Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own anything having to do with Once Upon A Time. If I did, Emma and Hook would be together and Neal wouldn't even be in the picture.
Disclaimer: I also borrowed a quote from the lovely works of C. Joybell C.
Chapter Twenty-One
A Resolution
"You will burn and you will burn out. You will be healed and come back again."
Someone was crying, but Emma couldn't tell who. With the way the blood was rushing in her ears, it left little ability to hear anything else. And what little she did hear was the resonant peal of the clock announcing that midnight was only a quarter of an hour away. Staring at the gate through which Regina had disappeared while the breeze played with her hair, it all felt like a dream.
Because it couldn't just end like this, could it? Didn't she deserve a chance to fight?
But then she had fought, along with everyone else. People she loved, people she cared for, people she barely even knew… they'd all taken up arms against the Evil Queen. And although their actions might not have been only for her, they had been with her; united in a single cause against those that would oppress them. However, while it had been enough to vanquish Regina, it hadn't been enough to also save Emma. So here she stood now, facing the end.
Death was so final.
Death was so… real.
All it took to die was to live.
Life, a few spell-binding words, and time.
Without warning, a raucous cheer sounded below. Emma blinked, the action drawing her gaze away from the empty gate to the rest of the courtyard, and what she saw was victory. The villagers had finally subdued the guards, forcing those that remained to huddle in the northwest corner where a werewolf paced back and forth, encouraging their continued cooperation with the occasional snarl and snapping growl. Pan, it seemed, had reappeared as well. He flew overheard, darting back and forth looking no worse for wear, and even as far away as he was, Emma could hear him spouting off jeering insults and taunts to the guards.
But victory was a bittersweet thing. Bodies littered the courtyard, both friend and foe, struck down with arrows or blades or sheer brute force. Soldiers often spoke of the events that led up to confrontations, they would explain how the rage of battle would overcome them and the glorious triumphs they'd face… but they never talked about the aftermath. No one ever explained what it felt like to look out at the battlefield and see fallen figures and twisted limbs and so much blood. Even if they did, nothing could prepare someone for what it felt like to stare down at a friend and have them stare back with glassy eyes glossed over in death.
The scenes below were so incongruous…
A man knelt beside a woman, stroking her cheek and whispering words of comfort even as life pulsed from the gash in her upper thigh. Another man caught an approaching woman in his arms mid-leap, laughing and hugging her fiercely.
An adolescent pressed a crumpled shirt to the place where a man's forearm used to be and frantically tied a makeshift tourniquet with a belt. Another adolescent near the guards raised his sword aloft, yelling out a victory cry.
A woman cradled the lifeless body of a child to her chest and wept without shame. Another woman ran through the courtyard, desperately calling out for a loved one, and when a tiny voice responded and was swept into a bone-crushing embrace in relief, she too wept without shame.
So much violence.
So much despair.
So much love.
Emma was still numbly watching the scene below when she felt it – the slightest touch of a hand. The sunset had taken the heat of the day with it, but not even the crisp autumn night had staved off the sweat she'd worked up in the rush of the evening. Her shirt clung to her, the damp material cool against her back, but the warmth of Hook's fingers was pervasive. It pushed away the chill and left the typical heat that always accompanied his touch in its place, making a shiver skitter through her involuntarily. And she absentmindedly thought how ironic it was that she responded to him so readily even as her mind warningly reminded her of how he'd betrayed her trust.
Then again, her body had always been traitorously eager to disobey what her mind insisted was best.
Especially when it came to Hook.
With her gaze still fixed outside, she felt more than saw him draw closer, felt the way the air shifted with his movements. No more than a foot must have separated them, not with the way the heat from his body crossed the space to seep into hers. His presence was electric, lightning and fire and energy. She could sense the particles he charged in the air, the way he owned the space, the echoes of his body near hers.
"Emma…"
He breathed her name – the soft tone was a glaring contrast to the energy pulsing through the air around them – and the word ghosted over the shell of her ear while his fingers glided up to settle between her shoulder blades. The breeze drifting through the window swirled around them, carrying with it the familiar scent of rum, leather, and sea. And no matter of convincing could discourage the visions of clanging swords atop a cliff, days spent on a white beach, and nights spent gazing at the stars that floated through her mind. Would she ever get used to the visceral effect of Hook?
"She's gone."
"I know."
It took an incredible amount of effort not to turn and bury her face against his chest. Everything felt so overwhelming, completely out of her control. Powerlessness had never sat well with her. Eighteen years ago, a child wearing an elaborate dress had stood in a darkened room and decided to forsake everything she knew by taking her future into her own hands. Fate must have had a sense of humor, though, because her future was as out of her hands now as it was then.
"You…" When her voice cracked, Emma paused, drawing on every bit of strength she had left before trying again. "None of you should be here." Her throat was thick with resignation. "I don't want you to see this."
Even though no one wanted to be alone when they passed away, it seemed insurmountably wrong for her parents to watch her die. Parents were never supposed to bury their children.
"We're not going anywhere." Her father's stern voice insisted there would be no argument to the contrary.
It was the response she didn't want to admit that she wanted.
"Emma, please…" There was an accompanying sniffle, and she now recognized the crying from earlier to be her mother's quiet sobs. "Just try."
The fingers against her back twitched before pressing a little harder. It was an almost imperceptible movement, but she felt it nonetheless. Emma let loose a heavy sigh, her chest caving under the weight of it. Then, her eyes lifted, gaze straying from the courtyard below to the skies above.
It was so… clear. The firmament was painted in strokes of blue that were so dark they were almost black, flowing outward and descending into deeper and deeper shades of night, the full moon hung at its zenith, casting a gentle glow, stretching out its magic to pull at the wolf in Ruby as much as the ocean tides, and the stars glimmered like diamonds amid the vast void, tragically beautiful. The beauty of it took her breath away.
Most people celebrated in the revitalizing spark that was light, but in that moment, Emma reveled in the healing depth of night. It pushed away most of the fear, brought her enough peace to where she could speak with honesty.
"I don't want to spend my last few minutes scrambling desperately, grasping at straws."
"Sweetheart, it's not desperation, it's…"
"It is desperation." She didn't want to die with panic flooding her body and fear in her heart. Emma closed her eyes, taking in a completely different kind of darkness. "Just let me face the end with at least a small amount of dignity."
But then the hand on her back shifted and she was being spun around. Startled by the movement, the bow slipped from her fingers to clatter against the floor and her eyes flew open; now, in the new position, she had no choice but to face Hook. His fingers gripped one shoulder tightly while his hook curved over the other. There was the slightest prick of its point against her shoulder blade, but it barely registered, consumed as she was by his expression.
His eyes were focused, narrowed, intense. They moved back and forth between her own wide ones as if searching for something even he didn't know, like she was a problem he could figure out. And she felt exposed, completely open to him as he studied her.
"No."
Emma blinked. It was a simple word – two letters, one syllable – but it effectively pulled her from her thoughts. However, when she realized the significance of it, her face shifted into a frown and she responded more snidely than was probably necessary.
"No?"
Hook gave a sharp nod of affirmation. "I'm not letting you face anything because I refuse to let you die."
His statement simultaneously made her stomach flop and her heart race. But while her stomach fluttered from the intimacy of what he said, her heart raced in something closer to resentment. Because why was he still fighting for her? Why couldn't he just let her die with a shred of honor?
Emma's eyes narrowed to match his own, although where his gaze was determined, hers was heated. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed her parents to have stepped back, retreating further into the room to give them space, but even the darkness couldn't hide the concern etched into her father's features or the shining moisture in her mother's eyes. And their constant and unfailing hope that good would always succeed made her all the angrier.
So with that feeling of resentment sitting hot and heavy in her stomach, she looked back to Hook. If she were to be completely honest, the majority of her had already forgiven him, had done so when she was still being held captive in the dungeons before he'd interrupted Regina's moment of would-be triumph. But now… now she allowed that small, traitorous part of her to take hold; the part that did nothing but remind her of exactly how much it had hurt when his indiscretions were brought to light.
At one time, she would have willingly fallen into that bitterness and let it consume her, let the fire of it fuel her rage. In more recent times, she fought it, choosing to think about more pleasant moments and the good times they'd shared. But sometimes she didn't want to fight with herself over which side to choose; sometimes it was easier to choose to fight someone else instead. So with that thought in her mind, she directed all the anger, all the vehemence, all the hurt outwards.
"What makes you think you have any say at all in what happens to me?" She pushed away the hand and hook on her shoulder and stepped back. Lip curled in an uncharacteristic sneer, she bit the words out. "After all that's happened, why the hell would the responsibility of taking care of me fall to you?"
"I'm not…"
"No." Her hands were clenched by her side, fingernails digging crescent moons into her palms. "Any claim, any stake you might have had in my life is gone. There's nothing now. Nothing."
Bitter, harsh, ugly words… and Emma could tell the effect they had in the way Hook's brows lowered and the line of tension that ran through his clenched jaw.
"When I told you I'd always fight for you, I meant it. I won't give up on you, love, not even when you're so obviously ready to throw in the towel yourself." Hook stepped forward calculatingly, and Emma automatically stepped back in response to maintain the distance between them. "Where's the lass that never turned down a challenge?"
"This isn't a drinking game or a duel, Hook. This is my life."
"Which should give you all the more reason to fight for it."
His voice was louder now, hovering on the verge of a shout, as if the added volume would be enough to convince her, but then his expression softened once more. When he came one more step closer, she backtracked again.
"Where's the lass that never knew when to give up?" And when his hand reached out, she leaned away from his touch and allowed his fingers to fall through the empty air back to his side. "Where's that… fire?"
She knew what he meant and it wasn't the fiery rage that had coursed through her that was now bleeding out, leaving her boneless in the absence of its strength.
"Emma, please…" Her mother's beseeching expression caught her eye. "Just think about this. He didn't have to come here. How easy would it have been to not risk anything and pursue his vengeance? But he did return. He came back for you."
"You need to let go of the past."
"It's not too late."
"There's no harm in trying."
"Will you all just stop?"
Emma's head lowered, gaze fixed on the tassels of a rug as she pressed her clenched fists to her temples. The green and ivory threads wound together in an intricate, geometric pattern that was so familiar her chest ached. She remembered sitting on the rug as a child, playing with toys or reading books. In fact, one of her earliest memories was stretching out to take a nap in the splash of afternoon sun that warmed the fibers. Blackness crept in at the edges of her sight, and she distantly wondered if it would be poignant or simply dramatic for her to lay down on the rug now and let the rough texture of the colored strands against her cheek be her last memory as well.
"Tell me something, love…" She didn't lift her head, but her eyes settled on Hook's boots of their own accord. "How often did you think of me when we were apart?"
A confused frown settled over her face. He had adopted a more lackadaisical tone for the inquiry, which made her immediately and rightfully suspicious. There was more to the question than appeared, like it was a trap or something, but just because she knew that didn't mean she could spot it.
Slowly, her eyes lifted to his, taking in his casually crossed arms and the glint in his eyes that belied the seriousness of the situation. It reminded her of playful banter issued across the polished surface of a bar. Mentally, she shook herself. Then, after a pause, she answered in what was a – hopefully – firm voice.
"Rarely."
Immediately, his mouth quirked and eased into an almost-smirk. "For some reason, I have a hard time believing that." Of course he would challenge her response; what else did she expect?
"Well, that's not my problem. Feel free to wallow in your disbelief."
"I would, if I didn't know you better than that."
Emma crossed her own arms and haughtily cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" She was bluffing. And what was worse was that she knew that he knew she was bluffing. Few people probably knew her as well as Hook did.
"Aye, really." The partial smirk was gone, exchanged for a full-blown one. "And I know for a fact that you thought about me quite often."
"I told you it was rarely."
Hook stepped forward. This time, however, Emma held her ground and did her best to ignore his pleased expression at her lack of retreat. "As in, every day…" One step after another, he crossed the space between them, eyes never leaving hers.
"Rarely."
"And every night."
"Rarely."
"All the bloody time."
Finally, he came to a stop, but only because there was no more room to advance. No more than a couple feet separated them, and it took all of Emma's willpower to remain steadfast rather than step back and restore some equality to the situation. Holding his gaze boldly, she unflinchingly lifted her chin.
"You're wrong."
His eyes flicked between hers. "Are you trying to convince me right now, love, or are you trying to convince yourself?" After a long moment, his attention dipped to her mouth, and her tongue instinctively – because she sure as hell didn't tell it to – darted out to wet her lips. At the sight, she heard his breath hitch right before his expression darkened and he took one last step forward.
There was the fleeting brush of his jerkin against her chest and cool metal on her forearm and rum-scented breath across her face… then she was backtracking so quickly she tripped over her own feet, stumbling a few steps until her back connected painfully with the wall. And while she was still trying to regain her footing, he stepped forward once more, arms reaching out to the wall on either side of her to cage her in and effectively block off any hope she had of escape.
"Get away from me, Hook." Like a trapped animal, Emma fought against him, trying to force him back. "Stop trying to intimidate me!"
After a particularly forceful shove against his chest, his hook came up to loop around her wrist and force her arm to the wall beside her head while his hand found her remaining one and forced it down to her side. She continued to struggle for a moment – where the hell were her parents and why weren't they helping her? – but when her wiggling failed to free her and no one came to her rescue, she grew still and opted for a deadly glare.
"Why does it matter if I thought about you or not, anyway?"
"Because I find it hard to believe that you could feel nothing for me after all that we've gone through."
"Thinking about you and feeling something for you are two completely different things." Hook continued to smirk knowingly at her; one day, she'd master a glare that would actually faze him. "Even if I did think about you more than just a few times – and I'm not saying I did so stop looking at me like that – what makes you think it was anything good? Maybe I spent the time you were gone cursing the day we met."
He nodded slightly, considering her words. "Aye, you could have done that… or maybe you took a few days to cool off and then rationally thought everything through. You're a smart lass; you're not someone to be forever blinded by one misdeed. You would've realized that everything that happened once we met was real."
But no matter how right he might have been, Emma shook her head in denial. "I… I didn't think about you."
"You never were a very accomplished liar, love."
"I didn't think about you." The words came out a little more insistently the second time.
Hook continued to smirk, not even bothering to disguise the fact he didn't believe her for a second. His fingers released their hold on her hand and slowly slid up her arm. "And as for how you feel about me?" With his blue eyes boring into hers so perceptively, she had to fight the warm blush that threatened to creep up her neck and into her cheeks.
"We are not having this discussion."
"Why not?" His fingers continued to leisurely trace a pattern over her elbow and across her upper arm. "Afraid to admit something that everyone in this room is already aware of? Or is it simply that words fall short of describing your affections for me?"
Emma meant to scoff offer a sarcastic quip, but what came out instead was genuineness. "The only thing I feel for you is gratitude." His fingers paused in their ministrations. Unable to hold his gaze, she focused on the mess of chains and medallions around his neck. "Because you did come back… you didn't have to do that."
And that was the honest truth of it. No matter what else she believed, no matter how much she hid under the veil of denial, he had sacrificed a three hundred year old mission to come back to try and help her. It was impossible to not recognize an action as significant as that.
"That's it, then – gratitude?"
His voice had lowered to a level her parents would no longer be able to hear, and her response was just as soft. "Yes." Her eyes fell even further, fixing on the buttons of his jerkin.
"No declarations of affections to make? No underlying fondness?"
"No."
Hook chuckled softly. "You may not be able to lie worth a damn, but you're stubborn as they come." Indignation surging at his dismissal, her eyes snapped to his. Her mouth opened, but before she could refute, he continued. "Tell me that all the years we've spent getting to know each other, all the times we saved each other, all the nights we spent together were nothing. Tell me that those things mean nothing to you." His hand and hook settled on her shoulders. "Tell me that I mean nothing to you."
She paused… hesitated… deliberated…
"You don't."
"Gods, Emma!" The weight of his hand disappeared as it slammed into the wall beside her head, making her jump. And his face was contorted in a combination of disappointment and severity.
She reacted instantly, leaning forward until less than a foot separated their faces. "Don't yell at me!"
"You are the most infuriating woman I've ever met." He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "You'll go to your grave trying to convince yourself of something that's not true."
"It is the truth!"
"If you think that what we had – what we are – is nothing, you're deluding yourself!"
They were both yelling now, loud voices contrasting starkly with their quiet ones from before. Where her parents would have been unable to hear what they were saying only moments ago, now they – and probably everyone down in the courtyard – were able to hear everything.
"And if you think that no woman is able to resist you, then you're a pig-headed, egotistical jerk!"
Hook snorted disdainfully. "That's rich coming from someone that willingly spent so long in my company. You never seemed to complain much before."
But no matter the fact that what he said was the truth, her stubborn pride refused to back down. "Well, there's a first time for everything."
And then her hair was being pushed aside, fingers tangling in the strands as he cupped the side of her face, eyes raking over her face. He was unwaveringly focused on her, expression so insistent, wholly determined.
"Why do you fight it?"
And then she was crying out in frustration, simultaneously fighting back and ignoring the annoying bit of moisture that pooled in the corners of her eyes.
"Why do you insist it?"
And then…
"Because I love you!"
Emma forgot. She forgot how to keep her mouth from falling open in surprise. She forgot how to keep her body from trembling slightly at his proximity and touch. She forgot so many things… how to talk, how to move, how to think, how to breathe…
"And damn if I don't even bloody understand why at times."
With a jagged exhale, he jerked and spun away from her, and Emma was left leaning against the wall for support as she stared dazedly at his back. Then her breath returned; it came heavily, chest swelling with shaky inhales and caving with shuddering exhales in the wake of his declaration. And everything felt so surreal – it hurt so bad – yet so god damn perfect – it hurt so good – all at the same time that she had to work hard to dredge up one last meager attempt at denial.
"You betrayed me…"
"And I would spend a thousand lifetimes atoning for my actions if only to earn your forgiveness." His shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh and Emma wondered if his heart was racing even half as fast as hers. "Do you remember the first time you met the Indians in Neverland?"
Still floundering to catch up to the situation, her mind struggled to comprehend his question. "What are you talking about?" But he didn't turn to her or answer her question, only inquired again.
"Do you remember?"
Visions of the seemingly endless grassland arose. She could feel the warmth of the Neverland sun on the back of her neck, the tall grass brushing against the tips of her fingers. There was Tiger Lily and Great Big Little Panther and Wind Runner… and back at their camp there was exotic food and ornaments in her hair and a wild bonfire and music pounding a rhythm that made her blood sing… and her voice was soft compared to the cacophony of the memory in her mind.
"Yes."
"Gods, I remember that day like it was only yesterday. The way you looked dancing around that fire… all those beads and feathers in your hair… I don't think I'd ever seen you look so free. Everything was so dark that night that you looked like some kind of goddess with the way the firelight made your hair shine like gold. And I wanted to go to you, to dance with you…"
Emma felt an urge to reach out and touch Hook's shoulder, pull him around to face her so she could see his expression as he spoke so freely about that evening. But she didn't. Instead, it dangled uselessly at her side, fingers doing nothing more than twitching slightly at the thought of touching him.
"Do you remember what we talked about on the way back to the ship?"
"Waltzing… and Tiger Lily… and Wind Runner." Among other things.
"Aye. You were curious about Wind Runner's… term of endearment, and I told you what it meant."
Kiwidinok.
Woman of the wind.
"But you said you'd call me something different. You said you'd tell me someday." Emma recalled their conversation, remembered the way she'd pushed him away then just as she pushed him away now. Then, as if in rebellion, her body straightened away from the wall and she stepped forward. "Hook…" She knew where the line of questioning was leading now, and her heart tripped an even quicker pace. "What would you call me?"
She thought about touching him; she thought about not touching him. The distance between them was so meager, no more than a couple feet. It would take nothing to breach it. Would the hard outline of his bicep contrast with the silky texture of his shirt if she were to grasp his upper arm? Would the heat of him heal the ache in her chest if she were to rest her forehead against his back? Emma looked down to the hand that now hovered in front of her waist.
What would he do if she touched him?
What would he do if she didn't?
Her knuckles ached from the punch she'd delivered him and her palms felt the impact of when she'd tried to push him away, but her fingertip tingled, still able to feel the rough stubble from when she'd traced the line of his jaw.
"Onida. I would call you onida."
It was beautiful. Mysterious and foreign and almost magical in the way it floated in the air instead of falling to the ground like so many other heavier words would. And her breath fell over itself, her throat constricted, her eyes smarted with that same persistent moisture… and it was like that simple word shattered the spell that had been holding her back.
"What does it mean?" He remained silent, and Emma could see the tension that ran through his shoulders. With one step, the distance between them lessened to only a few inches. "Hook…"
Her hand lifted, reached up, touched lightly to his back while the other fingered the material at his waist. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head. They were so close that if he were to inhale deeply, her forehead would come into contact with his back. Her mind insisted that she back away. But then, when had her heart and her mind and her body ever agreed on anything?
So pushing all thoughts aside, Emma leaned forward – slowly, cautiously – and laid her head against his back. She listened to his steady heartbeat, felt the gentle rise and fall of his back with every breath, fell into the warmth of him, and it was devastatingly lovely and heartbreakingly beautiful because it was life.
"Killian…"
At the sound of his name, the world seemed to still until there was nothing but Hook and Emma and the meaning of the word. The stillness around them was a tangible thing, as real as the heartbeat beneath her ear, as real as the clock that continued to tick away the last moments of her life. It stretched out for the longest time, eternal… and then he was moving.
He spun to face her, his hand instantly finding its home cradling her head while his hook settled at the curve of her hip, and he drew her so close she could feel the hard plane of his chest against her. But when her eyes flew open, they didn't meet his. Instead of a strikingly blue gaze, she was met with lowered eyes, a furrowed brow, and the thin line of his mouth.
Emma watched the play of emotions across his face, and it was with a slight tremble that she finally moved the hand that had been on his back. She reached up, traced the tense muscle of his shoulder and brushed the outline of his jaw before lowering again to curl lightly at the nape of his neck.
"What does it mean?"
And when he finally looked at her, the shadows in his eyes stretched out, wound around her, and pulled her in. For a moment, she was powerless – trapped, spellbound, drowning in the darkness – while he stared at her – a little hesitant, a little fearful – but then…
"It means the one searched for."
It was so simple, so unassuming, so intimate, so…
Perfect.
"There were so many times I lost my way… lost myself… but then I met you… I just knew… Emma, I've spent my entire life looking for you."
Emma exhaled a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding, and in it were a thousand and one things she couldn't put words to. Because it was impossible to describe how she saw the world in such sharper clarity when she was by his side at the helm of the Jolly Roger or the way her fingers knew the contours of his body in more detail than her eyes or how the wicked point of a hook made her feel more at home than an inviting hand or the way his smirk made her think of adventure and the sea and life itself.
Another gust of wind caressed her skin, and as the breeze drifted away, it took the stubbornness of her heart with it. The weight in her chest lifted while her heart soared. And Emma considered that perhaps that was the inherent power in forgiveness, the freedom it brought.
Because she did forgive him.
Time was wasted in trying to rationalize because there was no rationalization. There was nothing more than knowing that she no longer cared what his past contained or what he'd done; none of it mattered anymore because he'd come back. Hook had abandoned three hundred years of resolve for her, had moved past the hurt of a murdered love for her, had been willing to die for her.
Emma smiled faintly, delicately, genuinely and watched as the shadows in his eyes withdrew and the corners of his mouth lifted in a mirror image of her own. But just when she was about to lean forward – she no longer cared whether it was to simply press her forehead to his or her lips to his – a peal reverberated through the silence.
Startled, she turned towards the sound, looked through the window. Midnight. Another toll rang out and drowned out the sound her parents' exclamation.
She couldn't do anything but stare at the hands of the clock… she couldn't think about anything except whether death was painful… she couldn't do anything… she couldn't think about anything… she couldn't do… she couldn't think… she couldn't…
"Emma…"
She blinked.
"Love…"
Hook's fingers touched lightly to her chin and pulled her focus back to him. And the only thought she had – just like her first thought of him all those years ago in Tortuga – was that his eyes were so very blue.
"It's not like it would be our first, love."
The strokes of midnight continued to slip by. Emma pressed her hands flat to his chest, eyes dipping to his lips before returning to his.
"What if it doesn't work?"
What if after all their efforts, all their struggles, all their hardships, it still wasn't enough? What if true love's kiss wasn't enough to break the curse? Or what if their kiss wasn't true love's kiss at all?
But then he flashed his trademark smirk, that simple quirk of his lips that never failed to set her heart racing. His hand was warm, touch gentle as he brushed a thumb across the arch of her cheekbone.
"What if it does?"
And it seemed impossible how, in that moment, she felt so… so… alive.
With his windswept hair and carefree grin and wild nature and determined spirit, Hook was so like the sea. And if he was the sea, then she was just a girl who loved the waves but was completely terrified to swim. But on the other side of fear was freedom, and it was almost beautiful the way he put her insecurities to rest. The way he looked into her and simultaneously smothered the fears she kept coiled in her bones and ignited the dreams she kept hidden in her heart.
They were so different in so many ways… yet so similar, at the same time. And they worked well together, fit together. Her mother would say they were meant to be, but maybe it was more that they were meant to save each other. Because they had, in both a figurative and literal sense.
Together, they balanced each other out, smoothed away the sharp edges, brought peace to what was once a painful past. They had been reborn in each other's eyes. And maybe that was what love was – the taste of revival over and over again, like the sun when it rises in fire from the sea.
Love.
And she knew.
Love.
And she wanted to say it.
Her mouth slipped open, the declaration on the tip of her tongue.
"Killian, I…"
A finger pressed to her lips; such a simple touch. It effectively cut off her words, but for once, she didn't care.
"I know, love." She saw the way his smirk widened, caught the charismatic wink he gave her, and tried and failed to hide her own smile as she shook her head slightly in mock exasperation at the response that was so very like him. "And it's about bloody time."
Then his lips were on hers.
For one timeless moment there was nothing but the two of them. Him and her. Hook and Emma. There was his hand against the back of her head, her arms around his neck, his contented exhale against her cheek, her body pressed to his. There was the last toll of the clock that echoed around the room before fading into silence.
There was nothing.
But then there was everything.
There was a swelling in her chest; a warm, effervescent, vibrant sensation that lifted away a weight she hadn't even realized had been there. It took her breath away and had her mouth not been already occupied in a kiss, she would have gasped. There was so much pressure and so much energy and so much life…
Once, when she was only a small child, she'd asked her grandmother what love was. Sitting beneath the shade of an oak tree with bark rough against their backs and grass soft beneath their hands, her grandmother had explained that love was giving all of oneself without expecting anything in return. Confused, she'd scrunched up her nose and questioned how a person knew they were in love, how people knew when it was right.
Emma could still remember the way her grandmother had turned her head to smile down at her; she could still feel the soft wrinkles of her skin when one of her hands settled over her own.
"You just… know. Some people say that love is peaceful and temperate, but I think it's dramatic and passionate. A good love is one that casts you out into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire. You run and you run and you can't stop running simply because you keep burning everything that you touch. That's a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it."
And when the kiss ended, when she caught her breath, when her heart continued to beat with life, when she pulled back to stare into the ocean that was Hook's eyes, Emma thought that this… this was a good love.
It's been a long time coming.
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