A/N: I said this was only going to be a three parter. Well that was a blatant lie. (sorry not sorry)
This chapter is shorter and I toyed with the idea of coupling it with the next part, but decided against it in favor of giving you an update sooner, so I apologize in advance if it's a little lackluster. Most of this fic is inspired by the short little teaser we have of the next episode, so I've taken the scraps they've given us and put my own little twist on them.
Hope I don't disappoint.
As always, reviews and/or constructive criticism are always welcomed!
When Killian brought Emma back to Neal's apartment, things went very wrong, very fast. Her harsh retaliation against the things he was showing her hit him like a punch in the gut, winding him as his lungs struggled to breathe, and his brain labored to keep up with her frantic and hysterical protests.
He was still recovering from her almost violent outburst; he wasn't even sure how it happened.
As she drove them to the apartment, they quickly fell back into their old routine of jocular banter and wistful glances, conversation easily flowing between them, their chemistry and compatibility undeniable. Killian was feeling rather optimistic about the whole scenario and was convinced that once they'd arrived at the apartment, she'd finally heed his words and quit looking at him like he was a raving lunatic, hoping that she'd agree to drink the elixir and rediscover her lost life, reviving dormant memories.
Oh, how badly he had mistakenly predicted the turn of events that would unfold, his excitement at seeing her clouding his better judgment, preventing him from seeing the fallibility of his foolish plan before he'd set it into motion.
He'd shown her around the apartment, explaining to her exactly who Neal was – who she was and what her destiny as the savior had been – hoping that something here would spark her memory, that something would be familiar. She'd scoffed at him, brow furrowing with skepticism as she thumbed through the various objects that littered the room, learning more about the father of her son vicariously through his possessions. Killian saw the distant trace of pain and sorrow that were etched on her face, fear playing on her features as she observed Neal's room, lost in harrowing memories.
Killian had been speaking to her – telling her of her parents, the Enchanted Forest, Storybrooke and the curse that plagued its inhabitants – when he heard her sharp inhale, the small trip of her steps as she stumbled. Voice falling silent, he turned to look at her, curious at what had attracted her attention.
And really, he should have known that bringing her here was an imprudent decision, should have known from the moment he heard her frightened gasp that something was amiss, something wasn't right, that he was moments away from scaring her off. He never should have brought her to Neal's – stupid, stupid thing to do, he berated himself.
The color drained had from her horrified face, looking as if she'd just seen a ghost, frozen to her spot, paralyzed with fear. Calling her name in question, he'd watched her warily as her trembling fingers reached for a dream catcher that hung in the window, the beads dangling from the feathers sparkling as they reflected the sunshine. When she finally touched the talisman, a thousand different emotions flashed rapidly through her face in quick succession, her jaw clenching and unclenching as she ground her teeth, her eyes shining brilliantly with unshed tears.
"I have to go," she'd whispered, tearing her hand away from the suddenly offensive object, and she pulled the lapels of her coat snugly against her as she ran for the door, ducking her head to avoid his questioning stare.
"Emma, wait!" Killian had called after her, reaching to grab her arm before she could run away from him.
"Don't fucking touch me," she'd hissed at him through clenched teeth, eyes glinting dangerously. He flinched at the abruptness of her powerful, angry tone and snapped his hand away from her, holding both arms up in submission as she leveled him with her gaze, all dripping venom and volatile emotion.
And before he could offer any more protest, she'd hurried out of the apartment, slamming the door forcefully shut behind her, hurried footsteps resonating in the hall. He was seeded to his spot in the apartment for several long moments, still absorbing what had just happened, confusion and curiosity slowing his train of thought, still reeling from her vicious attitude. Turning his expectant gaze to the door, he'd waited for her to turn on her heel and come back to him, muttering half-hearted excuses and apologies.
Only, she never came back.
And now, here he stood, alone in Bae's bloody apartment, long abandoned and forgotten, just like he was, and it was suiting that he should be here in a tragically poetic sense.
Legs finally remembering how to move, Killian walked to the dream catcher, running his fingers against the grain of the feathers, ruffling and displacing the fine, downy hairs as he contemplated the ornament, brow creased in deep thought.
Funny how so small a thing could provoke such a strong reaction.
Tilting his head slightly, he scratched at his jaw, the stubble catching on his blunt fingernails, and his eyes were drawn by a movement outside of the window, a flash of red as Emma jogged to her car. Humming to himself, he watched as she shot a quick glance up to the window, staring directly at him for a fraction of a second, their eyes meeting in a tense stare, fear and resistance reflecting in her irises, before she stepped into her car and stole her way down the road.
A sad smile tugged at his lips and he gnawed at the inside of his cheek, blue eyes following her vehicle as it disappeared around a corner, hidden by large buildings and crowded streets. Though she'd left, rather angrily, he mused, Killian knew that the first hint of doubt brewed in her mind, corrupting her thoughts, making her second-guess the life she lived, the reality she thought she always knew. He'd cracked through her tough exterior, a hairline fracture spindling in her impenetrable walls, weakening its foundation.
He'd waited a year to see Emma again – crossed through an impossible rift, swam across the divide that separated their worlds, achieved the impossible so that he could find her. His Swan would return to him, Killian consoled himself, because deep in the core of his heart, of his soul, he still believed that this was it – it was True Love. He desperately clung onto the hope, refusing to admit defeat, adamant that he'd come through to her, that what they had shared meant something. She'd remember when she was ready, when the time was right, when she decided to quit being so bloody stubborn and allow herself to accept the truth.
It would only be a matter of time, and he would wait for her, as he'd always wait for her, until he drew his last breath.