SURPRISE :D Quick update-you guys came through 41 reviews for the last chapter, so I ditched studying yesterday to finish this chapter :D And lots is happening... We're getting closer, lovelies, much closer :D

Review like that again? Get me up to forty reviews for this again and I might just ditch again and write instead :) Anyway, sorry to everyone who reviewed that I haven't gotten round to replying yet, but figured you'd prefer the update over replies to the reviews. Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing anyway, and welcome to all the new readers who read the story in one go with the previous chapter.

I hope this chapter is... Somewhat surprising ;)

Please, R&R!

Love,

Annaelle

PS Reviews are like Killian Jones; they make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and grin like a loon :D

PPS Beta'd by the amazing DancingDoula (check out her story An Age Cannot Sate Love, it's epic) and JustSmileBFF :)

Xx Annaelle

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Across Time And Space

Chapter Twenty-Four

Neverland Jungle

"She's asleep," Emma announces when she plops down beside the small fire David and Mary-Margret built, running her fingers through her hair and blinking tiredly. She doesn't elaborate and just stares into the fire, pointedly ignoring everyone's questioning stares—she knows what they want to ask her, but she doesn't have any answers.

The little girl—Rose—had spun quite the tale, about her Uncle Killy rescuing Auntie Emma from drowning, and then falling in love and getting married, and it's the scariest thing Emma has ever heard. It's too similar to the dreams Colin had told her about—the dreams she'd shared with him on some occasion.

Their fairytale love story.

She rubs her hands over her face tiredly, trying to shake off the exhaustion and confusion so she'll be able to focus—so she'll be able to make sense of all of this.

"So," David drawls after a short silence, "Care to explain?"

Emma sighs heavily and looks up, shrugging tiredly, "There's not much to explain," she replies, "I don't know her—I don't think I do, anyway." She hesitates, shaking her head, like it'll help her get rid of the ridiculous thoughts Rose had brought up—hope that somehow, she and Colin really did have a fairytale romance.

"There's more though," Tink interjects, "You looked like you saw a ghost when she was telling you the whole story about the Lieutenant and the girl he saved."

Emma closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, shaking her head again. "No, it's nothing—it doesn't matter."

"Obviously, it does," Regina hisses, "This is no time to be keeping secrets—that little girl over there is convinced you are married to her uncle and came to rescue her from the big bad villain. If you have any inclinations as to how it is possible, please, share them with the group."

Emma groans softly, shaking her head, "Look, it's just… When Colin woke up after the accident, he told me he'd been dreaming about me—about us. What it would've been like if we'd met in one of Henry's stories. I had a few of them too, but I didn't think anything of it." She blinks against her burning tears, sniffling softly, "When Rose told me about her uncle Killy and Auntie Emma—"

Her voice breaks, and tears roll down her cheeks—her heart is breaking all over again when she remembers Valentine's day spent in bed with Colin, whispering back and forth about their very own fairy tale—it had felt so special.

Something they shared, something no one else knew about.

Regina exchanges a wary look with Rumpelstiltskin, who is listening to the story with rapt attention—unlike Neal, who's resorted to just staring at Emma, like he always does when they talk about Emma's late husband, scowling and drooling at the same. "Emma," she says gently, "How accurate is Rose's account? How much of it is the same as these dreams?"

"All of it," Emma croaks, "From what I can tell, it's exactly the same as the dreams Colin had about us meeting." She looks up, tears still shining in her eyes, "She wasn't lying either—she was completely, one hundred percent serious. She believes it—how is that possible?"

Neal leans forward, shaking his head confusedly—startling everyone by speaking up at all. "It's not. It's not possible that you knew him when he was a Lieutenant—it was over three hundred years ago; before your parents were even born."

"How would you know?" Emma snaps, rubbing her belly absent-mindedly, glaring at Neal, "It's not like you were there."

Before Neal can respond, Mary-Margret cuts in, glaring at Emma a little—she understands that Emma's on edge and confused and grieving, but they're all here to help her and Regina get Henry back—, "That's not important right now. There has to be a reason all three of you seem to remember this… alternate life. Is it possible…" she looks towards Regina and Rumple, "that they did somehow have that life?"

Rumple sits in quiet contemplation, eyes darting between Emma and the tent where Rose is sleeping. "It should not be," he finally says, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "Time travel is, and always has been, impossible. Your pirate has not been a Lieutenant in over three centuries; his family has been gone for longer than that."

"Well, it should be easy enough to find out if it really happened," Tink suddenly pipes up, smiling brightly—despite everyone looking at her confusedly—, "Rose said that the Lieutenant supposedly rescued you in the middle of the ocean, right?"

When Emma nods, still not sure what Tink is trying to say, Tink claps her hands and her smile widens.

"Then there'll be a record of it—the ship's Captain would have noted it in the logbook. There'll be evidence. And if you really did know Killian then, if you were in love and married, like Rose says, maybe there'll be something in his quarters."

Emma stares at Tink, shaking her head before the fairy has even finished the sentence. "No—no, I've been sleeping in the Captain's cabin since we left for Neverland, there's nothing in there. I would've found it."

"But…" Mary-Margret says slowly, "You just said he wasn't a captain back then. He was a lieutenant. So the captain's cabin wouldn't have been his when he saved you."

At this point, Emma is simply staring at them, vaguely wondering when they all decided they had the time to wonder about silly things like dreams—their focus should be on Henry, not … Whatever the hell the dreams and Rose are.

"It doesn't matter," Emma shakes her head stubbornly, "For all we know, we were meant to find Rose—whoever has Henry by now could've put her there for us to find, knowing it would distract us from finding Henry." Even she can hear the desperation in her voice, and she hates that she's so close to falling apart in front of everyone, but…

It's too much.

She could deal with Colin's death, she could deal with Henry's kidnapping—but she can't deal with a possible alternative life with her husband too.

Regina quirks an eyebrow, but nods—she, too, has considered the possibility Rose is meant as nothing more than a distraction. Alas, it's not something they can simply dismiss either; Emma and her pirate sharing dreams isn't that unusual amongst True Love couples, but a girl (who claims to be the pirate's niece, no less) who can remember the dreams as a real thing?

They need to know how the shared dreams and memories are possible.

"How about this," she offers, frowning thoughtfully, "You take Rose back to the ship and look for something, anything that might help us understand your supposed past with your pirate. In the meantime, we," she gestures around the rest of the circle, "will search the other camps Tink spoke of, and return to the ship afterwards."

She tries to smile for Emma's sake, knowing the Savior well enough to know she will not go quietly.

"No," Emma protests, eyes wide, "No, I have to—"

"—take care of yourself," Regina cuts in, glaring at Mary-Margret when she opens her mouth to interject, "It's no longer just you. You have two children who count on you right now—Rose and the baby. Let us search for Henry while you search for clues."

"But," Emma pouts, "I have to do something, Henry's counting on me." She tries to blink back the tears that are burning in her eyes again (stupid hormones), biting her lip harshly to keep from crying. "I need to find him."

Mary-Margret offers Emma a sweet, understanding smile and reaches to squeeze her hand. "And you will, honey. You just need to think of yourself and the baby too—it won't do Henry any good if you get hurt, or worse," she swallows thickly, "lose the baby." She takes a deep breath to steady herself before she lets go of Emma's hand and sits back down next to her husband.

"We're all here for Henry," David reminds Emma gently, "We all want to find him—it's not good for you to want to do so much all at once. Just… Try to slow down a little, go back to the ship and find out if there's any truth to the dreams. It could be important."

Emma opens and closes her mouth several times, looking around the circle indignantly—does no one understand that she needs to save Henry?

"Well, you can't let her go back to the ship alone," Neal suddenly interrupts, "it's dangerous—especially if she's only got the girl there with her."

Emma glares at Neal—why does he insist on treating her like a fragile flower; she's not going to break—, but David interrupts before she can say anything. "You're right, it wouldn't be smart to let them go by themselves; they'd be sitting ducks. You go with them, protect them. We'll need one more day to check out the final camps and walk back to the ship."

"Oh, for God's sake," Emma bristles angrily, "I am perfectly capable of protecting myself—I don't need a fucking babysitter!" She crosses her arms over her chest, trying her hardest not to pout. Her emotions are all over the place, and while rationally, somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows they're right—she really shouldn't go traipsing through a jungle she doesn't know with a little girl as her only company—, she really doesn't like the idea of being stuck on the ship with no one but Neal as company.

And Rose, while she is adorable and sweet, does not count as company.

Regina sighs and shakes her head, glaring at Emma. "Stop acting like a child—Henry is my son as much as he is yours, and I understand how scared you are, but this is getting us nowhere. You are pregnant, you're in no condition to fight, and that little girl in there," she points towards the tent with an angry gesture, "is counting on you. Neal is going back with you, you're going to find out what the hell is going on with this alternate life and get the hell over yourself."

Everyone is staring at Regina openmouthed—including Emma—unsure what to make of the outburst.

"Fine," Emma croaks after a long, tense silence, her eyes suspiciously watery, "Fine. We'll go back in the morning. I'm going to sleep." She stands up shakily, her hand coming up to cover her nearly inexistent baby bump—Mary-Margret catches the move and vaguely wonders if Emma's aware that she does that every time she's uncomfortable or emotional—, offering her parents a small smile before joining little Rose to sleep in the big tent.

Mary-Margret turns to Regina and glares at her, still not very happy with how harsh she had been with Emma. "Was that necessary? She's grieving and pregnant—her hormones are going to be all over the place."

"She needed to hear it," Regina states coolly, waving her hand vaguely as she stands, conjuring a few more tents, "I am retiring for the night too; I suggest you all do the same." She gazes out into the darkened jungle before turning to a suspiciously silent Rumple, "I don't think it's a good idea to leave Emma and Rose unattended on the Jolly for very long."

"Indeed," Rumple agrees, frowning at the tent where Rose and Emma are sleeping, "I shall join you on your venture tomorrow—and pop back to the ship to see to Miss Swan's safety while you walk back."

Everyone simply nods in agreement, their minds occupied trying to process the events of the day as they all retreat into the tents Regina conjured. The last thought on Mary-Margret's mind as she curls into David's arms is whether sending Neal back to the ship with her daughter is such a good idea.

She doesn't know why, but there's a dark, foreboding feeling deep in the pit of her stomach, and she has no idea what to do about it.

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Emma sighs heavily, but shoots a genuine smile at Rose, who's practically skipping through the jungle. Neal's been broody and quiet the whole way, and to be honest—though his sullen expression is not helping with her mood swings—she prefers him that way.

It's much better than his talk about slowly moving on from Colin—Regina had remarked that he likely thought she would want him once she got over her husband.

Emma hadn't laughed as hard as she did then in days—not since before she broke that damn Curse.

Later, when she started thinking about it, she'd found herself a little mystified about it—she hadn't given Neal any sort of indication that she still had feelings for him; hell, she was pretty sure she'd made it rather obvious she was only interested in Colin.

"Auntie Emma," Rose asks sweetly, "Where's mama and papa?" She blinks up at her with those blue, blue eyes—there's no question that she's related to Colin—and pouts a little. "And uncle Killy isn't here either."

Oh, shit.

It's like everything Rose hadn't asked yesterday is suddenly occurring to her, and Emma has no idea what to tell her—what do you say to a six-year-old who's convinced you're her auntie who came to take her home?

According to Gold, Colin's family—and by relation, Rose's—had been dead for centuries.

"I don't know, sweetie," she chokes, "I'm not sure. I'll try to find them for you though. I promise." She ignores Neal scoffing behind her back and blinks back tears when Rose launches herself in her arms again, wrapping her small arms in a vice-like grip around Emma's neck.

"I am a little scared, auntie Emma," the little girl murmurs into Emma's hair, refusing to move from Emma's embrace. Emma swallows thickly, blinking furiously against her tears as she shifts Rose a little, so she can carry her more comfortably. "I know, honey," she whispers back, "It's okay. I'm a little scared too."

They don't speak for the rest of the way back, and Emma smiles when she feels Rose's small body relax against hers. Rose had been tossing and turning as much as she had all night long, and Emma's sure the whole situation is taking its toll on the little girl.

"So," Neal speaks when they finally hit the beach, watching the Jolly Roger bob up and down on the waves, "Any idea where to start looking?"

Emma sighs and shrugs, moving Rose a little as she climbs into the lifeboat, so the girl won't be woken when she sits down. "I don't know… The captain's log, I suppose. I don't really think there's anything to find though," she sighs, stroking her fingers through Rose's curls.

Neal nods, sitting down slowly and grabbing the oars, slowly rowing them back towards the Jolly Roger. "He keeps the old logs in the back of the wardrobe," he offers, "so he doesn't have to look at them. I don't know about the Lieutenant's cabin—as far as I know, it's been empty since he took the Captain's Cabin."

Emma stares at him for a moment, unsure how to respond to that, before simply nodding, taking in his expression curiously. "How do you know that?" She questions softly, rubbing her hand up and down Rose's back soothingly when the little girl whimpers in her sleep and nuzzles closer to Emma.

"I—" Neal winces, "I spent some time on the ship… When I was here last time. Didn't last very long."

Emma narrows her eyes at him—there's a lot he's not telling her, she just knows—but just nods slowly, biting her lip as they reach the Jolly, contemplating how she's going to get Rose up onto the ship when Neal gestures impatiently.

"Give her to me, I'll carry her up."

Emma eyes him nervously for a moment—she doesn't know why, but she feels weird letting Rose go—but acquiesces and carefully shifts Rose over onto his lap, shooting one more glance at the sleeping girl before deftly climbing the ladder onto the Jolly's deck.

The second her feet touch the worn wood, a foreign warmth spreads throughout her entire body, and her fingers tingle. "Jesus," she whispers under her breath, looking around, feeling more than a little flustered, "What the hell is that?" She wiggles her tingly fingers experimentally, staring at them intently, almost willing the something that's making her tingle and feel warm—she's not thinking about Colin; nope, it does not remind her of the feeling he gave her when he smiled at her—to show onto her skin.

"Hey, Ems, can you take her?"

She jumps slightly at Neal's suddenly exclamation, shaking off her annoyance over his resurrection of the stupid nickname and his stomping and yelling while she obviously does not want to wake up Rose, and reaches out to pull Rose into her arms again.

"I'm just going to find her a bed," she says dismissively, desperately hoping Neal won't follow her—she does not want him around when she starts looking through her husband's personal correspondence. She has no idea what she'll find, but her hormones are driving her crazy and she's crying over nothing all the time—she has no desire of letting Neal see that.

She makes her way down to the Lieutenant's Cabin on automatic pilot, not realizing where her feet are carrying her until she's already inside, carefully laying Rose down on the small cot and covering her with a thin blanket.

Her breathing constricts when she straightens, looking around the cabin with wide eyes.

There's something here.

She doesn't know what, but there's something painfully familiar about this cabin, even though she's never been in here before—she has that feeling about the entire ship, but contributed it to being desperate to connect to anything that was Colin's, that would help her hold onto his memory.

Her hands are shaking when she reaches to open the wardrobe—she'd almost missed it; it looked like it was just carved into the ship itself—terrified of what she'll find inside.

She takes another deep breath and swings the doors open… And just faces a stack of neatly folded clothes.

"Well," she chuckles under her breath, shaking her head at herself, "That was anticlimactic."

She refrains from rolling her eyes and pushes the clothes to the side, curiously looking at the few stray objects she finds—a simple compass, a map, something that look like the beginnings of a wooden toy—before her fingers brush over a smooth, wooden object way in the back of the closet.

She frowns and pulls it towards her, examining the simple wooden box she is now holding curiously.

Frowning, she moves to the small bench by the window, sinking into the worn pillows as she opens the box. It's filled with letters and scrolls and, though her stomach rolls at the mere thought of having to read her husband possibly writing love letters to someone other than her—'don't be ridiculous', she scolds herself, 'it might be professional correspondence too.'—, she picks one of the letters and unfolds it, tears welling up in her eyes when she recognizes her husband's beautiful cursive handwriting.

My love,

We have barely parted, and I already miss you. Liam has assured me it is no more than newly wedded bliss, and that it will wear off in time, but I cannot, for the life of me, imagine myself not being this in love with you.

I cannot imagine not wanting to be by your side every day, especially now, to see you grow with our child. Liam has told me the mission will be over soon—the journey itself won't take more than two days, and the duration of the rest of the mission depends entirely on how fast we will be able to procure the item the King has sent us to find.

I will work tirelessly until I am reunited with you, darling.

This land is strange and the air is thick with magic—I do not like it one bit, and it only makes me more determined to find the item and return to you.

I must go now, love, and I hope I will not have to write to you again, but that I will have you and our bean by my side.

I love you, my Emma.

Yours,

Killian

"Oh, my God," Emma chokes, the letter slipping from between her numb fingers, "Oh, my God."

It can't be true—it does not make sense.

Regina and Gold had both already said it wasn't possible.

Hands truly shaking by now, she pulls out a larger scroll, tears rolling down her cheeks as she unrolls it, staring at the beautiful hand drawn portrait—her portrait.

"No," she chokes, abruptly dropping the portrait back in the box and shoving the box off her lap, sending it crashing onto the ground, "No, no, no." She can't handle this—she can't do this, not now. She's barely holding it together as it is, she does not need another reminder of what she's lost because she wasn't strong enough to fight for it.

More memories of Colin—Killian—will only make her hurt worse and she won't survive that.

She can feel panic grow deep in the pit of her stomach, red-hot and coiling, waiting to snap, for her to break and lose it completely—and she does.

She loses it.

She can't think, she can't breathe—she curls in on herself, nearly choking on the heavy, hysterical sobs that tear through her body.

Her eyes are shut tight as she rocks back and forth, tears rolling down her cheeks—she doesn't see the bright, almost blinding light that encompasses the entire room—the only thought on her mind that she needs him, she misses him, she's lost without him.

It's the suddenly backlash when the light abruptly fades that snaps her out of it.

That, and the distinctly masculine groan coming from the floor. She swallows thickly and counts to ten before opening her eyes, already mentally preparing herself to tell Neal off—because really, who else is it going to be?—her mouth halfway open when she catches sight of the man on the floor.

The dark, messy hair, the eternally perfect three-day scruff, the full, luscious curve of his lips and the dark smattering of his long eyelashes—ridiculously long for a guy, really—hiding the stunningly blue eyes she knows lie beneath those eyelids from her gaze.

Holy shit.

Her breath hitches in her throat, and instead of his name, a broken sob falls from her lips as she finally watches his eyes flutter open, almost immediately locking on hers. He stares at her as intensely as she stares at him, and they are both silent as they try to process the magnitude of the moment, the implications of this situation.

Emma's eyes leave his of their own accord, trailing down to his chest, when her breath catches in her throat again.

The bullet hole in his bloodstained, dirty, torn shirt is still there.

The wound on his chest isn't.