I'm supposed to be working on finals projects Instead, I'm having a fuckton of feelings about 5b.
"Don't let me be your unfinished business."
He hesitates in the grand hall, the echo of his footsteps fading as he glances back towards the Underworld - towards Emma.
It happens in an instant, the flash of unfinished business that he might have, a series of what-ifs and perhapses and what-could-have-beens. His gaze drops as the regret slices through him, the sorrow for leaving her, the shame for being the cause of yet another in a long line of promises made to her that have been broken.
Lazy mornings in their beautiful house, the first stationary place he can truly call home in centuries. His mouth on her bare shoulder, his hand finding the curve of her hip, her sighs music in his ears and her skin like silk under his fingers.
Days filled with the routines build between two people who share a life. Learning each other's minute quirks, learning how to work around annoyances, learning how to fight and rebuild.
Days spent at sea, laughing and holding one another close as Henry scales the rigging, teaching them both the skills a sailor lives and breathes.
Watching her brother grow, watching her family knit itself back together.
Asking her to be his wife.
Watching her belly grow round, watching their children grow.
The peace of knowing that, after so many long years of rage and sorrow and loneliness, they have found each other and they will grow old together. Knowing they will bicker and love and fight and heal, that they are kindred spirits and they want this strange, impossible, magical connection between them, this true love, to grow and last until their dying breaths - and after.
Emma is not his unfinished business.
The life they might have had, the life they both wanted... that is his unfinished business. The what-ifs and the perhapses and the what-may-have-beens. The life of her son and the life of the children she might have borne him, the role he may have played in their lives.
But a life is the business of the living and he is surely dead. He could wait for her, stay in an Underworld that has been rid of its bitter master, until the day she walks down the street and calls his name.
But they cannot have the life they might have had in the land of the living, not in the land where only the dead and the lost are sent to dwell.
And she would surely hate him for waiting for her.
Another broken promise in the long line of them that litter her life.
Killian glances up, towards the light which should hurt but doesn't - it's peaceful and unblinding.
"It's time to take you where you belong."
Emma.
He belongs with Emma.
But he cannot have her, not anymore.
If this should be his just rewards, he can only pray that someday - someday far in the future after she's lived a long and happy life - she'll find her way to him. For any afterlife that does not include Emma Swan would be a poor substitution for the heaven that was life with her at his side.
"You ... brought hope to the Underworld."
Aye, perhaps he did. Hope that Emma had known the truth of his sacrifice, hope that she would live and defeat the Crocodile in his stead, that she would someday be happy.
And it is with hope in his heart that he takes that first step towards that bright, unblinding light - hope that someday, far into the future, he will see his Swan again.