The dawn is just starting to creep over the world, a pale sliver of day sweeping across the violent sea. Emma's hair is hopelessly snarled, whipping around her shoulders and face as she numbly watches the day slink out of its hiding place.
A storm is brewing, a nor'easter spinning to the south and creeping its way up the coast. She can feel it in the air, the smell of rain to come and the way the entire world seems to be holding its breath. Even the birds are quiet, the angry rush of the tide drowning out everything else.
She draws the blanket she took from Killian's couch tighter around her shoulders. It's warmer than she expected when she crept out onto the roof, but not by much. It must be the moisture of the storm driving the temperature up. The weather station has been nattering on for days about this storm, how it will first rain and then switch over to the full wrath of winter. The dreaded threat of ice looms, and Emma isn't particularly looking forward to the mass chaos of such a dangerous storm.
Though the storm is fitting, when it comes down to it. Turmoil is what brought Emma to the roof in the first place, an endless spinning of her mind that couldn't be quieted in Killian's arms. She just needs to breathe, and up here, with no one around, it's a little bit easier. The momentary peace from her insomnia has fled with Neal's arrival, and it doesn't matter how much she tries to distract herself. She's been trying her damnedest to let Killian's affection soothe her, but it's not working.
It bothers him. He says nothing, but she can tell. Every time he comes to find her in the middle of the night, every time he coaxes her back to bed, she can see it gnawing away at him.
Neal's been in town for a week. Emma was stunned to see him laid out in the hallway outside her apartment door, Killian wearing a slightly guilty – though entirely unapologetic – expression on his face. There's a small part of her, which she will not admit to Killian, that is a tiny bit proud of him, but mostly, she's horrified by the whole thing. Neal showing up, Killian decking him, and Neal's limp form sprawled out on the carpet, it's a lot for her to take in.
Too much, as it turned out. Emma grabbed Killian's hand, pulled him into the hallway and fled, leaving Neal right where he was. She was foolish enough to hope that would be the end of it.
It isn't.
Neal shows up at her job. Neal shows up at Gold's. He has yet to figure out how the Jolly Roger and Killian fit into her life, but it's only a matter of time. Neal taught Emma enough for her to know he could track her fairly easily; with an uneasy shiver, she glances at the buildings around her, wondering if he's there somewhere, watching.
Emma can hear Killian below, calling her name. It's the faintest whisper over the roar of the wind, but she can hear it. She doesn't answer. He'll realize she won't have gone far eventually, her keys, phone, and gun still sitting on the kitchen island where she left them. She's not even wearing her own clothes, wrapped up in his instead, a desperation attempt at drawing some comfort. With any luck, he'll go back to bed.
She knows even as she thinks it that it's a lie. Killian isn't sleeping much better than she is – the difference being when he can't sleep, he stays in bed with her, running his fingers through her hair, touching her lightly and murmuring under his breath when he thinks she's asleep. He doesn't flee, into the living room, into the dark bar below, into the street or onto the roof. He stays – but Emma's never been particularly good at that.
Her eyes squeeze shut of their own accord as she hears the door open, the creak of the hinges loud enough to be heard over the wind and surf. Of course he's found her – he always does.
She doesn't turn to look at him, doesn't take her eyes off the churning ocean. If she turns to him she'll see the disappointment he can't quite mask, the fear, the insecurity and the hurt. She wishes she could soothe all of it; she wishes she could be the sort of woman completely unaffected by Neal's sudden reappearance, but she can't. It's not who Emma is, and so she's on the roof at dawn, staring out into the wall of angry grey marching toward them.
He doesn't speak right away, slipping his arms around her. He won't last long on the roof, clad in only his pajama pants. She can feel him shivering already, but she can't break the quiet, can't make herself face the failed expectations again.
"I've always thought her lovely like this," Killian whispers in her ear, holding her tightly. She can barely hear him over the wind. His cheek has already grown cold as he presses against her, his eyes on the ocean. "A good sunny day, calm seas and a light breeze, that's the fantasy, the idyllic. But it's not all of who she is. Sometimes, she's like this – angry as the devil, raging against the world. Even going to pieces, she's still beautiful.
"The town I grew up in was near to the water. When I was a lad, I used to sneak away, sit on the cliff's edge and just watch her. Some days, she breathed a sigh and that whisper was a caress. Other days, she was like she is now, vengeful and showing her teeth. It didn't matter. Nothing could keep me away."
Emma says nothing, pressing her lips together and biting the inside of her cheek. She's a lot more emotional these days, barely sleeping, nerves frayed and liable to snap at any given moment. There's something in his tone, something in his careful choosing of his words, that tells her he isn't just talking about the ocean.
He isn't.
Emma isn't stupid, and he knows that about her, but he can't say the words to her, not yet, not now when he knows it's taking all of her resolve to stay with him, to not run away. So he says the things he so desperately wants to in metaphor, and prays she'll understand.
Prays she'll stay.
"I love the sea. Always have, always will. Can't live without her."
She wants to shout at him too much – she wants him to stop saying beautiful, emotional things to her when she's being so cold to him. She wants him to stop talking about love, like it's a real, tangible thing she can hold in her hand.
Like it's something he feels for her, in spite of what a colossal mess she is.
But she's hurting him enough, so she turns away from the ocean and into his bare chest, opening her arms to wrap the blanket around him as well. They stand there locked together, the wind battering them, for a good long moment before Killian is backing toward the door that leads them back into the apartment.
"I've always wanted to live by the ocean," she manages to tell him, reaching for something, anything to bridge the gaping chasm opening between them. She picks the thing that lets her believe he was talking about the ocean before, because now she's talking about it too. "It was a promise Neal used to make…before. That we would move to Tallahassee, start over."
He glances out the windows, the dawn barely affording enough light to see with the towering clouds closing in over the greyish green water. "Might bit different from Florida, love."
"I think that's why I came here." She shrugs, tugging the blanket closer around her. Back in the warmth, the cold of the roof has hit her and she's shaking violently. Killian frowns, leading her toward the wood stove, which he's glad he tended when he woke to look for her, because it's roaring now, throwing off much-appreciated heat.
He pulls her down to the floor, putting her between his body and the stove, wrapping her in his arms and the blanket and the heat of the fire. The shaking subsides, but Emma is beginning to feel like she'll never be warm again.
"Has he…what does he want, love? Why is he here?"
She hesitates, because she knows it's going to kill him to hear this, but he deserves the truth. "He wants me to forgive him." It's all Neal's been talking about the few times he's managed to get to her. He wants to explain his actions all those years ago; he wants her to know he's a changed man. He wants another chance. He thinks Killian is bad news, with his dark looks and tattoos and mean right hook.
He doesn't seem to understand it's been nearly ten years and Emma is never letting him back in her life. She just needs to figure out how to make him go away.
She's never been strong when it comes to Neal. That's what got her into this mess in the first place.
"After all this time?"
"Yeah. Says he's a changed man." Emma twists the words, her opinion of his claim clear.
"He wants you back." He tries not to, he does, but Killian can feel his entire body go rigid at the statement, every cell in his being rejecting the notion. Neal can't bloody have her – Emma is Killian's now. But he's terrified that's not entirely true. Their relationship, working toward something, getting them into a place where Emma was going to become a permanent fixture in his home, their home…it's under attack now. Emma is distant and she's pulling away from him more and more.
She doesn't laugh very much, anymore, and it breaks his heart.
It's killing him, but he can't fight her. Emma doesn't respond well when she's backed into a corner, and he can tell she already feels like she's there. He needs to be supportive now, to let her work through her issues with Neal on her own.
He's just terrified it's going to end with him on the outside, looking in.
"He can't have me," Emma replies, her voice tight with anger. It makes him feel a little better, how she burrows closer to her chest, tightens her grip on him.
Emma's growing drowsy in his arms. He won't open the bar for hours, and she's got a night shift, so when he's certain she won't protest, he scoops her up in his arms and carries her back to bed. Even if she sleeps but an hour, he's grateful for that much.
To his surprise, she falls asleep curled against him almost instantly. He brushes the pad of his thumb under her eyes gently, frowning at the deep purplish bruises there. She's exhausted, and no matter how hard he tries, this is not a problem he can solve for her.
So for the time being, he holds her close, listens to the sound of her steady breathing, and slips back under with her.
This chapter may or may not have been inspired by an overly excited weather report calling for an early nor'easter... take it where you can get it!