A/N: Uh, yeah. This chapter didn't turn out at all like I expected. Nope. Better. For all the difficulties it gave me around the middle part of it, I really think it turned out much better than anything I originally planned. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did! And thanks so much for reading, as always!


Killian's thoughts were a jumble. It had been nearly an hour or thereabouts since he'd left Emma, and still the hateful tone of her voice haunted him. I hate you. It didn't matter that the words hadn't been directed at him. (He wasn't fool enough to believe that.) They had echoed his nightmare, the fears that ate away at him like a weak acid, rather too closely. And so instead of doing the honorable thing and offering his wife his support and comfort, regardless of whether she accepted it, he'd done the most craven thing imaginable and fled to the Westensees' library-leaving her in someone else's care.

Bad form indeed. Liam would be ashamed. But not nearly as much as Killian was ashamed of himself. He'd lied to Emma. Lied to himself. He'd been a fool to think that he could simply detach himself from the situation, that he wouldn't let it affect him while he tried to help Emma. That he could simply turn off his own feelings for her, for what she was going through...from all that it was apparent she had already been through, if her reaction to him this evening had been any indication. He felt like a selfish bastard, making any of this about himself or his feelings, but he hadn't been able to help it. He hated that he had had to fight Emma, to add to her trauma by touching her, uninvited, when she was in the midst of re-living a nightmare.

That he had done it to save her life, to get that gods-damned corset off of her so she could breathe properly, didn't lessen his guilt in the slightest. The last thing Emma needed was to be manhandled by... well, a man-the very type of person whom had hurt her so grievously to begin with. He should have sent for Ariel to begin with. Even a maidservant. But Killian had let his own feelings for Emma, not cool logic, take control. Seized by panic at the thought of losing his wife, his Emma, his everything, Killian had simply acted without a second thought. Which perhaps hadn't been the best course of action, he now realized. He should have handled it differently, tried to soothe her, been more gentle. Anything but touch her unbidden and tear her corset open. The way that she'd reacted, the sheer terror in her eyes, the way she'd flinched at his barest touch when he tried to remove it...

No, maybe she hadn't directed her declaration of hate at him specifically, but how would she feel later when she became wholly aware of what he had done? Would she loathe him as much as he loathed himself?

It was a thought best drowned in liquor.

Killian sighed, reaching for the bottle of rum on the sideboard next to him. Pouring more of the amber liquid into a glass, he swallowed it into two large gulps. Really, it wasn't half bad, he realized, scrutinizing his empty glass as the liquid warmed his belly. No wonder his fellow sailors tried to smuggle it on board with them every time the Jewel set sail.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Go away," he called, pouring more rum.

The door creaked open anyway, and Eric shuffled in, shutting the door behind him. "I thought I might find you here."

"Because I'm so well-read?" he smiled sarcastically.

"If by well-read," Eric said, settling onto the settee next to him, "you mean having a penchant for reading philosophy while drunk...then yes."

"It makes more sense when I'm drunk."

"Can't argue with that," his mate nodded, propping his feet up on a small footstool. "Pour me one? Killian hauled himself up with effort, his movements clumsy, and Eric whistled. "I didn't think you'd be this far gone, yet. What exactly happened?"

Selecting a clean glass, Killian focused on pouring Eric's drink without spilling too much of it, while he tried to decide how to answer. He wasn't certain how much he should reveal. Aside from the fact that he didn't want to breach Emma's privacy, to make her feel further exposed and violated, Killian didn't rightly know how comfortable he was with revealing such intimate details about himself or his marriage. Eric was his best mate; they had been through a lot, survived and shared many things with each other. But there were just some things you didn't share with anyone but your spouse. And everything that had passed between him and Emma tonight, no matter how painful, was one of those things.

"Oh, you know," he tried to play off in a casual, offhand manner, "just another misunderstanding."

"Some misunderstanding, to have you this inebriated this fast," Eric observed, accepting his own glass of the liquor.

Killian sighed. "Better leave this one alone, mate," he warned in a quiet, but firm tone.

"All right," Eric finally said, after giving him a considering look, "fair enough. I can respect that." He leaned back, taking a drink of his rum. "She's all right, though?"

"As much as she can be, I suppose." He collapsed onto the settee again, staring at the wall of books across from him. Volumes of varying sizes and colors lined the shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, many of the titles illegible as much from the peeling gold print as from the sheer distance from where he sat.

"You sent for Ariel?"

"Yes."

"That's good. They seem to get on well enough. Maybe she can help sort things out."

But Killian wasn't certain he wanted Ariel to help Emma sort anything out. That was his place, his job. Emma was his wife, and he her husband. These were their own problems to sort through together. And it killed him that they didn't seem capable of doing that. They wouldn't be at the Westensees forever. What was going to happen when they returned to the palace, with all its opportunities to become consumed with the work of running a kingdom? Avoiding any real, meaningful conversation with each other would be all too easy, if they chose to take that route.

Like they were avoiding it now. His fault.

Killian inhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How do you and Ariel do this?"

Blinking in surprise, Eric peered over at him with a curious expression. "Do what?"

"This...any of it. All of it." Killian swept his hand through the air in front of him. "Marriage."

He snorted, swishing the rum around in his glass. "When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He sighed, taking a drink. "Look, I can't tell you how to make you and Emma work. I only know how to make me and Ariel work, because I know who I really am, and I know who Ariel really is, deep inside. And that helps me to know who we are together."

"Wonderful," Killian muttered. "That's helpful."

"True, though. You have to find your own way, Killian."

"And I'm doing such a wonderful job of it."

Eric finished his drink in one large gulp. "Actually, with the issues you're both facing, I'd say you're doing a hell of a job so far. Better than I'd manage." He thumped Killian on the shoulder and stood up. "I don't know what happened, but you need to stop beating yourself up about whatever wrong you think you've done. I know you, Killian. I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. And if it is..." He set his empty glass down on the sideboard. "...Emma will forgive you."

"You sound pretty bloody certain about that for someone who doesn't even know what happened."

He shrugged. "Just a hunch," he said with his trademark smile. "See you in the morning, Killian."

The prince left the library without another word, and Killian slumped against the arm of the settee. Eric was right, he thought, sipping at his rum again. He and Emma needed to find their own way. Wasn't that the very reason he had hesitated to disclose the details of what had happened between him and Emma tonight? Killian wanted to reach a place with Emma where they could rely on each other, face problems together. Trust each other. But the possibility of these desires becoming reality seemed as remote as apprehending Neal, right now.

He took a deep breath.

Running away tonight hadn't helped matters. Certainly it wouldn't show Emma that she could rely on him to be there for her, no matter the cost to him personally; that she could trust him with even the ugliest, most broken parts of herself and what had been done to her. Perhaps leaving her with Ariel hadn't been wrong, per se. Maybe it had even been the wisest course of action, all things considered. Compartmentalizing his own emotions clearly wasn't working out well for either of them. If Killian was going to make this work with Emma, to earn her trust and her friendship, he needed to embrace how he felt about her, rather than trying to ignore it or pretend that it wasn't going to affect their relationship with each other. Even if she never knew how he really felt, the reality of it was that his feelings for her colored how he related to her, down to the smallest thought or action.

What was it Eric had said? he wondered, tilting back the glass of rum to swallow its last drops. Knowing who he was and who Ariel was helped him to know how they were together? Perhaps that was where he'd gone wrong. Killian had been trying to deny an essential aspect of himself, hoping to spare himself the pain of eventual rejection if Emma ever discovered how he felt. And the way he felt about her, the way Emma made him feel about himself, wasn't born out of simple attraction, no matter how strong. He loved Emma. Had loved her for years. And because of that love, he realized, she had the power to hurt him to a far greater degree than anyone else he knew.

It was this denial, the knowledge that she could hurt him as much as he feared hurting her, that stood in the way and kept Killian from the self-awareness he needed in order to be the sort of man Emma could rely on under any circumstance. Emma could hurt him. Had hurt him. Because he cared for her more than life itself. And she would hurt him still further, for Killian wasn't fool enough to believe that there wouldn't be many more setbacks throughout their journey together.

He needed to hurt. For himself, for her. With her. Pain was part of the journey, too. Ignoring that, trying to help Emma heal without acknowledging this reality, was a mistake. It was the equivalent of trying to set sail without weighing anchor first

Killian would do anything, even endure the worst manner of torture imaginable for his Emma. But he couldn't simply let himself become a martyr, either. If Killian was going to truly help her, to be the sort of friend and husband that she needed, he couldn't let his own wounds consume him. To help Emma heal, maybe even to trust again, he needed to take care of himself, too. Something he'd been neglecting.

He set his glass aside. "And you can start by sobering up," he mumbled to himself. Most of the servants would be abed by now, and Killian doubted his ability to walk all the way to the kitchens without passing out, much less prepare any coffee that was worth a damn. He pried himself out of the comfortable depths of the settee shuffled over to a small desk where an oil lamp was burning. Leaning over, he blew it out.

Sleep it off, he thought, returning to the settee. He wasn't about to return to the chamber he shared with Emma in this condition. It might only frighten her more, give her the wrong idea. Just sleep it off, he thought again with a sigh, lying down. He slung an arm over his face, blocking out the moonlight that streamed in through the window above him.

There would be time to fix it all tomorrow.


Killian started awake with a grunt. Disoriented and feeling as if he had been trampled by a team of horses, he stared at his surroundings in the pre-dawn light, confused. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and tried to clear his aching head. A scratch sounded against the library door, and he froze, staring at it in consternation. Who would be up, trying to sneak into the library at this time of the night? One of the servants, attempting to steal from the Westensees? The only thing of value they might hope to find in the library would be-

The knob rattled, and Killian rolled off the couch. "Who's there?" he called, reaching behind one of the bookshelves for the cutlass Eric stored there. "Show yourself."

The door creaked open, and Emma stood in the doorway, a large grey shawl wrapped over the shoulders of her nightgown. She stared at him wordlessly, her expression uncertain. Killian exhaled with relief. "Emma?" he said softly. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't be wandering around the manor at such an hour," he frowned. "Certainly not alone."

"I couldn't sleep."

Killian smiled to himself. Of course she would seek out the nearest library when she was restless or troubled. Belle's influence. He should have known.

The dim, grey-toned rays of pre-dawn light streamed through the palace windows, and Killian hummed to himself as he strode down the empty, quiet corridors, filled with purpose. The queen had entrusted Liam and Killian with a new mission the day prior, and the Jewel and her crew would set sail for a new land in a mere week's time. Liam had already plotted a course, using the maps in his quarters, but he lacked a detailed map of the country itself, and had tasked Killian with searching the palace library for a map they might peruse for their journey.

Removing the key from his trouser pockets, Killian slid it the keyhole and turned it with a click. Pushing the door open a moment later, he stowed the key the queen had given to Liam, and walked into the room. The smell of leather and parchment greeted him, and he inhaled it with a bemused smile. Peering at his surroundings with fondness, Killian wandered through the library at will, soaking in the quiet atmosphere for a few moments before he returned to business.

"Looking for something?" a familiar voice inquired.

Killian froze, his heart beating rapidly. He would know her voice anywhere. Licking his lips, he pivoted on his heel and turned to face the princess. "Your Highness," he greeted her, bowing at the waist. Rolling her eyes with a snort, she pushed up off the chaise-longue where she'd been reclining, and walked over to him, her pale pink skirts swishing in a manner that mesmerized him. Killian found himself wondering what beautiful limbs must be hidden beneath the skirt, and felt his face heat up. Scratching behind his neck with one finger, he cleared his throat. "You're up early, princess."

"Or I never went to sleep at all," she smirked with a lift of her brows, crossing the room to stand next to him.

"What?" he said with an uncomprehending blink. "You must be exhausted." He reached for her without thinking, forgetting himself for a moment, until her eyes traced the length of his arm to her shoulder. Embarrassed, Killian withdrew his hand. "Your pardon," he murmured, averting his gaze. An awkward silence settled between them.

"So what are you looking for?" she asked after several uncomfortable moments.

He shot her a curious gaze. "How do you know I didn't come here to steal something?"

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't realize thieves were in the habit of using keys to break in," she drawled in such a sarcastic manner that it sparked a grin from him.

"Point taken," he said softly. "As it happens, Liam sent me to find a map for our next journey." He watched her process this, her expression becoming thoughtful, and he wondered what had driven her to seek refuge in the library, disturbed her enough to prevent her from getting a proper slumber. "Your pardon for being so bold, Your Highness, but...why are you here at this hour?"

Emma considered him for a moment, and when she spoke, Killian had the sense that she was choosing her words very carefully. "I have a decision to make."

"It must be quite a decision to weigh on your mind enough that you can't sleep," he observed.

"It is," she agreed, gazing at him with a grave expression. She shifted closer to him, and Killian fought the impulse to pull her into his arms and soothe away her troubles, if only for a short time. "It may affect the course of my future."

Killian's mind flashed to the ball the Charmings had held two nights ago. Ostensibly, the ball had been held to further diplomatic relations with other kingdoms, but Killian knew it for what it really was mere moments after his arrival, when he'd spied the way the majority of males in the room seemed to be assessing Emma, or trying to outright charm her. A suitor ball.

It shouldn't have surprised him. He'd known it was coming for years now, and her nineteenth birthday had been last month. Emma was legally eligible for marriage now, by the kingdom's standards. But the reality had hurt more than Killian had imagined it would, and he'd withdrawn from the ball quietly at the first opportunity.

It was the first ball Killian had ever attended in Queen Snow's kingdom in which he hadn't danced with Emma.

"Well," Killian said, clasping his hands together behind his back. He couldn't afford another slip in propriety. Emma would surely ascertain his feelings, and that might make things terribly awkward in the future, particularly when she chose a suitor to wed. If she hadn't already.

"Perhaps we are both in need of a proper guide to plot a course for our next journey," he replied lightly.

Emma smiled. "You've experience in that, haven't you Lieutenant?" she inquired, her green eyes studying him with intense interest.

Killian licked his lips, his breath hitching at the innocent question. "Aye."

"So maybe we could help each other out. You need the map to Atlantis, and I need-"

He blinked. "I beg your pardon? How do you know that?"

She sighed. "I know where you're going and why, because...because I recommended the Jewel and its crew for the journey." He raised an eyebrow, and she rushed on, "It's a good four months journey, there and back, and I wouldn't normally wish you or any of your crew away from their home and families for so long, especially after just returning from an extended mission, but..."

"Yes?" He frowned. "Princess, whatever it is, please speak freely."

"My mother is ill," she whispered. "It isn't noticeable now, but the physician says it's progressive, and there's no cure." She paused, as if choosing her words carefully. "That's why we're sending you. The cargo you're to retrieve is magical. It's all been arranged through a man named Rumplestiltskin; there's a fruit whose nectar can be distilled into an unguent that, when applied to the skin of the affected muscles, will keep the symptoms of her disease and its progression at bay. But she will need to take it every day for the rest of her life, or the symptoms will return. Possibly worse than before."

"I don't understand," he exhaled. "Your parents said the cargo we've been sent to trade for was part of establishing new diplomatic relations with Atlantis."

"That's true enough," she admitted, "since it's important to have good relations with the Atlanteans if we're to trade for this unguent for years to come. But that's not the full truth of your mission-only what my parents wanted you to think," she sighed. "They don't want to risk word of my mother's illness getting out. We fear-"

"Regina," he breathed. "You're worried she will take advantage of the situation, seize upon your mother's weakness and take the kingdom."

"Yes."

Grasping his hand in one of her own, she gazed at him earnestly. "Please, Lieutenant. The Jewel is our fastest ship in the navy, and its crew our most dedicated. But no one knows the real mission, not even your brother. You mustn't breathe a word, even to him."

"Your secret is safe with me," he assured her. "But why tell me now? Why not leave me in ignorance?"

"Because despite what my parents believe, someone needs to know the import of this mission. That cargo cannot be allowed to be lost or taken by force."

"I will guard it with my life," he told her earnestly."But," he said, hating himself for giving voice to such a harsh reality, "what if it's too late by time we return?"

"Then I become queen sooner than any of us imagined," she said with a confident air, as if she were fully prepared for the possibility, despite the worry that was evident in her emerald eyes. "Father has no real claim, despite their joint ruler-ship all these years. His title as King is a courtesy, an acknowledgment of his own noble birthright, not a reality. He gave up his chance to real kingship when he conceded the throne to James in order to marry my mother and settle here. Our law is very clear: all rulers of the Enchanted Forest must be able to trace a line of kinship to the royal family by blood-not marriage." Emma frowned. "Perhaps he might function as regent, if I were younger, but being of legal age..." She trailed off, biting her lower lip.

Killian watched her, trying to process the complicated tangle of thought and emotions that Emma's confiding in him had evoked. He felt honored that she had shared her troubles with him, yet his worries for the future of the Enchanted Forest dispelled any real pleasure he might have felt otherwise. The harsh reality of it was, even if Emma ascended the throne, Regina would view the kingdom as easy pickings, with such a young and untried ruler. Preserving the queen's health was as crucial for its political expediency as it was Killian's own personal affection and concern for his ruler. But above all, Killian wished to spare Emma the pain of watching her mother waste away in a drawn out struggle against death, as he had watched his mother go through, so many years ago.

"I am honored to serve you," he told her quietly, "regardless of your position."

"Good," she said with a wan smile. "Follow me."

The princess led him through the library, past a great many bookshelves that bowed under the weight of the sheer volume of books they held (Killian was almost surprised they didn't groan from the strain), to a small study that he recognized as belonging to Emma's tutor (who was, not coincidentally, the royal librarian) Belle. Retrieving a key from her bodice, Emma slid it into the lock on the door. Killian flushed scarlet and looked away, trying to rein in the surge of lust which followed.

Emma opened the door and walked into the little study with confidence, lighting lamps and moving through the room as if she owned the place. Which, he realized with chagrin, she did, when all was said and done. Still, Killian felt uneasy, as if he were intruding upon the pretty tutor's privacy.

"Are you coming in?" Emma inquired with an arch of her brow as he hesitated in the doorway.

"Should we be in here, lass?" he asked, shuffling into the office. "Perhaps we should return later, when Mistress Belle is available." He joined her by the desk, and Emma turned to face him. Suddenly aware of how close they were, crammed into this small study, he swallowed slowly and tried to re-focus his thoughts on the task at hand.

"Belle knows." He blinked at her in confusion, and she continued, "My parents hired her to research for them, in the beginning. She didn't turn up anything directly useful, but..."

"She found the man who did have a solution. This Rumplestiltskin," he finished for her.

Emma nodded. "She contacted him for us and set up a meeting. Which brings us to now."

The princess stepped closer, their bodies mere centimeters apart. The familiar scent of heather and foxglove inundated him, and he exhaled with a shudder. He shifted his gaze down to her own green one, unable to help himself, and found Emma watching him with an impish grin. Killian's heart began to beat erratically. She surged up on her tiptoes and leaned toward him, her hands clasping around his shoulders. Killian shivered as the wealth of her golden hair brushed against his neck, her weight settling against him as her chest pressed against his own. Shifting his center of gravity slightly, his hands moved of their own accord and settled on either side of her waist, steadying her as she reached over his shoulder and plucked something off the bookshelf behind him.

Emma shifted, pulling back to gaze at him as her arm wrapped around his neck. Their noses brushed, and Killian stilled, hardly daring to breathe. They watched each other for the space of several heartbeats, neither of them pulling away, and Killian felt a flicker of something ignite in him. Something that felt an awful lot like hope. "Princess?" he said in confusion, his voice scarcely audible.

His words were like bucket of cold water. Emma blinked, slipping free from his grasp. "Your map," she said breathlessly. She held it out to him, her gaze averted in embarrassment.

Killian flushed, accepting the rolled up map. Of course.

"My thanks," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. He followed Emma out of the study and waited while she re-locked the door. Remembering the bargain Emma had made with him, he cleared his throat after she finished. "Well, then, Your Highness," he said, "how may I be of further service to you?"

"But you're already being of service, K-Lieutenant," she said. "I don't need anything else, except-" She hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Please, just..." She looked away, clearly overcome by emotion. "Whatever happens," she whispered, "come back safely."

"You have my word," he promised-foolishly, he knew. Killian knew better than anyone the dangers of sea voyages, particularly long ones. Anything could happen. To him, to his crew, to the cargo. And yet, Killian found that he could not refuse Emma anything. Even foolish assurances of the safety of his crew and the success of their mission. He would do anything, go to the end of the world for her. Or time. It didn't matter. So long as Emma needed him, he would be there for her. "Emma," he began, his emotions overcoming his good sense as he was filled with the need to confess everything, damn the consequences.

She yawned loudly, effectively stemming the flow of words that had been ready to pour out of his mouth. Emma clapped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but I think my weariness has caught up with me at last."

"Let me escort you to your room," he offered.

"No," she shook her head, "I'll be fine."

And before he could object, she swept past him and left the library. Killian watched her go, a feeling like regret settling into his bones, even as he realized it was probably for the best. Emma wasn't his. She never had been.

Killian considered his wife as the memory faded. He hadn't wanted her to see him like this, completely disheveled and still half-inebriated. He'd wanted to give his apology when he was sober, and able to select his words with more care. And he certainly didn't want to have such a serious discussion when his head was pounding and he felt like all kinds of hell to begin with.

"Emma," he began hoarsely, "You need rest. It's not good-"

"I know, it's not good for the baby to have so little sleep," she sighed, her features becoming irritated and sullen.

"Actually, I was going to say that it wasn't good for you," he corrected patiently, earning a surprised look in return. "I've no idea whether it would affect the baby."

"Oh." She looked chagrined. "I'm sorry. It's just, I'm not..." She hesitated, as if uncertain of herself.

"What is it?"

"You were concerned for me?" she said in an odd tone.

He blinked. "Does that surprise you?"

"Yes," she admitted, her expression weary and saddened. "After what I said earlier, I didn't expect-" She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she apologized, her expression reflecting shame and embarrassment. "I didn't know it was you," she whispered.

Killian stepped closer to her with a sigh. "I know." He smiled at her sadly. "And haven't we been over this enough? You've no need to apologize to me for something that couldn't be helped. I'm not going to hold your instincts against you, lass." He held out a hand, reaching for her by instinct, and then stopped, his hand hovering over her head, uncertain how his touch might be received, particularly after what she'd already been through earlier this night.

But to his complete astonishment, Emma locked gazes with him and nodded once-slowly, deliberately, giving him permission.

Exhaling with a mixture of relief and elation at this small sign of progress, Killian lowered his hand, his fingers trembling a little as he stroked the silken mass of her golden hair. "Truth be told, love," he told her after he recovered the power of speech, "I'm glad you fought back."

"You mean you're glad I bit you?" she said skeptically.

"Well, I didn't say that," he grinned, and they both snickered. "But I promised you before that I would never force myself on you, Emma, and tonight I did, in a way. The context was different, perhaps, but I did resort to force nonetheless, and for that-" He took a deep breath. "For that, I'm very sorry."

She tilted her head, considering him with a slight smile. "Hypocrite."

"What?"

"If I shouldn't be sorry for reacting as I did, then neither should you. I'm not going to hold your instincts against you either, Killian. You didn't harm me; you saved me from suffocating in that damned corset. There's nothing to be sorry for."

"Not even for leaving you afterward?" he murmured.

Her expression became unhappy. "Why should you have stayed, after what I said? Instincts, Killian," she reminded him again. "Neither of us were quite ourselves. Let's leave it at that."

"As you wish." Killian withdrew his hand, glancing out the window. "The staff should be up before long, preparing for the day. We could send for some tea. In the meantime," he nodded at the settee, "would you like to help me pass the time while we wait?"

Emma looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. "Only if I get to choose the book," she informed him with an impish smile.

Killian gestured to the wealth of books that surrounded them. "Whatever the lady desires."


A/N: And there you have it. A much happier chapter than I had planned. I'd anticipated more angst, but then the flashback happened, with the revelation of Snow's illness, which was a twist I didn't expect at all. But I really think that's going to enrich the overall plot down the line, when certain other things are set into motion. I cannot wait!

And the ending...the ending evolved into something so much better than I expected. And it was all Emma. All her. She surprised me as much as she surprised Killian, and I am so happy because that was some solid progress for her, right there.