Killian Jones

November

Killian shuts the front door of the cottage, the ghost of Emma's lips haunting him as he leans against it and tries to gather his wits. His heart is racing against his ribs, the tripping beat making it hard to catch his breath. He desperately wants to open the door and make his way back to Emma, to hide in the warmth of her arms until the present crises passes.

He knows that's not an option; he has to follow this through, finish what he'd started when he'd promised to help Eric Prince. Besides, that's not what a hero would do and Emma needs a hero. It's only that...he's not played the hero much in his life and the mantle sits ill upon his shoulders, the weight stifling as he puts one foot in front of the other.

Settled in the driver's seat of the jeep, his hands clench around the steering wheel so hard his knuckles go white, skin pulled taut over bone. He forces himself up the long driveway, thoughts a gnarled mass that he knows he needs to unknot in order to survive the next few hours. It seems an impossible task, but a necessary one and he gives himself until the end of the drive to manage it.

It's late afternoon, the sky dark with winter's early twilight. The trees that line the drive create a thick canopy with their interweaving branches, making it near impossible to see beyond the jeep's headlights. He drives carefully, methodical and slow, even though he wants to gun the engine and get this all over with.

He stops before pulling out onto the main road, slipping the gear shift into neutral and letting the engine idle. Leaning forward with his arms curved around the steering wheel, he searches the sky for a break in the cloud cover, desperate to find a star that will help him navigate through the treacherous waters ahead. He thinks of Emma then, eyes falling closed as he pictures the way she'd looked standing in their living room just now, surrounded by white light and warmth, her eyes shining up at him as she'd promised to wait for him.

He'd promised to tell her everything when he returns, every sin, every misdeed, every crime done on his order as well as those done by his own hand. Little in life actually scares him, but the thought of her reaction once he finally confesses his true heart to her terrifies him. The very idea of what may come to pass then has him contemplating the futility of sharing these truths that may destroy the fragile happiness they've found together.

But the thought of her discovering his true nature from anyone else terrifies him even more. If they are to come to an end because of his evil choices then it will be on his terms, with an apology on his lips and his heart in her hands. She deserves no less.

With that decision made, he pulls out onto the main road, his sanity stretched woefully thin as the distance between his savior and himself grows with each mile driven. Tension runs through him, vibrating in his bones as a familiar darkness settles around him, shading everything that was once vibrantly colored a nullifying black. It's never far away, this dark, evil intensity and he breathes it in like smoke, the stench of it burning his lungs. He wants to deny it, to cough it up and expel it, but he needs it to survive. And so, with reluctant acceptance, he allows it to swallow him whole.

By the time he parks the jeep in the harbor's parking lot, he is Killian Jones, devoted husband and good man no longer. He is once again Killian Jones, pirate, criminal - villain - the mantle of evil easily replacing his hero's cape.

He exits the jeep, sauntering up to the harbor's gates. He unlocks them and leaves them ajar; others will be following him soon and will need entrance. The wind off the water is frigid, each gust stinging his exposed flesh. He'd worn his leather jacket, the one that provides little protection against winter gales, but adds to his devilishly handsome looks. He doesn't bother to zip it closed and he grins to feel the slap of winter on his face, daring the skies to open up and unleash their fury upon him.

Hands tucked into his pockets, he curls them into fists, his thumb brushing over his wedding ring, the metal reminding him of the tether that binds him to Emma. It suddenly feels as if he's floating outside his body, looking down upon the sorry excuse of a man that saunters forward, all false ego and bitter charm. He offers up a prayer to the heavens then, something he hasn't done in many, many years, but feels compelled to try. It's a stumbling, awkward thing, half oath and half plea, sounding weak as hell to his inexperienced ears. He asks - no, begs - to not lose the only pure thing in his life and swears that if he can survive this last dance with the devil, he'll do whatever it takes to find absolution in Emma's eyes. He lifts his face to the sky, searching once again for a star to navigate by, his gaze falling away when he finds nothing but clouds and the red haze of light pollution.

Breathing deep of the cold, he forces himself forward, hardening his heart and pushing aside his trepidation over losing himself to the darkness once again. He makes his way to his office, unlocking the door and stepping inside quickly. Not bothering to turn on a light, he steps up to his desk, unlocking one of the drawers and sliding it open then reaching in to remove a metal box. Lifting the lid, he pulls out a gun and gives it a cursory glance, the weight of it comforting and solid in his hand. He loads the empty clip then slides it into place with a satisfying click before setting it aside.

Turning back to the metal box, he reaches inside and searches for the recorder Smee had given him. He finds it tucked in the back, extracting it carefully. He dangles the chain from one fingertip, the crocodile pendant at the end swaying back and forth. The recorder is hidden in the crocodile's mouth; if he were to press its tail between his thumb and index finger, its snout would open to reveal a chip inside. It really is ingenious despite how gaudy it is. He slips the chain over his head, the pendent coming to rest over his heart. Flicking the switch on the crocodile's belly to activate it, he slips it out of sight beneath his flannel shirt.

Tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans, he smooths his jacket over it. Moving to Smee's desk next, he unlocks the largest drawer and gathers up the leather satchel inside. It holds the jewels that have been like an albatross around his neck for the past few weeks. As he slips the strap over his head and adjusts it so that it doesn't dig into his neck, the weight of the jewels comes to rest at his side, pulling at both his body and his conscience.

He leaves the office, locking the door behind him then heads toward The Triton. The docks are empty, the harbor small enough that closing it midday is not an issue. The lights placed periodically along the pier are lit, illuminating the ground in wide arcs. He steps from one pool of light to the next, the pendent around his neck swaying beneath his shirt as he walks. He's hyperaware of his surroundings, every shift in the breeze observed, analyzed and catalogued. He saunters forward as if he has no care in the world, but his body is ready for a fight; he's almost hungry to find one now that his meeting with Teach is upon him.

He spots Eric at the railing of The Triton, turning when he hears Killian's boot heels heavy on the docks. Killian stops, waiting for the captain to disembark his ship. He moves slowly, holding a hand to his side as he makes his way down the gangplank. When he gets closer, Killian spots a freshly bloodied lip and twin purple and black bruises that bloom like flowers beneath both eyes. There's an oozing gash across the bridge of his nose, which is obviously broken. The dried blood on the collar of his wool sweater serves as testament to the recency of the beating.

"Tell me this'll be over soon," he says by way of greeting, standing before Killian and looking utterly defeated. His skin is an unhealthy white, desperation and misery hanging off him as he stares at Killian with reproach.

"It ends today," Killian states, his eyes locked with Eric's as he tries to bolster his spirits. "I'll hand over the jewels to Teach and when we're done, you're going to the airport. Soon enough you'll be on your way to London with your girl."

Eric gives a nod, but despite the way he determinedly lifts his chin at Killian's promise, fear clings to him still. There's a lot that can go wrong tonight and they both know it.

"Is it just you and me meeting with Teach?" Eric asks, trying for nonchalance and failing. Killian doesn't hold it against him; it's hard to be brave when you've been beaten within an inch of your life and are about to walk into the enemy's lair with nothing more than a devilishly handsome pirate at your side.

"Ah, well, no. We do have backup, such as it is," he replies, pulling his hand from his pocket and swirling it in the air. He turns his head and calls over his shoulder, "Mr. Smee! Come say hello, if you would be so kind." Eric glances over Killian's shoulder, eyes widening as Smee steps into the open, his bulk materializing from behind a stack of crates.

"Isn't that your secretary?" Eric asks, blinking several times as if he doesn't believe what he's seeing.

"Executive assistant," Killian magnanimously corrects. Smee is dressed in a thick flannel coat, his red beanie matching the jaunty handkerchief tied around his throat. Glancing at the man with an amused eyebrow high on his forehead, Killian points at Eric then at Smee as he does the introductions. "Captain Eric Prince, John Smee. Smee, Eric Prince."

The two men nod in greeting, Eric warily so, staring hard at Smee with his brows down in a grimace of concentration. "I've seen you," he says slowly, realization dawning. "You've been following me!"

"Aye, he has, but only for your safety, Prince. Done on my orders," Killian explains. "I ordered him to look after you and to intervene if he thought you were in any danger when Teach's men went after you."

"Danger!" Eric sputters and Killian sighs, dropping his chin and lifting his hand to rub at his forehead. "I've been beaten within an inch of my life more times in the past month than I can count. And this asshole never once stepped in to save me!"

"Look, if he thought things were getting out of control, he would've intervened. We needed to keep Teach believing he still has power over you. If he had gotten wind of you talking to anyone about what was going on, the beatings would've turned more serious. He had to believe you were clueless about the location of the jewels and that you were willing to keep working with him. He couldn't know I was helping you or your life would've been over."

Eric's eyes flick to Killian, his glare directed now at him instead of Smee. He obviously hears the truth in Killian's words because he stays quiet, not arguing with Killian's logic. Instead, he glances to where the Queen Anne's Revenge is moored, her mast rising high into the night sky.

"Let's get this over with. I want my life back," the young captain states with resolve, gaze still on the ship where Teach is waiting for them. Killian moves in front of Eric, bending slightly to stare directly into his eyes. He gives him a stern look, jaw clenched, no mercy in his expression.

"You don't speak, is that clear? You're there as my ticket to get on board that ship and nothing more. You don't get involved and you keep your mouth shut. Understood?"

"Yeah," Eric says, looking away, the stubborn set of his chin giving him away. He definitely wants to rage against the man that's been torturing him for the past few months, the man who has tried to steal his livelihood and has actively worked to taint his father's good name.

"I'm serious, Prince. No matter what I say or do, you do not get involved," Killian warns him, dropping his voice as he steps even closer, eyes locked on Eric's profile. Reaching out, he grabs his arm and gives a hard yank, causing the man to curse as he faces Killian fully. "Remember what I told you? I'll help you as long as it's convenient. When it stops being in my best interest, I have no qualms about leaving you to Teach. There'll be no London, no job, no protection against him. Don't force my hand, mate." His teeth click together on the word 'mate,' the sound loud in the quickly approaching gloom of an oncoming winter storm.

Eric lifts his eyes to Killian's, holding his gaze for two long heartbeats before yanking his arm free, wincing as his body protests the movement. He settles his hand over his ribs once again, hunching his shoulders to ease the pain when he takes a deep breath.

"I get it. I'll keep my mouth shut."

It's all the reassurance that Killian needs as he turns to lead the two men to the Queen Anne's Revenge. Eric walks a few paces behind him and Smee brings up the rear with his hand tucked in his jacket pocket, wrapped around a gun that he holds at the ready. Killian can feel the cold steel of his own weapon at his back, the handle digging into his spine. He doesn't know how many men Teach will have with him, but they won't go down without a fight, if it comes to that.

As they grow closer to their destination, the last vestiges of goodness in him fall away and he submerges once more into the abyss. This break with reality is going to keep him alive, he tries to convince himself, his conscience hovering once more outside his body and leaving him strangely numb. He's doing this to survive, to return to Emma; he'll do anything to be with her, sacrifice anything, even if that sacrifice means becoming evil incarnate.

Killian spots a man leaning against a light post as they near the Queen's Anne Revenge, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He has an arm crossed over his body, his hand tucked up under his coat. Killian knows he's gripping a gun, ready to shoot at the slightest provocation. His steps don't falter at the realization; he simply glances at the man, giving him a cheeky wink as he saunters past.

He spots the next man a few feet beyond the gangplank of the Revenge. With his feet set wide, he's not as subtle as his partner, his hand wrapped around the grip of a .9 millimeter, index finger blatantly resting on the trigger. Killian acknowledges him with a stiff nod, no flirtatious winks or sass for this one. He receives a glare in return, nothing more. As Killian begins his ascent up the gangplank, the man turns and keeps his beady eyes on him.

Stepping onto the deck of the Revenge at last, Killian gives a low whistle, turning his attention from Teach's guards to the beauty of the ship. It's a replica of the true Queen Anne's Revenge that had sailed under the notorious pirate Blackbeard's flag, minus the forty cannons along her hull. She's by far the largest wooden ship in the harbor, her pristine lines and lofty mast beauty personified. Stepping to the side of the ship, he leans over and runs his hand reverently over the hull, giving her a firm pat as he waits for Eric and Smee to follow him onto the deck.

A gust of wind hits him in the face as he straightens, the frigid air slipping beneath his jacket. He tugs his collar up, but leaves the sides of the jacket open, the crocodile pendent hanging heavy at his chest. Lifting his face skyward, he watches the first snowfall of the season begin to wend its way down from the sky. Large, fluffy snowflakes land on his lashes and obscure his vision. He blinks them away to glance surreptitiously around the deck, observing two men materialize seemingly out of the shadows. Neither bother to hide the hardware in their hands, standing with legs splayed and eyes trained on Killian and his companions.

Eric follows Killian onto the deck, averting his eyes when one of the men gives him a mocking sneer and cracks his bloodied knuckles. Killian watches the exchange, sees the blood drain from Eric's face as the man then gives him a wave and blows him a mocking kiss. He begins to think that perhaps Eric has suffered more than bruising blows at the hands of Teach's men and he drops his chin, a sadistic grin splitting his face as he lets the demon clawing at his chest out to play. He catches the man's gaze over Eric's shoulder, blowing him a kiss in return. The sneer falls from the man's face and Killian shakes his head at him, wagging his finger in warning. Threat satisfactorily implied, he relaxes back against the ship's railing, watching with dark glee as both men shift uncomfortably, sharing a wary glance. Crossing one leg over the other, he waits, head tilted back to watch as the snow begins to swirl around them.

There's a storm on the way; he can feel the promise of it in his bones. It's a threat hidden in the muffled stillness of a winter's night, tasting like iron on his tongue. He lets his eyes fall shut, relishing the cold of each snowflake as they land on his upturned face.

The strike of a boot heel rings out followed by another, the second muted by the snow covering the deck of the ship. The steps continue as Killian slowly opens his eyes and grins up into the night sky. Despite how badly he wants to look over at Teach, he refrains, holding out for dramatic effect. When the footsteps come to a stop, he counts to five then turns to look at the man he's been waiting weeks to meet.

Except it's not a man at all.

He can't move, can't breathe. Thinking that perhaps he's hallucinating, he blinks several times to clear his vision, hoping the person he's staring at will blur and fade. If anything, the shape of her grows stronger, more distinct as he focuses in. Her eyes - god, her eyes - they're the same blue-green he remembers, filled with a warmth he'd managed to forget over the years of distance.

Milah.

He feels as if he's been punched in the gut, his lungs burning with each intake of winter air and he has to remind himself not to react, to keep his face blank even though he can barely hold back his rage with the nearness of her. She gives him a half smile, cold and indifferent, in direct contrast with the warmth he sees in her eyes.

"You must be Mr. Jones," she says, giving no hint of their prior acquaintance. Her accent is clipped, cold as the winter wind whipping around them. He remembers her voice softer than that, the distaste he hears now once warm as honey and just as sweet. It hurts more than he would've thought, given how long it's been since he loved this woman.

Pushing off the railing, he stands to his full height and gives her a lascivious grin, sketching a bow with his hands swooping out to the sides before coming to rest on his belt buckle.

"I'll admit you have the advantage, my dear. I was expecting to meet Edward Teach, although, I'm happy to make your acquaintance instead." She smirks at that, lifting her hands to rest on her trim waist, giving him an unamused glance. He keeps his face blank, his surprise and rage under tight wraps; the only sign of his tension is the muscle jumping in his jaw as he grinds his teeth together.

"Edward is regrettably detained," she finally says. "He sent me in his stead." She steps forward, reaching out a gloved hand to him. "Milah Gold, Mr. Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She keeps up the facade of not knowing him and he does the same.

"Oh, lass, I believe the pleasure is all mine," he replies, lowering his voice as he wraps her hand up in his. Turning it over, he drops his mouth to the back of it, the leather of her gloves warm beneath his lips. The scent of lilies hits him as he hovers there and he breathes deep of it, his eyes falling shut as memories slam into him. Not wanting to give away how she's affecting him, he forces himself to stand and look into the face of the woman he had once loved more than anything.

This is the closest he's been to her in years and he hungrily looks his fill. She's still beautiful, with high cheekbones and iridescent blue-green eyes. She's older than him, but he's hard pressed to find that age in her face, her skin smooth and unlined, no hint of gray in the dark hair that falls in stylized waves around her shoulders. She looks as he remembers her, youthful and passionate, her sensuality simmering just beneath the surface of her cool facade.

Her hand is still in his and he sways into her personal space, eyes falling to her mouth as he waits for her to speak. She doesn't keep him waiting.

"Let's not waste time, Mr. Jones. Do you have the merchandise that Captain Prince promised you'd deliver?"

"What, love, no foreplay?" he asks, giving her a devilish grin before leaning forward, tugging lightly on her hand. "I like a woman who knows what she wants." She doesn't return his grin, her face falling into annoyed lines as she glares at him. She drops his hand, resting hers on her hip again as she contemplates him.

"You're stalling. Give me the product so we can be on our way," she demands.

"Stalling? Not quite. I'm just taking the time needed to get to know the opposition," he tells her, glancing at Eric and Smee to gauge their reactions. Eric looks confused while Smee keeps his attention focused on the armed men surrounding them. He'd known Milah, knows who she is to Killian, but he keeps his face carefully blank, following Killian's lead.

Killian glances at the four guards now standing around them, all with their guns at the ready. They're woefully outnumbered and Killian would be worried if it wasn't for the heat of Milah's gaze on his flesh when he turns back to her. He doesn't know what is going on right now, but he knows instinctively that it has very little to do with the jewels at his side. He has the sense they're just the excuse Milah needs to get close to him.

"Opposition?" she utters, smiling condescendingly before continuing. "You flatter yourself, Mr. Jones. You are no competition."

"I beg to differ, lass. Surely you know who I am?"

"I know exactly who you are, Mr. Jones. Do you honestly believe I'd come to this meeting without knowing? Do you think me an amateur?" He grins then, a feral thing that spreads over his face as he bares his teeth to her. The delirium of madness is upon him quick, the memory of her voice in his ear as she'd whispered that she didn't want an amateur between her thighs causing a vengeful beast to wake inside him.

Underneath the raging echo of his grief, he thinks he hears Emma calling to him, but he can't focus on the salvation she's offering just now. He turns his back on his hope, focusing on the woman before him, wondering with morbid curiosity if she has known about him all this time, if she'd watched him from afar and wished she'd chosen him instead of Gold. Has she tortured herself over the choice she'd made when she'd told him goodbye? Have all his sins been worth it? Does she regret the day she'd chose Gold over him?

Guilt settles in his chest as he thinks again of Emma, of how she sees him as a good man. But she doesn't know you, not really, he reminds himself, focusing again on Milah, wanting answers to his many questions.

"Pray tell, love, just who am I?" He doesn't know what gives her pause, the madness in his eyes or the anger in his question. Whatever it is, she stills, staring at with him with her forehead wrinkled. When she speaks, it's with wariness, her body angled away from him and toward the men who serve as her guards.

"You're the harbormaster. You moved here with your wife a few months ago. You come from family money, although you seem to have given that up to live a simple life. You were in the Royal Navy and served with your brother, Liam Jones." She tilts her head, blue eyes filling with what he can only describe as pity. "And you're one of the most notorious criminals this side of the Atlantic."

"Ah, so you've heard of me. Splendid!" He straightens, clapping his hands together in glee before stepping into her personal space, the tips of his boots tapping hers. Voice lowered, he leans forward another inch, eyes locked on hers. "How about you and I get to know each other better, love? Find out what makes each other tick and all that. We can get out of the snow and hash this out like two reasonable adults. And maybe I'll hand over all that treasure you're asking after...if you make it worth my while, that is."

There's a shift in the blue depths of her eyes, relief moving through them so quickly he thinks he must have imagined it. He hears a shuffling behind him, the muffled sound of boots scraping against wood, but Milah lifts a hand, her eyes still locked with his as she warns off her men.

She gives a jerk of her head to signal that he's to follow and turning, she leads him to an open hatch at the stern of the ship. She descends first, her heels muted by the snow dusting the top steps. He follows, shooting a warning glance at Smee before he's swallowed up by the ship. It's dark below, no windows or lights to illuminate their way and while it's obvious Milah knows her way around, he has no clue where they're going. He's forced to follow the sound of her footsteps, his hands out to the sides to keep from running into anything. They don't speak; Killian focusing on not tripping over his own feet.

She takes him to what he can only assume is the captain's quarters, a good sized room with mahogany furniture draped in red fabrics accented in gold and silver. Everything is neat and tidy, surfaces polished and shining, the scent of varnish thick in the air. Despite how clean it is, there's no hint of the captain's personality here, no sign that the ship is anything other than a decoration. It's a shame that such a fine vessel bobs forgotten in the harbor, her hull rotting from lack of use.

It reminds him of Milah, a possession that is to be admired, but never touched. He'd always remembered her as a bright flash of color in an otherwise dull world, but he knows differently now. He has tasted true passion in Emma's arms, has found a woman so vibrant and real that the mere memory of her causes his cheeks to flush with heat. As much as he'd once loved her, Milah had never warmed him from the inside out like Emma does and he finds himself pitying her. She'll never know such warmth and happiness with a man like Gold.

"We don't have much time," she says once he's closed the door, her voice low and anxious, her whole demeanor changing. She moves to a lantern hanging over the bed, turning it on and bathing the room in a cold, artificial light. With the lights on, he can see his breath hanging in white clouds before his mouth, the ship's interior providing shelter from the storm, but no actual warmth.

"Time for what, love?" he asks, eyeing the bed beside her, flicking his gaze up to hers and giving a lecherous grin.

"Oh, please," she says, turning to him with her hands on her hips. "Aren't you married now?"

"Wedding vows never stopped you before, love," he accuses, lifting a brow and swaying closer to her. He breathes deep, imagining lilies blooming in the midst of a winter storm, her perfume tickling his imagination.

As the silence stretches between them, the mask she's been hiding behind cracks, the warmth in her eyes burning bright. There's an emotion in the blue-green depths that he'd thought forever lost to him, one that makes him question the absolute disdain he'd seen in her eyes the last time they'd seen each other. With a few simple words, she'd forever changed him that day, forcing an idealistic youth to grow into a jaded man, afraid to ever love again, living only for his revenge.

But now she's looking at him so tenderly, so lovingly that he begins to question his sanity.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing here, Milah?" he demands, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He ignores the raw emotion in her eyes, focusing instead on his anger.

"Keep your voice down," she orders in a harsh whisper, glancing at the door behind him.

"Don't want them running back to your husband with tales of you and your former lover locked alone in a room together, eh love?" Even as he says it, the suggestion turns his stomach. He only wants Emma, but he can't help throw in her face what once he'd gladly given, taunting her. "Tell me, Milah, does your husband know where you are right now or is this a rogue mission?"

"Don't be daft. Of course Rumple knows I'm here," she states, tilting her head and staring at him with narrowed eyes. "Do you think I'd risk him finding out on his own? I don't have a death wish, Killian."

There's revulsion in the way she says her husband's name and it gives him pause, reminds him of all the times she'd whispered his name in fear while clinging to Killian. He stills, staring into her expressive eyes as he begins to connect the dots in his head. His thoughts move backwards over the past few months, linking one fact to the next until they form the outline that is embarrassingly easy to decipher once formed.

"It's Gold, isn't it?" he finally breathes out, his voice dropped to a whisper as he continues to puzzle it out...Gold doesn't like to get his hands dirty, but he's also a sadistic man who prefers to watch the carnage up close, manipulating it to his advantage for maximum results. Killian has never believed that Teach is the mastermind behind the smuggling ring in Storybrooke; he's too shortsighted and small thinking in his goals. August had confirmed that Teach answers to someone, someone he fears. It's exactly what Gold would do, place a man in town who he can easily control, keeping him on a short leash, while still allowing him to create mayhem.

Teach is from England, as is Gold. It's entirely possible the two men knew each other or ran in the same circles back home. Teach could've been sent to the States to open up a few choice ports ahead of Gold's arrival. What was it Liam had said - that Gold had packed up and come to America six months ago. He'd probably decided it was time to sit at the head of his unholy kingdom, the king joined by his wife to reign together.

"Gold's here, isn't he? He's in Storybrooke? Or Maine, at the very least." It had been a hunch, but when her blue eyes flash with fear, he knows he's right. "He's the one running the smuggling ring."

"Killian, this is so much larger than that. You don't understand what your involved in, what's at stake. Rumple is only a part of it. I had to come here and warn you - "

"Warn me?" he says, speaking over her with incredulity. "What in the bloody hell are you on about, woman?"

"You're in danger. You and your...your wife." She flushes and looks away briefly before smiling wistfully. She takes a shuffling step closer, lifting a hand to hover over the crocodile pendent resting on his chest. "Her name is Emma, isn't it?" she asks. He stays silent, the muscle in his cheek jumping with agitation.

Her smile turns sad then, the sight of it twisting like a knife in his heart.

"I saw her a few weeks ago when Rumple and I stopped for lunch in that diner in town - Granny's? We were sitting at the counter having pie and coffee and she was there with a friend. Someone said hello to them, stopped by their table and asked after you. It was your name that caught my attention and I...I was so curious about her. I never imagined you with a blonde - "

"My wife is none of your concern," he interrupts, his voice a low and vicious hiss. He takes a menacing step closer. She flinches, but doesn't back up, simply lifts her chin in challenge.

"You know, I never thought you'd settle down. It got a little old, watching you share your depravity with every bit of skirt who would spread her thighs for you."

"And how do you know who I've taken to my bed, Mrs. Gold?" he asks. Her eyes flare and her cheeks color as if she's been slapped, but she still doesn't step away. If anything she manages to lean in closer, her voice dropping even further.

"I've been...keeping tabs on you, Killian. Ever since we said goodbye." He blinks in surprise, not quite sure how to take that. Deciding she's trying to take advantage of him, he rejects the information, dropping his chin to give her another half crazed smile.

"Liar."

"Killian, you have to believe me."

"Believe you?" he says, letting out a barking laugh. "Believe the woman who seduced an impressionable youth, lied to him when she told him she loved him and no one else? Believe the woman who then proceeded to break his heart, ripping it from his chest and crushing it before his very eyes? Believe you - the person who killed the good man I was and turned me into the demon you see before you now?" She flinches at that, blinking furiously to keep her sudden tears at bay.

"I'm sorry for that, Killian, but it was the only way to save you!"

"Save me? You call what you did to me saving?" he roars. He stops himself, teeth grinding together as he breathes deeply, trying to regain a measure of composure.

"I hadn't planned on telling you this now," she shakes her head, wringing her hands between them before continuing, "but it seems I have no choice." She steps closer, finally pressing her hand to his heart. She smiles through her tears, her eyes once again filled with an emotion he's afraid to put a name to.

"I know I hurt you, Killian, but it was the only way I could keep you safe from Rumple." There's a pleading note to her voice, a tremble when she says his name that gives Killian pause. He doesn't know why, but he feels for her then, the empathy helping to hold back his rage. It forces him to still beneath her hand and listen to what she has to say. He chalks it up to nostalgia as he reaches for her, his nails digging into the tender spot in her wrist where her pulse races.

"Explain," he orders harshly. She swallows, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"What I told you back then about Rumple and myself was true, at least in the beginning. I loved him once and I was his partner. You were just a job at first, a young man that wanted so badly to be loved - an easy mark. I researched your family, knew about your money. I watched you, figured out that you felt lost in your brother's shadow and I used that to my advantage to get close to you. The goal was to steal your fortune, to turn you and your brother against each other and eventually steal your family's business. But I..." her voice trails off, her eyes growing wide as she stares up at him.

"It's as you say, love. We don't have time to draw this out. Say what you have to say."

"I fell in love with you," she admits on a trembling sigh, a tear slipping down her cheek. She steps closer, the expression on her face hesitant, but open and honest. "That wasn't part of the plan, you see. You were so different from Rumple, so good and kind and brave. You opened up the possibility of a different life to me, a life filled with love and happiness and I - "

"What is this? Why are you lying about ancient history? What do you have to gain by telling me this?" he asks, dropping her wrist and slashing his hand through the air as if he can literally cut her words off. "You told me you wanted a man like him, a man without honor. You said I could never make you happy, that I could never excite you the way he did when he was stealing and killing in your name."

"I only told you that to protect you," she replies, reaching for him again, stopping short when the light from the lantern catches on his wedding ring, his hand still held aloft between them. She stares at it, fresh tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "It's true. You have to believe me, Killian," she says, voice flat and devoid of emotion.

"I don't have to do anything, especially not at your behest. You lost that power over me the moment you rejected me, Milah."

"Killian, please. The longer you refuse to hear me, to...to believe me, the greater the danger grows." She steps back into his personal space, both hands coming up to rest on his chest in a move so reminiscent of Emma that he recoils, wrapping his hands around both wrists this time and removing them from his body.

"Why are you telling me this?" he demands again, his rage barely held in check.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" she asks, struggling to free her hands.

"Why?" he demands again, tightening his grip.

"Because I love you!" she cries out. The words echo, seeming to grow louder as they repeat on a loop in his head. Another tear slips down her cheek and he watches its progress with detached wonder, numb to everything but the cold bite of winter in the air.

"I love you, Killian. I've never stopped," she continues, more tears joining the first. "I had grown so careless, swept up in my feelings for you and Rumple started to suspect there was more going on with us than just a job. He threatened you, told me he would kill your family and make you watch. That he would force me to - " Her voice gives out, a sob rending the air. She sucks in a shuddering breath, swallows thickly over her tears then continues, "I knew you would do everything in your power to find me if you thought for one minute that Rumple was keeping me against my will. I knew the only way to do that was to convince you it had all been a lie, that I didn't love you. I'd hoped at some point, I could find you and tell you...well, it doesn't matter what I would've told you. You believed me and you...you stayed away. I kept you safe."

Silence falls.

Her hands shake in his and he finally loosens his grip. He stares at her, questioning everything he's known to be true over the past five years. She stares back, willing him to understand, to believe, to forgive. He can't get his thoughts into any kind of order, panic setting in as he realizes the horror his life has become. If what she says is true - oh god, the things he'd done simply because she'd broken his heart to keep him safe...

He suddenly feels as if he's caught in a surreal version of The Gift of the Magi, one that has him nauseous and faint. The thought of the unspeakable sins he'd done all because of the "gift" that Milah had given him - it's too much to process, to fully comprehend.

He has to remind himself that he'd said goodbye to her and his thirst for vengeance. He'd given up his desire to make her beg for mercy months ago, saved by the woman that waits for him back home. It doesn't matter that Milah stands before him now with love in her eyes, doesn't matter that he can strike out and make her pay for the agony she'd inflicted upon him.

All that matters is Emma and her good, good heart. And suddenly he very much wants to go home. But as desperate as he is to leave Milah and her heartbreak behind, he needs to press on, needs proof to take back to Emma that Gold is the mastermind behind the smuggling ring. He swore he was doing this to end their investigation, to keep Emma safe and if he goes back empty handed, all will be for naught.

There's something about that thought that gives him pause...he's doing all this to keep Emma safe, keeping the truth from her because it's in her best interest, or so he's told himself over the past few weeks. It's that realization more than anything that softens his heart to Milah, that causes him to drop his grip from her wrists entirely and step back, the rage that boils inside him reducing to a calm simmer. Hadn't she just admitted to making the same decision as him, all in the name of love?

"If you're telling me the truth - "

"I am! Killian, I am!"

"Tell me the rest. How did you know who I was? Why is Gold in Storybrooke?"

Encouraged that he's not outright dismissing her story, she swipes at the wetness on her cheeks, smearing her makeup in the process. She looks a mess, nothing of the calm, cool collected woman he'd met on above deck visible now. Clasping her hands together, she presses them over her heart, her faced tilted up to his in supplication.

"After I left you that day, I kept tabs on you and the...the business you started." She winces as she says it, but he encourages her to continue with a nod, not wanting her to get distracted by misplaced guilt. His choice to sin had been his own. "When you started to go after Rumple's business, he became obsessed with tricking you into become worse than even him, manipulating men on your payroll, sending rivals after you and forcing your hand in business deals. He would tell me about the women he'd sent to you, the depraved things you did with them...Oh, Killian, I'm so sorry. You were in pain and I - "

"I wasn't in pain, love. I was enjoying myself or didn't your husband tell you that?" he asks, hating himself for allowing Rumple such control over him, hating himself for believing he'd enjoyed those loveless encounters when they'd happened. It figures they were all manipulations aimed at getting into his head, taking advantage of his broken heart.

She ignores his bitter question, sniffling as more tears slip down her cheeks.

"I didn't understand what I was doing when I broke your heart. God, if I had only been strong enough to leave Rumple, none of this would've happened. You wouldn't have - "

The creaking of the deck above them interrupts her, the sound of boot heels causing her eyes to widen with fear.

"I don't need your apologies, love. I made my own choices," he tells her, gesturing to hurry up and finish the story.

"A couple of years ago, Rumple started to expand his empire, chasing you to the States. He placed men in every port along the Eastern coastline, smuggling everything from guns to drugs to people, taking over whole towns on a whim. Storybrooke was one of those towns. He sent some of his lieutenants here, ordering them to get established and do his dirty work. They tried, but the sheriff here didn't give up easily. He started to ask questions, got into the middle of an operation on the docks and nearly blew the whole thing wide apart. And then...then you got involved."

She shakes her head, not believing how fate had caused their paths to cross once again. It wasn't fate so much as David and Graham, he thinks. He remembers meeting them in that horrible bar in New York as they'd asked for his help to take down the crime boss in their idyllic town, David appealing to the good man buried deep within him still.

"Rumple thought you must have some insider knowledge about Storybrooke, that you knew something he didn't about its worth. He started to make visits to town, figured out who your men were on the docks and convinced them to work for him instead. He has eyes and ears everywhere, Killian, and he's been watching you the whole time you've been working with the sheriff and his deputy."

She pauses, both of them going quiet when a gust of wind rocks the ship, the sound whistling through the cracks in the wood and causing Killian to shiver. Her eyes go back to the door as she continues, reaching out once again and letting her hand hover between them.

"When he heard you had moved to town and taken up the harbormaster position, he decided he needed to become more directly involved in the activity here. And then the jewels went missing from The Triton and Teach told him you wanted to meet him to return them," she pauses, turning her gaze back to his. "I've never seen him so angry. He can't figure out how you bested him. He sent me here to get the jewels and find out why you're in Storybrooke."

"You?" She gives a bitter smile.

"After all these years, Rumple finally believes me when I tell him I love him and that he can trust me." She shrugs, eyes cold, lifeless. "As you're well aware, Killian, when properly motivated I can be quite the actress. I was his partner long before I knew you, my love, and I worked hard to get back to that place - if only to continue to keep you safe."

"Milah," he breathes out. He stares into the face he'd loved so well as a young man, her confession cutting into him like a rusty blade, reopening the wound he'd thought long closed. "Milah," he repeats, at a loss for what else to say.

She smiles, tears of regret making her eyes shimmer like shards of glass.

"I've been in town for weeks now. I was so worried I'd run into you on the street when you were with your wife. I didn't know how I could possibly tell you all this with her beside you. I started to follow you." She laughs in embarrassment, shaking her head and rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "You'd think I was some lovesick teenager, chasing after the boy she has a crush on, but I thought if I could force the meeting, I might have better luck of convincing you. I tried to find you alone, but I kept losing my nerve."

It clicks - his paranoia that he's being followed, the constant feeling of eyes on him, and the lingering scent of lilies convincing him that he's losing his mind.

"It was you?" he breathes out.

"I think it ended up being an excuse to be close to you, to see you happy. I started to imagine that maybe when you finally did see me again you wouldn't look at me like you are right now."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like I broke more than your heart the day I left...that maybe I broke your soul as well."

Whatever else she might have said is cut off when the deck creaks and groans above them again. They both turn, barely breathing as they wait for footsteps outside the door. They hear nothing and he finally turns back to her, his voice trembling as he asks, "You were at the cottage?"

"Yeah."

"There are cameras in the woods. I check them all the time and I've never seen you on them. How is that possible?" Her eyes widen and she steps closer, hands once again landing on his chest. This time, he doesn't push her away, feeling the warm of her palms through her gloves.

"That's what I have to tell you, Killian. It's not just Rumple who has it out for you. There's someone else. Someone who told me how to get past the cameras. You have - "

There's a knock at the door, a sharp rap of knuckles on wood and Milah shuts her mouth, her eyes filling once again with panic as she steps around him.

"Yes?" she calls out, her voice steady despite the way she's trembling. It shouldn't surprise him; if Killian has learned nothing else over the last half an hour, it's that this woman is one hell of an actress.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" a gruff voice asks.

"Everything's fine. We'll be up shortly." Turning back to Killian, she lowers her voice once more, panic induced mania making her eyes shine.

"We have to go." When she moves to step around him, he grabs her arm, fingers circling just above her elbow and holding fast.

"You can't just tell me that someone other than your bastard husband is out to get me without giving me more details, Milah."

"We don't have time to get into the rest of this. I've already taken a chance telling you any of this as it is. Rumple has eyes and ears everywhere. There's no telling what he'll do when he sees me again."

(His memories flash to the bruises he used to find on her pale skin, the punishments her husband had doled out with impunity. She'd told him the night she'd left that she'd asked for them, had begged for Gold to mark her as his, but he questions that now, the fear in her eyes speaking volumes about what she has risked sharing the truth with him.)

"You have enough time to give me a name," he demands, desperate to get something out of her before she leaves. She looks down at his hand wrapped around her arm and he instantly releases her, guilt blooming in his chest when he realizes he was using force to get information from her.

So, not much better than her husband then.

Another rap on the door and she lifts her eyes, shaking her head and raising a finger to her lips to keep Killian quiet.

"I can escort you upstairs, ma'am. It's storming pretty hard now. We should return to the hotel."

"Fine."

Milah steps closer to Killian, mouthing an 'I'm sorry' as she grabs the strap of the messenger bag on his chest. He helps her maneuver it over his head, handing it to her. She moves to the door, opening it and handing the bag out to the guard for safe keeping. The three of them make their way topside, the snow laying thick over the deck as they climb out of the batch.

Stepping carefully after Milah, he gestures for Smee and Eric to follow. They all make their way off the ship, Milah hustling through the night like demons are following her. And perhaps they are - Killian feels less than human, like a specter that with the barest of winds would be swept off his feet, lost forever to the gales of fate.

There's a black town car parked near his jeep, a driver waiting to open the door for Milah. Killian speeds his steps, catching up to her when she's only a few steps from the car. He grabs her arm once again, dropping it as soon as she turns to look at him. Mindful of their audience, he smirks down at her.

"Meet with me again, lass," he implores, turning his tone flirtatious as he sways into her personal space. Giving him a cool glance, she crosses her arms under her breasts. Her eyes are haunted, partly in shadow as the snow continues to fall around them.

"I have what I came for," she replies, gesturing to the man holding the jewels. "I have no reason to meet with you again, Mr. Jones." Throwing caution to the wind, he reaches for her hand, wrapping one up in both of his as he stares into her eyes.

"Thank you," he says simply, not sure what else he can possibly say. Shuffling forward, kicking snow up onto the tips of her boots, he gets close enough that only she can hear him. "I can keep you safe, love."

She tilts her head back, staring into his eyes. Shaking her head softly, she gives him a sad smile filled with regret. Reaching up with a gloved hand, she presses it to his cheek and holds it there before pressing up onto her tiptoes. Her cheek slides against his as she moves her mouth to his ear. His hands fall to her waist, the scent of lilies surrounding him once again.

"Forgive me my transgressions," she whispers. "Forgive me my lies. I never wanted anything but happiness for you, Killian. If you believe nothing else I've told you tonight, believe that."

He can't find the words to grant her forgiveness, his throat closing as he recognizes this as the goodbye they'd deserved to have all those years ago. Turning his head, he buries his nose into the mass of her dark hair, his own tears of regret in his eyes.

"I hope she makes you happy," she whispers, so faint that he wonders if she'd said anything at all and then she's pulling away, her tears blinked away and her stern facade back in place. Knowing she's about to leave, he finally finds his voice, holding her against his chest as he implores her one final time.

"Tell me a name, Milah. I need to know who's coming after me."

"Not you, Killian."

"What?"

"It's Emma who is in danger. Someone's coming after Emma." His heart stops, the blood draining from his face.

"Who?" he demands, pulling her tighter to him.

Her mouth opens, a name forming on her lips. He leans in closer, but she never speaks a word. A shot rings out and she slumps against him, her dead weight pulling him to the ground as she falls.

"Milah!" he screams, not comprehending what has happened. He shifts her to her back, moving to cradle her cheek in his hand, his eyes widening in horror when he realizes his glove is covered in blood. "Milah! No!"

She stares up at him, her face serene, the snow melting where it lands on her face. Her eyes are wide and incandescent as she looks up at him, such a warm and lovely shade of blue. Lifting a hand to his cheek, she sucks in a shuddering breath, using the last of her strength to speak her final truth,

"I love you."

Everything happens in a blur after that. Two of the men with Milah wrestle her body from Killian's arms, sliding her into the back of the town car. He moves quickly, gun pointed at the man closest to him who barely flinches as he looks down the barrel of the gun. Smee and Eric are behind him, Smee's gun also drawn, but it's evident to everyone there that the three of them are completely outnumbered.

It will do no good to fight back.

For a reason he can't even begin to fathom, they simply turn their backs on the three of them and climb into the car with Milah's body. Killian knows that whoever shot Milah has their gun trained on him as the town car pulls away, so he makes no move to follow them, the taillights fading in the distance.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, bile rising in his throat. He retches, bending over as he chokes back the vomit that threatens to spill from his mouth. Looking down, he sees Milah's blood staining the snow, the horror of what had just happened overwhelming him. Moving on autopilot, he swallows hard and straightens, turning to the two men still beside him.

"Smee, take Prince to the airport. Get him on a flight as soon as possible. Don't stop for anyone, run red lights if you have to. Get him and his girl out of the country," he orders, stepping forward to face Eric. "Stay safe, mate."

"What...what just happened? She's dead?" Killian can't manage to get an answer past the lump in his throat, simply turning to Smee and ordering him with a look to obey his order. His second in command is shocked as well, but he's not panicking. He simply nods and turns, taking the keys to the jeep that Killian hands him. They pull out of the parking lot minutes later, Eric staring at him as they drive past. Feeling better now that they're on their way out of town, Killian pulls his phone from his pocket, hands shaking as he swipes at the screen.

"Hello?" David says, the hint of a smile in his voice.

"I need your help, mate. There's been a shooting."

"Emma?"

"No, not Emma. She's safe." God, he hopes she's still at home, none the wiser to what has occurred. He wants to get to her, wants to check that she's okay, but he needs to do this first.

"Are you - "

"I'm fine. I need you to keep this quiet. Just get in your truck and pick me up in the parking lot of Storybrooke Harbor. Get here quick."

"I'll be there."

The line goes dead and all Killian can do is stand there as the snow pelts down on him, watching as it covers any trace of Milah's blood, the ground turning pink beneath his boots. He has to tell David everything. All of it. There's no way around it and part of him embraces the knowledge. He wishes he'd been able to tell Emma first, but that can't be helped now. Either way it happens, the truth of what he's done will be out, at least with regards to Teach and the jewels.

He'll save the finer details of the life he's lived since Milah's deception for Emma and her alone.

It was Gold, he thinks, his thoughts bouncing around with no direction. Gold has to be the shooter, or at the very least, the one that ordered it. He must have been listening as Milah had suspected. There's no way that Milah would've been shot at the very moment she was about to reveal who was coming after Emma and Killian if someone wasn't listening. It reminds Killian of the crocodile around his neck and his lifts his hand to cup the pendent, realizing he's managed to record everything Milah had told him.

Milah.

She'd loved him and had lied to keep him safe. After all these years, to know that she truly had loved him - the truth burns in his eyes. She didn't deserve this, she didn't deserve to live the life she had, married to a sadist and dying at his whim.

I'm sorry, he thinks, his heart breaking to realize that he'd failed Milah back then when he'd so easily believed her lies and that he's managed to fail her once again by not spiriting her away as soon as she'd told him the truth.

He is gutted. He has no words for what has happened tonight, no way to stop the spinning of his world. Everything he'd thought he'd known about himself has been turned on its head. David drives him back to the cottage after they spend time at the crime scene and then at the Sheriff's station. The ride home is short; fifteen minutes at most, but he remembers none of it, simply finds himself standing in the driveway of the cottage as David drives off.

He stares up at the front door with no memory of how he came to be there.

Milah is dead. She'd died in his arms, shot in the back by a coward, whispering her love for him with her dying breath. Everything he's known to be true, about his life, about her, about himself, no longer holds true, shattered beyond recognition. Her blood had covered his jacket, soaked into his jeans and shirt, all of which he'd turned over to David. He'd given him his gun and the pendent recorder along with his clothes, telling him how to extract the chip that had captured Milah's confession. David had stared stoically at him the whole time, asking only the occasional question, simply listening as Killian had told him everything.

When he'd finished his tale, he'd apologized and with a hoarse voice, had asked that David allow him to tell Emma himself, begging him to keep the situation quiet for another couple of hours. David had given him a short nod, reaching out to grasp his arm in a death grip as he reminded Killian that Emma is now in danger. Gold is obviously aware of Killian, knows who he is and he's spent the better part of the past four months convincing the world at large that she's his wife, his true love. What better way to get back at Killian than take away who he so clearly loves?

Not to mention the warning that Milah had given him tonight - someone is after her, wants to do her harm. Terror unlike anything he's ever felt before threatens to overwhelm him, panic clawing at his throat and making it hard to breathe.

He stares up at the cottage, seeing it as a refuge from the horrors he's experienced tonight, wanting nothing more than to disappear inside and never come out. He needs Emma, needs to feel her arms around him, her hand in his, needs to make sure she's okay. The thought of her sweet and open affection spurs him to the front door, hands shaking as he unlocks it and steps inside the cottage. He expects to find her and Wendy on the couch, but the room is empty, the only light coming from the Christmas tree.

It doesn't compute at first, but as he hangs up his borrowed coat, snow falling from his shoulders in clumps to the floor, it hits him - she'd put the lights up. He walks closer to the tree, stopping to stare at it dumbly. Standing there, all he can think about is holding Milah as she'd breathed her last. Tears obscure his vision, the lights blurring as he chokes back a sob.

Emma.

He turns for the staircase, listening to the sounds of a Christmas carol floating down from their bedroom. He wants to remember this moment, this quiet peace while a storm rages outside. He's safe here, with her, and she's happy, singing along with Nat King Cole, completely unaware of the damage he's about to inflict on their happy home.

He can't put this off any longer, nor does he want to. His life has been too precarious the last few months and he's through with lying to her. If he's about to lose her, he'd rather get it over with and cap this miserable day with this last heartache. He moves forward, taking the stairs two at a time, his momentum stalling when he reaches the bedroom and tries to process the sweet image before him.

The overhead lights are off, the room dark except for the fire in the fireplace and the strand of lights she holds in her hands. Music spills from her phone and she hums along with it, her eyes sparkling as she works. She's standing on the edge of the bed, arms above her head as she adjusts the lights she'd wrapped around the bar connecting the four posters. She's wearing one of his flannel shirts and the hem rides high on her thighs, exposing her long, lean legs to the blues, greens, and reds of the lights.

He takes a step forward, hand outstretched as if he's about to brush his fingers over a priceless work of art and she looks up, a smile breaking across her face.

"Killian! Surprise! I know we're supposed to put the lights on the tree tomorrow, but I couldn't wait. I thought maybe it would be neat to put some up here, too. What do you think?" She's rambling and it takes her a second to look at him - to really look at him. When she finally does, she goes completely still. He must look a fright. He's wearing borrowed clothes, a deputy's shirt David had found at the station, an ugly brown thing that stretches tight through the shoulders. The sweatpants he wears are black with yellow lettering down the leg, spelling out Storybrooke in all caps. Milah's blood has been washed away, but he feels like he's still covered in it.

The thought is enough to drive a sane man mad and he's always been far from sane, even in the best of times.

"What in the world - " she starts to say and he barrels across the room, reaching her right as she moves to step down onto the floor. He stops her by wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face into her flannel covered belly, the scent of her apple cinnamon lotion overwhelming him. He breathes deep, needing her familiar scent to erase the lilies that haunt him.

"Killian? What's wrong? What's happened?" she asks. He trembles in response, pressing tighter into her. She wraps her arms around him, hands going to the back of his head where she runs her fingers through his hair. He chokes back an anguished sob, tears burning his eyes.

He wants to forget it all, wants to lock his heartache outside and stay here with Emma for all eternity, just the two of them. But as she holds him and he squeezes his eyes shut, he remembers Milah. Remembers her beautiful blue eyes as she'd looked up at him. And all he can hear above the thud of Emma's heartbeat is her voice as she'd told him she loved him, that she had always loved him.

Oh, god, the things he has done, the chaos he has reigned down on the world because he'd believed that she didn't love him. Would Emma understand that? She had known pain and betrayal in her life just like him, but she had never hurt others as a way to make herself feel better. If anything, she'd taken her pain and used it to do good, becoming a hero while he chose a life of crime.

"Killian? What's wrong?" Emma asks again as he clings to her, needing her strength to hold him up. She finally forces him to loosen his hold so she can tilt his head back and look into his eyes. "Don't even bother telling me you're okay, Jones. You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me."

With the pain of Milah's confession and her death still pounding in his head, he stares up at her. She looks like an angel minus the wings, her skin glowing and green eyes sparkling with ethereal warmth. Her hair hangs in soft waves of gold about her shoulders, the angles of her beloved face highlighted with fairy lights and fire. He wraps his arms around her hips, lifting her into his arms. Her weight is slight and as she wraps her legs around his waist, he settles his hands underneath her, holding her aloft.

"Kiss me," he whispers, needing her to take away the pain for a little while. Needing her kiss to convince him that he's worthy of something more than agony.

"Killian, what - "

"Please," he asks, not bothering to hold back the quiver in his voice. "Please, kiss me. I need you. Please."

"I thought you told me I was gonna be the one to beg," she says, trying to tease, but when a tear slips down his cheek, a wrinkle of worry forms between her eyes.

"Please," he whispers again.

There's a question in the look she gives him then, but she heeds his request, dipping her head to his. She's hesitant at first and he's anything but, his mouth surging upward to capture hers, head tilting as his mouth opens wide for her. He doesn't bother with technique, simply devours what she sweetly offers in a messy, wet slide of tongue and lips and teeth. He groans when he tastes chocolate and peppermint on her tongue, the taste sweet and warm and very much Emma.

His body's reaction to her kiss is instant and primal, the throbbing heat between his legs forcing away logical thought. He turns and sits on the bed, groaning when her weight comes to rest directly on his cock. One hand comes up to cup the back of her head while the other cups her rounded backside, teasing at the edge of her shorts, fingers seeking warm, silky skin to caress.

"You can't distract me, you know," she whispers when he rests his forehead to hers, their lips lightly brushing as they breathe together. His sweatpants have become uncomfortably tight and he longs to relieve the pressure, to bury himself inside her and hide there for as long as she'll allow. He knows he has to tell her what has happened; David had only agreed to a couple of hours before he calls her himself, but the words stick in his throat.

Milah had warned him that Emma is in danger. She needs to know that in order to protect herself. The stakes have never been higher, but he wants to pretend for a little while longer that this marriage is real, that she is his because god knows, he is hers already. He wants to pretend she loves him as fiercely as he loves her.

That she'll forgive him any sin, no matter how blindly done.

Pulling back, he stares at her, moving his hand from the back of her head to her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. It feels like the most important moment of his life, the one they've been moving toward since he'd first seen her across that graveyard all those months ago. Taking a deep breath, he stares into her eyes and decides to share the one truth that should be the last on the list, in terms of priority. He knows it's selfish, but he refuses to make the same mistake that Milah had. He refuses to keep this truth from her until it's too late to change their fate.

"What is it?" she asks, body tense above him.

"Don't you know, Emma?" he asks, voice trembling as he finally bares his heart to her, "I love you."