A/N: This is probably my favourite chapter of all I've written of this story so far. Also, forgive my shody lyrics in this chapter- a song writer I am not. Thank you so much for all the support on this! I've got two more chapters prewritten for this story and four more planned out. Let me know what you think. Enjoy!
Warning: This chapter contains mentions of alcohol abuse.
Disclaimer: All aspects of Once Upon A Time belong to ABC and the show's creators.
Five days had passed since the call to Regina and the only person Killian had seen other than the delivery people was Victor who'd arrived the previous morning and woken him up. Which wasn't who Killian wanted to see. Victor reminded him too much of the woman he wanted to see more than anything. And Killian was in no way in the mood to talk about the lingering symptoms of anxiety and all out fatigue that still plagued him as he dragged his sorry ass to the piano room and up the stairs to his room and back. Victor had prescribed him a baby dose of an SSRI, to help with the anxiety and depression
The ache to see Emma was all consuming. But he was trying to do what she'd asked. He was trying to keep his life together. Killian got up in the morning, usually because something had woken him, either a door bell or Regina calling, and went to the kitchen and drank one of the juices Emma had sent him. They were nearly gone and every time he took one from the fridge it felt like Emma was slipping farther from him. Those thoughts without fail would send him away from the fridge as he desperately tried to distract himself. Sometimes he would run the whole morning until he'd made himself sick and exhausted and sleep until supper. Other times he'd go to the piano room and try to keep writing Peter Pan's Minion.
They lied in Neverland.
Told me I was whole.
Plied me with drinks to make me believe.
Peter Pan's minion has a silver tongue.
But he never got far. Five days in and he'd only written the one verse and it didn't even fit with what he had before, needing lyrics to connect the two parts. There was only so much he could write though before things got too much. Mostly Killian would end up running himself until exhaustion afterwards and sleeping until the morning and the need to drink felt more manageable again. Killian just didn't know what to do other than that. Coping had never been a strong suit but at least running was less damaging to his sobriety than rum was.
A few nights prior he'd found one of the online support groups Emma had suggested and spent some time on there. Seeing a psychologist was the one thing he hadn't taken her up on yet. Things were still so precarious. He would lose control of his thoughts at the slightest mention of alcohol and the idea of having to sit down for a full hour and spew them out to someone he didn't know was terrifying. What would happen when he went home to his empty house after talking about Liam's death, Milah's abandonment, the drinking problem? Killian didn't want to try that until he knew he had someone to go to if it got too much. Killian used the excuse of confidentiality and his celebrity image to get out of it when Victor suggested seeing someone but he knew that wasn't the case. Not when Emma had checked each psychologist office to ensure he would be safe going.
The online support group had been a decent experience. There was a chat room and a forum that Killian spent a good hour combing through, reading posts of the struggles of others, the goals, the failures and the successes. One man had posted that he'd made a year sober after ten years drinking, a habit started after the death of a close friend. The post had hit something within Killian, seeing someone with a similar story to his own reach a success that seemed unfathomable only twelve days into the process. And Killian had only been an alcoholic for less than three years. The post actually made a little sliver of hope light in him, pushing the need for alcohol back into the shadowy recesses of his mind, and Killian, surprising himself, had quickly made an account under a false name so he could write a simple response. Congratulations. You've done what I'm not sure I can. Twelve days in. Thanks for inspiring me.
After that Killian had gone to bed without running until he was practically fainting and slept through the night. Maybe the support group had been more than a decent experience.
Killian was trying so hard to stand on his own.
Killian wanted Emma but he knew he had to wait a bit longer to see her. He needed to stand on his own for her. For himself. Killian had a plan in the works to show her that he was trying and he was waiting for Regina to give him the confirmation that it was happening. So he kept trying to stand on his own and take care of himself until the call came in.
But he was lonely.
Five days with seeing no one but Victor who knew him. Who wanted to spend time with him, talk to him, be with him. Five days of waking up to a quiet house and falling asleep to the same silence. It was wearing on him.
Waking up that morning to an overwhelming quiet and a desire to just talk to someone, it hit Killian just how many relationships he'd destroyed during his descent. How he used to have best mates who he could talk to about anything, who'd always help him laugh of whatever was bothering him. How he used to take that for granted. Now he had no friends. Save for maybe Emma, but he wanted more with her.
Killian missed his friends. Missed Robin's good natured ribbing, the quiet smile of Eric and the pain in the ass that was Will Scarlet. The ache was even stronger than the one that lived in his chest begging for alcohol. Killian wanted his friends back.
Emma's words rang through his head. Do something for yourself.
Up until that moment everything he'd been doing had been about taking care of himself so he could show Emma he liked her because of who she was, not what she'd done for him. Up until that moment all his work, anything he'd done outside just trying to stay sober had been about setting up the moment where he'd show Emma just how much she meant to him. Sure, each of those steps had been important for helping him get his life back but he'd not done something to piece together what he'd lost yet other than his sobriety.
And he'd lost friends.
Could he get them back?
Was that selfish to want them back after what he'd done to them? Cutting them off during their time of need, never saying anything as their livelihoods feel apart and he went on to keep singing? Was it selfish to hope that they would forgive him, see what had happened, listen to his story and allow them to try again?
Maybe he could try? They would probably all slam doors in his face but at least he would have tried to get his friends back. But who would be the best to see first? Killian had no idea where Will had gone and he was still too ashamed to face Robin after hiding and drinking himself stupid while his best mate mourned. But Eric- Ariel did say he was trying to keep a close eye on his whereabouts. Maybe he didn't hate him so much that he wouldn't listen to Killian's story and his apology.
Killian thought back to how lonely he had been that morning, how crushing it was to think about another day spent in the same silence. No matter the risk at getting a door slammed on his nose, he had to try. There was no way he could keep living like he was, alone until the day he could go to Emma arrived.
It was decided then. He would try.
Killian grabbed his phone and pulled up the internet. He had no idea where Eric's home or office was. Not that he wanted to go to the man's home if Ariel was there. Killian wanted friends but he was not ready to dodge punches from two people. Typing in Eric's name into the search bar it took a little scrolling to get past the info on Neverland's Lost Pirates, a pang sitting in his chest, but eventually a site came up for Watterson's Harbour and Deep Sea Fishing Tours. That made Killian smile. At least Eric had pursued his dreams after everything came to a head.
Typing the address into his Google Maps, Killian let the phone figure out a route while he climbed the stairs again to his bedroom to get dressed. He pulled on a pair of black jeans and a nondescript heather grey Henley. Killian splashed some water on his face in an attempt to look a little less drawn before hurrying down the stairs again and slipping on his big aviators and black leather jacket, stepping into his beat up motorcycle-style boots.
Killian moved to the garage through the tiny hallway off his music room, stepping into the space. He still hadn't gotten back the black Mercedes he'd taken down to the marina that fateful night. Maybe he could get Regina on that and figure out if it had been impounded or not. Until then he had an older black Camaro to drive. It had been the car he'd purchased after Neverland's Lost Pirate's first really big tour and one he'd neglected in the last few years due to that, instead favouring his new, splashier coupe that didn't have all the memories. But if he was after making this up to his friends it seemed fitting that he drove the car they all used to pile into after shows down to Eric's office.
The drive to Eric's office, an old brick building on the pier with a big sign out front, Watterson's Harbour and Deep Sea Fishing Tours painted onto it over top of a swordfish mid jump, took about forty-five minutes as the traffic was fairly light. As Killian had driven down, following the instructions on his phone, anxiety had once again crept into his system. The what ifs swirling in his brain. What if Eric wasn't there? What if Eric didn't want to see him? What if Eric told him to get out of his office before Killian got a word in edgewise? What if Eric told him he'd completely destroyed lives with his selfishness? What if? What if? What if? The answers to the questions always came back to Killian's mistakes and shortcomings and part of him was terrified to hear them voiced out loud. It was a struggle to remember Ariel's words about her husband, that he obviously still cared enough to keep tabs on him and worry. By the time the GPS announced that he had "arrived at his destination, on the right," Killian had nearly convinced himself to turn back three times.
Killian parked just up the street and watched tourists go in and out of the building, some carrying tickets out and being led by a worker in a deep green polo shirt, logo stitched on the chest, others moving to wait by a brightly coloured pole meeting point further down the pier. Eric's company seemed successful. Pride flared within Killian. At least one of them seemed to have made it out of the band's fallout alright. It definitely didn't surprise him that the level-headed Eric had.
Killian drew in a deep breath. Going inside was something he had to do. Killian had to give himself the chance to try and rebuild what was left of the bridges he'd burned and maybe in the process he'd give Eric some peace of mind that he would be okay. Or that he was trying to be okay.
Killian opened the car door and slid out, walking towards the building. A family exited just as he had made the door, laughing happily about how excited they were to see the Statue of Liberty from the water. Killian kept his sunglasses on and passed unnoticed, slipping through the closing doors behind them.
Inside the door, a few feet in front of him was a secretary at a large rounded desk, a stuffed swordfish tacked on the front. Behind her was a hallway of offices where workers moved about and to the right was a large, open sitting area, the yellow paint of the wall lending a cheery atmosphere to the space. A few pictures of boats decorated the walls.
"Can I help you?" the secretary asked, noticing Killian dithering in front of him.
"Oh, um, yes, lass. Is Eric Watterson here?"
The woman, a brunette with deep red streaks, tilted her head, studying him. Killian pressed his glasses firmly up his nose, really hoping she wasn't some fan who was going to recognize him and make a big deal. "Mr. Watterson's just about to leave for a tour but he still should be in. Who should I tell him is here?"
Killian scrambled to think of something for a moment, scared of the variety of things that could happen if he said his name before answering, "an old friend."
The secretary sent him a strange look before picking up her phone and talking in hushed tones into the speaker. Killian glanced around the room, trying to distract him and keep him from sprinting out of the office before he even got to see Eric.
"Killian Jones, what the bloody hell are you doing here?" The words caught his attention, Killian turning quickly to his left where the voice had come from. Eric stood there, looking absolutely shocked. Not much had changed in the three years since Killian had seen him save for a bit of greying around the temples, his hair no longer the jet black of the touring years.
Killian's hand went up behind his ear, scratching at the spot that was such a habit while he avoiding looking at the receptionist who'd finally recognized her and was mildly freaking out. "Looking for a friend?"
How Eric could look even more shocked, Killian didn't know. Eric turned abruptly to his secretary. "Get Robert to do my tour. I need the morning off. Come on, Killian. Let's see what crock of shit you've got going on now." The words weren't malicious, instead ringing with memories of years prior when they would spend hours together. Killian had to laugh at that, the first true laugh he'd had since Emma ran out. Some of the anxiety relaxed, his shoulders drooping a bit as he followed Eric up the hallway and into a large office with big glass windows overlooking the harbour. Eric sat in the big wheely chair behind the wooden desk before motioning to another chair on the other side.
"I can't say I expected to see you today," Eric said once Killian had shut the office door and sat down. "You look like shit."
"That's what three years at the bottom of a bottle will do," Killian mumbled in return, pretending to study the office so he didn't have to look at Eric.
"I guessed as much. But what I can't figure out is why you're here?" Eric asked, a bit of irritation in his voice that he attempted to cover with a sip of coffee. Killian deserve that. Three years of silence and then he showed up unannounced.
Killian sucked in a deep breath. Now or never. "I'm sober."
Eric spluttered and coughed as he choked on his coffee. "Oh." Eric coughed a bit more and Killian had to fight the smirk because even though this was serious it was still such an Eric thing to happen. "How long?"
"Twelve days." It seemed like nothing when he said it out loud but it had been the hardest twelve days of his life.
"Wow. I'm proud of you." Eric didn't seem bothered that Killian had been sober for less than two weeks. He honestly did seem proud. It gave Killian hope that they might be able to be friends again.
"Thanks. Since I've been sober I've realized a few things and one of them is how many bridges I've burnt because I was selfish. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you all."
Eric nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't fight harder to be there for you." The guilt in his tone broke Killian. Why was Eric sorry? It was his fault, not Eric's.
"That wasn't your job. I locked myself away. I started drinking."
"Your brother had just died. And Milah was a bitch."
Killian shut his eyes against the memories. He couldn't get lost in them now. This moment was about Eric, not his issues. "Marian died and I didn't even go to the funeral."
"Yeah, that was a rat bastard move." Eric's tone was sombre but not angry enough that Killian felt he was mad. What had Killian ever done to deserve such a kind hearted man in his life? He'd been so stupid to let that go.
"I know. I'm not proud of it. I was just so focused on what I'd lost and then how I could forget. I got lost trying to cope with alcohol and women. Nothing mattered anymore except for trying to find peace. I was selfish. Angry at the world and myself and I stopped seeing that other people were struggling too. I don't expect Robin to ever forgive me. Or Will. Or you."
Eric leaned back in his chair and studied Killian carefully. Killian forced himself not to look away under the thorough gaze. Killian had laid it out. It was time for Eric to decide. "Well, Killian, I don't know about Robin. The man took everything really hard and he's just trying to raise Roland now away from everything. Will's back in England, I've not talked to him in about a month so I can't speak for him either. But I forgive you."
"Seriously?" Killian knew he was gaping at Eric from the way his friend smiled back.
"Seriously." Eric stood and came around that desk, wrapping his arms around Killian as soon as he stood to meet his friend. Because they could be that again. They could be friends. Eric gave Killian a few hard pats on the back before pulling away and moving to sit in the chair again. "We're friends Killian. I never stopped being your friend, even if you stopped being mine."
"Thank you, mate," Killian's voice was shaky with emotion, made worse by the mood swings he was still experiencing. He coughed quickly, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. He would not get emotional in front of Eric.
"Don't know if my wife's your friend though," Eric laughed, breaking the tension.
"She has one hell of a backhand," Killian answered, laughing as well.
When the laughter subsided Eric leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "So why now? Tell me, how did you get sober after all these years?"
"I didn't do it alone," Killian answered. For the next half an hour Killian talked about Emma. About how they'd met and then how she'd been with Ariel that night. The week from hell she coaxed him through. How she never gave up, even when he wanted to. How he'd fallen for her. And how she'd fallen for him. And then the end at his house, her running out crying, him waiting at the door, praying she'd come back. And then the last five days of trying to do as she asked and stand alone so he could show her that he truly cared about her. Killian told Eric everything and Eric just listened, smiling and nodding at all the appropriate places and as he did, that loneliness Killian had been feeling started to fade away.
"Remind me to send her a thank you fruit basket for getting you on the straight and narrow," Eric laughed when Killian had finished his story.
"She's one of a kind," Killian answered, a wistfulness pulling at his words. He missed Emma. So much. Hopefully Regina would pull through soon.
"So what are you up to while you wait to get the lovely Emma back in your arms?" Killian rolled his eyes at his friend's words.
"I'm trying to write a song. Record label's breathing down Regina's neck about my next CD and she bought me two weeks to recover and write something." Killian glanced down at his hands, sucking in a deep breath. "It's not going well. Every time I start I just want to start drinking. I've got three verses done and that's it but I've only got a few days left to do the rest of it."
"So let me help," Eric offered, reaching for a pad of paper. "You know I helped write pretty much everything on our last album."
"You'd really do that?" Killian asked, shocked, taking the pen Eric offered him to write down the lyrics to Peter Pan's Minion. "After how I let the band break up?"
"We're friends, Killian. And anyways, even though I love my job, I do miss writing."
Killian studied Eric for a long moment, making sure that Eric really wanted to do it and wasn't just offering because he was a much better person than Killian was. Eric read the lyrics Killian had written down carefully, chewing on the edge of his lip. He seemed genuinely interested and Killian couldn't deny the man had a talent for writing.
"Okay, let's do this."
It took them two hours to finish the song and get basic chords down for it. Killian pulled the pad towards him, studying the lyrics while Eric hummed the soft and somber melody to himself.
It finds the lonely
It finds the lost
Knows who can be tempted to want a better life
Knows who is tired.
Who's done of this life.
Lost my marker for the sun
Moon's the only one who notices me
Maybe it would be different if I went to Neverland
Maybe you don't need a shadow to be human there.
To be whole
Just a shell of a man
Bloody demon stole my shadow
Nothing following me now
Thought I was lonely before.
Lost my marker for the sun
Moon's the only one who notices me
Maybe it would be different if I went to Neverland
Maybe you don't need a shadow to be human there.
To be whole
They lied in Neverland.
Told me I was whole.
Plied me with drinks to make me believe.
Peter Pan's minion has a silver tongue.
Lost my marker for the sun
Moon's the only one who notices me
Maybe it would be different if I went to Neverland
Maybe you don't need a shadow to be human there.
To be whole
In the darkness of Neverland, running from everyone
I found my Wendy, beautiful and blonde, hidden, forgotten, in her cave
She'd found my shadow and was keeping it company
Making it tea and nursing it to health
Attached it for me
Burnt it to me
Burnt my soul
And lit me up
Found my marker for the sun
She was the sun. She is my sun.
Moon's not the only one who notices me
It was different in Neverland
I am whole.
"Look's really good," Killian said, tearing off the sheet from the pad and folding it up.
Eric grinned in return. "It does," he replied proudly. "It feels really good to write again."
"It feels good to write with you," Killian answered honestly. "Like old times."
"Maybe we can do it again?" Eric suggested somewhat tentatively, as if he expected Killian to return to his solo career without wanting help again, like this was some sort of peace offering and nothing more.
"Well, I do have a whole album to write," Killian answered without hesitation. "If you're interested I'll tell Regina to add you to the payroll. Might be a nice supplement?"
"Well, we are trying for a baby," Eric admitted, smiling down at his lap.
"Congratulations, mate!" Killian reached across the desk and gave Eric's shoulder a slap. "You'll be a great father." Even though a twinge of jealously ran through him at the thought of Eric settling down, being a family man, being happy, Killian was genuinely pleased to hear his friend had found his way. And he would be a wonderful father. If Eric could forgive Killian for all his transgressions, he would be very good at forgiving a kid's attempts at being a Crayola Picasso on his or her bedroom wall.
"Thanks. Maybe we can write another song next week? Say Saturday? We could have a barbecue after. Ariel's off work and you're welcome to bring Emma if you've mended things by then?"
"Promise Ariel won't hit me again?"
"I can't guarantee it but I'll try to keep you two separated." Eric gave him one of those dazzling smiles that had always made fans fall all over him, begging him to play for them.
"It's a deal then. Send me your address and I'll be there. Hopefully with Emma." Killian stood, pocketing the song. "But I should let you go back to work now and I've got a manager to go talk to."
"Good luck, mate."
"You too," Killian answered, moving to the door. Killian paused before he went through it, turning back to Eric. "Thanks for forgiving me. You're a better man than I."
"You're getting there, Killian. You'll be okay. Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
"Good."
With that Killian stepped out of Eric's office, closing the door behind him. The morning had been surreal. Even after everything, he still had Eric in his corner. Even after everything, he still had a friend.
The house didn't seem quite so lonely when he got back to it.