There is a healthy dose of violence in this chapter, so if that's triggering for you, please skip. I think you'll be okay, plot-wise if you do.

Killian Jones

November

Everything hurts, from his ribs to his face to the soles of his feet. He wonders vaguely if he'll be scarred after the beating Graham had bestowed upon him - bloody fucking hell Graham is alive - wonders if Emma will still want him if he loses an eye or some of his higher brain functions. He berates himself for not having figured this all out sooner. Although, to be fair, he's not entirely sure how he could have done so. Graham is a genius - fucking insane, yes - but a genius all the same and he'd managed to keep his tracks very well covered.

As Killian hovers in a state of semiconsciousness, it's the soft pressure of Emma's hand in his that keeps him from being overwhelmed by the darkness. He can hear the ambulance's siren, the shriek of it making him want to bury his head in the curve of her shoulder to shut it out. He can't move, can't turn to her the way he wants, but her presence helps him block out the worst of the pain.

The events of the past day flit through his sluggish thoughts, dark memories that threaten his already tenuous grasp on reality.

It had been a nightmare from the moment he'd slid to his knees in the kitchen, the blow to the back of his head catching him by surprise. He'd rolled to his back, staring up in horror at the man hovering over him. Graham's detached curiosity was the last thing he'd seen, his face hauntingly expressionless as Killian had bled out on the floor.

He'd come to much later, tied to one of the kitchen chairs. Graham had brought the laptops up from his office. They were open on the table, sitting alongside the hanging files that had been stored in the cabinet. The man himself was sitting across from Killian, his eyes dead as he'd stared at his prisoner, waiting for him to awaken. It was clear that he'd been trying to log into the computers and access their records, but Emma had been smart enough to change the passwords the day before.

It was a shame he hadn't been able to change the code on the cottage's security system as well, but such was his luck. At least Emma hadn't been home when Graham had decided to attack, the thought of Graham hurting her making his blood boil.

He looked like he'd been living on the side of a mountain, with a full beard and long hair tangled over his forehead. If he had a place tucked away in the woods, he could have disappeared there after his "death." It's not as if anyone would have looked for him; they'd all believed he was dead.

Locking eyes with the scruffy looking man across from him, Killian felt very much like he was staring at a harbinger of death. Never one to let an opponent know he was rattled, he'd grinned into the Devil's face while Graham had simply stared back. Killian had no doubt as he'd stared into those soulless blue eyes that he was about to die, but if he'd believed it would be a quick end, Graham showed him otherwise. With a mocking grin on his lips, he'd watched as the ex-Deputy had stood and moved toward him on bare feet. Killian had just enough time to wonder where he'd left his shoes before the first punch was thrown, the sound of skin hitting skin making him nauseous. He lost count of the blows, the sound of breaking bone letting him know that Graham was not holding back in the least.

When Killian's head was rolling on his neck, his eye swelling shut and blood in his mouth, Graham had stopped. Straightening to his full height, he'd given Killian a solid pat on the shoulder then had wandered over to the fireplace. Killian stared blearily at him, running his tongue over his teeth to see if any were loose. He'd watched Graham stare at the pictures on the mantle, set there by himself and Emma. Images of their fake wedding and days spent together at the inn, selfies set in picture frames he'd picked out. A life that should have been a lie and was anything but.

Killian could tell that Graham was not pleased by what he saw in those pictures, his anger obvious in the tense set of his shoulders and the way his hands formed fists at his side. Fists he would no doubt use to take out his anger on Killian.

His jealousy.

He'd sent a look over his shoulder then, those deadened blue eyes taking in the slump of Killian's body, the way blood coursed down his face. A slow smile unfurled on his lips, an evil thing that should have terrified Killian, but only made his anger run hotter in his veins. Graham had turned and made his way up the circular staircase, disappearing for several long moments. Killian used the time to struggle against his bonds, cursing the tight knots that held him in place. Not able to pull his hands free, he'd glanced at the table, searching for a tool to help free him.

There was nothing.

It doesn't occur to him until Graham returned with his face a brilliant red that there was anything upstairs that would upset him more than the photos. But as he watched his captor press his lips together in anger, he remembered the sheets and the cloth he and Emma had used to clean off he evidence of their time together. He'd shoved the bundle of soiled linens into the washer, waiting for detergent to be added and the machine to be turned on.

And the bed. Last night, after they'd retired upstairs, they'd fallen asleep tangled together, waking in the middle of the night to ravish each other again. The room had still smelled of sex that morning when they'd awoken, Emma's musk and his cologne thick on the sheets. There'd be no way that Graham would miss the stains or the scent of love in the air and he clearly hadn't, if the murderous rage in his eyes was any indication. Killian had paid for dearly for the discovery, the beating this time full of impassioned fury.

He'd tried taunting Graham in the hopes that he'd talk and spill his secrets, but he hadn't taken the bait. He'd kept his lips pressed together in a determined line, hitting Killian again and again until he could barely keep his head up.

Not able to fight back, he'd focused instead on Emma. He wanted her with him to take away the pain, to soothe him with her gentle hands, to press kisses to his wounds. With one eye swollen shut, he had stared over Graham's shoulder at the wedding picture on the mantle, concentrating on how beautiful she'd been in her wedding gown. Her gorgeous smile beamed out at him and kept him grounded enough to withstand each hit.

He'd hoped...god, he'd hoped that some day he could give her his vow of loyalty for real, marry her and give his heart to her with the slip of a ring onto her finger. A real marriage, built on truth and love. He'd wanted it for himself, but he'd wanted it for Emma even more. He'd wanted her to finally know she had someone always at her side, someone who would forever put her first. Someone who would die for her...

Ah. Well, perhaps she would still come to know that.

Graham had untied him then, lifting him onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry, stepping from the cottage and out onto the snow covered deck. Killian had hung against his back, gripping loosely to the parka Graham wore, the material crackling in his hold. Blood seeped from his wounds, the splatters creating a morbid trail of breadcrumbs down to the dock. With no shoes on his feet and no jacket to hold back the weather, he'd shivered as Graham dropped him unceremoniously into a chair. He'd turned it to face the cottage then stood and stared into Killian's battered face.

It was cold out over the water, snow swirling around them, wind torturing him almost as much as Graham's fists. Graham had tied him to the chair, ropes tightened around his wrists. Hunkered down between his splayed legs, he'd stared up at Killian, an unmistakable rage burning in his eyes.

"You and your wife," Graham spat, "put on quite the show last night." Killian hadn't been able to keep the corners of his lips from lifting up and cracking his tender skin as his smile unfurled. Lifting his head, he'd locked eyes with Graham, his tongue dancing in the corner of his mouth.

"Saw that, did you?" Leaning forward as much as he could, he'd let his teeth sink into the raw flesh of his bottom lip, his grin downright hedonistic. "What's the matter, Humbert? Can't stand the fact that I managed to get Emma Swan on my cock when you never could?"

He shouldn't have said it, but he was furious at being helpless, knowing that Emma could arrive at any time and Graham could attack. He was in no shape to help her, battered and bruised, his head swimming from a concussion. The only weapon he had available to him was his mouth and so he ran it against his better judgement. Humbert's cheeks flamed red at the crass taunt. He'd leaned forward, peering up into Killian's face through the falling snow before he started talking, his revelations hurting Killian more than any fists could.

"I've been listening to you, did you know? Never thought to recheck for bugs after you moved in, did you, you fucking cocky bastard? And you call yourself a pirate!" He'd smiled then, an emotionless lifting of his lips and crinkling of his eyes that made Killian's skin crawl. "I'll admit that her decision to let you between her thighs was unfortunate, but I know it meant nothing to her. Do you even have any concept of how long I've been looking after her? She's been with other men and I've heard every one of those encounters, heard her take them to her bed in Boston and kick them out in the morning. She was using them, exactly the way she used you. It's not as if I didn't do the same, using women like Regina to scratch my itch, waiting for Emma to choose me."

"The recordings..." Killian breathed out, understanding with perfect clarity what those dates with her initials attached meant. How many times had the bastard listened to her with another man, how many times had he wished it were him in her bed? The thought made Killian sick.

Graham flushed with happiness, but nodded to confirm Killian's suspicion. Giving a nonchalant shrug, he'd leaned closer and said, "I knew she wanted me, that those men meant nothing. You mean nothing, a fake husband and a fake marriage. You see, I have faith in her. More bloody faith than you did when you lied about stealing those jewels."

Killian forced his grin to widen, pushing aside his desire to spit in the Englishman's bearded face. He'd never cared who had been in Emma's past, only that he was her future, but then Graham had placed his hands on Killian's upper thighs and leaned in, his breath minty and warm as it brushed the side of his face. Voice lower than the howling wind, he'd murmured, "Think she'll let you back inside her once she knows the kind of man you really are? The sins you've committed all in the name of a broken heart? Does she know about the women, about the men's lives you destroyed? She doesn't know the full extent of your black heart, does she, Captain Hook?"

Emma knew some of it, but there was much he'd not told her, stories he knew would turn her love for him sour. Despair took root in the pit of his stomach, his gut churning at the thought of Emma ever learning how far he'd fallen into his depravity. Not wanting Graham to think he'd won, he'd lifted his chin, the muscle in his jaw jumping. He'd stared into Graham's maddened eyes, a lascivious grin splitting his lip further as he'd contemplated his next taunt.

"She may not be my wife, but rest assured, Humbert, that hardly matters when I'm fucking her."

The resulting blow caused him to black out, the burst of pain in his temple unreal. When he'd come to again, Graham had been towering over him, his hands curled into fists and his chest rising and falling with fury. Killian could feel his rage hovering in the air between them and he'd wondered if perhaps he'd gone a step too far. Lifting his head in a sort of jerky roll, he'd grimaced at the pain radiating out from the lump at the base of his skill. He couldn't count all the places he hurt, the pain combining into one big knot of unrelenting agony. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in the fetal position and sleep until the pain eased.

That wasn't an option, of course, and he'd shifted his head to the side to see out of his good eye. Spitting out the blood that pooled on his tongue, he'd grinned once again, a line of red spittle hanging off his lip as he did so.

"You can kill me if you want, but that's not going to change the fact that Emma Swan never wanted you. I'll be dead in my grave and she still won't want you, mate."

"You're wrong."

"Am I? I'll grant you that I'm a bloody bastard and hardly worth holding her hand, but I know her. I know her in ways you can't imagine. She'll never, ever be yours."

He was shaking, the cold biting and with each shiver, he felt its teeth digging in harder. He was barely able to keep his head up now, the thought of closing his eye and slipping into the blackness swirling at the corners of his vision appealing. He kept his gaze locked on Graham, fighting the pull of it, watching as the rage in Graham finally broke.

"Do you know what, Jones? I was going to kill you and dispose of your body, let Emma think you'd left her on her own again. But now...now I think I'm going to leave you as a present for your lovely fake wife to find, your blood in the snow and your fake wedding ring on your finger. Call it a belated wedding gift. Mate."

He'd hunkered down between Killian's splayed thighs again and reaching up, he'd tenderly cupped Killian's jaw as a lover would, with reverence and care for his wounds. He'd smoothed his thumbs over Killian's bloodied cheeks, the leather of his gloves rough against his tender flesh. The touch revolted him, but he was in no position to shrug it off.

The idea of Emma finding him here like this, bloodied and abused...bile rose up, but he'd swallowed it back, trembling uncontrollably in Graham's hold. Graham lowered his voice then, whispering his intent in the bleakest of terms, promising with each syllable a pain beyond anything Killian knew he could endure.

"Everything you've built with her, this home and your fake as fuck marriage is going to turn to ash at your feet. The last thing you'll see are your dreams going up in flames. She'll find you here and I'll make sure she knows it was me that did this, that devastated all of it."

Leaning forward further, Graham's breath wafted over his face, a brief puff of minty warmth in the middle of winter. Killian's eyes had fallen shut as he'd tried to turn away, but the brush of a kiss to his cheek stilled him. Then, above the wind, he'd heard Graham mutter, "All I ever wanted was a life with her and you tried to take that just like you tried to take over my business in Storybrooke. When you're gone, I'll tell her about the man you were, show her the information I have on Captain Hook and she'll have no choice then. She'll hate you, I know she will. She'll come to me for comfort and you'll rot in your grave knowing she's safe in my bed, not yours."

Killian's heart lodged itself in his throat at Graham's blackhearted vow. With his hands still on Killian's cheeks, he'd shoved him away, causing his head to connect with the high back of the deckchair. Blackness popped in his vision, pain crackled in his skull. Forcing his eye back open, he'd barely made out Graham's retreating form, nausea causing him retch into the collar of his shirt. The wind was screaming in his ears, stinging him with each slap of weather across his face. Struggling ineffectively against his bonds, he finally slumped forward in defeat. Falling into a haze of pain, he thought of Emma again, pictured her smile and imagined her laugh, wished she was there to curl into him and warm him with her kisses.

He lost track of time waiting for Graham to return. Night had fallen completely while he'd flitted in and out of consciousness, no longer feeling the cold, but rather a body numbing relief. He'd prayed Emma would stay away, that she wouldn't be the one to find him like this, that she wouldn't walk into the trap Graham had set for her.

He prayed that after it was over and he was gone, she would hold onto the goodness she'd seen in him, that she wouldn't believe the worst of him.

The smell of burning wood finally brought him out of his stupor. He'd lifted his head to see the flames flickering in the windows, smoke swirling around the cottage like dark magic. He could see the Christmas tree they'd decorated the day before, its lights burning bright before they flickered and when out. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, but part of him was glad the house was being destroyed. It had been their safe haven, or at least, they'd thought it was. Knowing that Graham had been listening to them for months, stalking them from right inside their assumed sanctuary eradicated any true sense of loss he might have felt.

Killian closed his eyes to the devastation then, struggling once again to free himself from his bonds. He'd wondered after Wendy, his heart cracking at the thought of Emma's kitten not surviving Graham's madness. He could still remember the joy dancing in her eyes when he'd given her Wendy, the absolute happiness she had beamed up at him...

Emma, my love, my love, my everything.

Darkness had swirled up around him then, its tendrils smoky and thick, alluring and sweet like molasses. He'd stopped his struggles, breathing in the fire's heat and letting it warm him from the inside out. Mercifully, he'd slipped into nothingness, pulled asunder by a temptress promising a reprieve from his heartache. She'd whispered of a dark place where his pain would cease to exist and he'd given in with an ardent forward bow. Winter receded as the remembered warmth of a late summer day and a stunning blond at his side, complete with sky high walls, welcomed him home.

There was a soft voice in his ear, one that filled him with hope. It felt like a dream to hear her, his soul caught floating on the ever present wind as her gentle touch called him back to her.

Not able to make out the words his angel had spoken, he'd simply let happiness flow through him as the husky notes of her voice swept over him. The sound called up nights before the fire, of fingers entwined and bodies tangled, of a future bright with laughter. His heart began to beat faster, calling his soul back to the earthly bonds of his body. Love the likes of which he had never dared to dream of filled him, lightening the burden of his battered body enough to come back to himself.

He'd wanted to reach for her, to remove the pain and the worry in her voice, but no matter how hard he'd tried, he couldn't make his body obey.

Emma...his lovely Swan needed him, needed him to hold on long enough to have her back, as he'd vowed he always would. Knowing her like an open book, he sensed she was struggling to keep it together despite how brave she was being outwardly. He cursed his ineffectual body, tied down and damaged, cursed the wound at the back of his skull that made opening his eyes impossible. All he could do was fight to wake and pray that help arrived soon...pray that he'd live long enough to tell her that he loved her, that every single moment spent with her had healed his shattered heart.

He heard the slap that caused Emma to fall into his lap, heard her boots scrape over the deck. The press of her weight over his groin shocked him, her body jarring him awake as she tumbled into him. He'd gasped, the sound lost to the wind. Adrenaline shot through him, the nerve endings in his numb body firing with pain. If it weren't for the ropes around his wrists, he would have surged forward and wrapped himself around her, holding her against his chest. Instead, he stayed perfectly still, listening to Emma and Graham, hate surging through him as Emma teased the truth out of Graham with each prodding question.

He fell in love with her even more in those few minutes, her stubborn warrior spirit calling to him. He copied her example, working once again to free at least one of his hands. He prayed Emma could keep Graham's attention locked on her and away from what was happening under his very nose.

He sensed Graham's kiss, Emma's tension between his thighs setting off alarm bells in his head. The press of a gun to his gut, Graham holding it to the small of Emma's back, kept him from moving. Jealousy flared in his chest, his self-doubt rearing its head as the kiss went on and on, but then...oh, then her hand had fallen to his leg. In a subtle message to stay calm, she'd applied pressure to his thigh and his heart had soared. She was playing Graham for a fool, telling him what he needed to hear, buying time and gaining knowledge as he bared his soul to her.

What an unsuspecting fool in love will do when given even the slimmest promise of love returned.

Cursing his wounds, he'd continued to play possum, listening hard for each word uttered. He'd worked at the loose restraint and by doing so, he managed to slip his hand free without Graham or Emma knowing. He'd stayed still even then, eyes shut tight as Emma prompted Graham to explain how he'd managed to keep them in the dark for so long.

When Graham started to talk about Milah, how he'd played her, Killian's anger nearly choked him. He'd managed to make peace with Milah's role in his tragic life and his role in hers. She'd loved him and had truly done what she thought was best to keep him safe; she didn't deserve to die as she had. Knowing that it wasn't Gold who had ordered her death provided him little comfort. The man had enough sins to answer for, the least of which was the miserable life he'd forced her to live because she'd found love outside their marital bed.

He knew he had to make a move when Graham forced Emma to stand. With his head swimming and his vision blurred, he'd taken advantage of Emma and Graham's struggle to free his other hand, pushing himself out of the chair and into Emma in a surprisingly graceful move, the sound of two gunshots ringing out, but not registering as he wrapped an arm around her and flung them both into the icy water.

He let Emma go, planting his feet on the lake bottom to steady himself. The water was so cold, it burned and he'd focused blissfully on it, enjoying a reprieve from the agony of his wounds. But the relief didn't last long, a growing pain in his abdomen causing him concern. Standing in water up to his hips, he'd found the wound easy enough, the hole in his torso a shock. So, not as graceful as he'd thought. Warmth began to ebb from him, shock curtailing the panic he might normally have felt at being shot.

Emma's cry of his name had him turning in a sluggish circle and when his eyes connected with hers, he'd felt that familiar flare of electricity between them. Making their way to each other, he'd found his knees shaking so hard, he'd leaned fully into her. She'd taken his weight with a grunt and asked if he was okay to which he'd replied in the affirmative.

The last thing he remembered was falling to his knees, Emma following him to the ground. There was fear in the way she said his name, terror in the way she called David to her side. Despite how he wanted to reassure her, he fell back into the snow, his hands dropping away to reveal the gaping wound in his gut.

He gave into the pain then, finally able to rest now that Emma was safe.

The sirens had long since stopped, the ensuing silence a reprieve to his weary soul. He comes and goes, Emma's voice in his ear pulling him back to himself. Her hand is often in his, her lips on his forehead. He's aware that something is wrong, but the mere thought of opening his eyes to check on her tires him. Instead, he hovers outside of himself, relaxing on a wave of painkillers.

He thinks that maybe he's dying and that it should bother him more than it does. The only thing that keeps him from giving in completely is Emma, the press of her wedding rings reminding him that he has someone fighting for him. He'd made a promise, hadn't he? That it's them against the world and no matter how tempting the idea of letting go of the pain is, he simply refuses to let her go.

She needs someone in her corner and he desperately wants to be that someone.

There are times when she's not with him and other voices rumble in his ear. David, he thinks, and Mary Margaret, their worry and strain comforting him, but it's not enough to wake up for. He thinks that he's under some kind of vigil, but that makes him uncomfortable, so he doesn't dwell on the idea too much.

He loses track of time, knowing only when Emma is at his side. Her tears fall to his lips and her voice pleads with him to come back. To never leave her.

To start their future together.

He doesn't know what catches his attention, Emma's panicked voice perhaps or the tension in David and Mary Margaret's softly murmured words. Emma is crying, he thinks, her pain his own as he strains to focus on her sobbing wails.

"No, no...NO!"

Silence rings out and the mattress dips as she sits beside him. She wraps a hand around his, dropping the other over his heart. It feels as if she's creating a barrier between him and their friends, refusing to let them near.

"Emma, maybe it's time to let him go..." It's David who says it, the hopelessness of the statement making Killian's heart beat louder under Emma's hand. He stops listening to anything except her tears then, realizing that his hanging on is causing her more pain than if he were to simply...let go.

Oh, love, maybe they're right, he thinks. She leans over him then, her breath stale as she brushes his lips with her own. He sighs, floating above his hospital bed as he contemplates letting her go to find the happiness she truly deserves.