Chap 8: By The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot

Killian and Emma deal with his memory loss. For his is truly the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

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At dawn, Emma hovered at the foot of the winding staircase. The upper-level of the clock tower was just within view. From where she stood, Emma could make-out the glowing face of the clock and the shadow of gears through the grated floors.

"Killian?" She called, climbing the steel-framed staircase.

After her parents had left the apartment, she'd spent the night pacing round the room. The dark despair and hopelessness that had plagued her these past few weeks were gone, but in their place remained a dozen questions. For hours she fought the urge to race to the clock tower and demand answers. Instead, she spent a good portion of the night not-in-any-way-shape-or-form remembering the way he took her in his arms, brought her lips to his, and gave her a series of searing kisses that burned right through her…

Dammit, she muttered, making her way up the staircase. What the hell am I doing? I did not think this through…this is stupid…thoroughly stupid going to see Killian like this. Stupid sexy Killian…No! Not sexy at all…God this was a bad idea…a very very very bad idea…

She stared into the dimly-lit space. The amber clock face shone as wide and round as the moon, casting the bedroom in its faint yellow light. Books were piled high in the corners and a box of fruit cups sat by a small window.

Against the opposite wall lay a cot, with the Dark One's sleeping form draped over it.

"Killian?" she whispered, surprised to catch him sleeping. Did the Dark One even need to sleep? She couldn't remember anyone mentioning Gold's sleeping habits and briefly wondered if Dark Ones were as unique in their habits as evil queens, or dwarfs, or pixies.

She stood awkwardly at the top of the staircase, watching him. She was amazed to realize she'd never seen him sleep before.

Though her common sense screamed at her to leave the man in peace, she quietly crossed the room and knelt at his side. Emma couldn't help herself. She stared, fascinated as the moonlight cast an amber-colored shadows over his unlined face. Reaching out, her fingertips grazed the soft locks of his black hair. The spiky ends brushed against her fingers, their silken feel making her shiver despite the warm flush in her cheeks. Her hand then took on a life of its own as it repeated the action, tracing a feathery line down his cheek and along his strong jaw. Her thumb brushed over his bottom lip, and she felt the sharp intake of his breath.

She caught the green glint of his eyes just before he grabbed the hand that was tracing his features.

"Couldn't keep away, could you Lovely?" Even though his eyes were drowsy, he managed a wink. She snatched her hand back, more embarrassed than surprised.

Stifling a yawn, he sat up and stretched. As the blanket fell away, she noticed his shirt was open and parted. The outline of his strong sculpted chest was half-hidden by the moonlight. A hint of stubble shadowed his jaw, and his black hair was scruffy from his pillow.

Before her common sense could stop her, she eased towards him. She leaned in slowly until her lips caught his, brushing softly against them. His eyes opened wider, reflecting the shadowy light of the room. He cupped her face as she kissed him gently, almost painfully slow. Her mouth parted and she dipped her tongue against his. The contact lasted only a moment, but it sent an electrical trill through her. With a sigh she pulled away, putting some much needed distance between them.

"Now there's a nice way to wake up," he muttered as he stared at her through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Good morning," she said shyly.

"Good morning Lovely." He gave a sleepy smile and began buttoning his shirt.

She backed away from the bed and looked around the room. The sunrise was shining through the clock face, bringing the scattered objects into view. "So this is where you've been. You were in the clock tower the whole time."

The sketches scattered on the floor caught her eye. She knelt down and studied the various swans and ships on the scraps of parchment.

"Good thing I'm the Dark One…never could earn my keep as an artist." Yawning, he climbed to his feet.

Setting aside the drawings, she made her way towards the books. All were heavy and leather-bound, with strange symbols on the covers. She opened one and flipped through the pages. Swirls and diagrams covered the parchment in strange languages.

"They're spells love," he explained. "You know, magical nonsense. Elfin curses and so forth. Fairly standard stuff. Most of it's bloody useless if you ask me."

"Where did you get them?"

"Just conjured them up. I've been getting good at that." He grinned. "Seems whenever I want something, it just appears."

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't conjured up. I walked here. On my own."

"I'm sure you did Lovely. After all," he gestured to himself, "how could you stay away?"

"Oh my God…" she bit her lip, trying not to laugh. It was something Killian…her Killian would say. She wanted throw her arms around him, or throw something blunt and heavy at him, but she resisted both urges. "I actually came here to ask you some questions."

He gave a slight bow. "I'm at your service."

"How did you find your way here…to the clock tower?"

"I'm not sure. I followed a road and saw something bright and pretty… I wasn't really cognizant of my situation at the time. I just woke up here and thought it best to keep out of the way until I got my bearings." He shrugged. "And that's all I remember."

"Do you have the dagger?"

He tilted his head and paused a moment before answering. "Yes."

"Did you hide it?"

"I did." As he answered, his expression darkened. He's waiting for me to ask where the dagger is... she thought to herself. He thinks I want the dagger… She could feela tension fill the air between them as he stared at her. She could feel his eyes studying her, watching her closely, suspiciously. It was a look she hadn't seen on his face since they first met. It pained her to see him like that. Like she was a stranger who was out to hurt him…to use him…

"Good," she replied steadily. "Keep it hidden. Don't tell anyone where it is. Whoever has the dagger can control you."

"So I've heard." He watched her for a moment, turning her reply over in his mind. "Although… that could be fun, given the right circumstances." He winked and gave a sly grin.

"Oh dear God…" she rolled her eyes and the tension eased. How had so much changed and yet so much stayed the same? "Do you remember how you became the Dark One?"

"No idea. And based on what I've read, I'm not entirely sure I want to."

"Oh," she replied softly, not knowing what to say to that.

"But speaking of remembering…" he ran his fingers through his hair. As he did, she noticed his stubble vanish and the lopsided spikes settle into place "…I was thinking of heading down to those docks you showed me."

"Why? Did you see something that looked familiar?"

"Something did catch my eye. Though who the hell knows what… I thought I might look around a bit. See if I recognize something."

"I'd better go with you."

He shook his head as he shrugged on his jacket. "There's no need for that. If it turns out to be nothing I don't want to waste your time."

"It's not a waste of time." She crossed the room until she was standing in front of him. "Killian, I've been looking for you for weeks. You have no idea what you put me through. I thought…I thought you were…gone."

"Gone?"

She nodded slowly, swallowing hard as she suppressed a shaky sigh.

"Well, I'm not gone. Actually I find I'm making myself quite at home." He brought her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss against it. "Very much so in fact," he added softly, pulling her closer.

Her eyes drifted shut as his lips fluttered against hers. He dotted her face with light kisses, the bruises on her throat disappeared as he ran his fingers along the discolored marks. "I swear I'll never hurt you like that again, Lovely." She felt him grin against the soft skin of her neck. "Unless you ask me to."

She pulled away, ready to swat at him, but he caught her arms and brought his mouth against hers for a scorching kiss. She returned it fiercely, gripping his collar and pulling him impossibly closer. Their lips brushed roughly, possessively, in a series of breathless, bruising kisses. His arms snaked around her waist, lifting her until she was flush against him. His mouth opened under hers and she groaned as their kiss deepened and a shiver of pleasure shook her senses. She could feel the hard planes of his chest against her own soft curves, felt the heat of their contact building up between them as they began to move in an unconscious rhythm against each other.

Something flared and burned deep as a light began to dance in front of her eyes. A green and white flame blazed to life in an iridescent display overhead, crackling and snapping with a dangerous intensity.

Nowaitstopstop no wait too much stop wait stop wait no stop…an internal warning sounded until she broke away. Gasping, she rested her head on his shoulder, her arms still around him, his lips against her throat. The air around them quieted as the ghostly flames now shimmered faintly in the shadowy corners.

"Probably best if you don't accompany me Lovely. I'm not likely to get anything done if you're around," he muttered, running his hands through her hair.

She nodded and took a step back, putting some much needed space between them, hating to agree with him but hating the distance between them more.

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At the dock

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Displaying itself in a series of stone grays and blues, the sea stretched like silk across the bay. Along the horizon, sails and clouds overlapped in series of swirls barely visible against the white winter sky.

Killian ambled along the seashore. The winter wind howled around him, announcing his presence with an eerie wail. If anyone were nearby, they would have felt a chill up their spine, and may have found a reason to head indoors…

But the beach and the docks were quiet and empty. No one came to the shoreline this time of year, as there was nothing to welcome beachgoers except tangles of black seaweed and sharp rocks lurking in the shallows.

"Our boots and clothes are all in pawn …

Go down, you blood red roses, go down.

It's mighty drafty 'round Cape Horn …

Go down, you blood red roses, go down."

He sang the tune absently, taking a moment to enjoy the scenery and the solitude. Swan had met her parents and Regina for breakfast, and Grim was still gone, off doing whatever half-rotten ghouls did. Both of which made his trek a little easier. He wanted to explore the town on his own, without Swan, without Grim, without a mob of angry villagers chasing him with pitchforks and torches.

Approaching the docks, he paused a moment, wondering what had attracted his attention the night before. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a single piling beneath the dock's ancient skeletal structure. Stripped and splintered, the bleached wood was the color of bones and around it was a silver sturdy chain and a padlock.

"This…I know this. I was here. " Killian knelt, taking the chain in his hand and studying it. He tried to think back, tried to summon the memory—a flurry of snowflakes shimmering like broken glass, a dark cloud on the horizon, the click of the padlock, the cold metal against his skin and then…nothing.

He'd chained himself to this piling. But why? And how did he escape?

"Dammit, what the hell does any of it mean?" He threw the padlock aside, wondering at the irony of it—how he could summon anything he wished, but not his memories, nor any semblance of the man he used to be.

He stared at the sharply breaking waves as if they could answer him. The water had turned brackish and black against the gathering storm clouds. Dead leaves were caught in the waves, half-hidden by the gnarled masses of seaweed. The discolored mass rolled over and over again against the shoreline, looking like blonde tendrils of tangled hair. Nearby a large sign greeted bathers, presenting a list of rules about beach behavior.

"Welcome to Storybrooke Dock," he read the sign aloud. Someone had crossed off the 'k" and scrawled—Happy, Sneezy, Grumpy, Sleepy, Dopey, Bashful. It was a sad attempt at fairytale humor.

"Thank you. I do feel welcome." Startled, he turned to see Grim's decaying face and hooded cloak emerge from a flurry of shadows.

"Wonderful. My day is now complete."

"It's nice to be so appreciated."

Killian smiled and motioned towards the beach. "Are you here for some sea bathing? What fun! Don't tell me you're wearing a bathing suit under the swirling cloud of doom today? You know, if I had your complexion, I'd be worried about freckling…or bursting into flames."

"I just came to see how you were. Picking up the pieces of your memory, are you? How's that going?"

"Incredibly well, thank you."

"Somehow I doubt that." Grim motioned for Killian to follow him. The two fell into step as they walked along the shoreline.

"And here I thought you had abandoned me to my own ends."

Grim smiled from under his hood. "Unfortunately, you'll never be rid of me entirely."

"Awww. I'll bet you say that to all the Dark Ones."

Grim ignored him. "…Tell me, have you thought perhaps there's a reason you lost your memories when you ascended to the title?"

"As a matter of fact, I didn't."

"That's not surprising, given the amount of thought you've put into everything else you've done so far. You should take this opportunity and consider your unfortunate situation."

"What unfortunate situation? That I'm fiendishly handsome, all powerful and utterly charming? Yes. It's very unfortunate. I just might cry myself to sleep tonight."

Grim shook his head. "No. The tragedy is that you don't understand what an advantage it is—not having the burden of your past hanging over you. Now you're free of the pain, of the loss, and of the hate that haunted you for centuries. I would consider this a gift, and treat it as such."

"A gift… not knowing who I am? Really? I can think of ten better gifts, and numbers 1 through 9 involve watching you explode in a variety of ways."

"Very amusing…but just consider, if you regain your memories, you'll become the man you once were. A vengeful, selfish villain. Your chains as the Dark One are heavy enough, do you really want the added burden of centuries of pain and disappointment? Right now, you have a clean slate. Your destiny is your own and your power is unlimited. Why risk it?"

"That may be true," Killian chuckled darkly. "But it doesn't matter, does it? Nothing's coming back. Except for a few useless visions, I don't remember anything. My slate is still clean. Spotless, as a matter of fact."

"And I can help you keep it that way." Grim waved a skeletal hand and a crystal vial suddenly fell to Killian's feet. He knelt down and picked it up, wiping away the grains of sand sticking to the clear cut glass.

"Drink me." Killian read the inscription on the label. "Oh good. Thanks for the instructions. Otherwise I would've flung it in my eyes and hoped for the best."

Grim gestured to the potion. "Drink it and your memories will never return. Your hate, anger, and heartbreak will remain in the past where they belong."

Killian shook the vial, watching the violet liquid simmer and hiss. "So, if I take this, I'll never be the man I was?"

"No…you'll be free of the man you were. Free of the disappointment that condemned you to darkness. Free of the desperation that haunted you for hundreds of years. Believe me—sometimes ignorance is a gift. And this realm was made for people who aren't cursed with self-awareness."

Killian shook his head and began to hand the vial back to Grim.

Grim waved him away. "All I ask is that you consider it. You and your Savior have a better chance for happiness without your past hanging over you. The man you were is best forgotten. Look to your future. Your past can only bring you pain." He bowed and faded, leaving Killian alone on the desolate beach.

He studied the violet liquid swirling in the vial. The potion caught the sunlight and sent amethyst-colored flecks over the gray sand. Nearby the black waves broke over the shoreline. Ice had formed over the sharp rocks rising out of the shallow water. The ice's jagged edges glistened in the faint sunlight, but it was already starting to melt. It would soon fall to pieces in the light of day.

It occurred to him that memories, like sunlight, can tear things apart. Perhaps in this case, the darkness had its uses.