Author's note: This chapter took a turn I did not expect. Blame my muse. It's not bad or anything, nor does it affect the overall plot. But it may cause feels. You've been warned.
Disclaimer: If I owned Captain Hook, do you think I'd be writing this?
Emma stood at the portside rail of the Jolly Roger looking out at the coast line. They'd come through the portal without incident, one of their precious beans now gone. There were only three left; Emma had them stored away in the knapsack Henry had lent her for the journey. She tried not to think about leaving Henry behind; these separations were just as hard for her as they were for him. He'd been so brave when Emma had told him that she and Killian had to take this trip to the Enchanted Forest. As she expected, Henry tried to make an argument for why he should go along, but Emma had been firm. With the ogres, it was still too dangerous. Instead, Henry had given her his knapsack and the magic compass, expressing his confidence that they'd be home soon. He always looked at her with such hope and faith, more than Emma was ever comfortable with, more than she deserved. It just gave her added impetus to get this search over with as soon as possible so that they could get back to Henry and their life. After they sorted out whatever the hell was going on with the storms and stars and such, that is.
Emma heard Killian's footfalls from behind her, but didn't turn. She felt his arms go around her waist as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Everything alright, love?"
Emma sighed heavily. "Yeah."
"Liar." He waited a beat, then continued. "I miss him, too, Emma. Henry would love this."
Emma rested her hands on Killian's forearms, reassured by his solid strength. "Yeah, he would."
"Have you ever thought about coming back? Permanently?"
Emma turned her head, eying him warily. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Well, this is our native realm, my dear."
"But Storybrooke's home. Isn't it?" Were they really having this discussion again?
"Emma, you know I will be – I am happy wherever you are. But you have to admit that there's a certain poetry to all of us returning to the place where we belong. Undeniably, your lad's curious about where his family hails from. But the decision is yours."
"Killian, you sound like David." Emma had heard her father talk about returning to the Enchanted Forest. She knew he missed the simpler mode of life there, missed his sword. Mary Margaret was less enthusiastic, but Emma was beginning to suspect that was because of her. Given the time they'd already lost, Mary Margaret was unwilling to go anywhere that Emma wouldn't follow. Honestly, it wasn't something she'd ever really considered. The world of cell phones and cars and modern conveniences was home. It's where she'd grown up, despite how utter crappy that growing up had been. Emma had floundered badly when she'd been thrust into the land she was truly from. With Mary Margaret's help, Emma found her footing, but it had never occurred to her to call this world home. Home was where Henry was, where her parents were, now where Killian was. That was Storybrooke, with all its weirdness. Emma just couldn't see herself living in a castle.
"He and I have talked about it, aye."
"You have?"
"It's one of the few subjects on which your father and I agree."
"Why does that not surprise me?" she retorted. "Look, Killian, can we not talk about this now? Let's just do what we came here for. Right now, Storybrooke needs us more than the Enchanted Forest."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that, love."
"What do you mean?"
Killian released her and rested his hand and hook on the rail. "After you fell asleep last night, I came out here to check the stars. The same thing's happening here, Emma."
That sick feeling in her stomach was back. "Here? But...how? You said each realm has its own stars, mostly."
"I don't know. But it has to be magical, yeah?"
"I don't think there's any way to dispute that at this point, Killian. But one problem at time, okay? Mary Margaret and David are working that angle. I think we should concentrate on getting this job done, then get home so we can fix everything else."
Killian nodded. He focused his gaze on the shoreline; Emma felt the ship sway under her as she turned slightly to port, rounding a corner as they skimmed the coast. Emma followed Killian's gaze, but was nearly blinded by the bright mid morning light. As soon as her eyes adjusted, her jaw dropped. Looming in front of them was the remains of a castle. A castle Emma had seen before; it belonged to her parents and it was where she had been born.
"Is that what I think it is?" she asked.
"You know that place?"
"That's where I was born," Emma said. "You really didn't know?"
"Emma, when I knew that castle, it belonged to King Benedict. I might have run afoul of him, once or twice. Or was that Edward? All those royal types bleed together."
Emma cocked a brow at him. "Wait, so you're telling me that you 'ran afoul' of my great-great-great-god I don't know how many-grandfather?"
"It was three hundred years ago, love."
"What did you steal?"
"Don't really remember. We could check the logs again, if you're very curious," he smirked. Killian clearly found this very funny.
"Think I'll pass." She looked back at the charred ruins. "You didn't do this on purpose, did you?" she asked. All that talk about coming back for good made her wonder.
"What? Sail us past your home en route to the Crocodile's hiding place? Don't look at me, love. Sometimes the Jolly Roger gets a mind of her own. Maybe you did it without realizing. She does like you quite a bit, you know."
Emma rolled her eyes. He couldn't be serious. The idea that she had inadvertently directed the Jolly Roger toward the place where she'd been born was insane. Emma hadn't even been paying that much attention when she'd been there last; she'd just followed in Mary Margaret's wake. Emma didn't even know where exactly the castle was in the Enchanted Forest; the place didn't exactly have a gas station where they could buy a map. But the fact remained that the castle was looming in front of them, getting ever closer. Emma could feel the pull of the place. It had been dark the last time, illuminated only by the moonlight. It looked different – less forbidding, perhaps? – in the daylight.
Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Killian watching her. "What?" she asked.
"You want to stop, don't you?" he said.
"What? No! Killian, we don't have time. Magic plant to go get, remember?"
"Aye, and for some reason, we're sailing directly past the place where you were meant to grow up. It's natural to be curious, love. And I'd like to see it myself."
"I thought you said you'd already seen it."
"They didn't keep the valuables in the castle proper, Emma."
Emma huffed. Of course they didn't. She couldn't believe that she was actually considering this. They had a job to do; one job and they could leave. They needed to get back to Storybrooke as soon as possible. She'd promised Henry. Henry...he would love to have a souvenir. Emma pictured his face lighting up when she brought back some genuine piece of their family's past.
Turning her eyes back to Killian, she sighed. "Alright. One hour. Then we're going to do what we came here to do. Okay?"
Killian nodded in agreement, then dashed off to the helm. Minutes later, they were aligned with the dock and Killian went to tie them off. Emma followed him down the gangplank; the castle looming over her head. Nothing looked familiar, which made sense. They'd come in the main gate when she'd been there with her mother. Cautiously, she pushed open the first door she saw and stepped inside.
Everything that hadn't been destroyed had a fine lay of dust on it. Judging from the pots and pans, this was the castle kitchen. They moved from room to room silently; honestly there wasn't much to see, just the charred remains of what might have been. As they moved up through the corridors, it got brighter; Emma could see the dust particles in the sunbeams. The sight made her sad. This castle had been in her family for generations and now it was little more than a pile of rubble.
They came upon a set of huge doors; it took both of them to push them open. The huge cavernous room was filled with light from the stained glass windows. Emma recognized a few of them from Henry's book. "I know what this is," she whispered. "My parents were married in here."
"It's beautiful, love."
Emma swiped her finger along one of the ledges, then blew off some of the dust. "It was at any rate," she sighed. "Come on, I'll show you my nursery."
Killian followed her out of the room and down the corridor; Emma saw him fiddling with something in his pocket, but she hadn't the slightest idea what it was. Knowing him, he'd probably nicked something along the way. Together, they climbed the last staircase to where Emma's nursery lay. The room looked just as she remembered, only this time it was sunlight and not moonlight that shown through the large windows. Emma could see the Jolly Roger out the window.
"Do you feel that?" Killian asked.
Emma concentrated; then she felt it too, the subtle pulse of magic. The last ashes of the wardrobe lay in the corner of the room. "That's where the wardrobe was," she informed him, pointing.
"Do you think the ashes still have power?"
"Maybe. We can take some, just in case."
As Killian gathered some of the ashes, Emma looked around. The crib she never got to use, some broken toys, the now dull paint. This where she was meant to grow up, learn to walk, to talk, to do all those things that children get to do. It still seemed hard to believe. Curiously, she sifted through some of the broken toys. Her hand curled around one of the dolls and she pulled it out.
"Oh my god."
"What is it, love?"
Emma held the doll out to him; it was a pirate.
"Well, now, what is this?" Killian asked, grinning. He walked over to her, next to her dilapidated crib. He took the pirate from her and examined it. "I've seen these before, actually. Meant to stand guard over a child at night, but they usually come in pairs." He squatted down, sifting through the rubble with his hook. "Ah, here it is." He stood, dangling a knight from his hook.
Emma took it from him, looking it over carefully. "Stand guard? Like magic?"
"No, nothing like that. Just an old wives' tale, really," he explained. "These are nicer than most though, which makes sense, I suppose."
"Why?"
"Well, love, I don't know if you noticed, but you are a princess."
Emma punched him playfully in the arm. "Shut up." She looked back at the knight in her hand. "I wonder why these though. A knight and a pirate? Doesn't seem very princess-y."
"Your realm has an odd idea of what makes a princess, my love."
"Could you picture me in here? Wearing some big poofy dress, getting ready for a ball or something. Boring."
"Somehow I don't think you'd be that kind of princess. There's too much of your father in you."
"What? You wouldn't like the demure princess version of me?" she teased.
"You don't have a demure bone in your body, Emma. A fact for which I am grateful every single day," he replied, kissing her temple.
Emma turned her head slightly to hide her blush. "Come on, pirate. Time to go." She handed the knight back to Killian. "Here, we should take these with us. Henry will appreciate them."
"Aye," Killian agreed, sliding them into his satchel. "I think he would be most interested in these."
"Why's that?"
"Well, love, think about it. A knight and a pirate. Your father's a knight. I'm a pirate. There are those that would call that fate."
"David was a shepherd."
"Who then became a knight and a prince when he married your mother. Nobility isn't born, Emma. It's made."
"They're just dolls, Killian."
"Says the woman who is the physical embodiment of True Love, who's father is a knight and True Love is a pirate," he countered testily.
"I told you, I don't believe in fate."
"Then I'll just have to believe enough for both of us."
Emma stared at him as he started out of the room. What was that about?
They didn't talk much after the Jolly Roger got underway once more. Emma headed into their cabin, needing some space from Mr. Cranky Pants. Honestly, she didn't understand what the big deal was. What did it matter? Emma took out the knight and the pirate from Killian's satchel and stared at them for a long time. Killian truly did believe that their meeting was fate. Considering all the things that had to go exactly right for them to meet the way they did, it was hard to argue with him. And now she found out her parents had chosen these two dolls to stand watch over her crib before she'd even been born. It was weird, no doubt. But fate? She just couldn't believe it. Emma had seen and experienced a lot of strange things since coming to Storybrooke, but this was too much even for her.
Emma was still mulling all this over when Killian appeared in the doorway. "We're here, love."
"What?" she said, dumbly.
"I said, we're here. The place the Crocodile sent us."
Emma sat the dolls on the table. "Oh, that's good." She stood. "We should go then."
"Emma, wait," he said, reaching out for her. "It's nearly dark; we should wait until morning."
"I knew that visit to the castle was a waste of time."
Killian stepped back from her, looking hurt. "Sharing where you come from with me is a waste of time?"
"No! I didn't mean..." she trailed off, uncertain. They weren't exactly fighting; Emma wasn't sure what this was.
"Then pray, love, what do you mean?"
"Why are you being like this?" she countered. "You didn't even want to come here, you tried to forbid me from coming here! We're here to get that damn plant for Gold and that's it! And now that I want to do that so we can get home, you're being Mr. Cautious and Careful. What happened to Captain Hook, the most fearsome pirate of them all?"
"Are you implying I'm afraid?"
"No! I don't know what you are! You've been acting odd ever since you got back from the cabin with Mary Margaret. Don't think I haven't noticed."
Killian sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the bed. "What do you want from me, Emma?" he said plaintively.
"How about an explanation? Did Mary Margaret say something to you? Because I know she means well, but she does not get to dictate my life. I'm a grown woman, for god's sake."
"We did have a chat," Killian said, his eyes still cast down on the floor. "But it's not what you think."
"Then what was it?"
Killian fiddled with that mysterious thing in his pocket again. "This is not how I envisioned this happening, love."
"Envisioned what? I'm not a mind reader, Killian. You have to tell me."
"You want to know what happened to Captain Hook? He fell in love. Again. With the most extraordinary woman, one he doesn't deserve. A princess no less. What else could that be but fate? You have me feeling and wanting things I never wanted before, Emma. Not even with Milah. And now, here I am again with a woman I love at the mercy of that demon. What if I can't protect you? I can't go through that again, Emma. I won't survive it a second time."
Emma stepped between his legs and placed her hand under his chin forcing him to look at her. "Remember what you said to me in the sheriff's station? You promised me that we wouldn't become my parents; that we wouldn't let anything separate us. And we won't. We're going to get Gold off our backs with this favor and we're going to stop whatever else is going on. We're better together, Killian. You can't let my mother – for all her good intentions – doubt that. I love you and I will always love you."
To Emma's surprise, Killian stood. Gently, he maneuvered them around so that she was the one sitting on the bed. Then he knelt in front of her. He'd done this so many times that she didn't think anything of it until he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He held it up; it was Mary Margaret's ring.
"What is that?" she asked, stupidly. "Killian, what's going on?"
"Way to boost a man's confidence, love."
"Killian Jones needs a confidence boost?" she asked, realization dawning. Suddenly, everything made sense: the overprotectiveness, the talk about their future, the talk of fate. "Are you sure you're really him?"
"He bloody well does for this. I'm sailing blind here."
Emma reached out and touched his face. "Go ahead, Captain. Ask."
Killian swallowed audibly, then locked his impossibly blue gaze with hers. "Marry me, Emma."
"That didn't sound so much like a question as it did a demand," she teased, unable to resist.
Killian didn't flinch, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "This is my ship, love. I make the demands and you follow them, remember?"
"Yes," she said simply. A smile spreading over her face and joy filling her heart.
The relief in his eyes contrasted with the euphoric grin that dominated his face. Slowly, Killian slid the ring on the ring finger of her left hand. It was odd seeing her mother's ring on her own finger, but Emma could only suppose that Mary Margaret had her reasons. Before she could question him about it, Killian leaned up and kissed her hard. Emma's hands flew to his head, holding him as he rose and leaned her back onto the bed and plundered her mouth as if he hadn't kissed her in a thousand years.
Emma moaned as his weight settled over her in a way that was not unpleasant. She clung to his shoulders as he trailed his lips along her jaw and neck. Emma knew there were things they needed to do, but at this moment, she didn't care. Killian was one of the two most important things in her life and he'd just made her happier than she could ever remember being. So that thing they were supposed to do? It could wait. She needed him and he needed her and for the first time, it didn't scare her.
"Emma," Killian whispered, nipping at her earlobe.
"I know," she said. "It's okay."
He kissed her again, his tongue gently sweeping her lower lip, begging for entrance. She gave it gladly, her fingers twining in his dark hair. The kiss seemed to go on forever; indeed, Emma knew she could have been content to remain this way, kissing him...forever. But at the same time, it wasn't enough. With him, there was no such thing as enough. Emma hadn't thought it was possible to feel this way about anyone. She'd never been more happy to be proven wrong. And now he'd asked her to be his wife. Her heart hammered in her chest at the thought. Wife. Not a word she thought could ever apply to her, but with Killian it felt right. She was his wife in all but name, as it was. And since she had no intention of giving him up or losing him, she found that she wanted to be tied to him. Permanently.
"I love you, Killian," she said, as he trailed another line of kisses down her neck.
Killian raised his head and looked down at her, his eyes shining with love and happiness. "I love you, Emma. More than I can say."
"Can you show me?"
He smirked. "Aye, I can do that." Killian crawled off of her and stood up. She immediately missed his warmth. He held out his good hand and helped her sit up. After pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead, Killian stepped back slightly. He studied her critically for a moment, then smiled. "Do you trust me, love?"
"Always."
"Good." Then without warning, Killian slashed through her blouse with his hook. One slash in front and another in back and the cloth fell to the floor in ribbons. Not once did he scratch her. Deftly, he reached behind her with his good hand, unclasping her bra and pitching it to the floor. Emma looked at him curiously as he bid her to stand.
"You're beautiful," he said quietly.
Emma had never felt beautiful in her whole life; objectively, she knew men found her attractive, but she never saw it. But she did when Killian looked at her. It had frightened her at first, but now it was one of her favorite things about him. And he was too far away from her at the moment. Emma reached for his waistband and yanked him toward her.
"Are you just gonna stare all night?" she whispered harshly in his ear.
Killian groaned. "Can't a man take a few minutes to ogle his fiance?"
"You're supposed to be showing me how much you love me, Captain."
"Like this?" he said, trailing the curved edge of his hook along the underside of her breast. Emma shivered. "Or this?" as he ducked his head and sucked on her pulse point. "Or this?" as he nipped at her earlobe and used his good hand to bring her hips flush with his. Emma could feel his desire for her through the double layer of denim that separated them. She held on to his shoulders for support, in moments her knees had gone weak. How did he always manage to drive her crazy with want and hardly touch her?
Gently, Killian guided her to the wall next to the bed. Emma leaned against it gratefully. But she had no time to recover, as Killian's lips slid along her collarbone and down her chest. She gasped as he took one of her taut nipples into his mouth and lavished it with attention until it was tender. As he moved to the other, Emma could feel the ache low in her belly. She held his head with one hand and blindly reached out with the other. She felt the cool steel of his hook beneath her fingers and dragged it to where she wanted him. Killian looked at her curiously until she pressed her hips forward rubbing her still denim covered center against his hook.
"Is this what you want, love?" he asked, pressing the hook along the zipper of her pants.
"Yes," she said defiantly, daring him to deny her.
He gave her a feral grin. "As you wish, princess."
Killian knelt down in front of her and methodically removed her jeans, socks and boots. The only thing that remained were her panties. Killian slid his hook over the scrap of cloth that still covered her, teasing her with light strokes. Emma braced her hands against the wall, rolling her hips, trying to get more friction. "Killian," she breathed.
He looked up at her, his good hand ghosting up her thigh sending electric shocks across her skin. Emma's heart beat rapidly in her chest; the ache and want of him nearly driving her mad. Slowly, Killian's good hand found the edge of her panties and tugged on them until the fragile cloth ripped and fell to the floor. Only then did he give her what she wanted. The smooth steel glided along her sensitive flesh drawing a moan from her throat. Emma looked down at what he was doing with hooded eyes. The steel pressed harder; Emma rolled her hips into it wantonly. Killian's fingers replaced his hook at her entrance, sliding into her easily. Her back arched as his fingers moved in and out of her, driving her closer to the edge. She could feel her release building, but she needed more. As if reading her mind, Killian slid his hook over her swollen clit, once, twice, three times. Emma screamed as the waves of her orgasm washed over her; her body trembling with the force of it.
It was almost too much. Emma's legs would no longer support her; Killian caught her before she fell. Carefully, he moved her to the bed. Her eyes half closed, Emma watched him as he undressed. The lean hard muscles of his back and shoulders as he removed his shirt, the trail of coarse black hair the disappeared into his pants, the curve of his ass as he bent over to take off his boots. Despite the way her body still tingled, Emma wanted him. When he straightened, she beckoned him to her.
"Are you sure?" he asked, as he climbed over her. He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. She could feel the tautness and tension in his muscles as he moved over her. "I want you so much, Emma. I don't think I could be slow or gentle right now, love," he said tightly.
Emma lifted his head to look into his eyes. "I won't break. I want you, Killian."
Killian groaned and closed his eyes, the tension flitting across his face. Emma thrust her hips into his and nipped at his earlobe. "Take me, Captain."
Killian's eyes opened and bored into hers; a second later, his hips shifted and he buried his length deep inside her. Emma cried out in relief and kissed his brow, urging him to move. True to his word, his strokes were rough, needy and desperate. Emma chanted his name softly, almost like a prayer and clung to him tightly, wanting to be as close to him as she could. Aftershocks continued to wrack her body as he took what he needed. To her surprise, Killian snaked his good hand between them and brushed his fingers over over clit. She was still so sensitive that it took only seconds for him to spark another orgasm. Emma cried out as she felt her muscles tighten around him like a vice. Killian shouted hoarsely as he followed her over the edge.
Emma felt Killian collapse on top of her, but she didn't have the strength to roll him off. Besides, his weight was easily bearable. Absently, she stroked whatever skin she could reach in her boneless state. Killian nuzzled her neck contentedly for a few minutes, before rolling off her on his own. Weakly, Emma saw him sit up, unscrew his hook and pull the duvet over them. Carefully, he gathered her in his arms and laid back.
"I love you, Emma," he said, kissing the top of her head.
"I love you, too," she managed to mutter.
Killian chuckled. "Sleep, love. We've got a long day tomorrow."
"Hmmm," Emma hummed. She was pleasantly sated and happy. In no time, she was asleep.
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The room was dark. Killian didn't know where it was, but he knew he was somewhere he shouldn't be. Instantly, he worried about Emma. Where was she? He felt blindly in the dark for her, but she was nowhere near him.
"Emma!" he called. "Emma!"
There was no answer.
There was a blinding light; Killian closed his eyes against it instinctively. When he opened them, he hoped Emma would be standing there, wherever this strange place was.
But the person who stood in the light wasn't Emma. It was Milah.
"No," he said. "It can't be."
Milah smiled softly. "Hello, Killian."
She looked just as she had in life – chestnut brown curls flowing down her back, laughing blue eyes sparkling with mischief, pirate's garb clinging to her curves. "Is it really you?" he asked, then immediately felt guilty. Emma was somewhere in this infernal place; he needed to find her.
"In a manner of speaking," Milah said.
"Am I dead?" he asked.
Milah laughed her melodic laugh; it made his chest ache. "No, my love. You are very much alive. This is just a dream."
"But how..."
"Killian, I don't have much time, so you must listen to me carefully. There is something very dangerous at work."
"The stars," he said. "I know."
"This is so much larger than you know, my love. Rumplestiltskin is planning something devastating. He doesn't even realize just how dangerous it is; not that he would care if he did. He's too blinded by rage now."
Killian couldn't help himself; he reached out for her, but his fingers glided through as if she were a ghost. Which he supposed in a way, she was. Milah smiled at him sadly. "I am here, but not here, Killian. I came to warn you."
"But how, Milah? You died in my arms."
"Because of what my husband has done – or rather what he has begun to do. He's planning a spell, a spell that will bring down the barrier between Storybrooke and the rest of the world your Emma calls home. But Killian – what Rumplestiltskin doesn't know is that his spell is so powerful that it will bring all the barriers down. It's already begun."
"The stars," Killian breathed.
"Yes," Milah said. "And it is how I can speak to you now. All the barriers between worlds are slowly collapsing, Killian. Even the one between life and death."
Killian stared at her. "Do you mean..."
"Could I return to you? No, my love. I would be but a ghost. But you are no longer alone, Killian. I watched you for so long, hoping that one day you would find happiness again. And now you have."
Killian shifted uncomfortably. "I'm so sorry, Milah. Sorry I couldn't protect you from him. Sorry I could say what I should have said."
Milah reached out her ghostly hand; Killian could almost feel her touch. Almost. "I love you, Killian. I'd give my life for yours a thousand times. I don't regret it. You have Emma now; she needs you. And you need her. In a way you never needed me."
Killian opened his mouth to protest, but Milah merely smiled. "It's alright, Killian. I know you loved me. But what you have with Emma is True. And if I in some small way helped bring you together, then I am happy for you. Please tell her that for me."
"I will," he promised. And because he knew this would be his last chance to say it, he said, "I love you, Milah."
"And I love you. We will see each other again. Take care of Emma. And my grandson," she smiled. Then she was gone.
Gasping, Killian opened his eyes. Emma hovered over him, her face clouded with worry. Everything came back to him in a rush. Milah. Rumplestiltskin. The stars. The barriers. Milah's blessing. He looked up at Emma; she was blurry. Killian blinked and he felt a tear slide down his cheek. "Hey," Emma said softly. "It's okay. It was just as bad dream."
He wanted to tell her, but he couldn't find his voice. He realized with a start that he'd never cried for Milah. In three hundred years, he'd never cried, wept out his grief. Unbidden, it threatened to overwhelm him. He choked on a sob; he didn't want Emma to see. But she was too fast for him. She gathered him in her arms and held him tight. "Get it out, Killian. It's okay; I'm here."
And Killian buried his head in her neck and wept.
He didn't know how long they stayed that way: Emma holding him as he cried. But gradually, the hiccuping sobs and tears slowed, then stopped. Killian kissed Emma tear stained skin gently before raising his head to look at her. The worry that was etched on her face warmed his heart. It had been so long since someone worried about him, about how he was feeling. You need her. In a way you never needed me.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Emma asked quietly, brushing away his tears with her thumb.
Killian nodded, still unsure how to begin. But Emma needed to hear it. Killian sat up and Emma followed, taking his hand. He saw the ring there and remembered the pure joy in his heart when she said yes. They could do this; together, they could handle the worst the fates through at them. That's what Milah had been trying to tell him; he understood that now. He cleared his throat before looking into Emma's worried sea green eyes.
"It was Milah, Emma."
"Oh, Killian," Emma whispered. "I am so sorry."
"No, it's not what you think. She needed to warn me – warn us – about something. About Rumplestiltskin."
"Killian, I know that's what you want to believe, but...Milah's dead."
"She knew about the stars, Emma. And if she's right, that's not the worst of it. Just listen to me, yeah?"
"Alright, Killian. I believe you."
Slowly, he explained Milah's warning: Rumplestiltskin's plan to bring down the barrier between Storybrooke and the outside, the power of the spell, how the magical barriers between worlds were deteriorating. As he spoke, Emma got increasingly pale.
"Oh my god," she breathed. "Can he do that? Is it even possible?"
"You saw the stars disappearing as well as I did, Emma. All the barriers are deteriorating, even life and death, Milah said."
"Graham. That's what he was trying to tell me." Killian cocked an brow. Emma smiled softly. "In my nightmare, silly. He said 'Things are not as they appear. Beware.' I had no idea what he was talking about. But he must have known something was wrong."
"You never said anything," Killian pouted.
"Well, I didn't think it meant anything. Judging from how jealous you got when I mentioned him, can you blame me? Was this the only dream about Milah you've had lately?" she asked astutely.
Killian flushed. "No, it's not. But if it makes you feel better, love, she mentioned you."
"She did? Do I even want to know?"
Killian smiled. "She asked me to give you a message."
Emma looked at him apprehensively. "What is it?"
"She said that what we have is True. And that if she helped bring us together, then she was happy for us. And she asked me to take care of you and Henry."
"She knows about Henry?"
"Aye. Said she'd been watching me, hoping I'd find some happiness. And I did." Killian raised her hand to his lips and brushed them across her knuckles. "I love you, Emma."
"I love you, Killian. So much." She leaned in and kissed him gently. "Did you get to tell her?"
Killian knew what she meant. It was like a weight had been lifted from his chest. "I did."
"I'm glad," Emma replied. He could see she really was; Emma understood him. "So what do we do now? There has to be a way to stop Gold."
"I can think of one," Killian said, darkly.
Emma glared at him. "As much as he probably deserves it, we're not killing him."
"He's trying to destroy our world! All the worlds, Emma! What should we do then?"
"I don't know!"
"What he tries to kill us first? Because that's what he'll do if he finds out we know what he's planning."
Emma rubbed her free hand over her face. "Maybe we can reason with him," she said, as if trying to convince herself. "If we help him with Belle, then maybe..."
"He doesn't deserve Belle," Killian said bitterly.
"How many times have you said that you don't deserve me?" Emma asked. "It's not about deserving, Killian. Belle loves him; she sees something in him the rest of us don't. If we can't get through to him, then maybe she can. But she can't do that if she doesn't remember."
"I don't think it will be that simple, love."
"Honestly? I don't either. But it's our best option right now. Let's hope Mary Margaret and David find out something more before we get back."
"So we're still going after the Crocodile's weed?"
"Yes. Belle's still innocent, Killian. She didn't ask for this."
Killian held up in his hand in surrender. "Fine. Let's get this sodding thing over with."
A couple of hours later, Killian and Emma beached the small boat on the rocky shore. The Jolly Roger was anchored a hundred yards off shore, her drought too deep for the shallows. The boat – like the rest of the Jolly Roger – was enchanted. No one but Killian or Emma would be able to take it back to the ship, so Killian had no qualms about leaving it unattended. They hefted their packs and headed into the forest.
After another hour of wading through the underbrush and trees, Killian paused to take a drink. "Didn't the Crocodile give you more precise directions, love? Maybe he was just putting you on."
Emma rolled her eyes. "You really hate the forest, don't you?"
"And you don't?" he shot back, knowing full well how Emma felt about the outdoors.
"Point taken. You still want to move back here?"
He never got to answer her; there was a large crash off to their left. Both of them froze, looking. Instinctively, Killian reached for his sword, pulling it out a few inches. Beside him, he saw Emma do the same. There's a good lass, he thought. He went back to scanning the trees, looking for any sign of movement, but there was none.
"Ogre?" Emma whispered.
"Probably," he said quietly.
Emma let the sword slide back into its scabbard. "Come on, let's get this over with. I don't think it's far now."
Killian followed her deeper into the forest, his eyes glancing around looking for trouble. Emma carried the bow and quiver her mother had given her. She wasn't that great of a marksman, but it was better than nothing. A direct hit to the eye was the only way to kill an ogre. Abruptly, Emma came to a stop.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Do you feel that?" she said, as she reached out into the seemingly empty air.
It felt like a frission of energy yet cold. "Aye."
Emma stepped forward and her hand disappeared. "It's a glamour," he said. "This must be it."
Emma pulled her hand back. "That is so weird."
"Shall we?"
"Now or never, I guess," Emma shrugged. Then she stepped through it, the magic shimmering in front of him. Killian followed her. On the other side, he saw something he did not expect.
"What is this? The Secret Garden?" Emma asked, astonished.
"What?"
Emma turned back to him. "Nevermind. It's a book," she explained. "But this is...wow."
There were plants everywhere. Neat rows of things growing in the earth, more hanging from free standing trellises. Killian didn't know much about magic, but judging from the way Rumplestiltskin had hidden this place, all the plants were probably magical in some way. For nearly fifty square yards the forest had been cut down to make room for the Crocodile's garden.
"Which one is it?"
Emma looked at a paper Killian had never seen, then back along the rows. The longer they stayed there, the more uneasy Killian got. Hidden by magic or not, there were still ogres out there. And the Crocodile had hidden this place for a reason; gods knew the imp had many enemies. Granted, most of the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest had been transported to Storybrooke. But Killian knew not all of them had. He hadn't wanted to alarm Emma, but they were perilously close to her land. And if anyone – aside from Cora – could find a way to avoid the Crocodile's curse, it was her.
"Here it is!" Emma held up a purple tinted sprig. "Mnemosyne's bramble."
"Doesn't look like much."
"Yeah, well, as long as it works, I don't care what it looks like." Emma put several cuttings from the plant in her pack, then slung it back over her shoulder. "Let's get the hell out of here," she said. "This place gives me the creeps."
Killian didn't have any argument with that. He turned and headed back for the barrier. He stepped through it and his eyes widened. There were a half dozen armed knights on the other side, all wearing her livery. He tried to step backwards – back into the garden before Emma could follow him – but he was too late. Emma bumped right into his back; Killian groaned inwardly.
"Killian, what..." Emma began, then she saw. "Oh."
"Swords. On the ground. Now," one of the retainers – the commander by the looks of him – growled.
In any other circumstances, Killian would have told him to shove off and taken them all on himself. But there was more at stake than his pride. They'd have to find another way. "Best do as he says, Emma," he said quietly.
"But Killian..."
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
"Then do this for me. I'll explain later."
Reluctantly, Emma did as he asked. His sword followed hers to the ground. Then he took her hand in his; it was trembling ever so slightly. He squeezed it reassuringly.
"Let's go. My lady will be very interested to see who is trespassing on her land."
"Your lady?" Emma asked. "Who is that?"
The nameless knight looked at Emma appraisingly; Killian's blood boiled. "The Lady Morgan Le Fay, of course. She'll be very pleased to see you, Hook."