A/N: We finally have made it to uncharted territory! This chapter and the rest that follow were all cooking in my brain for literal years, y'all. I'm very nervous to share, but so excited I can finally finish this off!
Thank you so much for all of your support as I've reposted this story. It's meant so much!
I hope this ending answers questions, wraps up all the plot points, and warms your soul.
/
Fourteen
One Week Later
One of the world's most ancient Garfield mugs is warm against Emma's palms. She sits curled up in the window seat of her childhood bedroom unable to sleep. Henry, on the other hand, still sleeps to her immediate right hand side.
She should be sound asleep like him. It should be easy now that she's home again in the safety of her parent's house, with a perfectly cushioned mattress and food to last her a lifetime.
But instead, her mind spins just fast enough to keep her heart racing, and all through the night, she finds herself running her fingers through the pages of one of Killian's journals, reading and re-reading his private works until she thinks she could rehearse them on command.
Her cheeks are warm with the heat of the tears that seemed to so easily find her eyes. She shuts them, taking a deep breath through her nose.
They didn't let her return to the island. They wouldn't let her return to the island.
And worse, nobody, not even Mister Smee, has said a word about what happened to Killian or the island on the day of her return to civilization.
Emma's parents didn't want her going off on her own yet. Maybe it was out of fear- they'd lost her once and didn't want to lose her again- or maybe it was to protect her and Henry from the cameras that seem to always be right outside.
She'd never even given a thought to the idea that she'd be a global news story. But, apparently "girl goes missing from a cruise ship and washes up on a mysterious island in the middle of the ocean" is a story people are hungry for.
A creak on the steps that lead up to her little loft bedroom signifies that someone's coming to see her, so she steadies herself and pulls on a tiny smile. Turning, she finds her father, a tired look in his eyes and his hair gently tousled from sleep.
He steps into her bedroom quietly, without having to say anything, and sits opposite her on the window seat. He peers outside for a minute, so she allows her gaze to drift that way, too, comfortable in the solace of knowing he's here.
His gentle, warm hand touches her calf and he squeezes it briefly. "I was thinking about taking a drive up the coast." Emma looks at him and finds his eyes soft. "We can hide out at Uncle Leroy's until the…" He shakes his head, grimacing, "circus goes away."
They all hate it. Even their neighbors have complained. It isn't fair that they'd decided to keep covering the story from their perch outside of their house. As if there was any story left to tell. All that was left was Emma struggling to return to normal life.
"They'll just follow us." Emma sighs.
She stares at her father, wondering if he can tell she feels like a shell of a person, or if her walls and facades were just high enough to hide behind. Of anyone, she knew he'd be able to read into her.
His gentle smile is almost sorrowful. "It's nice to dream."
When she'd told her parents that she met a man on an island, they'd initially been relieved. At least she hadn't been alone and scrounging for food and habitat. She'd been fed, warm, and safe. At least, for the most part.
It had been more difficult to explain that Killian wasn't just a man on an island. She'd expected confusion, maybe some sense of doubt or worry, but instead, they promised they wouldn't stop looking for him.
Still, she wonders if they realize how much Killian means to her. That the guilt of leaving without him weighs heavy on her breastbone, or that she isn't sleeping with millions of what-if scenarios haunting her instead of dreams.
Emma follows David's gaze back out the window, where the sun has finally pushed beyond the horizon. She glances over her shoulder when she hears Henry's telltale stirring, and gets up before he can cry.
She reaches into his newly purchased crib and smiles, settling him into her arms with a whisper, "Hi, Henry. Hi. Did you sleep well?"
The doctors tell her it's a miracle that he's still alive and healthy after not being fed properly for so long. But she isn't surprised. He's a fighter, just like her.
Emma goes to work right away, setting him on the changing table her parents had eagerly bought to resolve his smelly diaper. Once he's changed, she grabs a bottle and looks at her father, tipping her head toward the stairs.
"Time for breakfast. You coming?"
He smiles at her thoughtfully and crosses the room, stopping short of her. "Neal's here."
Emma nods. "I know."
He'd stayed the night. Again. She knows because she'd had a late night feeding and found him curled up on the couch, clearly uncomfortable, but suffering through just the same.
"He was worried about you, Emma," her father explains for the millionth time, "I didn't realize you were…"
"I know," Emma says again. She takes a steadying breath, pulling on another smile for him. "It's fine. He's… been surprisingly nice."
It's true. He has been very nice. He's eager to help with anything she needs. He's always running errands on their behalf, making food for them, keeping nosy neighbors away from the front door… enforcing the justifiable hours that the media can stand guard past the sidewalk.
If she hadn't already made up her mind about him, she might be persuaded to fall back in love.
Emma enters the kitchen to find her mother already making herself busy, multitasking with a phone in one hand and a spatula in the other.
She shakes her head, scowling at whoever is on the other end of the call. "You're not helping when you call me with pointless updates like this."
Her eyes brighten once they find Emma and Henry, and a big smile grows on her lips. She mouths, "Hi," and gestures to the pancakes on the skillet in front of her.
Emma smiles and nods in approval of the pancakes in question, although she isn't sure she could even try to eat. Her stomach still feels sick.
Neal sits at the kitchen island, a mug of his morning coffee lifted to his lips while he scrolls through an app on his phone. He looks up at her as she prepares Henry's bottle.
"Oh, I can hold him while you do that."
He's on his feet in a heartbeat, already at her side with hands held outward before she can protest, so she allows him to take the baby. Henry seems to like Neal, at least as much as he can, so once he's in Neal's arms, she only hesitates for a few nervous seconds before continuing her task.
"How'd you sleep?" Neal wonders genuinely.
"Okay." Emma lies. She meets his eyes. "Sorry if we woke you up."
Neal frowns, shaking his head with his brow knitted. "No, no. It's fine. Believe me."
Her mother heaves a sigh as she sets the phone down on the counter. "Every morning it's the same thing. I can't believe it. How could there be no new information? It's been a full week! Surely there's something."
The only piece of information they'd been told was that they had dispatched a crew to check the island, and after that, it almost felt like they were forgotten.
Emma bites her lip when she feels it tremble, focusing on what she's doing so much that she worries someone might think she's being too quiet.
"Maybe we should go ourselves. To the island." Neal says. "If they can't find anything, maybe… I don't know, maybe Em can see something they're not."
"I don't think that's a good idea." her father says diplomatically. "Emma's still recovering."
Neal scoffs. "She's not crippled, Dave."
"She's not mute, either." Emma says, looking at the group.
They become quiet, her father looking especially guilty.
"I'm sorry, Emma. If something happened on the island. If..."
"If he's dead, they would've said something." Emma finishes his thought. She closes her eyes, breathing in. It's a moment of clarity that she hadn't realized she even had within her. "If we meant anything to him, he'll find us. Let's just… try normal life again. As much as we can."
Her mother seems worried for a few seconds, but soon offers a smile and nods. "Anybody hungry for pancakes?"
/
Storybrooke's harbor has always been her favorite place to eat lunch on quiet afternoons. Facing the water, watching the boats drifting off in the distance, as puffy white clouds moved slowly overhead, she could always find something calming here.
She sits on her favorite bench, Henry in his stroller at her side, and Neal sitting opposite.
They'd been quiet since deciding to leave the house, eager to do something other than sit idly while they waited out the media storm and the non-updates from oceans away.
Even though it's freezing, it's still nice to be outside.
It's the first time they've really been alone, apart from her parents. Tension simmers between them, as if they're supposed to talk about everything that went on. As if she needs to tell him about her change of heart with regards to their relationship.
But she really, really doesn't want to.
Emma breathes in the salty air and allows herself to retreat back to the island in her mind, to the cozy nights in the living room with Killian reading to her. To the last morning they'd shared, so natural and good.
She's in love with him. She thought he felt the same.
It didn't make sense that he'd just disappear.
Beside her, Neal clears his throat softly. "Emma."
It's clear to her when she looks at him that he must be nervous, his fingers dancing on top of his knee for a few seconds before he folds his hands together in his lap.
"I was an asshole. Our entire relationship. Hell, my entire life I've been an asshole." He scoffs, shaking his head. He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a single sigh. "When your folks told me you were missing, I… totally lost it. No sleeping. No eating. Couldn't focus on anything. So I flew over there, just to be with them while they waited for answers."
She thinks she sees a tear in his eye. He sniffles, clearing his throat again. "We waited for almost three weeks." He pauses, his upper row of teeth tugging at his lower lip. "I never saw them waver. I never saw them admit it was possible you were gone, even though that's all anybody was saying around them."
Emma knew it hadn't been easy. She knew it had been a long time. But she can see in the pure sorrow on Neal's face just how taxing it had been.
"Uh…" Neal takes another deep breath. "I guess I'm telling you all of this because losing you made me realize I knew how bad I was to you and I always just thought I'd get the chance to make up for it, you know? I thought I'd get the chance to be better for you. But, then..."
Neal shakes his head, clearly getting upset. A tear escapes his eye and he quickly wipes it away. "I thought you were dead."
His voice is barely a whisper, spoken so quietly and with such passion that she knew nothing but the tight knot in her chest. She aches for him, and her parents, knowing that they'd been through so much. Knowing that they'd never stop looking for her.
"I'm so sorry, Emma." Neal apologizes, honesty in the sorrowful knit of his brow. "I'm so sorry."
Emma closes her eyes as she wraps her arms around him, holding him as close as she can on a bench. He begins to weep, his sobs wracking his body while he buries his face in her neck. She runs her fingers through his hair to soothe him.
"It's okay." Emma whispers. "It's okay."
When he finally pulls away, he's far more broken than he had been before. He's almost a new person. "I feel so stupid, crying like that."
"No," she insists, shaking her head.
"I know you moved on." Neal tells her, glancing briefly at the water ahead of them. "And that's okay. We were never meant to be together." His admission feels like a weight being lifted off of her shoulders. "I just needed you to know that I'm sorry."
Feeling free, yet vulnerable, Emma studies him quietly. He distracts himself with the view in front of them, but she can tell he's still emotional. His knee wobbles and bounces quicker with each passing second.
Gently, she rests her cheek on his shoulder, wrapping her fingers around his arm, and stares out at the water. "We can still be friends."
Neal laughs softly, his breath a white cloud in the cold December air. His knee stops bouncing. For a while, he's quiet.
"Okay."
/
One Week Later
There's a dull throbbing in his head when he wakes up. The first thing he hears is the pulse of a heart rate monitor, followed by nearby chatter.
And then he hears laughter, bubbly and infectious.
Emma. Henry.
Slowly, his eyes open and he squints as he adjusts to the bright light that pours in from a nearby set of windows. The sterile room is small, with only a single chair accompanying the bed he lies in.
In the chair, Smee sits, snoring with his cheek pressed to his shoulder. He's wearing a jacket as his blanket, and it appears that the man hasn't seen civilization in a while, based on the beard he's sporting.
His eyes fall closed again, feeling far too heavy to keep open.
An adorable crinkle by a shining green eye. Strands of blonde caught between his fingers. A whisper of his name in his ear.
Emma. Henry.
Killian licks his lips and groans under his breath at the aches and pains stinging all over. He's still drowsy, feeling heavy, as if he's been drugged. Sitting up is a chore, but he does it anyway.
He hears her voice, a whisper- maybe a memory, "Storybrooke. It's in Maine. Can't miss it. Can't find it, either."
Emma. Henry. Storybrooke.
"Smee," he says, voice thick and cracking with lack of use. He clears his throat and opens his eyes once again. "Smee."
The man in the chair jostles awake, licking his lips and sitting upright with his eyes wide. "Jones. You're awake." Smee pulls himself to his feet, jacket discarded at his feet. "How do you feel? Any pain?"
Killian grimaces, rubbing at his forehead, where the headache has begun to throb intensely. "I feel bloody fantastic, mate."
Smee hesitates, seeming to not know for sure what to say. "You took quite the beating. Um… four broken ribs and your shoulder was dislocated. You were concussed. I know it doesn't sound all that bad, but you were…" The man frowns, pausing as he searches for the words. "You were broken."
A dislocated bone. A crack. A scream louder than any other.
Emma. He needs to get to Emma.
Killian starts to pull at the sheets. "Where's Emma?"
"You should lie down. Let a doctor come check on you before we worry about that."
He shakes his head. "No, I promised I'd…" He feels dizzy, so he falls back heavily against the bed, causing the frame to shake. "Where are they?"
Smee smiles gently. He grabs something from a table beside the bed and shows it to him. A newspaper. Emma and Henry on the front page.
"She had to go home. It was bordering on unsafe staying, what with all of the paparazzi and media. I couldn't even see her once she got off of my boat. I heard that her folks wanted to stay and wait, but… the baby, he needed a little extra help from doctors and… you were nowhere to be seen."
Killian furrows his brow slightly. His mind feels like a fog of knowledge, some of it clearer than the rest. He can't seem to remember what happened after Emma left. "Where was I?"
"You were only just found a few days ago." Smee says, clearly holding something back. He lowers his voice, "Stuffed into a barrel."
The memories come back in almost a painful revelation. He shuts his eyes. "Bloody hell."
"Lucky for you, you've got a brilliant mind in you." Smee says optimistically. "You'll be fully compensated for everything. What you did out there… it was damned heroic, Jones. You've had your name cleared."
"How do you know that?"
Smee shrugs, a small smile on his lips. "As soon as they found you, I didn't leave your side."
The man, who Killian had never seen as anything but his means for food and materials, suddenly felt more to him like a friend than he'd ever experienced before.
With a shy little blush, Smee adds, "You've had a lot of visitors."
Killian looked to the newspaper again, finding the image of Emma holding Henry close to her chest. He desperately needs to get to her.
Smee must notice his attention is strained, because he reaches for the paper. "Why don't you lie down? I can get a doctor to check on you."
"I need to get to Emma."
"You will." Smee promises. "Just as soon as you're well enough to leave the hospital."