There is mild violence in this chapter. Fair warning.
Emma Swan
November
Everything hurts, especially the stitch in her side. It's all she can think about, the burning at the edge of her ribcage. She takes several deep breaths, sucking air in then slowly pushing it out, her lungs protesting. The ache begins to subside with each purposeful breath and she's able to concentrate on the steady pounding of her boots on the ground, pushing herself to go faster as her strides even out.
She's not dressed for a run; she's wearing boots more suited to style than function and her feet slide around inside with each step. The wool coat she wears weighs her down, soaking up her sweat, the collar chafing against her exposed neck. Her head is bare, her ears stinging from the cold while her ponytail bounces around her shoulders, the tendrils heavy with snow.
All sound is muted, the weight of winter pressing down as she pushes herself faster. She can hear each wheezing breath she takes in the stillness, the frigid air whistling past her lips. It's only late afternoon, but the woods are like midnight, the rays of the setting sun hidden behind storm clouds.
Darkness looms up around her, making it hard to see through the shifting twilight shadows.
It's a godsend that David had plowed the driveway earlier, making her run somewhat easier. She stays to the tire tracks he'd left behind, focusing her gaze on the ruts at her feet, using the thought of Killian to spur her ever faster. He's her beacon, the light guiding her out of the dark. It takes all her will power not to scream out his name in the gloaming, her heart in her throat as she makes her way to him.
Killian...
Oh god, something is wrong. She knows it with a sureness she'd be hard pressed to explain. There's this weird, unsettled feeling in the middle of her chest whenever she thinks of him, this knowledge that something is...off. Like a tooth that aches, one that she's poked and prodded at all day in the hopes of easing the pain, but never quite managing it. The longer the day had gone on with no word from him, the more that feeling had grown. Then Teach had gotten into her face, made those insinuations.
Told her that Killian is dead...
She nearly chokes on a sob when she remembers the glee with which Teach's words had been spoken. Refusing to give into her fear, she searches for the reassuring press of wrongness inside that fills her heart to brimming with worry. It's a contradiction, she knows, but if that feeling were gone, if only emptiness was left in its place, then she'd know...
Know that Killian truly is dead.
Putting on a desperate burst of speed, another stitch unfurls along the edges of her ribcage, making her gasp. She tries to regulate her breathing again, taking deep, even breaths instead of shorter pants. She wants to stop, wants to rest her hands on her knees and bend forward to relieve the screaming pain in her body, but she refuses to give into it.
Killian needs her and no matter how weary she is, she won't let him down.
She's run this stretch of driveway several times before, usually with Killian at her side. He's always been such a stickler about that, refusing to let her run alone, even knowing that Emma can take care of herself. She'd realized somewhere along the way that it wasn't about that anyway - he knew she could defend herself if pressed - it was more that he wanted her to know he was her partner in all things, that he always had her back, that it was truly him and her against the world.
Tears blur her vision, her chest aching with the knowledge that if she doesn't get to him in time, she'll be on her own once again. And she knows it's not being alone that has her in such agony.
It's that she'd lose him, her partner, her lover...her love.
It nearly brings her to knees in the snow.
Her steps grow sluggish as she struggles to find traction amongst her fears. If she can just get to the cottage and see for herself that he's okay, she can put all this nonsense behind her. They can talk and figure out what they want for their future and god, she hopes it's a future with them together. If she can only get to the cottage, she'll find him and hug him and tell him she loves him, press kisses over every square inch of his handsome face.
She'll tell him that his past is just that - his past - and that none of it matters to her. He's a good man with a good heart and she believes in him. She does.
Then, in a day or two, they'll laugh at her panic, laugh at the way she'd raced down the driveway in the middle of a fucking snowstorm in her high heeled boots.
Oh god...Killian.
The snow covered forest is disorientating. She thinks she's making progress, but it's hard to tell exactly where she is. She thinks the trees are starting to thin, which means she's nearing the edge of the dirt road and the forest itself. Focusing her attention forward, she notices a strange light up ahead. It paints the snow and the trees with a warm glow and the closer she gets to the edge of the forest, the brighter it becomes. It encourages her to go faster, despite her body protesting the unforgiving pace.
It's odd she would see anything other than shades of gray through the trees; the snow is still coming down past the barrier of the woods, there's no sun to see, no sunset to color the world with the dying rays of light. Fear prickles at the base of her spine, a sense of doom filling her with each running step forward. It's hard enough to breathe as it is, but her fear is making it worse.
She tries to tell herself again that she's simply overreacting and that she's going to burst through the front door of the cottage to find him sitting before the fire with Wendy in his lap. He'll smile over at her, that smile that always makes her feel like some miraculous creature, makes her feel adored - loved - and her world will right itself.
Images from the past few months flash through her mind as she nears the light, memories of a life she never knew she wanted. Images of her days and nights with Killian, moments that make their fake marriage feel real despite the foundation of lies on which it was built. The touch of his hand, the smile he gives her when he first wakes in the morning, the way he kisses her like her lips are quenching a thirst he's endured for centuries. She loves him, loves how he always has her back, how he's always patient with her, how he can be vulnerable and flirtatious in the same breath, loves his gentleman's manners and his pirate's heart.
She loves him and the thought that she'll never get the chance to tell him how happy he's made her...it's a terror that claws at her sanity, a delirium that threatens to numb her heart.
Instead of giving into her fears, she forces herself faster as she leans into the wind. Tears freeze on her eyelashes and she dashes her hand over them, smearing them across her cheeks. Teach's voice is in her head, that smug tone of triumph that Killian must be dead making her churn her legs harder. Focusing her attention on the trees up ahead, she squints at the light that glows in the atmosphere.
It would almost be beautiful if it didn't feel like a promise of worse things to come.
A choked sob finally manages to break free and she stumbles with the sound, her hands held out to break a fall that never comes. Righting herself, she pushes ever onward, the break ahead coming closer and closer. She exists the forest, flying over the paved section of the driveway.
Her stomach drops when she spots the smoke billowing into the sky, the light she'd spotted earlier flickering even brighter now. The combined scent of burning wood and winter makes her retch as she slows to a jog.
She reaches for her gun, the weight of it reassuring. Holding it in front of herself, she bends at the waist, her eyes roaming the snowy landscape for any sign of intruders. Without the cover of the woods, she knows she's a target, so she slows even further, crouching down to her knees as she crests the top of the hill. Staring down at the place she's called home for the past several months, tears blur her vision as she watches flames lick up over the cottage's roof.
It's engulfed in flame, burning so hot she can feel the heat several hundred feet away. Her stomach, somewhere down around her knees after her run, lurches upward and she has to swallow hard to keep from vomiting. She takes several deep, soothing breaths, registering belatedly that the whimpering sound she's hearing is coming from her.
Killian, she thinks, swaying with the wind.
What if he's in there? And Wendy? Oh god, what if...what if Teach was right and Killian is lying on their living room floor as the fire rages around him? What if he's burning up even now?
She curls her free hand around the butt of her gun, lifting it up and forcing herself to her feet to shuffle forward. Another whimper escapes her, this one caught on the wind and ripped away like the last vestiges of her hope.
Tears fill her eyes, blurring her sight, but she refuses to look away from the devastation. The cottage had been her first real home, thanks to Killian and his desire to make it a safe haven for them both. They'd picked out art for the walls, had raised a kitten, had decorated for the holidays. His presence beside her every night and every morning, the rituals they'd created as they'd built a life...all those memories are bound up inside. She'd watched the world rotate outside their picture windows in the kitchen, had felt safe here...had hope for a future within its walls. Now it's all aflame, her dreams of a happy life turning to ash along with the wood and glass and plaster.
Pushing aside her desolation, she focuses instead on Killian. There's no way she can make her way into the cottage to check for him; the smoke is too thick, the flames too high. Indecision slows her as she tries to find any indication that Killian had escaped.
There is none.
Needing to check the back of the house, she moves to the path she and Killian had shoveled yesterday. With her gun still held at the ready, she crouches down and jogs forward. The garage isn't on fire yet, but the wind carries the smoke to her. Her throat burns and her lungs ache as she breathes it in. Edging forward along the path, she tries to stopper the tears that roll down her cheeks unchecked. The fire roars in her ears, the heat of it causing her to lift her hand as if that small protection can somehow block the intensity of it.
She edges carefully around the corner of the garage and into the backyard. Angling her head over her shoulder, she looks up at the back of the house. It's fully engulfed in flame; even the porch has started to burn, the fire licking up the railing. Coughing, she breathes in air polluted by her burning dreams, focusing once again on the ball of anxiety in her chest, knowing that Killian is alive somewhere and hoping he's not inside the burning wreck.
There's no way she can get inside to check, no way she can go in and come out alive. Her legs shake, the thought of Killian in that inferno making her want to scream at the injustice of it all.
Dropping her hands, the weight of her gun almost too much, she backs up, the heat and smoke overwhelming every sense she has.
Her thoughts grow worryingly numb. She'd thought if she could just get to the cottage, she'd have a better plan of what to do next, but now...what to do now? She continues to walk backward, shuffling her feet until she has backed herself up all the way to the dock. One of her heels crunches down on paper, the sound stifled by roaring flames and wind. Glancing down in confusion, she swipes at her nose, the homemade luminary beneath her boot making her whimper in recognition. Bending down, she grasps the brown bag and stands, staring at the mess of melted wax and paper she now holds.
Was it only last night that Killian had brought her out here to roast marshmallows under the stars? Had it only been hours before that she'd been so blissfully happy, warm and safe in their bed, their passion for each other knowing no bounds, no limitations? Had it only been yesterday that they'd finally confessed their feelings, that she'd finally told him she loved him?
She needs to sit, her legs shaking uncontrollably, the adrenaline that had powered her run leaving her tired and weak. The wind has shifted, blowing smoke and heat into her face. Needing a place to sit away from the fire, she turns to face the lake, her feet moving over the dock. At first, she doesn't register the dark splotches in the snow, her gaze still on the luminary in her hand. Her heel slips in something and she stops to peer down in confusion. The night is coming on strong and she can't make out exactly what the splatters are, but they're dark enough and large enough that she can follow them to the end of the dock where the deckchairs are placed around the fire pit.
Her eyes widen in shocked surprise when she spots the body slumped over in one of the chairs.
"Killian!" Her shrill cry pierces the twilight, rising above the wind and flames to touch upon his bowed head, but he doesn't move to acknowledge her. She moves forward at an ungainly pace, boots sliding through what she now knows is his blood. She drops the luminary and shoves her gun into her pocket to free her hands, stumbling as she nears him.
Whoever had brought him out here hadn't bothered to dress him properly, his feet are bare and he doesn't have on a jacket or gloves. As she nears him, she sees that he's been beaten - badly - and it feels like time stops and speeds up in equal measure; it takes her both forever and no time at all to get to him. Crouching down between his legs, she rest her hands on his knees and peers up into his battered face. She makes a pathetic whimpering grunt as she catalogues the damages done to him. His left eye is swollen shut while a deep cut runs across the bridge of his nose. There's a matching gouge above his swollen eye that moves into his eyebrow. Blood runs down his face in rivulets, pooling in the hollow of his throat.
He still hasn't moved, despite the pressure of her hands on his legs. When she whispers his name, there's no response, not even a twitch of his jaw to show her he's heard. Heart racing under her breastbone, she removes a glove to press two fingers above where his pulse should be. It takes her a minute to find it, her eyes glued to his face the entire time. When she finally does, she sobs in relief.
Shoving her hand back into her glove, she reaches for her phone to call for an ambulance and to update David. Needing to get help for Killian is her top priority, but she needs to warn her friend, needs to tell him about the fire...the fire! God, she'd nearly forgotten.
Pressing a knee to the ground, she balances her weight there and shifts to look over her shoulder. It takes her a moment to comprehend what she's seeing - a figure at the other end of the dock. A man with a bundle of white in his arms, tall and lanky, watching her. She almost calls out, almost lifts a hand to call him forward to help with Killian. But there's something in the way he stands, so silent with his hair blowing on the smoky breeze that has her hackles up.
He hasn't moved since she'd turned to look at the house, hasn't announced himself at all. Peering down the dock at him, she realizes the bundle in his arms is Wendy and she whimpers, her hands pressing into Killian's thighs in apprehension. Keeping her eyes locked on the stranger, she pivots completely on the toe of her boot then pushes herself to stand. With her legs braced wide and her hands clenched at her sides, she shields Killian with her body.
Waiting...
The man makes no move towards her, hasn't acknowledged her in any way. The longer they stare across the dock at each other, the higher her anxiety climbs. Slowly, she reaches into her pocket for her gun. He still makes no move, simply watches her extract her weapon and slowly lift it. The wind is howling in her ears, but it's the silence stretching between them that distracts her most, weighing so heavy on her that she fears her knees will buckle with the strain.
The wind whips her ponytail into her face, stings her flesh, burns her eyes, but she holds her gun steady. Bracing her torso, she sets her sights on her target and breathes shallowly, waiting for the stranger to make a move - just one - and give her a reason to take him down. Swallowing down her fear, she licks her lips and shouts into the wind, "I don't know who the fuck you are, buddy, but if you're the one who hurt my husband, you're gonna spend the rest of your life in a jail cell!"
He tilts his head, contemplating her before bending to set Wendy on her feet. The cat doesn't seem to know what to make of the situation, her little paws resting momentarily on the snow before she races off into the woods. Emma wants to cry out after her, but she keeps her lips sealed, her eyes locked on the man in front of her. He slowly stands then walks forward, his relaxed gait bouncing down the wooden dock towards her. As he gets closer, she fights the urge to back up into the deckchair.
Eyes locked on his face, she watches the shadows slip away until his features are no longer hidden. His hair is longer than she remembers and there's a thick beard covering his jaw. He looks like some deranged mountain man, a thick parka zipped up under his chin. His eyes are left in the shadows, but she can make out the shifting glitter of madness despite the darkness.
Mouth falling open in disbelief, she breathes out on a shaky exhale, "Graham?"
Part of her wants to drop the gun and hug him. It's the part that had felt his loss so profoundly, the part that mourned the good man she'd believed him to be. But Killian's body broken is behind her and she knows it's because of him, that for some unknown reason he'd beaten the love of her life to a bloody pulp and that, more than anything else, holds her back. So, she moves her index finger into position, resting it lightly on the trigger of her gun. A gun she now has trained at his heart.
"Is that anyway to welcome me home, Emma?" he asks, gesturing toward her gun. It's been so long since she's heard his voice that it shocks her, causes her to wrap her hand tighter around her weapon.
Shaking her head at the sound of her name spoken from beyond the grave, she gives him a grim glare and replies, "Welcome home, you lying son of a bitch."
"Tsk, tsk, Emma." There's warmth and humor in his response, a familiarity in her name on his lips that puts her on edge. How is this even possible? She'd seen him in his coffin, had mourned the loss of him for weeks. Yet, here he stands, looking hale and hearty and she can't process this...can't wrap her head around the fact that Graham Humbert is alive. She'd be ecstatic if her gut wasn't telling her to run. With Killian at her back and her gun pointed at Graham, she waits, her body tensed for all out war.
She may not know what's going on, but she knows it's not good. It's really not fucking good.
"How are you here?" She manages to get out, watching as he gives her a soft smile, one that twitches up the corner of his mouth and makes his grim visage boyish and sweet and it hits her then with perfect clarity - it was a lie, all of it - the smile on his face a mask covering his true madness.
David had been wrong...Graham wasn't a good guy. He fucking wasn't.
How had she never known, never figured it out? Her ability to detect a lie had never failed her and yet...the proof is standing before her. Graham had fooled her and had kept her fooled up until the moment she'd turned around to find him watching her. She shivers, another gust of wind hitting her in the face and making her eyes sting.
"We should get you out of the cold, don't you think?" Emma's eyes flick up to the cottage then back to him. Where in the world is he proposing they go, exactly? Her home is currently on fire. He catches her look and his smile expands with humor, the glint of his perfect white teeth putting her in the mind of a wolf stalking its prey. "Not in the cottage, silly. I have a place in the woods. It's a little bit of a trek from here, up in the mountains, but it's warm and private. We can chat. Catch up."
She can't go with him. If she does, no one will ever find her. He's a survivalist, everyone knows that about him. He must have a place in the woods somewhere, hidden from prying eyes. If he takes her there, he'll keep her and never let her go. And the worst of it is that no one else knows he's alive. They'll never think to look for her in the mountains, never think to question that a dead man might have stolen her away.
Mind racing, she slowly shakes her head and manages to shuffle closer to Killian's chair, the reassuring press of it on her calves keeping her calm.
"I need to wait for the ambulance to get here. Killian...needs help." The boyish smile on his lips dies at the sound of Killian's name. He'd shoved his hands into his coat pockets after setting Wendy down and he rams them harder into the pockets, his shoulders shifting in agitation beneath his parka. Gaze glued to her face, he shuffles a few inches closer. Her gun hand shakes and she tries to tell herself it's because of the frigid cold and not because the Big Bad Wolf has her cornered.
"You can drop the act, Emma. I know you don't really care for him."
She's not sure what exactly she should say to that, sensing a simmering anger rising from him like steam from a pot beginning to boil. Afraid that she'll push him over some imaginary mental cliff into insanity, she decides to keep her mouth shut. He shuffles closer still, not disturbed by the fact that the barrel of her gun is now brushing the center of his chest. Eyes boring into hers, that wolfish grin is back as he says, "I know you've been faking, Emma. Pretending to be married to him. But it's over now. You don't have to pretend any more. I'm here to save you."
Her eyes widen, her breath coming out in puffs of crystallized air between them. Not sure which way to play this, she tries to keep her hand steady and her eyes locked on Graham's.
"What are you talking about?" Graham's smile widens and he leans back enough that the metal of her gun is no longer pressing into him. He pulls his hands from his pockets, revealing his own gun to her and she swallows hard, her gaze flitting between his weapon and his face.
She prays silently for David to hurry the hell up.
"Lower the gun and I'll tell you everything," he says, leering down at her. He waits, their gazes locked and assessing. Knowing that it might be foolhardy, but needing to buy time until the cavalry arrives, she slowly lowers her weapon, hoping that he'll keep talking if he doesn't feel threatened. She continues to stand her ground in front of Killian, gun pointed at the dock instead of Graham's heart. It seems to be the right choice if the easy, almost carefree smile he gives her is any indication.
"I know David brought you here to try and find my murderer." His smile grows larger, those teeth flashing once again and Emma's gut tightens, everything inside her screaming to run, to shoot and fucking run, but she keeps it in check, not willing to leave Killian behind. "I know you've been pretending to be married, that you've been lying this whole time to avenge my death. I know it all."
"How?" she whispers, fearful of his answer, but needing to know all the same.
"I've been listening and watching you, Emma. The house was bugged. Not at first, of course, but after you moved in, I placed a few listening devices around the cottage. Hid them away where you couldn't find them."
"You did what?" The idea that he's heard every word she's said, every time she's cried, every time she's laughed inside the cottage...that he's heard her and Killian in their most intimate moments together...
That need to vomit is back, acid rising in her throat. She swallows it down and waits for him to explain further. He see her distress and tilts his head, not with concern, but with curiosity. Like she's a puzzle - a puzzle he wants to take apart.
"I built this cottage, Emma. I made it a fortress, made it my castle, the place we would call home. I know all its secrets. I've been coming and going nearly every day since you've been here."
Her mind stutters to a complete stop at that. What the actual fuck? Then her thoughts start back up, shifting into some semblance of order and she begins to figure it out, turning the tables on him and making him the puzzle.
"The security code. You used the security code to get into the house." It makes perfect sense. He was the one to set up the codes and they'd never changed them - why would they? They'd thought - foolishly - that the only person who knew them was dead.
"Aye. The security code on the house and the cameras in the woods...did you know I set them up myself?" He shrugs nonchalantly, continuing to observe her reactions with morbid curiosity.
"I've often wondered if you could sense me in the house, maybe feel me there as you went about your life. Or perhaps sense me after I'd stopped to check on things while you and Killian were at work. Did you, Emma? Did you think of me while you were playing house with Killian?"
He's come closer again and despite her desire to lift her gun, she refrains, allowing him to lift his gloved hand to her cheek. Knowing that she needs to tell him what he wants to hear to keep him talking, she gives a shaky nod, watching as tears glisten in his eyes.
"I knew it," he whispers vehemently, a single tear breaking free to slip into his beard. "I knew you could feel me. I've missed you so much, Emma."
"I've missed you, too," she manages to whisper. It isn't a lie, at least it wasn't up until about ten minutes ago. He smiles through his tears, bringing the hand holding the gun up to her face, pressing the chilly metal to her cheek as he steps even closer. His breath is warm on her lips, the scent of mint tickling her nostrils as he cups her face.
"Emma..." he whispers and then he's kissing her. It's a struggle to respond positively, to not push him away or knee him in the balls. He doesn't come any closer, which she's thankful for; the distance between their torsos lets her to keep her gun between them, now pointed more at his groin than the dock. His tongue dances over her bottom lip and she opens for him, hating every second of his tongue in her mouth.
It doesn't last very long and for that she's thankful. When Graham pulls back, a new tear has slipped down his cheek. She attempts a halting smile, reaching up her free hand to wipe away the moisture. Her hand has barely left his skin when he hauls back and slaps her, taking her by complete surprise. The crack of it steals her breath, rocking her head back from the force. She can't step backwards - Killian and his chair are right behind her - so she stumbles then falls into his lap. Graham towers over them, breathing heavy as he stares down at her with an expressionless face. She brings a hand up to her cheek, lifting the gun in her free hand and aiming it at Graham's chest once again.
"What the hell was that for?" she demands. He casually brushes away the tears on his cheeks.
"I saw you with him. Saw the way you let him touch you. Heard the things you said to him, the way you begged him to touch you. Why, Emma? If you knew I was there, if you could sense me, why would you let him take such liberties? Why would you let him touch you like that?"
The excuse trips easily off her tongue, far easier than it should given the stress she's under. It's clear to Emma that Graham is certifiable and she's only one wrong statement away from pushing him too far. Straightening in her seat, she completely settles between Killian's splayed thighs, her ass pressed intimately back against him. He's still unconscious - he hadn't made a sound when she'd landed on him seconds before - but he's warm and solid and that's all the hope she needs to push her forward.
Just you and me, Killian, she thinks, staring up at Graham and hoping to play this right.
"I had to, Graham. I didn't know when you'd come for me and I had to keep them all in the dark. Just like you did when you pretended to die." She licks her lips, watching as he shoves one hand back into his coat pocket, the other holding his gun at his side as he taps the barrel against his thigh over and over. Her excuse seems to calm him and she pushes further, needing answers.
"Why did you? Why did you go into hiding? I can't figure out why you would leave me like you did."
"I never left you!" he exclaims, falling to his knees before her, tears back in his eyes. "I had to disappear, Emma, don't you see? I had it all set up, everything. The whole organization was running out of the harbor with no problems, it was my own little criminal haven and then David fucking Nolan shows up and starts poking into my affairs, asking questions. You were playing hard to get, distracting me from my work and then Killian showed up and everything became so bloody complicated. I had to go underground to get my head straight, put my plans into motion. I never expected..."
His face hardens and he reaches for her again. It takes all her will power to not flinch from his touch. He presses a gloved palm to her cheek, right above the bruise his slap left on her tender flesh.
"I learned more from that bastard by listening to him confess his sins to you than I ever hoped to learn on my own. You played him perfectly, sweetheart. I couldn't have done better myself."
She's sick to her stomach. With the taste of his mint toothpaste on her tongue and his slap throbbing on her cheek, she stares into his deranged, shadowed eyes and tries to figure out what to say next. She tries to untangle each disparate fact he'd uttered to pick out the next clue.
"Organization? Wait...you mean...you were the one who set up the crime ring in Storybrooke?" He sneers at her question, a hint of pride in his wolfish smile.
"I'd been working with Gold for years in England. He sent me and Teach here to set up shop, to prep the town and get everything under control. It wasn't hard to convince Edward to flip on Gold, get him to come and work for me. Double-crossing is his middle name. I came to Storybrooke to do Gold's bidding, but ended up staking a claim of my own."
"But then...you were the one David has been chasing all this time?" He chuckles, the sound deep and resonate, his smile peeking through his beard. He'd be handsome with a laugh like that and an amazing smile to match, if it weren't for the fact that he is fucking insane.
"Aye, it was me. Then Gold decided to come to the States himself, chasing after Killian Jones, wanting to conquer the same waters as the man himself. Do you know that fucking wanker calls himself Captain Hook?" Unbelievable." His laughter dies and she tries to figure out if he's talking about Gold calling himself Captain Hook or Killian. It's hard to tell which one he means, his thoughts disparate and meandering. He continues, frowning now. "David actually had the gall to approach Killian himself to ask for help, never realizing who he was talking to. I nearly pissed myself watching that meeting unfold."
She's struggling to keep all the details straight, the tidbits of information she'd picked up from David, Killian and now Graham coming together in one giant snarled mass. Graham had been sent to Storybrooke by Gold, sent here to set up a branch of his organization. Graham enlisted Edward Teach to double-cross Gold, becoming the head of the branch himself, all behind Gold's back. David had started to make his inquiries around then, realizing something was wrong in town, and...then what?
What had David told her back at the beginning of all this? That Graham had saved him once on the docks, coming into the middle of a situation that David would never have walked away alive from if it hadn't been for him.
Thinking it over now, perhaps Graham had only shown up there because he'd been the one to order the job and by some strangely magnanimous decision, he'd allowed David to live.
The threats to the Nolans had started soon after that and David had asked Killian to join their investigation, wanting a man on the inside to work with them. And Killian had agreed, coming to Storybrooke, disrupting Graham's carefully laid plans to overtake Gold's business. Not long after that, Graham had faked his death.
Killian had told her what happened next...he'd moved here with her to live undercover as a married couple and Gold had followed with Milah, believing that Killian had some kind of knowledge about Storybrooke that made it a lucrative harbor to work out of. That was months ago and Graham has been hiding all during that time, stalking her and Killian. Why? Why had he gone underground like that? What demented plan had formed in his head?
And what does she have to do with any of it?
"I've worked so hard for all that I built, Emma. I couldn't let Captain fucking Hook and blissfully unaware David Nolan bring it down around my ears." He chuckles, dark and low, the sound curling around Emma's heart and twisting it with fear. His hand is still on her cheek, pressing against the bruise he'd left there, the pain of his touch causing tears to form. It bursts behind her eyes, the pain radiating out like a web as he strokes his thumb over the apple of her cheek.
"I still don't understand, Emma. How could you let a man like him touch you when you wouldn't even go on a date with me?" She can hear the rage, the unrepressed jealousy in the question and she can't help but shake in his hold, her tears multiplying.
"I'm sorry," she cries out, a sob wrenching from her chest as she tries to cull the panic racing through her. "I had to do it. I had to convince them all you were dead!" What she's saying doesn't make any sense, but she says it anyway, hoping his delusions will allow him to believe she'd been in on it from the start and had simply been waiting for his return.
"Shh..." he whispers, the pressure on her cheek lessening as he swipes at her tears. Then he's leaning forward, his forehead coming to rest on hers. Reaching around with his free arm, he presses his gun into the small of her back and holds her close. He aligns their mouths, trying to kiss her quiet and it's in that horrible moment that she feels Killian's leg twitch against her, feels the muscles in his thigh tense as Graham's kiss goes on and on.
Not wanting to draw attention to the movement, she subtly drops a hand down and squeezes his leg. She doesn't want him struggling against his bonds and giving away the fact that he's awake.
If Graham becomes aware of him, she knows he won't stop until Killian is dead.
Nothing else matters right now but keeping him safe from Graham's rage. She can't lose him, she can't.
Graham finally pulls away and she sucks in a lungful of air. His forehead presses to hers, his minty breath wafting over her kiss swollen lips. It takes all her strength not to push him off her and aim her gun between his eyes. Instead, she licks her lips hesitatingly then pulls away to look into his eyes. Giving him a shy smile, she flutters her lashes, all the while keeping her hand pressed to Killian's knee in reassurance.
Just you and me.
"Tell me all of it, Graham. I need to know what you did. If you truly have been listening this whole time, then you know I don't like secrets." Not sure if this is exactly the right direction to take this conversation, she waits, the breath she holds in her lungs burning to escape. He's still on knees before her, Killian's legs on either side of them, his warmth reassuring at her back.
It's enough to give her the strength she needs. He's enough.
With their cottage burning behind them, the flames licking up into the sky and snow and smoke swirling around them, she feels like she's in some surreal snow globe. There's a roaring in her ears, a combination of wind and fire that makes it hard to hear Graham. When she glances over his shoulder at her home, she notices how the fire paints everything with light; even the black surface of the lake has come to life with it. She looks at Graham again, staring into his normally blue eyes now blackened by madness. Lifting her hand from Killian's knee, she presses it to his whiskered cheek, a forced calm falling over her as the world around them goes up in flames.
"Tell me, Graham. What did you do?" Her touch seems to encourage him and he picks up where he left off. His gun is still pressed to the small of her back, like a wordless threat of violence to come. She ignores it best she can, keeping her own finger pressed to the trigger of the gun she holds pointed at the dock.
"I've known all along who Killian is...the misdeeds of his life. I've watched Gold obsess over him, watched him follow Captain Hook to the States, and watched the perfect irony of Killian arriving in Storybrooke to bring down the very man he's been seeking revenge on for the past five years. But their battle and need to outdo the other was beginning to interfere with my work and I simply couldn't have that." He smiles, thumbing once again at her cheek. "Then there was you, keeping me on a leash, never letting me in no matter how much I pushed and prodded. I knew I needed to make a change, disappear for a while to let Gold and Jones destroy each other. I could disappear and work against them both, with no one the wiser as to who was pulling the strings.
And there was the added benefit of having you mourn me, maybe come to realize how much you cared for me. What is it they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder?"
She swallows at that, wanting to shake her head in disbelief, but she doesn't, simply continues to touch his face and listen, tears blurring her vision. "I staged my death, had a body wash up in the harbor with a bullet hole in its head and wearing my clothes."
"But I saw you in that casket, Graham. It was you." Her lips tremble and he spots it, smiling before leaning forward to press a quick, chaste kiss to her mouth.
"I've always wanted to attend my own funeral. I couldn't pass up the opportunity. There's a drug you can take to slow your heartbeat, make it appear that you're dead. It was easy enough to procure and I took a nice little nap during my eulogy, right up there in the front of the whole congregation." She shivers at the gleeful note in his voice, her stomach churning at the revelation that he'd been alive while she'd paid her respects.
"I've been in hiding since then, but never far away. David's plan to bring you and Killian here and to have you pretend to be married was unexpected, but it worked to my advantage. I could keep an eye on you, on Killian and on Gold, all at the same time. Gold made it easier, showing up here in order to try and take down Killian. It was perfect! I worked to take over Gold's organization from the inside out, using Teach and making friends with poor, suffering Milah.
Gold has been so distracted with trying to figure out why Captain Hook brought Jolly Roger Enterprises to Storybrooke that it really hasn't been that hard to manipulate him or his wife." He grins at that, clearly pleased with himself. "Milah was so besotted with Killian. Following him around and watching his every move. Half the time she did my work for me, stalking Killian while I kept tabs on you. It was a brilliant stroke of luck, really."
Emma nods encouragingly, despite the way she wants to punch him in the face for being joyful that he'd used Milah's feelings to his own demented advantage. With effort, she smiles gently and smooths her thumb over Graham's jaw. The gesture encourages him to continue speaking.
"I'll admit, Milah didn't react the way I was expecting her to, going to meet with Killian and then warning him you were in danger." He suddenly drops his hand from her cheek to grab at her upper arm, giving her a shake so hard her head throbs. "You know I would never hurt you, Emma. I know she scared you, but it wasn't true. You have nothing to fear from me. Nothing. I love you."
Killian's leg twitches against her again and she silently prays that Graham won't feel the movement. She doesn't want to let go of Graham, so she presses back best she can, hoping the moment is enough to settle Killian.
"I know you wouldn't hurt me, Graham. I know." She tries to soothe him and it works; he lets her arm go, curling his hand up under her ponytail, gently gripping the back of her head. She wants to shake off his touch, but holds back, staring into the black pools of his eyes instead. The wind picks up, blowing smoke into their faces once again, making it hard to breathe.
"I ordered Teach to kill her, did you know? It wasn't on Gold's orders that she lost her life, it was on mine. It was the perfect way to frame her husband and Teach will go to his grave swearing it was Gold who made the order." He shrugs, falling back to rest on his booted heels and taking his hands off her. He shoves his gun back into his jacket pocket, apparently no longer worried that she'll shoot him.
A gust of wind hits her square in the face, stealing her breath, and she shivers involuntarily. Concern flashes over Graham's face as he peers at her, squinting against the smoke.
"We should get out of here, Emma. I'm sure the fire has been reported by now and even with the snowstorm, the firetrucks will be here soon. I'd rather not be here when they show up. I'm supposed to be rotting six feet under, after all." He chuckles at that and then stands, holding out his hand to her. She stares at it for a moment, knowing she can't stall any longer.
She tries anyways.
"Why did you set it on fire?" She jerks her chin in the direction of the cottage, reaching a hand back to brace on Killian's upper thigh, digging her fingers into the hard muscle before she stands.
Graham glances behind himself, pausing to watch as the fire consumes the house. It won't be long before it collapses in on itself.
"It's not as if you and I can live there now. Besides, I had to destroy any evidence that pointed to me."
"There is some?" she asks, surprised. Having combed through all the evidence inside the cottage, she knows that nothing points to Graham. If there had been, she and Killian would've found it by now. Except...the recordings she'd never had the chance to hear and now never will. Graham turns back around, grinning at her again in that wolfish way of his, eyes glittering in the dark.
"I've been keeping track of your progress, sweetheart. I know what you found and what you haven't. You were close to discovering my secrets, so close in fact that I went back today to erase the files you'd discovered. You'd changed the passwords on the computers, though, changed the ones tied to the secure server. Clever girl."
"And that was when you attacked Killian?"
"You wanted to listen to the recordings you'd found and I knew it wouldn't be long before you discovered I was at the center of this all, that I was the tie between Milah and Teach and Gold. Even Killian to an extent." He laughs, the sound carrying on the wind. "Teach's capture this morning was unfortunate, but the two of us had long ago detailed what would happen if he were ever caught. He knew I would come here to the cottage to destroy any evidence of my existence. The plan was always for him to turn on Gold, frame him, and I bet he did, didn't he?" Emma doesn't respond, but Graham apparently doesn't need her to. He continues smugly. "I came here to destroy the cottage, burn it to the ground along with the evidence locked up in my office. It was easy enough to sneak up on Killian and take him out. We had a bit of fun, he and I. I tried to get him to tell me the new passwords to the computers and he stubbornly refused."
Graham's smile then is humorless, growing more depraved and murderous as he watches her reaction.
"I may have added a hit or two for that little display last night. Did you know I saw you, Emma? Saw him fuck you up against the windows like some common harlot. Not very becoming."
"Graham, I - " He holds up his hand, cutting off her words with a swift gesture, those dark eyes of his glittering still.
"I know you were just playing him, Emma. Teach tried to tell me otherwise, tried to tell me I was risking everything by believing in you, but it's all over now. Besides, you can always make it up to me later." He brushes a light touch over the bruise on her cheek and then reaches for her hand, grasping it in a tight grip. "It's time to go."
"Graham, wait!" She jerks on his hand, trying to keep him from pulling her forward. He glances back, sees her hesitation - her fear - and he frowns. He doesn't stop, though, simply tugs harder on her hand. She locks her legs, digging her boot heels into the dock like a child throwing a temper tantrum. She lifts her gun and points it at the back of his head, her index finger hovering over the trigger with intent.
"Stop!" she shouts, pulling him backward, yanking on him in desperation. She can't leave with him. If she does, she'll be lost forever and Killian will never make it off this dock alive.
Her feet slide out from under her, Graham pulling her up and into his arms. She struggles against him, her gun caught between their bodies. The wind shifts, a gust blowing the smoke out over the lake and she's able to make out Leroy careening around the burning remains of the cottage, followed closely by a hobbling David Nolan. She shouts out to catch their attention and thankfully, Leroy makes a beeline right for them.
It all happens so fast after that.
Graham manages to get his hand around her gun, wrenching it free. With a jerk, he pulls away and she falls to her knees, crying out as she watches him level the gun not at her, but at Killian.
She's up like a battering ram, shoving her full weight into Graham in the same moment that a shot rings out, followed in quick succession by another and then she's falling over the side of the dock, a body at her back and a strong arm around her middle, pulling her into the frigid water.
The water is so cold, it burns. It's a complete shock, every inch of her skin screaming at her to get up and out. She struggles to right herself, her thoughts on Killian. The idea that she's lost him causes her brain to short circuit then, her thoughts as numb as her frozen body. It takes a moment to bob to the surface, lungs bursting as she breaks out into the open air.
The first thing she sees is the dock a few feet away, David and Leroy hunched over the prone body of Graham Humbert. David is checking for a pulse and she's just able to make out the motion of his head as he confirms that there is none. With a sigh of relief, she then looks behind them to the deckchair were Killian had been slumped only moments before.
It takes her a second to comprehend that the chair is empty, Killian not where she left him. Then she remembers the arm around her waist, the body at her back and she cries out, teeth beginning to click together so hard she can't form words. He'd somehow managed to come to her rescue, pulling her away from Graham at the last possible second.
She can almost hear him saying, "Pirate, love," as a way to explain how he'd gotten out of his bonds.
She twirls in the water, eyes searching wildly for him. Thankfully, she spots him quickly, standing only a few feet away with his arms wrapped around his middle, shoulders hunched.
"Killian!" she cries out, his name shrill. He turns, looking over the rippling water at her. Their gazes connect and the electric current always alive between them snaps and crackles with energy, her relief charging it even further. With a gasping sob, she barrels toward him. He does the same, releasing one of his arms from around his middle to pull her close, his mouth pressed to her ear as he sags into her, the water taking some of his weight. The ropes that had tied him to the deckchair still hang from his wrists, tangling around her as he holds her close.
"You...okay?" He manages to ask, the words spoken gruffly into her ear. He's in pain, no doubt, breathless from maneuvering them both off the dock and into the freezing lake. Wrapping an arm around his waist, she shuffles her feet forward and takes him with her, wondering at the way he clings to her.
"Yeah. You?"
"Aye, love...just a little dizzy, is all."
That's the last thing he says as she maneuvers them both into the shallows, the water slowing them down. Killian is clearly struggling, the combination of battle wounds and freezing water doing a number on his coordination. When she finally gets him out of the water and up onto the snow covered bank, he collapses at her feet, his eyes rolling up into his head.
His hand falls away from his midsection and it's then that she realizes he's been shot. Graham had shot him, had used her own weapon against him. Falling to her knees, she presses both hands to the hole in his shirt, blood seeping black between her fingers.
"David!" she screams.
Leaning over him, she stares into his ashen face. He doesn't move, doesn't respond to her murmured pleas that he wake. Giving him a shake, her terror makes her babble incoherently at him, telling him over and over that he can't leave her, not like this...please, not like this.
"Killian...I love you."
David is at her side in seconds, searching for a pulse while she continues to press on Killian's wound. Leroy joins them as well, his usual gruff exterior tamed by concern. Within minutes the ambulance crew arrives and it's not long before they get Killian onto a gurney, the EMTs struggling in the snow. Emma follows behind them, her arm wrapped around David's waist as she helps him limp to the waiting ambulance and Leroy's truck.
Graham is dead, shot through the heart by David's bullet. He's truly dead now, his lunacy a thing of her past. Emma answers the few questions David puts to her as they make their way to the ambulance, but when the time comes for her to join Killian, she does so without hesitation.
She's about to climb into the back of the ambulance when Wendy appears out of thin air, a screeching meow miraculously hitting Emma's ear drum despite the cacophony of other noises around her. She wends her way around Emma's leg, keeping her from stepping forward and with a wretched sob, Emma reaches for her kitten and pulls her into her arms. Tucking the cat beneath her chin, she holds her, swaying back and forth a moment then hands the terrified creature to David and asks him to care for her while they're at the hospital.
She pulls herself into the ambulance, the EMTs helping her settle on the bench inside. The only thing she cares about is that the love of her life is holding on by a thread. He needs her support to heal and he'll have it. She had, after all, made the same vow to always have his back as he'd made to her.
She may not be his wife legally, but in every other way that matters, she is his to claim. With the sirens roaring to life over their heads, she grabs his limp hand in hers, peering at the bruises and cuts that dot his beloved face. She wills him to wake up, to tell her that he loves her, to try and make her laugh with some saucy and completely inappropriate quip. He stays silent, the motion of the ambulance causing her to sway back and forth beside him, watching his blood drip to the pillow beneath his head.
Blinking back her tears, she leans forward, mouth over his ear as she whispers, "It's just you and me, Killian. Just you and me."