I'm supposed to be off ff for a couple of weeks I promise I will get back to my lovely reviewers bonus scenes then.

RIP Robin Williams.

This just kind of happened. Somewhere I read that suicides go up after celebrity deaths. So this is partly a response to learning that and partly a response to rereading the poem by Walt Whitman this is titled after. If anyone who comes across this ever needs help please talk to someone or call 1-800-273-8255! Don't give up on the possibility of happily ever after! Killian made it through a few centuries waiting for his happily ever after. Let someone help you through today.

The phone rang and went to voicemail. Killian's voicemail, from when Henry had taught him to use the phone.

"Say Something!" Her son's voice whispered.

"What am I to say, lad?"

"You're recording a message."

"For Whom? I'd record a much different message for Emma than for her royal parents."

"No...it's for anyone that calls you when you're not around."

"Where would I be?"

"Knowing you... 2070, 1946 who knows?...we'll re-record it but you can practice. Just say... Say You've reached The dread pirate jones, leave a message if you dare!"

"Doesn't that seem a touch melodramatic, lad."

"Oh come on say it. Say it like you mean it too! And say aaaaarrgh"

Killian sighed and Emma heard him take a deep breath. The voice that followed was surprisingly intimidating "You've reached the dread pirate jones," Killian intoned in a low growl. "Leave a message or walk the bloody plank."

There was a pause and Emma could practically see her son's glare and Killian sighed again "ARG" he finished halfheartedly.

The message cut off with Henry laughing hysterically.

Emma smiled, wondering if Killian realized Henry had left that recording on his phone. The guy could hardly use the thing...probably not. A clump of butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She'd called him three times in the last two hours. Could he really have forgotten so quickly how to answer the phone? What if he was in trouble. He probably just misplaced the thing, she told herself firmly but that did nothing to calm her nerves.

"Screw this" Emma muttered, jumping up and making for the door of the sheriffs station. This is Storybrooke he's probably found another misunderstood villain trying to conquer the world.

She locked up the station and headed back to her apartment. He'd been staying down the hall, but if she was being honest he lived in her apartment more than his own. His looked very much like a crash pad. A place to sleep. For now, he'd told her with a smirk. When she'd left after breakfast this morning Killian had discovered her bookshelf and was perusing the few volumes curiously.

She took the steps two at a time dialing his number on her phone again. She could hear it ringing from outside her apartment. Shoving the door open she saw Killian almost exactly where she had left him. But he had sunk to the floor next to the bookshelf, a book open in his lap. His right hand was pressed tightly against the wall as though he had tried to steady himself there before giving up and sinking to the floor. Emma dropped her keys in the middle of the floor and hurried to his side.

"Killian?" she cried, kneeling next to him, "Killian, hey, are you hurt?"

He didn't move a muscle. His eyes were so intent upon the page that he didn't so much as glance at her until she reached out and touched him gently on his cheek. When she did he tensed grabbing her wrist in a white knuckled grip that made her wince. He released her arm as quickly as he had grabbed it looking confused, as though woken from a dream. Or a nightmare. The hand went instantly back to the wall as though to steady himself again.

"Sorry love," he said shakily, "didn't see you there."

"Didn't see me... Killian I called you? Remember Henry taught you to use the phone. You didn't pick up... I was worried."

"Didn't hear it." Her eyes drifted to the phone sitting just a few feet away on a table.

"Killian how long have you been sitting here... like this?"

He shrugged and Emma rocked back on her heels watching him carefully. His face was pale, and every muscle was tensed. Emma placed one hand on the book trying to pull it away, but his hooked arm pressed tight down on it. "Killian, please tell me what's wrong," she cocked her head, trying to determine what the book was that had so affected him. She managed to lift it slightly and realized it was a collection of poetry by Walt Whitman. She hadn't even read it herself, it was a prop from when she was tracking a bail jumper who happened to be a poetry snob. She had set herself up in a coffee shop with a short skirt an organic tea and this book. It had taken less than half an hour before the guy introduced himself.

"HOOK! look at me please?" Killian glanced up in surprise, "what is going on?"

"This... did you write this?"

Emma furrowed her eyebrows, "No, of course not... it's a collection of poems, for a job I had once..." She reached out her hand and he reluctantly gave up the volume. She slid it over to her own lap eyes drifting rapidly over the page.

O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

Ok, It was a poem about a ship... she glanced up at him confused. She'd heard this poem somewhere before, she thought she recalled but why Killian looked as though he'd seen a ghost was beyond her. She returned her gaze to the page and her eyes widened.

But O heart! heart! heart!
 O the bleeding drops of red,
 Where on the deck my Captain lies,
 Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
 But I, with mournful tread,
 Walk the deck my captain lies,
 Fallen cold and dead

She closed the book with shaking hands "Killian, your captain, before you..." She already knew the answer but she trailed off.

"My captain. My brother," he said softly.

She didn't know what to say so she simply let the book fall from her fingers and leaned into him. Wrapping her arms around his chest she leaned her head on his shoulder. His left arm slipped around her waist and slowly, ever so slowly he released his grip on the wall and brought his right hand down to clasp her forearm.

"I was supposed to follow him... to the end of the world," he murmured, " I thought I might follow him, for some time the only reason I lived was to avenge him. To avenge him and then to follow him." His voice cracked and it sent a pang through Emma's heart. "That was always the plan...avenge them, and follow them- "

Emma didn't trust her voice so she just held him tighter drawing small circles on his back with one hand. She didn't know why she did it... Some vague memory of Regina's of soothing Henry after a nightmare. Finally she trusted herself to speak. "More people love you than you know, Killian, please don't talk like that-"

He shifted her closer into his grasp and turned to kiss her lightly. "You've no idea, love... no idea how long it's been since I've lived for anything but vengeance. If I'd known then, what I know now I'd never have considered giving up this chance."

Emma smiled slightly and Killian wiped away a tear she didn't realize was there. "I was the villain. I wasn't supposed to get a happy ending. But here you are." He smiled and kissed her again, "You are worth waiting for, Emma Swan, worth every day."

Moments like this I wish I could draw. If someone with more talent than me wanted to draw that scene I would be forever grateful, I want to see what it looks like.

Oh my goodness Cracks-in-the-glass on tumbler did a thing:go to her tumbler page and use this extension! /image/96407883641

If anyone else is working on something don't be discouraged. I'd look at a hundred and still be happy to see another :)