Author's note: This is the last of the "slow" chapters. Things really get going after this, I promise. Just bear with me (and my muse, lol). Read, review, all that jazz. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: As Killian would say, not bloody likely.

"No!" he screamed, struggling against his bonds.

Rumplestiltskin smiled hatefully at Milah as he plunged his heart into her chest. She cried out as he pulled her glowing heart out and clutched it in his palm. Frantic, Killian used a nearby hook to cut the ropes that bound him and rushed to her side. Thunder crashed in the darkening sky, but it barely registered. Cradling her in his arms, Milah's blue eyes were wide with fear as she looked up at him. "It's okay," she said. "Promise me something, Killian."

His throat constricted painfully, tears welled in his eyes. "Anything," he whispered. Fat drops of rain started to fall, blurring his vision.

"Protect her," Milah said. "She needs you."

Killian looked at his love, confused. "Who, love?"

Weakly, Milah shook her head. "Promise me, Killian."

Still confused, he nodded.

"How touching," Rumplestiltskin spat. Killian looked on in horror as the demon crushed Milah's heart between his fingers, the dust falling to the ground.

His eyes flew back to Milah. With her last breath, she said. "I love you."

Killian's eyes flew open, his breathing coming in gasps. It had been so long since he'd had that nightmare. For decades it had haunted him. Gradually, as Milah's memory faded and all he was left with was the hate, the nightmare had faded as well. It had been replaced by others, just as terrifying. But this one was...wrong. There had been no storm the day Milah died. And she certainly hadn't had him promise her anything. She'd barely had enough breath to tell him she loved him, thanks to her demon of a husband. It was confusing and painful to say the least. As his breathing slowed, Killian reached across for Emma. She was gone. Still unsettled by the nightmare, Killian needed to see her, hold her, remind himself that she was real. He climbed out of the bed and pulled on his trousers. He didn't bother with a shirt, finding Emma was more important than some momentary discomfort from the chill.

After peaking in the galley and finding no trace of Emma, Killian went topside. Sure enough, there she was, standing near the capstan. Relief flooded through him. She was wearing only his shirt; the hem fluttered enticingly around the tops of her thighs. Quietly as not to disturb her thoughts nor burden her with his troubles, he walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"It's early," she murmured quietly.

"Aye," he confirmed. "Chilly too, love. And you are hardly dressed."

Emma turned her head and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you complaining?" she teased.

Every second he held her, the nightmare became less and less of a concern. Emma was here and she was all he needed. "Hardly. I'd just hate for you to spend the rest of our weekend sick."

"You know that's a myth, right? Cold weather in and of itself does not cause sickness."

"If you say so, love."

Emma pressed herself closer to him. "I'm warmer now, anyway."

Killian groaned. "We'd be even warmer in our cabin, you know."

"But I like it out here; it's peaceful."

Killian understood what she meant; out here, with nothing but the sea for company, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. You could be your own master, create your own destiny. It was one of the things Killian loved best about the sea. And for someone like Emma, whose life had been largely laid out for her against her will, that freedom was a strong pull. It was just another way they were perfectly suited to one another.

He tightened his grip on her. "I love you, Emma. So much."

Emma ran her hands over his forearms, goosebumps rising on his skin in their wake. "Every time I think I'm used to hearing you say that, I realize I'm not."

"I don't say it enough," he replied honestly.

Emma twisted in his arms, facing him. "You can't be serious. You tell me every day. At least once. If anything, I'm the one who doesn't say it enough."

He gazed steadily into her blue green eyes. "I could say it every minute of every day and it still wouldn't be enough."

Emma's eyes brimmed with tears, but she blinked them away stubbornly. His brave, stubborn lass; there were still times that she could not comprehend the intensity of what he felt for her. Of just what having her love and trust meant to him. "Is this because of Milah?" she asked gently.

He blinked in surprise, wondering how she could possibly know about his nightmare. That's when he realized she didn't have to know about his nightmare, she just knew him. There was no jealously in her gaze, only understanding. Killian swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and averted his eyes, staring out at the sea. "I didn't tell her. Not when it counted. She was dying in my arms and...I just couldn't. And I'll never get the chance to make it right. It's not a mistake I wish to repeat."

Emma placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. "Hey," she said seriously, "if she's anything like me, then she knew. She died trying to protect you, Killian. She wouldn't have done that if she didn't believe in her heart that you loved her."

Protect her. She'll need you. "I should have been the one protecting her," he argued.

"From what you've told me, Milah was a smart, tough woman who knew what she wanted out of life. I may not agree with all of her choices, but protecting the man she loved? That I get. A relationship is a two way street, Killian. You protect each other. It's not an either/or kind of thing. We've saved each other plenty of times now. And knowing our crazy lives, I'm sure we'll do it again. There's nothing I wouldn't sacrifice for you, Killian. Or Henry. Or my parents. I've spent too many years alone. I won't be that person again. Not if I can prevent it. So you're just gonna have to deal with that."

Killian crushed her against his chest. "I don't deserve you, Emma Swan."

Emma smiled against his skin. "I didn't think I'd ever have this," she said. "After Neal, I didn't think I could. It hurt too much. But then this pirate came barreling into my life and somehow knocked down every wall I had like they were nothing."

Killian chuckled. "Sounds like a persistent fellow. Should I be jealous?"

Emma leaned up and kissed him. "Probably. He's mind blowingly great in bed too."

"Mind blowing, huh? We'll have to see what we can do about that. Because I'm not giving you up, love."

With that, Killian picked her up once again and carried her off to their cabin, Emma's joyous laugh sailing out across the water. His nightmare was completely forgotten.

"Why do you always act like I can't walk anywhere?" Emma pouted as he threw her down on the bed once more.

Killian tucked a spare blanket under the gap at the door, intent on keeping out the lingering chill. He didn't want to leave their room again. "You say that, darling," he drawled, "but secretly I think you love it."

"In your dreams, buddy," she countered.

He nodded. "Frequently."

Emma rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

"And yet you love me," he argued, looming over her.

"I'm beginning to rethink that," she deadpanned.

"Well, we can't have that now," he said, before capturing her lips with his own. He poured everything he felt for her – love, gratitude, awe, wonder – into the kiss. Emma moaned into his mouth, bringing her hand behind his neck to pull him closer. She slid her tongue over his, guiding him over her with his body. She clung to him, her kisses echoing his increasing passion for her. His good hand ran down her torso, over her hip and along her leg, drawing it up around his hip. Emma ground her hips into his as he kissed along her jawline.

"Easy, love," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."

"How do you always do this to me?" she gasped. "I just want you. I've never wanted anyone the way I always want you."

So it wasn't just him. Their physical connection was potent from the moment they met, despite their best efforts to avoid it or brush it off. But it paled in comparison to the reality. Killian knew it from their first kiss all those months ago, when she bandaged his shoulder. It had been like any kiss he'd ever had and looking back at it now, that's when he knew he was completely lost to her.

"I know, Emma. I feel it too. I've never felt anything like it before."

Emma looked at him with incredulous eyes. "Really?"

"One day I will make you understand just what it is I feel for you, Emma. I don't care how long it takes."

Emma dragged his mouth to hers and kissed him fervently. She pulled back a fraction and said, "Make love to me, Killian."

Killian flashed her a grin, before kissing her once more. Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging on it with increasing pressure. He moaned, thrusting his still clothed hips toward hers involuntarily. Impatiently, he pushed his shirt up her body; he wanted to feel her skin under his fingertips. It was moments like this he was frustrated by the loss of his left hand. Until Emma, he'd accepted it as part of himself, as punishment. But now...he longed to have two hands to touch her with. Emma never complained, never talked about it. He knew that she accepted him as he was and it meant the world to him. But that didn't make the desire to love her as a whole man go away.

Emma rained kisses along his throat; he groaned when her lips brushed the sensitive spot along his collarbone. "Gods," he whispered. She smiled against his skin and repeated the action. Desire shot straight through him; he couldn't take this torment much longer. He needed to be inside her. He reached down between them and freed himself of his pants, kicking them to the floor. Killian rolled them over and urged Emma to sit up. Obligingly, she straddled his hips, teasing him with her wet folds.

"Emma," he ground out.

She didn't say anything, but she regarded him with near black eyes as she continued to torment him. Then she bit her lip and lifted his shirt over her head. The gold coin he'd given her rose and fell as she breathed, glinting in the morning light. Killian reached up and ran his hand over it and along the chain. Until he could give her something more permanent, it was the symbol of what she meant to him and how she'd changed his life that day in the Enchanted Forest. His hand came to rest over her heart; Emma looked down and pressed her hands to his. Then one trailed down his arm and came to rest over his rapidly beating heart.

"I love you," she said.

He stared at her, the love she had for him swimming in her eyes as clear as the ever rolling waves of the ocean. Emma chose that moment to extend their connection, as she rose up slightly and took him into her wet heat. Neither moved, caught up in the power of the moment. They were connected in every way, physical, emotional, spiritual. Killian couldn't help but think that this was what True Love felt like; he opened his mouth to tell her so, but Emma placed a finger on his lips. The look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know; she felt it too.

Emma placed both hands on his chest and started to rock above him. Killian fought to keep still; he wanted her to set the pace. He was mesmerized by the sight of Emma rising and falling over him, her blonde hair falling in a curtain across her face. She bent down to capture his lips; he brushed her hair back carefully with his hand and hook. A thin sheen of sweat covered their skin as Emma continued to undulate in his lap. The need to slam his hips into hers was nearly unbearable; as if sensing his frustration, Emma grabbed his right hand and brought it to her hip.

"Take what you want, Captain."

Killian wasted no time, rolling them over once more. He only slipped out of her for a second, but it was a second too long. He took her roughly, swallowing her cry with his mouth. Emma ran her fingers along his spine, her nails lightly scratching his skin. A fresh frisson of desire coursed through him and his grip on her hip tightened to nearly bruising force. Emma made no complaint; she merely clutched at him, almost as if should could not get him close enough.

"Faster," she panted. "So...close."

Killian did as she asked, helpless to do anything but give her what she wanted. Soon he could feel her inner walls begin to flutter around him, then she was there. "Fuck!" she yelled, her eyes squeezed shut as she came apart underneath him. Killian gasped at the stranglehold she had on him, just on the edge of his own release. He pushed through it and cried out as spilled himself inside her.

Killian pressed his forehead to hers; their pants intermingling. "Gods, love," he muttered when he regained some semblance of speech.

"Yeah."

He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before rolling off her. Emma didn't move, her chest rising and falling steadily. Carefully, Killian laid his head on her chest, next to her heart. He could hear it beating rapidly, echoing his own. Gradually, it started to slow. Killian stretched his left arm across her stomach and closed his eyes. He didn't sleep; he just wanted to be close to her. He could feel Emma's fingers drawing lazy patterns along his back and he hummed contentedly.

Killian wasn't sure how long they laid there, but it wasn't long enough. There was never enough time when it came to her. But their bodies didn't seem to care; Emma's stomach rumbled.

"Ignore it," Killian mumbled. He was betrayed though when his own rumbled loudly.

"When was the last time you ate?" Emma muttered.

"Don't know," he replied. "But I don't want to move."

Emma sighed. "Well, neither do I, but we can't stay in bed all day."

"Why not?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Killian raised his head. "Still, darling?" he smirked. "Insatiable, you are."

She swatted at him playfully. "As much as I would like round...I'm not even sure, honestly," she replied, blushing, "I was talking about food."

"Food is overrated." But just as he spoke, there was a distant clap of thunder. Reluctantly, Killian sat up. There weren't storms in the forecast for this weekend; he had checked. But he knew that meant little at sea; squalls could pop up at any time with very little warning.

Emma immediately noticed his apprehension. "What is it?"

"Storm's coming."

"Is that bad?"

Emma still had very little time at sea, comparatively speaking; Killian had never taken her out when the skies threatened to weep. Until she had more experience, it was just a bad idea all around. Killian got out of the bed and started to dress. With just him, it was going to take some time to get everything squared away.

"Killian?" Emma asked, interrupting his mental checklist. "You never answered me."

"Sea squalls can be nasty, love. There's a good chance that it's a small one and will pass us by soon enough, but there are still some things I need to square away, just in case."

"You mean like 'batten down the hatches'?"

"Something like that, aye."

"Can I help?"

He thought. There were dozens of things that needed to be done on deck, none of which Emma had done before. If Henry were here...but he wasn't. No matter, Killian could do those by himself. The room swayed; the seas were getting rougher. There wasn't much time now. But Emma wouldn't be happy doing nothing; then it came to him.

"Do you remember how to secure the portholes?"

"Yeah."

"Head below and make sure all the portholes are closed. Check carefully, with these high seas they need to be good and tight. Then I'll meet you down in the galley; we'll have some lunch while we wait this out, yeah?"

Emma was out of the bed before he finished. "Be careful, okay?" she said, kissing him quickly.

"Not to worry, love. Been through hundreds of storms. This is nothing."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Liar, Emma thought as she looked out the porthole. She'd done as Killian asked, gone below decks to close the portholes. She peaked out each one before she closed it and the sky was getting progressively darker. It didn't look like a small storm to her. Thunder boomed again and Emma flinched. She wasn't afraid...yet. She trusted Killian's seafaring instincts. But the lack of solid ground under her feet was not exactly comforting at the moment. Emma moved the next porthole, determined not to look, but failing miserably. This time instead of the sky, Emma focused on the sea. That was a bad idea. The gently rolling sea of that morning was now a frothing pitching mess. Waves broke against the hull of the Jolly Roger with increasing frequency. They were past the magical barrier to Storybrooke; if they sank, no one could come look for them. And they couldn't exactly call the Coast Guard to ask them to be on the lookout for a pirate ship. The deck rolled violently again; Emma braced herself against a nearby beam. She was being silly; they weren't going to sink. Shaking her head, Emma closed the last porthole, studiously ignoring the black clouds that rolled ever closer.

Emma made her way to the galley in record time; she only got lost once. Killian was nowhere to be found. She lit a couple of the lanterns to make sure. Extorting herself not to worry, Emma started digging around for something to eat. Her lips quirked up when she saw the peanut butter and jelly. Good old fashioned PBJ. Emma found the bread in another cupboard and studiously began making sandwiches. On the third one, Emma heard the heavens open. Rain lashed the ancient, enchanted wood. More thunder cracked, closer now. She tried to remember that trick for gauging how far away lightening was, but realized it was useless. She couldn't actually see anything from the galley; there were no windows. Without a thought, she stopped making sandwiches, unable to focus until Killian turned up.

She tried checking her watch, but cursed when she saw that she'd forgotten it in her haste. Emma was about to go when the door to the galley opened. Killian stepped through it, soaked to the bone. "Oh my god," she cried.

"I'm fine, Emma," he assured her. "Just a bit wet."

There was a gash on his forehead, right at his hairline. "You are not fine," she countered. "What happened?"

Killian raised his good hand to his forehead; he seemed surprised when his fingers came away bloody. "Took a bit of a header into the cathead during a particularly violent pitch of the deck. It's nothing."

"The what?" Emma asked, looking for something to clean up the blood.

"Cathead. It's what the anchor hangs from."

"Oh. Is that all?"

"Of course, love. I told you, it's nothing," he hissed as she dabbed his wound with some alcohol she found. "Please tell me you're not wasting perfectly good rum on this," he joked.

"So your rum is good enough for my hand, but not your head?"

"Exactly. A princess's wounds are always more important than a dirty old pirate's."

Emma rolled her eyes, but secretly she was relieved. She was no doctor, but it didn't appear that he had a concussion. As she cleaned the wound, it wasn't as bad as it had initially appeared. "No stitches this time," she commented.

"You're not going to magically heal me?" he asked.

Emma shrugged. "Like you said, it's nothing. Probably won't even scar."

"Emma..."

Emma grinned. "So vain, Captain."

"One must maintain certain standards with a princess on one's arm."

Emma rolled her eyes, but brushed her fingers over the wound. In a second, it was gone. With as accident prone as Henry and Killian were, Emma had gotten quite adept at that. She leaned up and kissed the spot for good measure, remembering the first time she'd patched him up after he'd saved her life in the Enchanted Forest.

"What are you thinking, love?" Killian asked.

Emma's hand drifted to his shoulder; she could feel the slightly raised edge of the scar through the material of his wet shirt. His eyes followed her. "You do seem to patch me up a lot," he commented.

"You're very injury prone for a pirate."

"There's a princess I know who keeps landing herself in harm's way."

"Always a sucker for a pretty face, Captain. I'll have to keep a closer eye on you. I don't like sharing."

Killian leaned down and captured her lips with his. Emma kissed him back, her hand curling into his wet shirt. Their mouths were wrenched apart as the ship pitched violently to the left. Emma staggered into Killian's chest, his arms were around her in a second.

"We're fine," he murmured into her hair. "We're fine."

"It looked bad."

"I've been through worse, love. Besides, the Jolly Roger's an old, solid ship. We've weathered many a storm together, me and her. She'll see us though."

Emma pulled away, determined not to let him think that she couldn't handle this. It was just a storm. They would be fine. "So what do we do now? Besides getting you some dry clothes," she said.

"Now we wait."

"Sounds exciting," she deadpanned. Although, being cooped up with Killian Jones? There were worst things in the world. "Go change. You're soaked in salt water."

He was gone longer than she would have liked given the circumstances. There was something about all this that didn't feel right. Emma was certain she'd checked the weather before they left; there were no storms in the forecast. Not that this would be the first time the weatherman had gotten things wildly, fantastically wrong. Emma wondered how they were coping with the storm in Storybrooke. Oh god, her parents were probably worried sick. There was nothing for it though; Emma hadn't brought her phone and even if she had, there was no service in the middle of the ocean. What was she supposed to do, send them a smoke signal?

"I know that look," Killian accused when he returned.

"I was just thinking, Mary Margaret and David must be worried about us."

"Aye, I'll probably get an ear full when we return about taking their daughter into harm's way."

"I'm serious, Killian."

"So am I," he said. "Sometimes I get the feeling that they don't approve of us as much as they claim to."

Emma half smiled. "Well, I doubt they envisioned their daughter with a pirate, especially one as infamous as Captain Hook."

"No doubt they'd have tried to marry you off to some ponce of a prince," he said, a look of sheer distaste twisting his features.

"Yeah, I'd like to have seen them try. Besides, who believes in True Love more than Snow White and Prince Charming?"

Killian took one of the PBJ sandwiches and took a thoughtful bite. "If life had taken it's natural course, love, we'd have never met. You'd have grown up in your parent's castle, a proper princess."

Emma wrinkled her nose. "Don't think I'm really cut out for the princess life. All those poofy dresses and balls? No thanks."

"But you'd have had your parents; you wouldn't have been alone."

"I don't even know who that girl would be," she said, munching on her own sandwich. "Whoever she is, she wouldn't be me."

"If it's worth anything, I quite like you, just as you are."

"Just 'quite like,' huh? Maybe I should find that pirate after all."

Killian came around the table and pulled her into his arms. "I'll kill anyone who tried to take you from me," he whispered in her ear.

Emma shivered. The idea of belonging to someone – of being referred to as a possession – should be an anathema to her. Didn't it go against the whole "strong independent woman" thing? But Emma – who had been alone all her life – found it comforting and very much a turn on. Because as much as he claimed she was his, he was equally hers. And he knew it. In fact, he practically reveled in the few times her own possessiveness flared. Each day Emma became more convinced that their meeting was not an accident. She hated the words fate and destiny, but what else could explain it?

"You're the only one that I want," she assured him.

"Too right."

The floor shifted under them once more, as the storm continued to rage outside. "Maybe we should go find a place more conducive to sitting?" she suggested.

"Good idea."

They gathered the rest of the food Emma had put together and left the galley. Emma followed Killian through the bowels of the ship until they emerged on berth deck. "I said sitting, Killian. If I wanted to go back to bed, I'd have suggested our quarters."

"Too much rain in our quarters, I'm afraid. Besides, I have something for you."

The ship lurched under them. A sickening second later, it righted itself. "Okay, that can't be good."

Killian ran his hand along the ancient wood, the worry etched on his face. He tried to hide it from her, but she knew him too well. Killian was worried and for the first time, Emma was well and truly afraid.
"This isn't a normal storm, is it?"

"I don't know, love," he said honestly. "But it is strange. I'd have thought a sudden squall would have blown itself out by now. This shows no signs of stopping or even slowing down."

Thunder boomed above them, louder than ever. Emma distinctly heard a crack.

"Bloody hell," Killian swore.

"What was that?"

"One of the spars most likely. I won't know until I can go out and assess the damage."

"Now?"

"Bloody suicide to step out onto the deck now," he said. "I'll just have to wait until the storm passes."

"If it passes."

"It will."

"But you just said..."

Killian grasped her gently by the shoulders. "Do you trust me?"

Emma stared into his sea blue eyes, imploring her. She swallowed, pushing her fear aside. "I trust you."

"Good. What we need right now is a distraction. Something to fill the time until the gods decide to grant us a reprieve."

"What did you have in mind?"

"These," he replied, leading her over to the small cabinet near the door. He pulled open the door and inside the cabinet were stacks of journals. "Every single captain's log I ever wrote."

"There are so many."

"Well, three hundred years is a long time, love. I wanted to show you these sooner, but the time never seemed right." As Emma reached for one at random, he caught her cheek with his hand. "Some of these could be hard reading, darling."

Emma covered his hand with hers. "I don't just love the part of you that's nice, Killian. I love you, good, bad, ugly. I know who you are; my eyes are open. They always have been."

Abruptly, he leaned down and kissed her. "I love you, Emma."

There were no chairs in the semi cramped crew quarters, so they curled up on the floor, using some spare pillows and blankets as cushions. Emma cracked open the first journal and started to read. A lot of it was innocuous, every day dealings on the ship. Occasionally, Killian's scrawl was little more than chicken scratch and she had to get him to translate it. Those more mundane logs certainly didn't make life on board a pirate ship sound glamorous. Lots of searching and not finding, storms, infractions by the crew. But if stealing booty was the standard for being a good pirate, Killian had been one of the best. She didn't recognize any names, which made sense. Killian's pirate days were mostly three hundred years before even her parents had been born.

Killian was mostly quiet while she read. The storm continued to rage, but Killian was right. Absorbed in the pages, Emma could tune the storm out. Except when the floor would rock and she lost her place. When she picked up the book again, she got to an entry that made her gasp.

"Oh my god."

"What is it, love?"

"I found Milah." She looked at him. "Are you sure you want me reading this?" It felt too private; she wasn't even sure she could read it. She wasn't jealous of a ghost; Emma understood that no two loves were the same. That the love Killian had for Milah and the love he had for her were very different. But she didn't want to reopen old wounds, especially not in front of him. If he didn't want her to to read it, then she wouldn't. Even though there was a tiny part of her that desperately wanted to understand this woman, who had inspired such love and loyalty. She was Henry's grandmother, after all.

"Aye," he confirmed. "And I think she would too. She'd have liked you."

"I don't know about that."

Killian wrapped his arm around her and she snuggled into his chest. "Go on, Emma. It's alright, love. I've got you."

Emma smiled tentatively, still not convinced this was a good idea. But she turned back to the log book and started to read. A lot of it she already knew: Killian meeting Milah in the tavern, begging him to take her away, that final confrontation with Rumplestiltskin. But in between there was a story: a simple spinner's wife who dreamed big and who had been desperately unhappy. A woman who saw her chance at the life she'd always dreamed of and took it, but not without regret. A tear slipped down Emma's cheek as she read Killian's description of Milah crying into her pillow when she thought he was asleep. Whatever else Milah was, she was a mother who loved her son and regretted leaving him. That was something Emma could understand; she'd felt the same when she'd given up Henry. Milah had no way of knowing that Rumplestiltskin would become the Dark One and abandon their son a second time. She'd taken comfort in knowing that Baelfire still had a father who loved him with all his heart. Maybe Emma had been wrong and she and Milah were more alike than she'd thought. Reading those entries, she could see why Killian had loved her. For a decade, they had been happy and then Rumplestiltskin had taken it all away in a fit of rage.

Emma wiped at her eyes when she finished. She looked up at Killian and she could see the pain in his eyes, still. She twisted in his arms and hugged him. "I am so sorry," she whispered.

"No, love. I don't want you wasting those on me. What's done is done."

"Hey, you were there for me all through the Neal drama," she reminded him. "What happened with Milah has made you who you are. And I love you. I hate what Gold did to you and to her. No one deserves that. And it's not your fault. All you did was love her."

Killian kissed her forehead gently. "Thank you, Emma."

She chuckled. "I didn't do anything, not really." She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "You know if she hadn't run away with you, we wouldn't be here right now."

"How do you figure, love?"

Emma pulled away from him, so she could face him properly. This line of thinking unsettled her, but there really was no other explanation. "Remember when you said that I'd have grown up with my parents if life had proceeded normally?"

"Aye."

"My whole life – my very existence – was planned by Rumplestiltskin, right? He conspired so that my parents could meet, so that I could break the curse. Well, he needed the curse to find his son. He abandoned Neal because he couldn't give up being the Dark One. Milah left him because he was a coward. It all goes back to that. If Milah hadn't run away with you, Rumplestiltskin probably would have never been the Dark One and abandoned his son. Ergo, we'd never have met."

"Because I'd have been long dead and you never even born."

"Exactly."

"Fate can be a cruel mistress, love."

"I don't believe in fate."

"Well, I do. Did Henry tell you about giving me the compass when I went to find you in Wonderland?"

"No, why?"

"He told me the compass – our compass – was in his book. And that it would point you to your heart's desire. That it had brought us together once and could do it again. And I told him it was fate."

"Killian..."

"Maybe us falling in love isn't fate. But despite all the odds against us, we're together. We're supposed to be in each other's lives, Emma. I feel it. Call it whatever you want, but it doesn't make it any less true."

Emma stared at him for a long time. Fate, destiny, all that crap was just that...crap. Life was defined by choice, or so she had thought. But hadn't she chosen to fall in love with him? She'd had dozens of chances to turn him out after he saved her life, but she didn't. Other people's choices had caused them to meet, but everything after that? That was all them and for the first time in her life, Emma was completely in control of her choices. She had chosen him. And he had chosen her. So in a way, they were both right.

Emma looked down at the discarded journal. There was more – dozens she hadn't read – but found she didn't need to. Nothing in them would change how she felt. Killian could tell her about Neverland in his own time. When she got up to put it away, she noticed that it was quieter.

"Listen," she said. "I think the storm's over."

Killian stood, listening. "I think you may be right, lass."

Killian headed for the deck, Emma following. She wasn't about to let him out of her sight. When they emerged, Emma had to blink at the sudden change in light. Off in the distance, she could see the dark remnants of the storm dissipating. The seas were calmer too.

"Gone just as it had come," Killian muttered. "Bloody hell."

"What is it?" But she didn't need him to explain, she could see perfectly well. The deck was a mess. The main mast had a scorch mark from what could only have been a lightening strike. A few of the sails had come loose and were fluttering faintly in the dying wind.

"All in all, not as bad as it could have been."

"That's comforting, I guess?"

"Well, it will take a few hours to get us underway, but there's still some light left," Killian said.

"We're going home?"

"Aye, not much sense in staying now, is there? And I'm sure Storybrooke needs its Sheriff, if they got hit by the same storm."

Emma nodded. "Of course, you're right. We still don't know where this even came from. I don't know about you, but something doesn't feel right."

"You'll get no argument from me, love."

For the next several hours, they labored to get the Jolly Roger seaworthy once more. Their work mostly finished, Emma joined Killian at the helm. "Would you like to do the honors, sweetheart?"

Emma took the wheel and tacked them around. She felt much more confident now than she did the first time Killian had asked her to steer his beloved ship. Emma could almost feel the connection between her and the ship; it was oddly comforting. Their trip out had been leisurely, but not for nothing was the Jolly Roger the fastest ship in all the realms. Soon enough, Emma could see the Storybrooke harbor. And the sight made her blood run cold.

"Oh my god."

"What?" Killian asked, looking in that direction. "Isn't that the..."

"Library, yeah. It's on fire."