This is it, folks! Thanks for reading.
Killian takes her to the beanstalk on horseback. Emma is grateful for the few hours it takes them, an excuse to shamelessly wrap herself around him as she sits in the back of the saddle. Her hands start off holding his hips before eventually clasping themselves across his front, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades.
They won't have much longer if their mission is successful, the threat of the Evil Queen loose in Storybrooke more than enough to hurry them along. But when her hand reaches up and closes over his where he holds the reins she closes her eyes, squeezing him tight against her. It's all they have left - all he has left - and she won't spend a single moment without her hands on his skin if she can help it. They don't talk, don't need to, and Emma is grateful that she can't see Killian's face as they ride, knowing she couldn't handle it.
It looks much the same as it did before, towering up into the sky and forcing them to lean back to take all of it in. "Do you think this thing is still enchanted by the giant?" she asks, squinting her eyes against the sun. "I don't have any memories of his story being different in this version of things."
"Nor do I," he confirms, still looking up. "I suppose there's only one way to find out." Before she can protest, he approaches the beanstalk and places a tentative hand against it.
The force of its magic throws him a good ten feet before he lands on his back.
She's at his side in an instant. "Well," he gets out when his breath returns to him, "that answers that question."
Emma laughs, relieved that he's only injured his pride. "You are such a dumbass, you know that?"
He grins up at her. "And you love me for it."
She smiles back, grasping his hand and helping him to his feet. "Knock it off with this whole throwing-yourself-in-the-line-of-fire thing. I don't need you to break a hip."
"I'm quite spry, thank you. Or was last night not proof enough for you?"
She can feel her cheeks flush at the memory, burning even hotter when he raises a cocky eyebrow. "Look, we don't need to climb. I can just poof us up to the top." She reaches into their satchel, pulling out the royal scroll she prepared before they left and holding it up between them. "You ready?"
"Aye." He nods to the parchment in her hands. "Do you think this will work?"
"It has to. If it doesn't I'll freeze him with magic and just take the bean he has, but I…" she trails off. "I don't want it to come to that. He deserves more."
He sighs, but keeps his expression light. "We all do."
"Yeah," she says, her voice catching in her throat. "You do."
He holds her hand as she transports them to the top.
The giant is so startled by her sudden appearance - whether it's because a princess has deigned to visit him or because he's shocked at her display of magic - that he nearly forgets to be angry. Emma summons every memory of her childhood in this place, every lesson in deportment and diplomacy drilled into her from a young age when she announces herself and hands him the scroll. She made it as large as possible but it's still comically tiny in his hands, but the way his face changes as he reads it calms her rapidly beating heart.
As it turns out, Anton's soft heart is surprisingly receptive to a formal royal apology for the treatment of giants at the hands of humans. It doesn't hurt that the purveyors of the message are two orphans thoroughly in sympathy with his predicament. It takes some convincing - he's not stupid, after all - but when they finally get through to him it's a weight lifted, Killian's joyous smile and Anton's tears only adding to the occasion.
When he offers the damaged bean hanging around his neck, it's all Emma can do not to cry.
Lake Nostros is vibrant and beautiful, so unlike the dried-up landscape Emma remembers from her last experience there. She pulls the bean from around her neck, looking from Killian to the water and then back again, and the finality of it all settles heavy on her shoulders.
She glances to Regina and Robin. "Can you give us a minute?"
"Of course." Regina grabs at Robin's arm and pulls him away, giving them the privacy they need. Regina's been uncharacteristically contrite since their last conversation, and while it's not quite a real apology, it's a start.
He sidles up to her and she sighs when his forehead touches hers, his hand soft at her hip. "So," he says, waiting quietly.
"So." She swallows hard, stepping closer into his space, hands pressed to his chest.
"Remember the last time we were here?" he asks, and she smiles at the memory, at how far they've come. "I think I prefer holding you to fighting you with a sword."
"You liked the sword fight."
"That I did," he chuckles. "Despite what I said, your form was terrible."
"Give me a break. That was like the second time I ever held a sword, okay?"
"And you've gotten much better since then," he says fondly, nose just touching hers.
"Yeah, well, I had a good teacher."
"Aye," he whispers, just before pressing his lips to hers. His kiss is soft and light, just a whisper against her skin and her heart aches at the sweetness of it. His eyes remain closed when he pulls back and only then can she see how nervous he is, the tension in his shoulders and the shallowness of his breath. Death is terrifying enough but this, the knowledge that everything about him will cease to exist in a few minutes is something else entirely.
Her hands find his face, her thumbs rubbing gently at his cheeks, and his eyes are damp when they finally open. A pained smile crosses his face. "I'm getting quite tired of saying goodbye to you, love."
She sighs, bitter around the edges. "So am I. I just… I love you. So much. And I'm so sorry. I don't know what else I can say, I just - "
"Shhh." He shakes his head and leans in to whisper in her ear. "You don't need to say anything. Just be here with me for a moment."
His arms circle around her and she follows suit, sinking into the warmth and the strength of him as they sway together. She won't let herself cry, determined to be strong for him, but still buries her face in his shoulder and breathes him in while he does the same. It's not enough, nothing will ever be enough for Emma when it comes to Killian, but she holds him and waits, letting him decide when he's able to let go.
It's far too soon when his grip loosens and they pull regretfully apart. "You'd best be getting home now."
"Yeah," she says, a little shaky. "Just let me do one thing first." He eyes her curiously when she grabs his left wrist, looking down at the false hand he still wears. She takes a deep breath and pulls from within her, summoning the warm glow of her magic and bringing it forth in a burst of light. She watches his face as he examines her handiwork, and his grateful smile when he realizes she's returned his hook to its rightful place threatens to break her where she stands.
"There we go," she manages to get out, and his smile softens in understanding.
The fingers of one hand lace with his and she takes his hook in the other as he steps in close. "Thank you, love. For everything." That he's able to pack so much into so few words astonishes her.
She can only nod and he kisses her once more, long and deep and she can feel the thanks in it, the love in it, and she does her best to give it back to him.
"I love you," he whispers against her lips. "Safe travels, Emma."
"I love you too," she chokes out as he backs away. She holds his hand as long as possible, the tips of their fingers sliding across each other's as they finally break apart. She turns, knowing she won't be able to go through with this if she looks at his face, and makes her way to the edge of the water.
She's joined in short order by Robin and Regina. "You ready?" Regina asks.
"As I'll ever be. Let's do it."
Emma removes the bean from around her neck and hands it off, happy to give this task to Regina while she braces herself. The waters restore the bean easily, but she's not ready for the gust of cool air as the portal opens, her chest tightening while Regina and Robin jump through.
She can't help herself - she turns and looks back, needing to see him one more time. He's moved back to the treeline but she can still make out his features - the tiny, loaded smile he gives her and the encouraging nod to follow.
She nods back, turns, and jumps.
Killian guides Emma through the front door of their home, Henry close on their heels. Killian nearly carries her, taking most of her weight with her arm slung over his shoulder as her feet drag across the hardwood. She wants to protest, tell him she's not an invalid, but her legs are hardly obeying her wishes as it is, much less her mouth. He deposits her on the couch and kneels before her to look directly in her eyes, grabbing her hand in his.
"You're shaking."
"I'll get you some hot chocolate," Henry volunteers immediately, completely misreading the situation, but she simply nods as he disappears to the kitchen.
"I'm not cold," she finally says, low enough that her son can't hear.
"It's all right, love," Killian assures her, just as quiet. He smiles then, squeezing her hand. "I told you you can overcome anything."
She stares at him blankly until she realizes he's not talking about her time in the wish realm. She feels slow and stupid, hardly able to organize her thoughts, not after arriving in Storybrooke only to walk straight into the swordfight that haunted her dreams for so many weeks.
She may not have vanquished her cloaked foe, only able to send him running with a blast of magic that took everything in her power to summon. It nearly failed, an aborted, hopeless attempt until Killian and Henry arrived and she somehow found the strength to bring it forth.
The burst of energy didn't last, the weight of the last few days and the preceding weeks lifting and crumbling in on her at the same time. She'd collapsed on the street, damn near had a panic attack and it was only the arms of the men she loved around her that kept her together, soothing and real and coaching her to breathe her way through it.
She can't even remember how they got her back home, struggling to recall but only coming up with a frenzied blur, and it's Killian's voice that snaps her back to reality.
"Emma."
Her eyes meet his, wide and full of concern, and it's the first time she's really looked at him since arriving home. It startles her, to see him young and vibrant and full of life in a way his other self hadn't been, no more of the silver-streaked hair and wrinkles she'd done her best to memorize. But as much as she sees the Killian she knows and love she also sees him, and her heart jumps and breaks all at once behind the numbing fog of shock.
Henry returns just then, breaking the moment and she forces a smile, strange as it feels on her face. "Thanks."
"Are you okay, Mom?"
She pauses before answering, and she can't bear to lie to him. "I will be. It's, uh. It's been a rough few days. I'll tell you about it later, okay? I think I just need to go to bed."
Henry nods, obviously worried but taking her at her word, and Emma is grateful when Killian takes the mug of hot chocolate from him, knowing her shaking hands wouldn't be able to carry it. "I'll let Grandma and Grandpa know you're back."
It's another piece falling into place, knowing she'll be able to see her parents once more, young and alive and it almost cracks through the numbness when she pulls Henry into a hug. "Thanks, kid."
Killian brings her upstairs, his hook pressing lightly at the small of her back as he patiently follows her wobbly steps. She pauses once they're in the bedroom, glancing towards the bath. "I think I need a shower."
"Of course," he says, his voice soft as he sets the mug aside. "Take all the time you need."
The thought of being alone, being without him for even a moment shocks her into reality even more, and she grabs his wrist when he reaches to hand her a towel. "Come with me?"
He laces his fingers with hers in response. "Anything."
He turns the water scalding hot and undresses her with deliberate care, as though she were some delicate, breakable thing. She feels that way now, fragile and raw down to the tips of her toes as he divests himself of his own clothing and leads her into the shower.
Perhaps it's the heat of the water that finally brings her into the present. Maybe it's the look on his face as he runs his fingers through her hair, or the last of the adrenaline leaving her body, but once they're thoroughly soaked and he asks her, nearly inaudible, "Are you all right?" she breaks.
His arms go around her as she buries her face in his chest and sobs. There's so much for her to get out, so much fear and tension to process and it all unfurls at once, the anguish of the last few days and the realization that no, she will not die as fated squeezing her heart until it bursts, a relentless torrent that pours out of her until she feels no more than a shell of herself in his embrace.
He brings her back slowly as it subsides, a gentle hand at her back and whispered nonsense in her ear, I've got you and safe and love still coming through and it gives her the strength to remain standing. He waits, patient as always, and when she finally stops shuddering he acts as though nothing has happened, working shampoo into her hair with calming fingers and gently washing every inch of her skin.
It's only when they're finished, only when he's turned off the water and drying her carefully with a fluffy towel that she realizes how grateful she is, how lucky she is to be taken care of and she doesn't have the words to express it, hoping that her quiet "I love you" is enough.
He pauses at her words, dropping the towel to take her face in hand as he leans in, his lips just a caress against hers. "And I you."
When they're finally in bed they don't talk, laying on their sides to face one another and his hand is sweet against her cheek, thumb gently grazing her skin.
"Do you want to sleep?" he asks.
"I don't think I could," she admits.
He hesitates, and then: "Do you want to talk?"
When she can't answer right away, he continues. "I know this isn't just about your swordfight and the prophecy. You don't have to tell me now, but will you? I don't know what happened in that other realm, but…"
"No," she confirms. "You're right, it's not that. It was… God, I don't even know where to start."
He's reluctant before he speaks, but when he does it's just the push she needs. "Do you want to try?"
Her story is painfully disjointed, awkward and inelegant and she keeps having to backtrack, filling in details she'd forgotten, but by the time she gets to her goodbye at Lake Nostros, Killian scoots in closer, his legs tangling with hers as she whispers the details.
When she finishes there's not much to say - his sympathetic "Oh, love" sets off tears for the both of them - but it's enough to unburden herself, to tell her story to the only person who can come close to fully understanding. They hold each other tightly as they fall asleep, broken but slowly mending.
It's just past lunchtime when Emma returns home the next day. Her breakfast with her parents runs shorter than expected (they welcomed her with several too-long-but-not-enough hugs, but shooed her out as soon as humanly possible and insisted she go home to rest), but her meandering walk afterward takes longer. She thought it might help, to work through her jumbled thoughts, maybe cry a little for the man she left behind. Neither happens.
Her mind remains as scrambled as ever, living through those few days with Killian again and again, sometimes in fleeting moments and others in achingly perfect detail. His eyes, how over the years the blue of them had grown a shade lighter than she remembered. The way he smiled as though he hadn't done so in years. The feeling of his hand on her skin, more careful and cherishing than she was used to. Her eyes remain dry as she relives the memories, the catharsis of the night before leaving her emotions too depleted to allow much of a reaction.
She sees him as soon as she's through the front door, seated on the couch and his gaze trained on something in his lap she can't see. He doesn't look up at the sound of her entrance, and something in the set of his shoulders alarms her.
"Killian?" she asks, afraid to approach, the oddest feeling that she's interrupting something important.
It takes a beat before he turns his head to acknowledge her. "Hello, love."
The look on his face unnerves her immediately. He doesn't even attempt to muster a smile, but beyond that his eyes are red. His cheeks aren't wet - if he's cried over anything it hasn't been in the last few minutes - but there's no mistaking the set of his features.
"What's wrong?" she whispers, stiffening where she stands.
He does smile then, just a bit, and the knot in her stomach loosens fractionally. "I'm all right," he assures her, tilting his head in invitation. "Come here. I've got something to show you."
When she sits next to him she sees it's a piece of parchment, neatly folded and, despite being old-fashioned, not withered with age. He turns it over and over in his hands, restless but careful with the letter, and Emma sees a similar-looking envelope on the coffee table in front of them, "Killian" scrawled across it with his familiar handwriting.
"Regina dropped this off earlier," he tells her. "She said he'd asked her for a favor."
Emma swallows, her eyes trained on the folded paper. "He mentioned a favor to me, but never told me what it was about."
"And this was it," he confirms, holding out the letter to her. "Would you like to read it?"
Her eyes fall to the parchment before meeting his. "Do you want me to?"
There's a pause before he answers, but when the smile spreads slowly across his face she knows she's asked the right question. "Yes."
Her hands faintly shake as she takes it from him, delicately unfolding the paper and feeling her breath catch as she first sees it - the writing is the same beautiful penmanship she knows, almost. It's a little bit shakier, slightly sloppier, but still a work of art unto itself. She feels Killian's hand at her back as she begins to read.
Killian,
It's quite strange to write a letter to myself. I assume Emma has told you about me; if she hasn't done so yet, please don't hold it against her. It's obvious how taxing this experience has been for her - I'm certain you see it as well - and if she hasn't yet gone into detail about her trip to this realm I know she will soon. Give her time if she needs it.
She squeezes her eyes shut, suddenly realizing what he'd done before she woke after their morning together. Despite all his pain he'd thought of her own first, and it's not the first time his selflessness has brought tears to her eyes. She swipes angrily at her face as Killian leans into her side, his hand a comforting slide against her ribs. "I'm here," he whispers, his breath warm on her shoulder. "Keep reading."
It's also strange to write to you when Emma was so insistent that we're the same person. She's partially correct; we both share identical memories up to a point. I know everything you know. But I also have another generation of experiences within me: returning to the Enchanted Forest with a toothless Dark One and no curse, no scheming with Cora to guide me. I'm older than you by a few decades (still handsome, lest you worry about that) and so at least the smallest bit wiser. Given that, I hope you'll take to heart what I have to say.
I don't need to tell you what a gift it is to be loved by Emma Swan. But I do know how you think, and the way your head can sometimes poison what you know in your heart to be true. So I'd like to tell you a story.
Emma can't stop her laugh, short and breathless as it is. "This sounds familiar."
His nose is still pressed to her ear and she feels him smile against her skin, his hand tightening around her waist. "Classics never die, Swan. Keep reading."
She does, her heart firmly in her throat.
I was a useless old pirate. Not even that, an ex-pirate who hadn't had a ship or a crew in decades. I had no home, never staying in one place too long, far too much of my time spent at the bottom of a bottle because I had nothing else. I spent years that way, because once my vengeance was taken from me there was nothing left to do but grow old and wait to die. I didn't even have the courage to end it myself, choosing the passive way out, as it were. We always did have a talent for self-destruction.
But then a princess marched into a tavern and sat directly across from me. She needed a favor and I refused, thinking I had no way to assist her and wanting to get back to my bottle. She could have left then, finding another way home (and we both know she would have) and leaving me in the dark with the demons we both know so well.
But she saw me and the state I was in, and she stayed. I wish you could have seen her, how kind and determined she was, desperate to make me believe I was more than the failure I'd become. She reassured me, held my hand, and chased me down when I fled. Finally, she told me she loved me. I suppose I'm luckier than you in that regard; I was privileged with hearing Emma say "I love you" for the first time on two separate occasions.
She made me believe and I remembered. I don't need to tell you it was the best thing that ever happened to me, because Emma is the best thing that ever happened to either of us. She didn't have to do it; she could have left me in the dark and gone home to you and I'd be none the wiser. I'd have disappeared into the ether when she left, some tragic footnote that didn't warrant any further attention.
But she refused to let that happen. Even though I was just a temporary copy of you, she wasn't able to leave me like that, and as poor as my own opinion of myself is, she refused to let me wallow in it. We know the generosity of Emma's grace better than anyone.
Despite all that, I know it's not enough for you. You know what you have is True Love but you still doubt yourself. You still worry that you feel more deeply for her than she does for you. You still worry that you're not worthy of her. I know you, mate. I AM you. And so I hope you'll take the advice of a (slightly) older version of you: never, ever doubt the love of Emma Swan. It runs as true and as deep as yours for her, if not more so. Cherish every moment of it. Hold her every chance you get, make love to her every time as if it's your last, and believe her when she tells you she loves you. Trust her in this as you do everything else.
You're going to show this letter to her, aren't you? I know us. In that case, Emma, hello, darling. I love you until the end of the world, or time, just like the man right next to you. Be good to each other.
Kindest regards,
Killian Jones
Her breath catches at the final paragraph and Killian is there for it, the warmth of his hand at her waist and his breath on her skin grounding her as she swallows down her tears. "He's pretty great, isn't he?" she finally gets out, hoping he can read between the lines.
"Aye," he agrees, his lips gentle against her cheek.
"He's right," she says, still unable to look at him. "About how much I love you."
His breath stops against her skin, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm against her ribs. "I'm glad to hear it," he murmurs.
They sit quietly for a few minutes, Emma's head on his shoulder, savoring the luxury of silence. It only breaks when Killian chuckles to himself, a low, sweet sound that rumbles in his chest.
"What is it?"
"Nothing, love. Just thinking that he's right about you, too."
Things slow down somewhat a few days after Emma returns. The Evil Queen remains in her cage and Gideon is nowhere to be seen, giving them what is most certainly a false sense of security, but it's enough for her to return to work and pretend. And she's definitely pretending now, playing Minesweeper on her computer and truly learning the concept of "Hurry up and wait."
The buzz of her phone distracts her, causing her to set off a mine and she curses as she goes to check her messages, but the words die on her lips as she reads it.
It's a video file, sent to her by Regina. The accompanying text is simple but sets her heart racing as she reads it: Watch this alone, and only when you've got some extra time.
Emma looks up immediately, glancing around the quiet station. Her father is out on a routine call but there's otherwise nothing to do, and so she gets up and locks her office door before sitting, taking a deep breath, and hitting "play."
She nearly drops her phone at the sight of his face once the video starts, lined and creased and just as beautiful as she remembers it, the face she never thought she'd see again staring back at her.
"Hello, love." His expression is sweet, a little melancholy, and she recognizes the castle walls behind him and the clothes he's wearing - he recorded this before she awakened after their night together. There was far more to his favor, it turns out, than a simple letter.
"I convinced Regina to let me use her talking phone before the battery died," he confirms. "I considered writing a letter to you as well, but I thought you might prefer a message from this devilishly handsome face instead."
Emma laughs through her tears, swiping at her face as he goes on.
"I assume by now you've read the letter I wrote to myself. And rest assured, I meant every word of it. But I wanted to speak directly to you."
"I love you," he says, somehow deadly serious but joyful at the same time. "More than anything in this wretched life. I always wanted to be a better man but you were the catalyst, the spark that made it happen. And as unfair as our current plight is - " his voice catches and he looks down, away from the camera, " - please, Emma, just know that you've made me a better man twice over."
It takes him a moment to find his voice again and she swallows heavily, wiping away her tears while she waits for him to recover.
"You asked me what I needed from you. It's not much, darling, and nothing more than you're prepared to give." He looks directly into the camera and smiles. "Tell me - tell him - tell him you love him every opportunity you have. Be there for him as he will be for you. And you already told me you would, but say yes when he asks you to marry him. He's quite nervous about it." His soft smile spreads into a grin. "And I know I asked you to acquire a pair of stockings once you returned home, but I was hoping that perhaps we could keep that just between us."
Emma laughs again and she can't deny him anything, a small part of her rejoicing at the idea. How perfect, how utterly perfect of him to suggest -
"I have to go now, love," he tells the screen, an amused smile playing at his lips. "It's time to wake you up for yet another adventure, one that I'm sure will end with you as the victor."
His face grows serious once more and she braces herself, knowing what's to come.
"I love you. Did I already tell you that? Well, allow me to say it again: I love you. And even if I only have ten or twelve or sixteen hours with you in this life, all of it was was bloody worth it. Love always is." His smile returns. "Go live, and love, for me. We both know I'll see you again someday."
Emma can't watch the final seconds of the video, her eyes screwing shut as he says goodbye.
He asks her on a lazy Sunday morning, when they're both sleep-drunk and fuzzy and just waking as the sun streams through the curtains, their limbs tangled sweetly together.
She says yes.