Hey, sorry for a bit longer break between this chapter and the previous one. I'd still love to hear what you think of this story as you read. There is only one more chapter after this one. This one goes with episode 3x06 "Ariel" and takes a bit more liberty with what I imagine happening in missing scenes, but I still hope you enjoy.

"Islands in the Stream"

Chapter Seven: Beyond the Bridge

"Tender love is blind

It requires a dedication

All this love we feel needs no conversation…"

'What did you expect?!' his mind berates him as he watches hidden behind some branches while Emma and Baelfire talk in a clearing outside the Echo Cave. 'She's found her first love – Henry's father – and yet she might still want you?! A common scoundrel with nothing to offer but a ship and a bit a charm?' Killian feels pathetic for even lingering to watch the two of them, all the while wishing he could make out their words. It doesn't matter anyway, as his self-loathing mind is only too happy to supply him with possibilities to fill in the blanks. She must be admitting that she never forgot him, that all they need is to get their son back and then they can be a family at last. He's telling her that he is sorry for leaving her all those years ago, that he will do anything to make it up to her, to win her back. Though Killian turns his back on the scene and stalks away, the imagined conversation has already turned his stomach inside out, and he clenches and unclenches his fist at his side in helpless, unvented anger. He doesn't know what exactly caused Neal to leave Emma, or what had been their understanding before the abandonment, but he has seen firsthand the aftermath on Emma's psyche and has felt the sting of her self-preserving lack of trust in anyone that Neal's betrayal left behind.

Bitterly shaking his head and trying to clear all the hurt feelings and anger away, Killian wants to kick himself until he learns the lesson that 300 years have somehow failed to drive home for him. 'Just what was I thinking?' he asks himself, replaying the confession of his feelings that he had offered in the cave. He was driven to see her happy, to get for her whatever she needed, no matter the cost to himself. He should not have allowed himself the fragment of hope that their single – though wildly combustible – kiss and his heartfelt declaration would mean something to her. Milah's son obviously holds some of his mother's irresistible magnetism; how else to explain Emma being as helpless to resist the pull of her first love as he himself had been against Baelfire's mother? 'Like moths to a flame,' his mind spits at him condescendingly. 'Neither I nor the Swan girl have the sense needed to keep from handing our affections over to ones who can destroy us.'

He swipes his sword angrily at an errant vine trailing across the path, and for a moment, he wishes it were Baelfire's flesh. In the next instant, he hates himself even more for the thought. This is Milah's child, a boy he had once felt such affection for that he would have taken him in as a son; the venom he feels now is not truly fair. Still, if he had ever possessed the slightest chance with Emma, it is surely gone now, because of Baelfire, and Killian finds he is unable to let it go.

When he comes storming back into the clearing where they have made their camp, Charming and Snow look up at the noise he is making as he tromps through much less stealthily than usual. Their argument over David's deception is momentarily forgotten when the Prince gets a good look at the Captain's face. "Hook?" he starts to question with genuine concern, "Are you…?"

"Fine, Mate," Killian bites out without stopping or even slowing his pace. "Just give me a moment." Soon he is past them and in the surrounding trees' darkness again, finally far enough away from Baelfire and Emma's reunion that he feels he can breathe. He has to get this under control; he cannot let the rest of his "crew" see that their Princess has him falling apart.

Drawing in a tight breath, his eyes fall to his clenched fist, only to observe with surprise that it is literally shaking – vibrating – with the force of his emotions. He had not been lying when he admitted his secret in the cave. After Milah's death, he had ceased feeling. All had been a bland, senseless haze of revenge and hatred for so long that he had forgotten there was once more. Emma had brought light, sensation, longing flooding back into his being. He had been thrilled at the feelings, the realization, for only as long as it took to read the shock and panic in Emma's face at his words. She didn't welcome his affection, couldn't – or wouldn't – return his feelings. By the time she had crossed the bridge formed of their admissions and was pulling Baelfire into an embrace, he was already regretting that he had offered his heart in his words, and was paying painfully for having emotion returned to him.

Sheathing his sword, Killian stands, his chest heaving at the exertion of stalking through the jungle at the pace he set himself and the torment he has been running through his own mind. He wants something to hit, something he can tear apart with his own bare hands, just to release some of the frustration. Shaking his head at himself in disgust, Killian thinks that it is the last thing he needs to do. The one-handed, worthless pirate busts up the only good hand he's got, that will certainly make him more appealing to the Lost Princess. Not to mention that they all need him – are all counting on him more than they will admit – to be at his best, not distracted by this nonsense.

Still, he is unable to fight the urge, and he draws his hand back, letting the punch fly with a maddened growl that becomes a guttural moan at the agony which blossoms upon his fist's contact with the unyielding trunk of the nearest tree. The sickening anguish of it near turns his stomach and comes close to doubling him over, but the frenzied need to release the pressure and blind rage he's feeling is stronger. He is set on going again, and welcomes the pain, even knowing he'll damage his only hand beyond recognition. He finds he barely even cares. It is only the sudden rush of pounding feet, and Emma's voice crying out, "Hook! What the hell?!" in shock, and then her small hand on his arm, pulling him back, that stops him from delivering his second blow.

He draws in a sharp, shuddering breath and forces down the urge to angrily shake her off him. Jerking his head to the side to meet her eyes, his ice-blue gaze is harsh, tormented, and nearly steals her breath. She can see the hurt behind his frustration and anger, and it makes her heart thud erratically, even as she tries to tell herself it shouldn't make that much difference to her what he's feeling. Killian wants desperately to tell her to go away, to stop looking at him like she actually cares, but neither biting vitriol nor sharp wit comes to his aid as it usually does. The damaged hand throbs with an ache that intends to be known, now that his anger is draining away and he has nothing else to center himself with.

"What are you doing?!" she cries angrily, her eyes wavering from his face to his hand and back again.

Killian knows there is no sensible answer her can give, not that he can offer to her anyway. Instead, he tries to turn his back, to shut her out before her look of concern and sympathy can squeeze his heart even further. He sighs, knowing that she is as stubborn as she is strong, beautiful, and addictive. She isn't going to just let him be, not when she hasn't gotten a straight answer from him yet.

His senses are so attuned to her that he feels her moving to stand before him, even before she steps into his field of vision. The electric current that runs up his skin when she carefully, almost tenderly, lifts his arm and cradles his injured hand in both of hers, stuns him. "Let me look," she whispers, already doing so as she makes the request.

"Leave it, Darling," he tries, he voice rasping, wanting to pull his wrist and hand from her grasp, but nearly crying out at the pain of even the slightest pressure on the extremity now. "There's no need."

Her eyes flick up to meet his, the worry and hurt for him easing just a moment to flicker in playfulness. "Don't be stubborn, Captain," she emphasizes the title, almost making it a tease, and he marvels at how she can shatter all of his resistance with a few words and a look.

Her gaze flicks back down to his bloodied hand, the knuckles already swelling and skin turning purple in places, and his eyes are drawn there as well. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he stops resisting her. "What are you doing, Lass?" he asks, the playful lilt slipping back into his voice as well.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Regina has been teaching me, just a couple harmless things, but I'm seeing if I can fix up a bit of the damage you've done to yourself."

Killian feels a tremor run through him now that has nothing to do with her touch or her proximity. He has only to glance at the hook he wears as an excuse for his other hand to be more fearful than he would like of her attempting to use magic on him, even to help. "Emma, I-" he tries, a nervous catch in his voice that he hopes to hide.

"Didn't you once patch up my hand and ask me for a little bit of trust?" she responds. "Trust me. This should feel a lot better in a minute."

Put like that, he knows he's going to let her do whatever she wishes. He doesn't want to pull away from her gentle touch at any rate, no matter what the consequences.

Emma's eyes never leave her focus. His first sign that anything is happening is warmth in his palm, spreading out to his fingers and up his wrist into his forearm, replacing the pain with a cozy tingling. Killian watches with rapt attention as her brow crinkles adorably in concentration, and then a golden glow radiates from her hands, encircling his with light as well. It washes over their joined grip for a few seconds more and then fades. Emma looks up at him hopefully. "Better?" she asks, looking a little drained, but pleased with herself.

"Much," he assures her, flexing his fingers experimentally and giving her a genuine smile. Realizing how ridiculous what he did really was, he shakes his head sheepishly and adds, "Thank you, Love. You truly are bloody brilliant."

She blushes prettily and looks down at her hands again, as if wondering if they are really hers and also as if she is uncomfortable with his praise. Killian marvels at the thought which strikes him anew – that she has no idea how incredible she is. When she looks up again, Emma quirks an eyebrow and says, "You wouldn't want to tell me what in the world you were thinking, would you?'

He stares deep into her when their eyes meet this time. He's pretty sure she must already know. She heard his confession; it was made for her after all. He cannot put his shattered hope, jealousy, sense of loss, and his need for her into words again, not standing face to face like this. He already laid himself at her feet once; he will never get up again if she crushes him a second time.

She nods, her eyes – too wise, too old for her – understanding only too well. Killian actually breathes a sigh of relief when she doesn't push him. She knows, and she won't force him to admit it again. Somehow, with that small bit of mercy, she makes her healing spell complete. There is a look in her eyes that catches at him, telling him that though it scares her senseless, though she doesn't feel at liberty to act, and though she won't deal with anything else she feels until her lad is safe, she hopes he will wait for her, that his affection will linger. Her view of him has changed; he can see a glimmer of fragile emotion behind her usually guarded expression, emotion that nearly matches his own. He wonders, and can't help hoping, if it hints at how much she cares for him in return.