GOD ONLY KNOWS

...what I'd be without you.

I may not always love you

But long as there are stars above you

You never need to doubt it

I'll make you so sure about it...

God Only Knows, The Beach Boys

Waking up under a pile of rubble was not pleasant for anyone, and Killian Jones was no exception. Most would have called the fact he was alive miraculous - well, he knew better by now. It wasn't a miracle. It was more or less a curse. Just because he was alive, didn't necessarily mean he was well, and it took far longer than he would ever admit just to rouse his brain into function. It felt like he had hit a keg of rum a little too hard and was waking to the aftermath. It took far too long to remember what exactly had caused his unfortunate circumstances. That giant had paid his favor back in kind, and Emma...

The paralyzing jolt of fear he felt was not something he had felt for a very long time. And why would he? He had only himself to worry about. Hook had kept his connections limited and superficial ever since he lost the closest things he had to family. It was smarter, safer, and easier that way. Fear meant panic, and panic meant acting stupid, and acting stupid got people killed. There was only one of them that could pay that price.

Considering the absolute silence, Emma Swan had already paid it.

He never should have brought her here. He never should have followed her. He never should have offered her a partnership, not once but twice now. He should have left her in that bloody net where he found her. He should have taken her to Cora as the old crone had wanted. But he'd done none of those things. Hook was too old to be so criminally stupid, and yet he had been. He had no excuse for it. Yes, he clearly could have used Swan, but had he, really? It had been a flimsy excuse to stay close to her. An old, desperate man, tired of being alone, had let his selfishness get a girl killed.

And yes, this uncomfortable and eerily familiar feeling was guilt. He would know, wouldn't he? Killian had been carrying guilt for Milah and Baelfire for centuries. It felt a little wrong to add the name of a woman he barely knew to those two, the people who had meant the most to him in his entire lifetime, but he did. He did feel guilty. He shouldn't have brought Emma here, without a thought. Without a plan. Such strategies rarely worked for him and he pulled through by the skin of his teeth but how could he be surprised that Emma had not been so lucky? What good was magic if she didn't know she had it? Emma had a dagger to go against a giant after he had failed her, and it there was really only one way that could play out.

The damned, stupid girl. If only she had dropped sooner... If only she had run like he had told her to. Maybe she could have made it out. Perhaps if he hadn't been so distracted he could have slayed the giant. Instead he had been too fixated on the fact he had hurt her. Even minimally, even if it hadn't been intentional. He could hardly believe that Emma had grabbed him by the hook, even knowing how dangerous it was. What had she been trying to accomplish? A stupid question, because he knows. She had been trying to drag him along with her.

When he had been shot by that idiot hunter, she had promised him the she wouldn't leave. He hadn't believed her then, but since then he had learned better. Emma was many things but she wouldn't leave an injured man to die alone. Despite her desperate attempts to hide it, it was obvious. She was a good person, she cared about people, even when they didn't deserve it. And he certainly didn't. Even after hurting her, she hadn't given him up, not until she was confident he could take care of himself again. The giant had been no different, she hadn't wanted to leave him behind to die. When he would have left her in an instant.

Hook had done nothing but use her since he met her. A greedy, selfish, monster of a man. First for information, then for entertainment. Then curiosity, and then for a magic she wasn't even aware of, and most of all, to ease the cold and bitter ache of being alone. Just for a little while. Thar morning he had woken to her using his chest as a pillow, the early morning light turning her bright hair to spun gold, and for a second he had almost been happy. He had toyed with a strand of it, a wild curl that had escaped the attempt at a braid, and for a blessed moment, he had been able to imagine she would have wanted him to. That it wasn't just rum and loneliness that had pushed her into his arms.

Then his eyes had fallen on the tattoo burned into his arm, the unmistakable reminder that he no longer had a heart to give. That it wasn't fair to Milah to enjoy the idea of another woman wanting him. Not just sex, sex was a carnal need and he had certainly had it since he'd lost Milah. Wanting Emma Swan to care about him, emotionally, seemed unfair. Cruel. Milah had been his everything. She would have been enough for centuries. She had been his one and only chance. He doesn't deserve another. Not when Milah had died for his stubborn pride, not when she was gone and he was left to slog through life without her. He shouldn't get another chance.

And yet, Hook hadn't pushed Emma away. He had dragged her closer, desperately and clearly, destructively. A man hellbent on revenge should have no room in his heart for anything else. It would only slow him down, only make things harder. He was smarter than this, better than this, and yet here he was. And what had it gotten him in the end? Another name on his conscience, more blood that mattered to him splattered on his hands. Killian ached in a way only loss could inspire, and in comparison the pain of being thrown by a giant was laughable.

Apparently the bastard had assumed him dead, and that was something. Once Hook got out from under this pile of rubble, he'd find the bastard and slit his massive throat. Leave him to die slowly in the graveyard he refused to escape. And how he would manage it, Hook wasn't sure, but he would find Swan and bring her down the beanstalk. She deserved to be buried, deserved an ending. The boy she had been desperately fighting to find might never know but at least one person would mourn her. If there was one thing Killian was skilled at, it was mourning.

But he had to get out from underneath the rubble first. His old and easily broken body protested loudly when Hook tried to shove pieces clear. It was impossible work to do silently, so he could only hope that the Giant wasn't round to hear. Hook took note of the sharp pain across his ribcage. He had probably broken a few ribs. Once he pulled an arm free enough to check his temple, he could feel the steady pulse as his blood escaped. Traitorous heart, that refused to stop beating. Seemed bitterly unfair that he kept breathing when so many who deserved life more had fallen. Maybe that was the bitter balance to his extended life, a punishment for the years he'd stolen. His very existence threatened anyone stupid enough to get close. The question was how many more would he let close enough to hurt? He had never imagined another name after Baelfire, but Emma had crept through his defenses. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he had dragged her through.

She couldn't have affected him unless he had wanted her to. And he despised himself for it, viciously hated himself, but now that she was gone he was unable to ignore it. He had wanted her to affect him. He'd wanted her to care. He was intoxicated by how she looked at him, like she could still see what little glimpses of man remained under the monster. And Killian had wanted to care about her, instead of just taking what she could give him, using her and leaving her behind. Because he was an awful person and he wanted his cake and to eat it, too. He wanted revenge and he wanted to matter to someone that wasn't a ghost. It was too late for that now, and he shouldn't have been surprised. There wasn't room in a heart for love and revenge. Once he had his revenge, that would be the end of his pathetic story. He had known that for some time; that he had been so foolish frustrated him. He had come too far and worked too hard. Lost too much and wasted too many years to give up now. Vengeance was all he had left and if he had remembered that, maybe Swan would still be alive.

He grunted as he hefted at a particularly heavy bit of rock, but the thing helpfully refused to budge. Bloody hell. Every part of him ached, which hardly made the process any easier. He was desperate for a relief he wasn't bound to get. The longer he lingered the worse his chances were, and he still had to find that damned compass to boot. The trip would not be in vain. He would not leave until he had the compass and the giant was dead. Still, his weary body refused to try again, and not for the first time in his life, Hook considered passing out just to spare himself some of the pain. He closed his eyes, content to do just that when the weight he hadn't been able to jostle was slowly dragged off. It hurt, but the gurgle of pain caught in his throat. Was it the giant, coming to finish him off?

Instead he felt delicate fingers across his jaw, and sweeping through his hair. Hook grimaced, wondering if he had passed out after all. He had experienced dreams like this before. Hell, he had imagined such things before, and opened his eyes only to be disappointed. Stubbornly, he refused, not willing to let go of the limited comfort, even if it was only in his head. Until he heard the desperate whisper, god, Jones, you have to wake up. Please, please, please ...

Only then could he ass himself to look. A part of him still expected to find nothing, as his mind was downright cruel in its tricks of late. However, the teary green eyes looking down at him did not disappear. He wasn't sure what he found stranger - that Swan might be alive, or that she would cry over him.

"You are a sight for sore eyes," he murmured, and Emma gave a breathless laugh, shaking her head, sunlight catching the gold in her hair that made him think of that spider web adornment he had tried to impress her with earlier. He could still see the tears, the traitorous red in her eyes. It was no trick of the light, he hadn't imagined it. Emma Swan, who occasionally tried to hide her smiles when she found him amusing, who chose to ignore him or roll her eyes any time he attempted to charm her, had it in her to cry over him.

"You're insufferable," she accused without a hint of venom, and despite the fact he was currently overloaded by enough pain to not notice, he focused on the only pleasant sensation he could, the drag of her fingernails across his scalp. Her hands moved away and Hook was aware of the groan that escaped him when Swan pulled away, though he wasn't sure if it was a grunt of pain or a grunt of displeasure to be deprived of her touch. He watched as she shoved the rocks and debris away from him, and when she leaned near him to drag his arm over her shoulders, he had no protest. "Can you stand?" she asked, and with his arm around her she was close enough that the warmth of her breath brushed against his neck.

"Darling, with you I could do anything," he promised her, a line he'd definitely used before, but despite the flirty tone he was confident he could manage. Perhaps too confident. Between the two, and plenty of strain on Swan's part, they managed to get him upright. Hook leaned on her, heavily at that, but he needed the support. Emma led him a few steps away to a wall, and he leaned against it. Emma slipped away from him again, and the blood rushed to his ears as pain started to take over again. He felt her fingers at his neck, stealing that bloody pendant of his, but he could not imagine why for the longest time. He was too dazed to see how she wrapped the chain around shaky fingers, settled the cross in her palm just as he had shown her. In fact, as Emma started to run her hands over him, as she searched for the injuries, he was too far gone to enjoy it. All he registered was the desperation in her voice, please, Killian, stay with me, you'll be fine, just open your eyes, please open your eyes... and with a sudden jolt, he did, as a distinct rush of magic coursed through him.

Hook had been healed by magic before, certainly, but it had never felt like this. It was like a burn, yet somehow not unpleasant, that started at her hands and rocketed through him, head to toe, before it bounced back and forth inside him, like the energy was too much, too strong to be stopped. The pain melted away as easily as sore muscles relaxed in a bath. As awareness rushed back to him and when his eyes opened again he found Emma leaned against him, forehead pressed to his shoulder. Her eyes are pressed closed, just as he had taught her, and he can feel hints of her tears through his shirt. One hand is hooked behind his neck, the other moves blindly across his frame, trying to heal what she cannot see. The golden glow to her hand penetrated through the skin, reached his very bones.

His good hand reached to claim the one with the pendant, and only then did she open her eyes, green eyes landing on his. They are unsure and equal parts terrified at first, but he watched as the relief took over and a small ghost of a smile played at her features. "Did it w-" she started, but cad that he was, he interrupted her question as he closed the distance and sealed his mouth to hers. A kiss, sudden and insistent, and his hooked arm snaked around her to stall any attempted escape.

Emma did not try to escape, she leaned against him heavily, like the relief was enough that she couldn't quite hold herself upright. Technically, he had kissed her before, in the haze of a hallucination, when he thought she was Milah. The kiss had been good then, granted, but it was quite possible that his brain filled in all the blanks. That Swan had tried to pull away or fight him off and he just couldn't realize it. A part of him did remember her fighting him eventually, though he also remembers that she gave in and let him hold her until he passed out again. He cannot decide if that was kind or cruel. Maybe a mix of both. So somehow this one feels like their first, and he wondered how he managed to go so very long without doing it.

This time he was fully aware that it was Emma's mouth against his, her kiss tainted by a touch of hesitation that was quickly overtaken by insistence. Emma kissed him like it was the last chance she'd ever get, like it was the only moment they had, and she was going to bloody well enjoy it. He tasted the panic and fear that she'd been unable to hide, along with the sweet hint of the berries she found them on the way to the beanstalk. He growled against her lips, trying to coax them open and she pulled away with a gasp so heavy that it was like someone physically harmed her.

"Stop," she muttered against his jaw, and with that simple request he did. He could have argued that it took two to tango, and it certainly was not like he was the only participant in that kiss. But he didn't. Hook watched the conflict drag through her lovely green eyes and it was obvious he had crossed a line, one he never should have crossed. He saw genuine terror in her eyes, and it was something deeper and darker than just the fear he was hurt. It was bitter and dark, decades old, something deeper than just himself. Emma looked at him as if he'd struck her, actually terrified, more than she had been when she grabbed his hook and he'd sliced her fingers clean open. More than when in his last ditch effort to make her run, he'd pushed her way, snarled with all the ferocity that he could manage. And Captain Hook had plenty of dark hatred to fuel his ferocity.

The hand at the back of his neck moves slowly upwards, and it settled at his jaw. His eyes lingered on the hammering of her heartbeat through the thin fabric of the stolen shirt. He wanted desperately to attach his lips to the spot, feel the movement of her heart as it drummed in her chest. The life that pounded in her like a drum, her heartbeat a song because of the kiss he'd given her, not anyone else. A song that was unique to him and one he wanted to memorize. Emma's thumb grazed his cheekbone and his eyes returned to her face.

And her expression was different now, no longer terrified, but so overwhelmingly sad and resigned he wasn't sure how he managed to miss it shift from one to another. Hook didn't appreciate how his heart banged uncomfortably at the expression, or how his mind raced to think of something that would reassure her. "Emma," her name fell from him nearly on accident, and her thumb traced from his cheekbone downwards. Her touch was cold and yet burned, and his arm tightened as he waited for her to drag herself away. Hook wasn't ready to let her go, not yet, like she was a prize he'd won and he deserved at least a moment to revel before the reality shattered around them.

Emma's focus lingered on his lips, and then her green eyes flicked towards his, like she was searching for something behind them. He did not know what she was looking for, and he doubted there was anything left behind to find. Whatever she saw reflected back, it spurred her on, as she leaned against him again, tilted onto tiptoes as her lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. The touch was hesitant, like she expected him to refuse her, despite the fact he'd just kissed her so intensely that her lips were reddened from the effort. He didn't match her movements, but he turned slightly so when her lips moved in again, they landed on his mouth and gods above, to kiss her was a bitter sort of punishment. Even slow and cautious as it was, it fueled a dark desire that he had not really entertained in centuries. Not just a human, carnal desire, but something deeper and more meaningful, the sort of thing he was never supposed to feel again.

Hook at least attempted to be the gentleman he'd claimed to be on so many occasions. He didn't push her, he let her slow as molasses kiss intensify on its own. And it did, slowly but surely, and Emma pressed herself against him, fitted her feet between his. One of her hands was still captured in his, the pendant trapped between them, and her other hand tangled in his charcoal hair. He didn't drag her or force her or scare her by pressing too hard. For once he refused to be selfish and steal what he wanted, what he needed. Instead he took what she offered, even though the longer she kissed him the harder it was.

At least, he tried. When she pulled away long enough to whisper his name, Killian, he kissed her and sealed the word between them. Hook chased the whisper of his own name from her lips because maybe for a moment, he did not have to be Captain Hook, the monster, the black hearted villain who cared about no one and had no one to care in return. Emma had not kissed Captain Hook, she'd kissed the man, Killian Jones, and Killian Jones quite desperately wanted to kiss her back.

Their actions dissolved into desperate panic and need. His necklace, the stupid one that he has kept for hundreds of years because it belonged to his lout of a father, the one that is not even remotely magical, clattered to the floor as their hands abandoned each other to explore. Emma's surprisingly chill fingers slipped under the fabric of his black shirt, tracing the skin of his clavicle, and his hand seals to her side, spreading over the inward curve of her waist as he seals her against him. Emma moaned and it was finally the entrance he'd been waiting for. He invaded her mouth without an ounce of regret and she was a sweet poison that intrigued and terrified him in equal measure. Emma gave as good as he did, matched him for hunger and ferocity even though he highly doubted that it had been half as long for her. A woman as beautiful as Emma Swan was likely kissed very often, but by the way her heartbeat hammered, perhaps she was not often kissed this well.

They were nearly sealed together so when he turned the slight blonde moved with him, perhaps not completely intentionally. She gave an charming gasp as her back connected with the wall. She arched against him, and one of her hands fell away to brace herself against the wall behind her. He mourned the loss for only a handful of seconds, too desperate and feverish to summon complaint. His lips moved down her throat, following the undeniable sounds that escaped her. Hook pressed his lips to the skin above her breast, and he lost himself in the pounding of her heartbeat. It hurt to listen to, almost, and at the same time drove him absolutely mad. He wanted to taste her, claim her, ruin her, mark her and give her an experience she would never be able to forget. If this was his only chance to have her he would be remembered. Emma would not forget how he had touched her, how he had assaulted her every sense, and perhaps that would be enough. Because that was all he could give himself.

"Killian," she gasped, and her hand moved from behind his neck back into his hair, pulling quite mercilessly until his lips returned to hers. His hand pushed under the rough fabric of her shirt, and even though he couldn't see the skin he was exploring his mind filled in the missing images. He felt the dents of her ribcage under his rough fingers, and an ache started to settle between them. He should have been wary to assault Swan in the giant's lair, she hadn't even told him how she was still alive. Maybe this was a bitterly heartbreaking delusion, but why would it be Swan? Why would he imagine Emma, instead of Milah?

Emma bucked against him like an animal that did not understand how to sate itself, and one of her legs hitched around his narrow hips, and despite the fabric between them he can feel the heat between them. It is nearly painful but he couldn't stop and at the same time, could not pull far enough back to tear her layers away. His hand abandoned her ribcage to hook behind her knee and tug her closer, before traveling underneath her shapely thigh to land at her ass. She does have a nice one and Swan practically growled at the touch, but it was shortlived. She twisted away from his mouth, and that expression from before is back, shattered and heartbroken.

"Swan," he tried, desperate to know the answer for once, and his tone begged her to give him the insight for once, instead of leaving him to guess or drag it out of her by force. He kissed at the spark of tears on the apple of her cheek, and the sincerity and affection in the gesture is undeniable. Emma winced under his lips, but she did not pull away. He wouldn't let her run from him again, he refused to let her. He would make her look at him, drag the truth out of her eyes, if she refused to speak it. Before he could move his hand from its position to tilt her face back towards him, search her eyes for the answer he knew was hidden there, he felt the cold metal that was suddenly snapped to his wrist. It was a paralyzingly long moment before he realized what she had done, but he found he needed to actually look down and see the shackle that was connected to his wrist before he could believe it. Emma slipped away from him like a ghost that had never been there in the first place, except he could still feel the heat of her on his skin, the taste of her lips on his tongue. His body ached from the loss, and Hook fell against the wall that he had kept her pinned against, except he'd never had her. She'd had him, hook line and sinker, pulled him into a trap like black widow and now she was going to leave him there. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

He looked up and she was still there, tears back in her eyes. "Don't do this to me," he begged, warned, hissed, but Emma closed her eyes and shook her head. She'd decided how their encounter would end before she had even moved to kiss him again. Possibly before then, and she had used his kiss, the surest sign his heart wasn't frozen that he'd shown in centuries, to entrap him. Seen his weakness and crippled him with it. Quite the actress indeed, and she'd lived up to the promise that she would have to fool him a hell of a lot farther to trick him again. Had any of that meant a bloody thing to her? Or was it just another damned trick? Hook burned with anger, because anger was the emotion he always felt the easiest, even though the broken look in her eyes hurt somewhere in the darkened pit of hatred.

Emma leaned in again to press a kiss to his jaw. It was dangerous, and he could have harmed her. A part of him wanted to harm her. But for some reason he couldn't, though she wouldn't have been the first woman to be harmed at his hands. He was still, stiff and unresponsive, even though he knew it was her goodbye. Emma tucked something into his chained hand, closing his fingers around it. "I can't afford to be wrong about you," she whispered, and the words hurt him, almost as if she'd sliced him clean through. Because as much as he desperately wants her to be doing the wrong thing, is she? Emma did not look at him again, could not catch his eyes that burned into her with every move she made. He wondered if it would make a difference if she would. If she had to watch him as she left him behind, would she not be able to do it?

"You'd just leave me here to die?" he demanded, and yanked so hard at the chain that it cut the skin of his wrist. He didn't feel it in the slightest, but Emma winced as if he'd done it to her.

"You're not going to die," she answered softly, voice nearly impossible to hear over the hatred boiling in his veins. "He'll let you go in ten hours. I just need time." He yanked at his restraint again; not just once, but over and over, because it seemed to be the only thing that affected her. He saw a tear drag down her face, but Emma still would not look at him.

"Don't you fucking leave me here, Swan," he shouted after her as she turned. "I'll find you, Emma Swan. I will find you, do you hear me?" It was impossible for her not to, but she didn't slow, didn't stop. He continued to shout, beg, spew anger and venom because really, did he know anything else anymore? He shouted long after she was gone, far past when she could hear him, shouted until he had no more voice to shout. And even then the smell of her lingered on him, like a bitter and cruel joke. That even though she had left him behind, there was just enough of her left to torture. Only when he'd exhausted his voice, pointlessly screaming after a woman that would never have turned back for him in the first place, did he look down at what she clasped in his hand.

The black metal was cold but familiar, and he flicked the lid of the compass open. The dial should have spun endlessly, because he was not currently in the same world as what his heart most desired.

But instead it pointed soullessly in the direction of the blonde that had left him behind.