The numbness that overtakes Killian's body in the moments after Emma tells him about her orders is all-encompassing. He wonders if this is how she felt in the interim between ending the phone call and coming back into the room. Having heard her goodbye, he expected her to come right back, but his mind was too addled with sleep to pay attention, and it could've been moments or minutes before she joined him on the bed again.
He closes himself in the bathroom as she goes to make necessary phone calls, cranking on the water with absent movements. When the water is warm enough, he steps under the spray, turning to face it so he can block everything else out for just a spell. His mind wanders to waking up that morning in Boston, the sheets haphazardly hanging on around their waists and goosebumps apparent on both of their bare torsos. They joined slowly that morning, Emma lazily astride his body and leaning heavily on his chest.
She'd smiled at him, tripping over her words as she tried several times to say something, ending instead on "I wanted to thank you, Killian, for everything this weekend."
"It's always my pleasure, love," he'd commented, and she made no remarks at the use of the term of endearment as he flexed and thrust up into her.
Shaking himself out of his own thoughts, Killian scrubs a hand over his face and gets to washing himself. He hastily dries off his body and throws on the pair of sweatpants he brought in with him before he towels off his hair.
Emma is curled up on one end of her couch, her phone pressed to her ear and a downright haggard expression on her face. Her voice is clipped and business-like as she makes her calls, crossing each person off the list she's made on a scrap piece of paper.
After a quick detour to the kitchen, Killian joins her on the couch, placing a mug of her favorite hot cocoa on the coffee table next to her list. Her brows scrunch and her bottom lip quivers for a moment, her voice cracking when she responds to whatever question was just asked on the other end of the phone, and he places a comforting hand on her lower back, otherwise giving her space to do what she needs to do while he leans back into the cushions.
The phone call ends, and Emma rubs at her eyes for a moment before setting her phone down and settling against Killian's side. He kisses the top of her head as she tucks herself against him, her body curling in on itself, and he tightens his arms just a little in hopes that he can hold all her parts together for her.
For years, they have acted as one another's rocks, their anchors, the tether that pulls the other back to safety when the boat of life gets rocked a little too hard. They've been there countless times to catch each other, to hold each other up, to listen and commiserate and support, and Killian vows to himself that this will be no different from any of those times. The only alteration now is how his heart clenches when he feels the single tear hit the bare skin of his clavicle.
"There are statistics," she says. There's a slight hint of hysteria that wasn't there before, and he knows she's not talking about something major like survival or injuries. She's talking about them. About what they have and what they are and what will become of them. She sits up straight again, moving to the end of the cushion she's perched on.
He's remarkably calm about all of this. Who cares if the longest he's ever been apart from her has been a month, and that was ages before they were even sleeping together. This will be one of those things that they just get through.
He loves her, without question or hesitation, so maybe that's what finally pulls him away from numbness and back to total and utter acceptance. Maybe if he loves her with enough gusto, it'll pull them both through this. "We'll overcome them," he states firmly. His hand is still on her lower back, and he moves it in small circles in an attempt to circumvent the anxiety that's starting to show on her face.
"There are statistics," she repeats. "And not just the ones that some shitty website will spew out. My foster dad, the one that got me interested in enlisting, had a girlfriend away from home. Him leaving Ingrid is what got me sent back into the system."
"You aren't your foster father. I'm not him, either. I don't think statistics would know what to do with us, Swan. We've been breaking down the barriers of numbers since the day we met."
She snorts once, calming down for a heartbeat before she becomes agitated all over again. He's not totally sure what to say, but he opens his mouth and hopes for the best.
"We have a lot working on our side, love. We've got the technology to keep in contact. I know I don't want anyone else, and I don't think you do, either. I do know that I will miss you, but the time will go so fast if you just remember that we will all be waiting for you on the other side of this."
"Think I'm having a panic attack," she mumbles as she tilts over, tucking her head to her knees, and he watches her back rise and fall with the deep breaths she's taking.
He knows what it is she's experiencing because even in the midst of this terrible sensation closing in on them in her apartment, he can feel the smile tugging at his lips, can feel the flip of his stomach as he thinks of every moment he's spent with her before this and every moment he'll get to spend with her when she gets back. It's not a panic attack, not by a long shot.
She sits up again, pressing her palm to her chest while her brows furrow closer together than he thought possible. "No, it's not a panic attack. But it's something. It feels a lot like –"
"Love?" he ventures, trying to get her on the same page he's on in the gentlest way he can think of.
"Gimme a minute. I can almost put my finger on it if I –"
"Love." This time it's not a question. It's a statement. He wants so desperately to string those three words together and tell her how he feels, but the time still isn't right.
"One more second and I might be able to –"
One of his hands clamps around her own while the other tilts her chin so she's looking directly in his eyes. "Love," he says again, his voice softening as he looks into her eyes, and a smile definitely lifting his entire face for the first time since she told him she's leaving for damn near a year.
"What is it, Killian?"
"No, that's what I think it is. I couldn't tell you when it happened, because I'm pretty sure I've felt this way for a while but just couldn't put my finger on what to call it."
"Love," she repeats back to him.
"Aye."
And though neither of them has actually said the full phrase to each other, they're finally standing on level ground at this moment, the same page in their book, the same spot in their story. With their hearts finally in agreement, the prospect of her leaving seems a little less terrifying.
-x-
Much like the status of their relationship, Emma keeps the information of her departure limited to those who need to know, at first. Despite the fact that there's a looming departure date, if Killian didn't know about her orders, he would've never guessed by the way she practically ignores the fact that she's leaving.
While they don't talk about it, Killian notices the change in the way she holds him at night, is sure that he's drifted in and out of sleep to the sensation of her tracing his features as if memorizing them; he notices that she throws herself into sex, body and soul, not letting the sour news into the bedroom with them. He cherishes those moments more than any others, those moments where it's just the two of them in their own little world.
It's almost a week before she manages to tell Mary Margaret and David, and Killian is right next to her when she decides to spill it during lunch at Granny's one day. Her fingers are white where they clutch his knee for solidarity, and he wishes she weren't so determined to keep their relationship more of a secret than her deployment so he could comfort her a little better.
She's looking for the right moment, her body tense even though her face is neutral and bordering on excited while Mary Margaret details the wedding plans that they've already made. It's only when the date is mentioned that she starts to crack.
"The church is open for the twenty-eighth of October next year. It'll be just a day shy of one year being engaged. Plus, depending on what you come up with, we could celebrate your birthday and the bachelorette party for double the fun!" Mary Margaret is glowing when she finishes speaking.
Emma lets the silence stretch on, her smile faltering, and it doesn't take the other woman very long to catch on. Her eyes go from wistful to concerned in a heartbeat.
"Emma, what's wrong?"
"Um, it's going to be a little difficult to retain the maid of honor title when I will probably be overseas when the wedding occurs." She pauses and swallows hard before continuing her news. "I'm getting deployed. I still don't know when we leave, but more than likely I won't be back until Christmas next year. Maybe even New Year's."
To her credit, Mary Margaret does not cry, but she certainly looks like she's about to. David wraps his arm around her, pulling her close to kiss her temple while she recomposes herself. When she stretches her hand across the Formica tabletop, Emma immediately moves hers to meet her halfway.
"Just because you might not be here doesn't mean you still won't be my maid of honor. And I don't care if it'll look lopsided. I'm not going to replace you. We'll stick a goddamn cutout of you wearing the dress at the alter if we have to. Killian can carry it back down after the whole 'I do' part and we'll just skype you for the speeches."
Maybe it's the fire of determination burning in her eyes that finally allows Emma to relax a little, at least to the point where Killian isn't worried she's going to rip his kneecap off by accident. He brings his arm down briefly to rub his hand comfortingly up and down her arm before moving it to the back of the booth again.
He and David share a look, saying all they need to with slight nods of their heads as they let the two friends work through this on their own. While it may not be common knowledge, he's pretty sure the two of them aren't blind, and David's eyes say as much with the understanding expression he gives Killian before turning his attention back to his wife-to-be.
"What about Ruby? Haven't you two been friends since you were kids?" Emma asks after a moment.
"Of course! She's going to be in the wedding, but with her living in Boston, we're just not as close as we were. And I know she's going to help out with things, but she and I both know where we stand now." Mary Margaret shakes her head a little before barreling onward. "But you, Emma, once you opened yourself up to friendships in this town, you've been my best friend."
At these last words, the petite woman finally chokes up. Her words are thick like molasses, and Killian puts his arm back around Emma as he sees the tears well up in her eyes. "From the moment I found you trying to sleep in your car before you found your apartment, you haven't been able to shake me loose. And even if you're not here for it, you're still going to be my maid of honor."
Killian is convinced that it's the conviction in Mary Margaret's speech that closes the discussion and reassures Emma more than anything.
Both women still somehow manage to make it through lunch without shedding any tears, but if Killian is bordering on a little too much comfort in public, no one even notices.
The next couple weeks become a blur of standing by Emma's side while she tells people her news. Once they all know, it's as if they all come to the same conclusion without ever acknowledging it. Life around town becomes more about celebrating and enjoying each and every moment than it is about saying goodbye. They use every outing at the bar and every holiday party as an excuse to live it up.
It's not until two weeks before Christmas that Killian finally knows exactly what he wants to get Emma. One day, when she's working and he's off, he spends longer than he normally would selecting the perfect base for his gift. It comes in the form of a day-to-day calendar, one with strange facts on each day of the year, or trivia tidbits. He takes to carrying it with him wherever he goes, and has the people who know and love Emma write her messages to get her through the year.
He finds as many pictures of everyone she knows as he can, even going so far as to message Ingrid to e-mail him pictures of Emma from her time with the woman. Despite being unable to adopt Emma at that point in her life, the two remained close when social media came about, with Ingrid cheering her on at every new milestone. Even Liam sends a picture of his handwritten message, and pictures of the two and three of them, for Killian to print out and add to the calendar.
It takes him those two weeks to compile all that will go into it, and a full day to put it all together. He cuts down the various images, using double sided tape so the pictures can be easily removed if she wishes, placing them on the empty backs of every couple pages. Over a hundred pictures are put in, above message after message. Words of love and bits of humor are scrawled throughout, with messages from Killian added in after all the others have gotten theirs in.
The calendar doesn't fit back in the box when he's done with it. The whole thing has expanded to the point where it's making an acute triangle when he sets it off to the side while he figures out how to wrap the damn thing. He foolishly bought paper and ribbons, thinking it would fit back into the original packaging when it was completed. He could go out and buy a gift bag for it, instead –
He's interrupted from his thoughts when Emma texts him that she'll be over in a half hour, and he sends off a response before deciding to just wrap the empty box and hand her the bloody calendar when she's done.
He takes special pains to intricately wrap the box that the calendar came in, making sure every edge and corner is perfect before painstakingly adding ribbons crisscrossing on top of it. The whole thing gets a bow as big as the box itself, and he hands it over to her with a large smile as she settles next to him on the couch after she's shucked her boots and cold weather gear by the door when she arrives.
Her eyes light up, the sparkling paper and ribbons in all her favorite patterns and colors. It takes her several minutes to survey the handiwork before she starts turning it to figure out how she wants to tear into it. She shakes it once, her eyebrow lifting in question as it feels unusually light, but he just motions for her to continue.
Emma is normally the kind of person who tears first and asks questions later, so this is the longest Killian has ever seen her look at giftwrap and leave it intact. When she does start in on it, she doesn't disappoint, and neither does her expression when she hastily opens the box beneath all the paper. "Killian, this is an empty box."
"Aye, it is."
"Well, what – "
"The damn thing wouldn't fit back in the package once I was done with it," he tells her as he pulls the completed calendar from behind his back. It fans open once he releases the sides, and Emma's eyes pop open wide.
"Holy shit!" She laughs as she says it, taking the whole thing from his hands and starting to flip through, but he smacks her hands away and closes it back up.
"No peeking ahead. That's to help you get through the whole year, and I may have hidden some rather dirty messages in there that I'd rather be kept a surprise." He gives her a wink as he taps the closed calendar, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
"I love it, Killian. Thank you."
His heart leaps at her gratitude, especially when she sets the present down on the coffee table in favor of shifting onto her knees to sit in his lap. "I left yours at the station. It's nowhere near as cool as this, but I think you'll like it."
"Swan, my love, don't you realize that you right here, right now, is present enough for me?"
"You're such a sap," she whispers against his lips, but otherwise she has no further complaints.
-x-
When Emma leaves for Boston just a week and a half after New Year's, Killian makes every effort to go down as often as he can. Thankfully, with it still being the off-season, he has the ability to go visit her every Sunday after work and stay until Tuesday morning. While the hotel room is lacking compared to either of their apartments, they relish every moment they get to curl around each other while they still can.
In mid-February, she lets him know there will be a farewell ceremony for the whole unit before they head off to the next point of training to go overseas. "David and Mary Margaret are going to come down to get the Bug on Tuesday. They want to take me out to dinner since they won't be able to get here until right when the ceremony begins. You'll be back for it, right?"
"Of course, love. Will has already declared he owes me one for picking him up on New Year's Day from the station, and I let him know about the shift change yesterday."
She laughs in response, noting out loud that it didn't take long for Will to start the tally back up on favors.
It's Monday night, and she has to be up early to go back into her unit and he has to drive back home, but they're sitting on the bed flipping through the brochure that finally came in the mail. It's covered on both sides with little blurbs about the country club, with pictures to accompany each factoid. They both snicker when they see the picture of the wine room, looking pristine and elegant in the picture, but they have a different image of it in their minds.
There are pictures of the sprawling golf course, and the main building from the exterior. And on the inside of the pamphlet, on the left-hand flap, there's a picture of the salad station's cutting board, a series of hands with vegetables and knives in various stages of prepping and cutting, with a familiar quote.
Emma reads it out loud, her voice lofty and amused, "'The men and women that work in this kitchen are all highly trained professionals that have a deep appreciation for their craft.' Good job, Chef Jones."
"I was trying to get rid of her faster and she wasn't coming up with the bloody quote on her own. I had a lovely lass that needed my healing soup to get over her dreadful cold," he says fondly, and Emma laughs softly as she looks over the rest of the pictures. She yawns widely enough that her jaw cracks, so Killian puts the brochure off to the side and repositions them until they're lying down, buried beneath the covers. It's February, and even with the heater cranked, they're having a hard time keeping the chill out of their bones.
Killian reaches behind him without jostling Emma and turns off the light, kissing her forehead, nose, and lips briefly before murmuring goodnight. She hums in response, already halfway to sleep in his arms.
It feels like just a second later, but Killian surmises that it's already been a couple hours that he's been out. He focuses on the sound of Emma's breathing, much too fast, indicating that she's not sleeping, and then her hand trails up the center of his chest.
"Why're you still awake, Swan?" He's barely conscious, himself, but he needs to make sure she's okay.
"Just," she pauses, her hand sliding across his collarbones before resting warmly on his cheek, "absorbing." She sighs it out, and although he can hear the smile, the pain in her words echoes after. "Absorbing it all."
He shimmies his arm beneath her to wrap it around her back, drawing her closer so he can wrap both of his arms around her as they lapse into silence once more.
"I'm going to miss you," she tells him, and it's the closest he thinks he'll get to an admission of feelings at this point in time.
"Not a day will go by that I won't think of you."
"Good," she responds, and turns her face to kiss at whatever skin is closest to her lips. The mechanical whirring of the heating unit lulls them to sleep, finally, and he's only awakened again when the alarm on his phone goes off, signaling it is time for him to drive back to Storybrooke in time to get to work.
Emma is already awake and dressed, securing the last hairpins into her bun. She turns around when he sits up, smiling around the bobby pin between her lips. "Morning," she mutters as her fingers blindly place the one she'd already been working with. She removes the last pin from her mouth and works it into her hair. "I wanted to let you sleep as late as possible."
"I'll appreciate it later this evening, love." He extracts himself from the bed, searching for where he kicked off his jeans the night before and sliding them back over his boxer briefs. While she'd turned back to the mirror after seeing he was up, he still catches Emma eyeing him in the mirror. She gives a soft wolf-whistle and smirks at him, chuckling when he quirks an eyebrow in response.
He kisses her senseless in the entryway to her room before assuring her that he'll be back for the farewell ceremony. They go their own ways when they get to the lobby, Emma to join up with members of her unit (he waves a quick goodbye to those he recognizes, including Mulan and August) and Killian straight out the doors to his vehicle to get back on the road.
Two days later, there's a much different feel in the air when he drives down to the army reserves unit. The main hall has been filled with chairs, and the soldiers that will be deploying are all lined up at the front of the room. Their families all fill the chairs, and Killian snags three in a row for himself and David and Mary Margaret, who he spots wandering in a few moments later.
When the official ceremony has concluded, they congregate and mingle as long as they can. They all take turns getting pictures with Emma. She and Mary Margaret cling to each other with tears just barely visible in their eyes, even as they smile wide for the camera.
If what she does with Mary Margaret is clinging, there's no appropriate word for the way she holds on to Killian when it's their turn. He pulls her close, resting his hand on her hip as her head falls to his shoulder. When he looks at the picture later, he'll see the peaceful expression on her face as she leans against him and smile through the heartache, but for now, he only longs to kiss her once more before they leave.
"Didn't you say you needed a restroom?" Emma asks him a second later, as if reading his mind. He can only nod, and she tugs his arm in the opposite direction as she tells the others that they'll be right back.
Once down the separate hallway, she pulls him down and kisses him so hard that when their mouths open to each other, their teeth clack. She murmurs something between kisses, but he misses it in favor of cupping her cheeks and diving back in for one more kiss, and then she's pulling away just as quickly and wiping at her eyes. She gives him a watery smile as they head back to the main hall to get her rucksack.
The next few minutes feel as if he's experiencing them underwater. The din of the crowd is overwhelming and calming all at once, the cacophony of sounds bouncing around him. Emma shoulders her bag, smiling as brightly as she can when David helps her get it balanced, and she pulls her hat out as they all walk towards the doors. Her hat goes on the second she walks out, the black embroidered 'SWAN' staring straight at him, and he thinks to grab his phone out one more time to snap a picture of her moving towards the bus that will take them to New Jersey.
As soon as her bag is where it's supposed to go for the journey, she returns to hug them all one more time, trying to spend the same amount of time on each hug and then walking swiftly to board the charter bus.
Around them, other families are all giving the same final hugs and kisses, and Killian watches with a small smile frozen on his face, until every last soldier is on the buses and the families all stand back while they start moving.
He watches as the bus rolls away from them, recognizing immediately the feeling as if one of his limbs just decided to wander away from his body. It's been a couple years since that month he and Emma spent apart. It was near the start of their friendship, and he only noticed her absence in the hours he would normally ask if she wanted to grab a bite at Granny's diner, or the tentative start of their movie nights. Now, at least that length of time is going to pass before she even leaves the country, and from that point on it will just add, and add, and add.
David and Mary Margaret approach him as he moves back toward the parking lot where all their vehicles are. He accepts the pat on the back from David, and the tight hug from Mary Margaret, and brushes the rest of it off, just wanting to get in his truck and drive home and sleep until Emma's home again. But Ruby is close behind as he breaks away from them, her face devoid of makeup for the first time in his memory. Her eyes are puffy and red, and she's still sniffling, even as she smiles at him reassuringly.
"Mind if I hitch a ride back? I'm staying with Granny for a little bit. Requested the time off." Other than the slight waver in her voice and the tears that still imminently cling to the corners of her eyes, Ruby sounds like herself. His face must give away this thought somehow, because a short laugh escapes her. "This isn't my first deployment," she explains, linking her arm through his and they lean on each other as they make it the final length to his truck.
Once they're buckled in and he merges on to the freeway, he hears Ruby's sniffles start up again.
"You'll get used to it," she says, digging a package of tissues out of her purse. "You'll pull out your phone to text or call her, and it'll be just as your finger is about to hit send, or dial out, that you'll remember she's not in the same country. But I promise it gets easier before they even leave." She reaches across to pat his arm and settles back against the seat with a sigh.
It takes him ten more miles of silence to start asking Ruby what to expect in terms of communication frequency, if he'll get to talk to her instead of just e-mailing and texting when she has service, if it'll be the full length of the deployment he'll have to go without seeing her face in real-time.
Some questions, she's able to answer with no problem. Yes, he'll get to talk to her once or twice while they're over there. For the most part, she and Mulan were able to communicate in some form once a day if they wanted to. Sometimes she won't answer for a couple days, but he can't let himself get worked up or worried about it. No, he'll get to see her face in real-time at some point. Even if it's a five minute Skype session. And if not, there's always sending videos back and forth, which is something she and Mulan have done in the past.
He gathers all this information and stores it for later use, compiling ideas for ways he can make this less painful for him and Emma throughout the length of her deployment. When Ruby clambers out of his truck in front of her grandmother's bed and breakfast, he already feels that same sense of calm coming over him that he did when Emma first broke the news.
-x-
One day, a little under a month after the ceremony, Emma texts him that she'll be calling him later if he has time. He pulled an all-nighter to get the menu just right for spring and summer, trying to get one step ahead of Hades and his overly critical commentary. He responds for her to call when she's ready, that he'll be napping before getting to work on cleaning his place since he's neglected it for a couple days, before he drops off to sleep.
Just as he said he would, he wakes up, bleary and sluggish from his nap, and starts on chores he has no desire to complete. He gets his sheets changed and his laundry started, taking the time to vacuum the carpets in both his room and the spare bedroom before turning his attentions to the kitchen.
Normally meticulously clean, he's let the dishes pile up and the counters become cluttered. When it's all put back in order, he switches out his laundry and takes the time to copy his new recipe creations into the notebook he keeps, replacing sloppy handwriting and broth drips for clean pages and neat script.
It's as he's folding the first load of laundry out of the dryer that his phone rings, and he happily pushes the task to the side in favor of greeting the welcome sound of Emma's voice on the other end of the line.
"Hi," she says softly, and his heart beats twice as hard from that one simple word.
"How are you, love?"
"I'm okay. We're getting ready to go. I wanted to hear your voice again before we left. I don't know exactly what time, but this is the last time I'll be able to call you for a little while."
"I figured as much when you said you would call," he tells her. She's always been something of an open book to him.
"Did you get your place cleaned up again?" she asks. It's all so mundane, but it's not like he was expecting declarations of love and devotion from this particular call.
"Aye, it's a work in progress. My kitchen is clean again, which is the most important part, as well you know." He listens to her quiet chuckle on the other end, doing his best to imagine what she looks like when she makes that sound. "Mary Margaret said she would go over and clean your place every other week so I'm not the only one going over and moping and washing the windows with my tears." He says it jokingly, but it still stings a little in its almost-truth.
"That's nice of her to share the duties of keeping a soldier's home clean with misery. We love that, you know." She's outright laughing when she says it, which is what he was hoping for.
"Will you get to sleep at all before leaving?"
"I don't know," she says softly. "I'm going to find food and figure out the rest after that. I just needed a couple minutes of you, first."
He hums in response, settling back on his couch to give her his undivided attention. They chat for a couple more minutes before she tells him she has to go, sounding utterly defeated when she does so.
"Safe travels, love. Try to keep me in the loop as you go. I know it won't always be possible."
"It won't, but I'll do my best. And Killian?"
"Yes, Swan?"
"I love you."
The line goes dead after those three little words, and Killian drops his phone in surprise. He knows without even trying that her phone will be off if he tries to call her back, so he takes one solidly deep breath, expelling it and closing his eyes as he stares at the last call.
"I love you, too."
