightly. "I'm sorry, mate."
He hates feeling like an apology isn't anywhere near enough.
I'm feeling scared for what I see
giving it all, trusting me
so I'll just breathe
Two weeks after Baelfire's death, Killian hears footsteps on his deck, and is surprised to find Emma walking about, her fingers lazily running along the sides of the ship, the wheel. Something is stewing just beneath her features. She stops at the wheel, leaning against the side of the ship just behind it, her hands braced on the railing.
"Where have you been?" she asks as he makes his presence known, pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the ship, crossing her feet in front of her.
He walks up to where she is, standing in front of her with brows furrowed. "I've... I've been here, love. I haven't gone anywhere."
Something twitches in her face, her lips pursing as she looks off her left shoulder, out into the sea. There's anger on her face, but it isn't the same anger that he saw the last time they spoke. This one is different. It's been brewing, and it isn't as rampant. It's cool and controlled, but burning bright enough to put a bit of fire behind her eyes.
She isn't just angry.
She's upset.
And she's showing it.
Killian tries to brush it off as her still missing Baelfire and still carrying the hurt that his death has caused, but there's something different about the emotion on her face, something boiling beneath the surface of her calm demeanor, and his stomach sinks.
He waits, though, unsure of what to say. She shakes her head after a moment, and when she turns back to him, there are tears in her eyes. The anger has muted since she looked away, but it's been replaced with something that resembles disappointment.
His gut twists uncomfortably as he braces himself for either yelling or a disappointed murmur, though he isn't sure which he would prefer.
"No..." Her head shaking is slightly more persistent. "Where were you?"
Her eyes lock with his, and suddenly awareness dawns on him like the crashing of waves on the shore before a storm. His entire being sinks like lead, his stomach dropping even further as he looks at her. "I... I was giving you the space I thought you needed... to grieve."
She scoffs, pushing herself off of the railing and past him, only to turn back to him, running her hand through her hair. "If I had wanted space, I would have asked for it. I thought you knew me well enough to know that."
Killian lets his gaze drift to the waters, his heart breaking. "I apologize, Emma. I didn't know."
"Of course not," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at the side of the ship. "God, I wish everyone would stop talking to me like I'm a toddler!" she suddenly exclaims, throwing her hands up and rolling her eyes, though it doesn't necessarily seem directed at him. Killian tries not to show how the angry words jolt him. Her fire is burning again, her temper flaring as she paces a little in front of him. "I'm not a three year old. I don't need this condescending sympathy that everybody wants to throw at me. Why does everyone think that, of all things, that is what I need?"
Killian opens his mouth as if to speak, but she continues. "I mean, I'm not some fragile piece of glass, I just want people to be real with me, but all I get from anyone anymore, if I even see people, is this stupid crappy excuse for comfort, and you've been avoiding me-"
"I have not been avoiding you," he blurts, stopping her rambles that consist of a lot of hand motions. "I have been trying to let you grieve on your own, and my apologies for not banging down your door to offer my company. The last time we spoke didn't exactly leave that door open very wide, did it?"
The second the bitter, spiteful words have left his mouth, he regrets them, because her entire face falls, and the anger fades so far into the depths of her that it completely disappears. He didn't mean it. He didn't want to upset her further. She swallows thickly, and he can almost see the regret tinting her features as she looks around, avoiding his eyes. As usual where she's concerned, he understands. This sudden appearance was not planned, and the walls that had been pushed down because she was upset are going back up.
And it's because he didn't think about his words before letting them leave his mouth.
"I'm sorry, that-"
"No." Her sharp tone effectively halts his attempts at an apology. He closes his eyes against the blunt force of the nearly spat word. "You're right. I didn't exactly leave a welcome mat all dusted off for you." She shrugs nonchalantly, still not meeting his eyes.
It doesn't matter, she's pushed the guard back up around herself.
"Are you..." He sighs, feeling as if anything he says now won't matter. "Are you alright?"
A nod of her head doesn't convince him, and her strong attempt at a fake smile are pointless. He knows before she's ever spoken. "I'm fine."
He looks at her, her eyes rimmed red and hair slightly tussled, as if it hasn't been well kept to. "Are you?"
The question is a genuine one, because he thinks it's important to know whether she truly has done all the mourning that she needs to. However, one look at her is enough to tell him that the answer is most certainly a negative. She shakes her head incredulously, as if daring him to fight back with her on the subject. "Yeah, I am."
She stands as if to leave, and he stops her, because he can't her leave like that. "Honestly, Swan, what is it that you want?" She freezes, her back to him as he sighs. "You should be well aware by now that there is not a thing I wouldn't do for you, but I can't do anything if you don't tell me what you want from me."
A moment passes before she turns slowly toward him, and there's something different in her expression all of a sudden. The look on her face scares him, but he doesn't have time to ponder it because a second later her hands are in his hair and her lips are on his, hard and demanding, and gods, that's definitely the last thing he expected her to do. She presses herself close to him, pushing her hips into his almost frantically.
Despite the shock of feeling her against him, his body automatically melts into hers in a way that arouses a sense of déjà vu, but then he puts his hand on her waist and pushes her away enough to separate them. "Emma." Her name falls from his mouth in a broken whisper. This is not, in any way, fair. "What are you doing?"
"You said anything," she reminds him, her own voice scratchy with raw emotion. Her eyes are still closed, her nose pressed against his as her fingers tug lightly at his hair.
"I don't want you to regret your actions," he tells her, swallowing thickly as she looks down, her lips pursed. When she meets his eyes again, there's even more of an edge in her gaze. It almost seems dangerous, toxic and destructive.
It's terrifying.
"Maybe I will," she says, shrugging. "But maybe I won't."
She's toying with him, and the pain that accompanies that realization stings, but he still doesn't push her body away from his. She takes a step closer so that their bodies are once again aligned, her lips only a breath away from him. Killian groans, hating himself even as his heartbeat quickens with the want that she seems intent on satisfying. "I..."
Emma brushes her lips against his ear, and any words he had planned disappear from his mind. "Please."
And gods, it would be so easy to let himself fall into her sweetly seductive touch and the persistence of her voice. He could give in and let her have it her way. It wouldn't be difficult, as she's practically putty in his arms. There would be little fight involved with giving in to her wishes.
It's the most effortless choice.
He takes a deep, steadying breath. "Emma, love, we can't." His soft murmur seems to pull her back to reality, and she blinks up at him, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth thoughtfully.
Willing every ounce of strength he has, he takes a step away from her, and her arms fall to her sides. He expects a fight, expects her to try once more, but she nods, closing her eyes as pain washes over her features.
"I know."
He wants to reach for her, and pull her to him to offer a comfort other than the one she was seeking, but she gives him an apologetic half smile that's more of a grimace before turning on her heel and leaving just as quickly as she had come.