Um... Yeah.

This really isn't that awesome.

I just... Ugh. I needed to get this out of the way, because there's A LOT happening in the next chapter, and I'll need to jump in time a little :D I thought you'd all want to see the aftermath of Killian waking up though, so I wrote this first.

And because this is so short and inexcusably fluffy, I am going to give you guys a little hints for the next chappie :D

°1 - Time jump: Killian can walk again-very important :D

° 2 - The search for Penelope continues, and takes a rather unexpected and very surprising turn. (I would love to hear your guesses here: who could possibly
give Emma and Killian more info about Killian's little girl? I guarantee-none of you will guess :p But I'd love to see you try;) )

° 3 - Rumple makes an appearance and Emma finds herself stuck between a deal and her heart.

Okay, so, like I said, lots of stuff to happen. And please, do throw in a few guesses :D I'm curious to hear what you think will happen.

R&R!

Xx Annaelle

PS Did I mention how AWESOME you guys are? Because, if I didn't... YOU ARE AWESOME! Thank you all for the reviews and the faves and the follows-makes
me smile every time :D And write... That too.

PPS How frustrating was that last epi? I mean, seriously? Six miserable seconds of Hook? How the hell is that supposed to tie us over for an entire week? There
better be some juicy flirty pirate in the next epi, because I am seriously displaying signs of detox... Not fun :( I loved the sneak peek though :p
I love that man. That beautifully broken man. We all do-now we just need to make Emma love him :D

PPPS Everyone seemed to like the Neverland-idea; so that'll be posted when this fic is finished :D Something to look forward to :D

Okay. I'm gonna stop rambling and let you read :D Enjoy!


Midnight Call

SPOV

She held onto David tightly, crying at the loss of Killian—whatever she had thought he was before, she knew she had been wrong. Killian had been a good man—admittedly, his moral compass was a little skewed, but after everything that had ever happened to him, she couldn't really blame him.

She had even started to consider him a good friend. And Emma… Dear God, Emma.

'Oh God,' she sobbed into her husband's chest, 'Emma… How is she going to get through this?' She felt her husband tense at the mention of their daughter's love for the pirate—he still didn't like the idea, no matter how close she and Killian had become and even though he was Emma's True Love—and then reply, 'We'll help her. We'll be there for her. She's… She's gonna be okay. She has to be.'

She nodded shakily, willing herself to feel the same amount of conviction that he obviously felt. He was right, Emma had to be alright—she had to survive this.

'Come,' he said softly, tugging her from the waiting room where they were still standing, 'Let's go see her.'

Snow looked up, slightly horrified. 'David, this is her final goodbye—we should give her time. She needs to say goodbye to him; wouldn't you need that? The time to say goodbye, if I died?'
He stiffened in her arms, his face contorting with agony at the mere thought. 'No,' he breathed, 'No, because I would never be able to let you go. I'd need someone to pull me away. And we need to do that for her.'

And as much as she wanted to argue, to tell him that he was wrong, she knew he wasn't.

Losing one's True Love was the most painful thing there was—and Emma would need them to help her through it.

'Okay,' she breathed, tears prickling in her eyes again, 'Okay. Let's go see the—her. See her.'

She allowed David to lead her through the corridor, both stopping short at the door when they heard Emma's voice drift through.

'How—this isn't possible—Oh my God.'

Snow frowned; something didn't sound right. The sorrow and the pain that had been lingering in Emma's voice whenever she spoke of Killian lately was missing.

Slowly, her hands shaking, she pushed the door open, gasping at the scene before her.

Emma was sitting on the hospital bed, her arms wrapped around a very-much-alive Killian Jones, who had his arms wrapped around her waist tightly, his face buried in her hair as she cried against him.

She couldn't do anything but stare, shock coursing through her. Whale had said he was dead—Emma had believed he was dead. Tears ran down her cheeks at the sight of Emma and Killian so wrapped up in each other that they didn't even notice her and David in doorway.

'Oh my God,' Snow breathed, falling back against her husband slightly, allowing him to support her; her head was spinning with the implications of Killian's miraculous survival—how the hell did he survive?

Emma and Killian finally separated, both staring at her and David with equal sheepish grins.

'Hi Snow,' Killian finally spoke, smirking at her in a way that was so familiar and so inherently Killian, she couldn't suppress the sob of relief that burst from her lips as she hurried forward, colliding into her daughter and Killian, enveloping them both in a constrictive hug.

'You're okay,' she blubbered, so emotional she couldn't fully remember how to breathe.

Or how to let go of her daughter and Killian.

'You scared the hell out of us, Killian,' she scolded, once she'd managed to calm herself slightly—not that it did much difference; she'd never felt this relieved before—finally pulling away from the couple.

He smiled sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. 'Well, it's not like I asked the bloody crocodile to kill me, did I?' Snow didn't miss the way he looked at Emma briefly, a soft smile touching his lips, before he continued, 'Though I must say, it did have its advantages.'

She puzzled over that statement for a moment, before it suddenly clicked—the image of her daughter and Killian holding onto each other for dear life swam before her, and she gasped. 'You remember? You remember! He triggered your memories!'

Killian grinned wolfishly—she heard Charming groan behind her—and nodded. 'Aye, he did. For a moment though…' he trailed off, and Snow nearly swooned over the loving look he sent to Emma, '…For a moment I thought I'd never get to tell Emma that I was sorry for the things I said.'

Emma grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and for a moment, Snow was pretty sure they'd forgotten she and Charming were in the room—the way Emma was now looking at the pirate; such longing and love—Snow blushed and backed away from the bed.

Suddenly, she became highly aware of the fact that she was in the room with two people who thought they'd lost each other forever and just found their way back to each other—she remembered that feeling; it had taken every bit of self-control she had not to jump Charming the instant she could—she did not want to see what'd happen if either Emma or Killian would snap.

She could live without those images seared into her mind, thank you very much.

She knew Killian was okay—and now that he had his memories back, she was sure he and Emma would have a lot of catching up to do—and she was quite sure she didn't want to hear or see most of that. 'Okay,' she smiled uneasily, trying to hold back her husband—who didn't seem all too pleased with the way Killian was looking at their daughter—, 'We're going to … Go. Henry—Henry will be waiting for us to pick him up.'

She didn't really give anyone time to respond to that and followed her stuttered statement by pushing a highly-uncooperative Charming from the room, hurrying out herself too—she knew she would need the alone-time, if anything like this ever happened to her and Charming.

'Snow?' Killian called out, right before she shut the door. She bit her lip and turned, trying not to blush at the intimate position her daughter and the pirate were currently in—Emma was nearly in his lap—and tilted her head. 'Yes?'

He smiled, a genuine smile, one that she had not often seen before, and said, 'Thank you. For everything.'

And in that smile, she could see the Killian Jones her daughter had fallen so head over heels in love with, the Killian Jones she considered her friend—not the vengeful pirate they had tied to a tree and threatened to let ogres eat. She could see a man that would do anything for the woman he loved; a man that would do anything to keep her daughter happy and safe; a man that was worthy of her.

She smiled back and inclined her head.

'You're welcome.'

.

.

.

KPOV

Her tinkling laugh made his heart swell in his chest, and he wanted to curse himself for being such a bloody sap when it came to her, but when she smiled at him, it somehow made everything else seem rather unimportant.

She was leaning her head against his chest, laughing uncontrollably—he had wished to see her this carefree, this happy for a long time, and he reveled in it for as long as it lasted. She looked up at him with those damned beautiful eyes of hers and leaned in instantly—making the beeping on the machine next to his bed go wild—pressing her lips to his in the softest kiss he had ever received.

'Tell me you saw her face—she looked like she wanted to melt through the floor,' she whispered against his lips, making him smile all over again. He smirked cockily, knowing it drove her crazy when he did that, but the playful anger that radiated from her—and the expressions that came with it—were worth the effort of teasing her.

'Of course I saw her face, love—and I must say, the things she was undoubtedly imagining do sound rather appealing, do they not?' He winked at her, grinning when she blushed lightly and shifted lightly in his lap—he loved it when he got her cheeks all rosy and flushed.

She flashed him one of his own smirks and rolled her hips against his, sending vibes of equal pleasure and pain rocking through his body, eliciting a low groan from his lips.

Damn her.

He desired her above all else—she'd do well not to tease him. 'Love,' he growled, tightening his grip on her hip, 'Do not tease a man like that.' She bit her lip seductively and he nearly cursed—damn little minx knew exactly what she was doing to him.

'I just came back from the dead, love,' he cajoled, widening his eyes innocently, 'Have some mercy, will you?' He knew he said the wrong thing immediately—Emma's eyes clouded with tears once again, and he winced at the thought of her hurting because of him.

'Do you have any idea how scared I was?' she whispered, allowing him to pull her into his embrace nonetheless, 'I thought I'd lost you.' He pressed his lips to her hair and sighed. 'But you didn't. I'm right here.'

'How?' She breathed, 'How are you here? You were dead, Killian. Your heart wasn't beating and you weren't breathing. You were gone. How did you come back?'

He couldn't suppress a slight wince at the mention of dying—he did not remember much of the moment itself; it was a blur of confusion and darkness; and it made him rather uncomfortable to talk about.

'I'd rather discuss that particular event some other time, if you don't mind,' he replied, trying not to sound insensitive. He loved Emma, and he would give her the world if he could, but he simply wasn't ready to face the fact that he died just yet. He knew she had to have gone through hell—and he loathed himself for pushing her away—but bloody hell, he was the one who had actually died; did that not give him the prerogative to be upset?

'I hate it when you refuse to tell me things,' she pouted, sitting up, her hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders. He rolled his eyes at her, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the soft skin of her waist—he didn't want to fight either.

'Do we have to talk about this now?' He pouted at her, knowing it tugged on her heartstrings. 'I nearly died today.'

'Exactly! Doesn't that prove we should talk about this now?'

He rolled his eyes at her. 'Sweetheart, I'm really pleased we're both alive,' he purred, 'I believe celebration is in order. Talking comes later.' He felt a shudder run down her spine at his words and smirked—that was the effect he was looking for.

He sat up too—suppressing the twinge of pain in his chest at the sudden movement—, her face only inches from his now. 'Now tell me you'd rather talk than kiss too, and I'll ... Squeal,' he breathed—feeling rather pleased with himself as he heard her sharp intake of breath.

Her eyes flickered down to his lips for a moment before she smirked and purred, 'You just won't give up until I put out, will you?' He had a snappy retort all ready to go for her, but his thoughts were entirely derailed when she trailed her hand down his chest, her fingers leaving goose bumps in their wake.

When her fingers had found their way into his hair—he supposed she did love playing with his hair—, she pushed him down—carefully—, pressing her soft lips to his. The feeling of fulfillment and contentment when he kissed her took hold of him again, and he responded to her kiss with enthusiasm, tunneling his fingers in her hair to pull her closer.

Soon enough, he felt that inexplicable, carnal need to rip her clothes off, which he desperately wanted, but couldn't, with his good hand trapped in her curls.
He decided to let her win this particular game of dominance and slipped his good hand underneath her shirt, tracing invisible patterns on her soft, warm skin.

But as he teasingly stroked the lace of what he could only assume was some sort of corset she was wearing, she sat up, pushing him down on the mattress and scowled at him as he blinked up at her in confusion.

What did he do now?

'I am not having sex with you while you're hurt,' she growled—and though he heard the words, it was rather hard to focus while she was straddling him.

'Why not?' He whined, thrusting his hips up a little.

She crossed her arms over her chest—which made him pout; why did she have to obstruct his perfect view on her delectable cleavage? —and scowled, 'I could hurt you, make things worse.'

He sighed and trailed his fingers up and down her side teasingly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he felt her muscles tense under his touch. 'Emma, love, my ribs may be broken—but everything else is still… Intact.'

She rolled her eyes and made to get off of him, but he resisted—he liked her where she was right now. Like this, he could actually look at her, and try to find out what was really bothering her. It couldn't just be that he wanted to make love to her—despite his 'broken' state, as she so eloquently put it.

'Emma,' he muttered, cupping her cheeks and wiping a few stray locks of hair from her forehead, 'Is that really what's bothering you? I'm sorry,' he whispered in addition, when she didn't reply, 'I didn't mean to push you.'

She let out a deep breath and sagged against his chest, snuggling deep into his embrace. 'It's not... It's just... You scared me so bad today. I just can't get the image of you—I can't get it out of my head.' She sniffed against his chest, 'I could live with the notion of you not remembering me—but to see you die… Before we even got a chance to be—it felt like I was dying too, and it scared me so much.'

He groaned softly and played idly with her hair as he stared at the ceiling, contemplating what to say next. 'Why didn't you just tell me?' He said softly, 'I would never have shrugged it off if I knew it made you feel like this.'

She made a small whimpering sound and burrowed further into his arms.

'I didn't want you to worry. I just... I don't want to lose you,' she confessed softly, and he completely understood her sentiments.

He tightened his arms around her and pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

'I would never let that happen. I would never just leave you, Emma.' He slowly forced her to look up at him, so he could look into her eyes, making sure she would hear the truth and pure conviction in his voice.

'Promise?' She whispered, 'Promise you'll always be there to help me?'

'I will never leave you,' he muttered, 'I will always take care of you. I promise.'


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