Chapter Three: Surviving for You

….

This Romeo is bleeding

But you can't see his blood

It's nothing but some feelings

That this old dog kicked up.

It's been raining since you left me

Now I'm drowning in the flood

You see I've always been a fighter

But without you, I give up

~Always, Bon Jovi

….

Emma yawned, taking a sip of her coffee as she drove. She didn't know how long it had been, but night had long since descended. She'd discovered that when the road forked, she could take a look at her compass, focus her thoughts, and it would point down the road she should go. Now she took a look back up, and when the 18-wheeler in front of her moved, she saw towering buildings in the distance, reaching for the sky. "Great," she muttered to herself. "New York."

She pulled into the city after a while of looking for the right opening, relying on the compass to navigate her through the labyrinth of streets. Eventually the car got a bit too stuffy for her liking, and Emma gingerly rolled down the window of the bug. She expected smog and exhaust to assault her senses, but was instead greeted with the mouthwatering aroma of food wafting from several restaurants, the tang of sea air underlying it. Right, Emma thought, the Jolly Roger will be at the docks. She drove around for much longer, trying to find her way, only succeeding in getting more lost. She tried to consult the compass, but apparently traffic laws weren't part of its programming and it kept pointing down streets she couldn't go. Finally, as the sky was tinged pink and the sun peeked above light gray clouds, Emma found an empty pier, not too close or far to the rest of the city, that the compass was pointing straight at.

Stiffly she got out of the car and began to walk down the pier. Absolutely no boats were there. Is this thing out of batteries? Emma thought as she poked the compass while she walked, though the needle stayed true. As she continued forward she suddenly tripped, her shin striking what felt like a step, but when she turned after standing back up was only empty air. Tentatively Emma stretched out a foot, and she could feel the step. "Of course. A cloaking spell." With great care she used her hands and feet to find the other steps and railing, and began to climb the invisible stairs. When she reached the top and stepped forward again, suddenly there was a rush of air and she was aboard the visible deck of the Jolly Roger. It had never looked better. Wow, Emma thought. Regina did a nice job of fixing it. She looked around for a moment, and when she didn't see Hook, opened her mouth to call his name, the worry inside of her silencing it. What if he resents me? What if he doesn't have the bean, or he destroyed it? What if he doesn't care anymore? She shook her head vigorously, reminding herself this was an important mission, to save Storybrooke, and that she would not be swayed by her feelings for the pirate, whatever ache he may have left in her heart when he left. This is business, Emma repeated to herself in her head. Sure, if he wants to come back to Storybrooke, fine, but this is business. "Hook!" she called. "Hook! Come on, I know you're here. It's Emma!" When she yielded no answer, Emma threw up her hands and descended the stairs to below deck. The only light to be found was gloomy at best, and shadows danced on the walls. The boat rocked gently back and forth with the waves, but Emma still needed to spread her arms and brush either side of the wall in order to maintain balance. Once she reached the door to the Captain's cabin she was used to it, and cleared her throat before knocking loudly.

No answer.

Worry began to prickle in the pit of Emma's stomach, so she shoved opened the door and stepped inside without waiting any longer. Hook's room was a mess. Bottles upon bottles upon bottles of beer, liquor, and rum littered the plush carpet, and even more alcohol lay on the table. Hook's large, luxurious bed was unmade and unkempt, and at his desk in the corner, maps and books were strewn about. Emma moved cautiously closer to them, doing her best to avoid the empty bottles. She reached the desk and took a look at what Hook had been reading. The maps were of lands she had never heard of, colorful and vibrant illustrations faded from the wear of time decorating them. It seemed he had been looking over courses long since charted, and when Emma looked at some of the books on his desk, she gasped in surprise. Is that . . . Latin? Where did Hook learn to read Latin? Suddenly there was the creaking of footsteps, and Emma froze in place as Hook came up from the secret door to a small storage compartment adjacent to the cabin, one she'd long since found out about since her tenure on the Roger. He had jewlery all over him; pearl necklaces, golden and diamond engagement rings, and lots of cash cradled in his arms. He appeared to be counting it as he plopped it all on the table at grabbed a bottle of vodka, popping it open with his teeth and beginning to down it. He was wearing surprisingly normal clothes, with jeans and a T-shirt, on top of which was a blue vest, his brace and hook still in place. Hook was about to sit down, but Emma knew she had to make her presence known. She was just so suddenly unsure of herself, and all the worries that had attacked her on the deck came rushing back up.

But standing straighter and letting out a small cough, Emma sucked it up and spoke. "Hook?" Immediately he whipped around to face her, expression contorting into one of shock as he let go of the vodka bottle and fell to the floor with a shatter. Hook didn't even blink, and neither did Emma as she watched him. His initial surprise lasted all of a few seconds, before he broke out into the widest grin she had ever seen on him, genuine and happy, eyes that had been hollow filling to the brim with glee.

"Emma!" he exclaimed, taking a few steps closer and still smiling. "You're here."

"Where did you get all that money and jewelry?" Emma swallowed the smile she didn't realize she'd been wearing as well and crossed her arms, expression stern. Hook just kept smiling, and then shook his head as if to clear it.

"What? Oh that. A pirate needs to sustain himself, love." He shrugged indifferently, gesturing to the empty alcohol bottles, and Emma realized that he looked quite pale. The smile faded away from his face as he continued to look back at her, and suddenly looking for all the world like he was about to die of pain. Then he turned away and cleared his throat. "How's Henry?" he asked nonchalantly as he played with his hook.

"Fine," Emma replied. "He wanted to come with me."

"Of course he did. What of David?" Hook still kept his back turned, but his tone seemed to brighten at the mention of Emma's father.

"He's good too. Told me to tell you that you're still mates." Hook turned back to her, smiling again, but humorlessly, as if it were forced. Then his mouth straightened into a thin line, and he stared into Emma's eyes with what looked to be a mixture of misery, longing, and the slightest flicker of hope.

"Neal?" the word was soft, a question, but teeming with clear and bitter resentment for him.

"Uh," Emma was startled by Hook's intensity. "He's okay. We, er, we're kind of together." Hook smiled again, but this time it held malice and a cold abrasiveness.

"Right." Emma stepped closer to him, and reached out to cup his face. Hook flinched, but didn't pull away. "What're you doing, Swan?"

"How drunk are you?" Emma asked, concerned. She could feel the sweat on his face and see that his hair was damp with it, and heat rolled off of him in waves, eyes bloodshot. He also seemed strangely unsure on his feet. Only a few moments before he could navigate through the cluttered cabin with catlike grace, and now he could barely stand.

"Oh, I don't get drunk anymore, darling. Just been a bit sickly lately," he shrugged again.

"I'd say more than a bit!" Emma said, looking him up and down again.

"Why do you care?" he asked suddenly, blue eyes like chips of eyes rising to meet hers, burning with the question.

"Because I care about you," was all Emma could manage, voice barely above a whisper. Before she could say anything more though, the ship was rocked by a violent wave and Hook fell forward, Emma's arms the only thing holding him up. She realized he had become dead weight, and figured his fever was catching up to him. "Hook!" She fell to the ground with him as the boat steadied, unable to support his weight standing. "Come on Hook, wake up! Hook! Killian!" the name rolled off her tongue unintentionally, but felt natural and familiar when she finally said it. "Come on Killian, you're a survivor!"

"What's the use of surviving if you have nothing to live for?" Killian mumbled, laughing a hollow and empty laugh as he lay in her arms. The words tore Emma apart, and when he looked up at her, open and vulnerable and full of so much heartache, she almost sobbed herself. Instead she gently ran her hand across his cheek to reassure him, and began to try and lift him up. He grabbed onto part of the desk with his good hand to help her, and slowly they made their way over to the bed, where Emma let him lay down. He rolled gratefully onto the sheets, and Emma placed her hand on his forehead, feeling his temperature. He was still very hot.

"Okay, you've got a really bad fever," Emma told him as she sat on the sheets beside him. "I'm going to go into town and get you some medicine, so you can get better. Okay?" She got up and began to walk out of the cabin, but Killian grabbed her arm. She turned back to him, raising her eyebrows in question.

He looked back at her, expression pleading and vulnerable. "Please," he said, voice hoarse and low but at the same time intense and choked with emotion. "Don't leave me." Emma looked down at him, expression pained and torn. Her feelings overtook her, and she leaned in and gently kissed him on the forehead. When she pulled away, her hand was in his.

"It's okay," she soothed, regaining control of herself as she headed towards the door. "I'll come back."

As she marched away was almost out the door, she could've sworn she heard the smallest of whispers say, "I know."

….

When Emma came back, Killian was fast asleep. She prodded him awake in order to give him the antibiotics she'd purchased at the pharmacy, and made him drink tea. It wasn't just any tea, but a special kind she always brewed herself when she was sick, that helped her recover more quickly, soothed her throat, and didn't taste too badly either. Killian sipped his carefully, and it seemed like each swallow was an effort. But with patience and perseverance, Emma got him to drink the whole mug. Then she put an icepack on his forehead, and had another in her hand. "Where does it hurt?" she asked, and the groggy Killian slowly lifted his hand, resting it over his heart.

"Here."

Emma sighed with annoyance, pushing away the sympathy she felt for him. It was one of those fevers. The kind that made you hallucinate and act crazy. This is going to be a long night, she thought. "Alright," she said. "I've got to give you your medicine every four hours, so don't be annoyed if you hear the alarm on my phone. You should be better by tomorrow, and then it should be completely gone in a couple of days. I got you the heavy-duty stuff." All she got in response was a slight groan, as Killian was quickly falling asleep again. "Good night," Emma whispered, and made to walk out of the cabin again. But Killian had gotten his hand in hers somehow, and held on firmly. Sighing in resignation, Emma dragged the chair from his desk over to the bed, figuring it would be easier to monitor him from there. And so she sat, watching the peaceful sleeping pirate, none of her thoughts on what was supposed to be her current objective. A long night indeed.

In the morning, after several doses of the medicine with a name too long and boring to pronounce, Killian was up on his feet and had decided to change back into his old pirate garb. He'd prodded Emma awake, who insisted he go with her to get coffee. "I need something from you," Emma explained. "I can't have you sailing away." This seemed to offend Killian, and he'd stepped very closely to her, expression completely serious.

"Name anything you wish, and I will give it to you. I won't run. I won't leave you."

"You left me once," Emma had found herself saying, and Killian only shook his head.

"Can you really say that when you left me first?" And so to avoid the painful conversation, Emma got coffee by herself, returning to the Jolly Roger aware and caffeinated.

"I didn't know if you even like coffee," she said as she walked towards him on the deck. "So I got you tea."

He whipped around immediately, expression brightening. "Is it the tea you gave me last night?"

"No," Emma smiled. "I make that myself whenever I'm sick. You liked it?"

"It was great," he said, graciously accepting the tea and taking a tentative sip. Immediately he threw it over the side of the ship. "What, no rum?!" Emma laughed, and drank her own coffee beside him.

"So you've just been moping around for the last 19 months?" she finally asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Killian gulped.

"It took me over 300 years to get over Milah. Do you really think I could move on from you so easily?" He turned to her again, expression all too serious.

Emma had to look down at her coffee cup. "I meant in a life-capacity, not romance necessarily."

"So did I." Now it was Emma's turn to gulp. 'So did I'? She was his life? No, I can't think about this right now, she told herself. What am I here for? The bean. Get the bean.

"Regardless, I am here for something," she deflected, lifting her eyes to meet Killian's.

"And what might that be?" Suddenly Emma found herself telling him all about the tremors and power outages back in Storybrooke, sending Ariel, Ariel not coming back, thinking it might be connected to Pan, and a bunch of other, irrelevant things, like how to the compass led her to him.

". . . And, now I need the magic bean so we can go to Neverland and see what's really going on," she finished, out of breath. Killian had been listening intently, expression solemn.

"As you wish," was all he said with a small, playful smile as reached into his shirt and pulled out the bean, hung on a silver chain around his neck.

Emma was already unwillingly smiling at his choice of words, but now she found herself deeply touched. "You wear it?" she breathed.

"It's our symbol, isn't it?" he winked, carefully taking the chain off, and fastening it behind her own neck expertly even with his one hand. He moved a few steps closer, and soon his and Emma's breath was mingling, and her heart was racing as they stared into each other's eyes. His eyes were so very, very beautiful and deep, Emma was surprised to find; full of pain and a life too full of it, but also hope and affection. The necklace was fastened, but Killian still had his hand resting in her hair. Emma didn't know what to do. A very large part of her wanted to close the gap, but her walls were in the way and used the mission to save Storybrooke as an excuse. Still very confused, a voice made the decision for her.

"Emma?" Suddenly Killian drew away from her, murmuring, "Always a gentleman," and Emma whipped her head around to see Neal standing right in front of them on the deck.