Hi again! So, after a long period of pondering and random ideas popping up in my head about how I could possibly further this work, I decided to act on those ideas and write more; I need the practice anyway. Finally, some actual CS interactions and fluff here - to a certain extent... I hope you'll enjoy this :)
Warning: Slight mentions of alcohol abuse.
It's been a full month since the accident. Killian hasn't completely gotten used to the absence of his left limb, though he thinks it's getting easier to look at the empty space there with the passing days. He doesn't actually forget that it's missing, especially with the painful reminder that flares up at the blunt end of his wrist at times, but he's mostly grateful for having a distraction to take his mind off of the physical scar the tragedy left on him.
Perhaps that's her intention, and she's always welcome company anyway.
The already crisp air becomes tinted with her sweet-smelling shampoo with how closely she is seated next to him, a sufficient gap between them as they look out at the horizon, and a habitual smile rises to his face.
"You're late, Swan," he chides.
His smile widens at her indignant huff, and he turns his head slightly to catch her mild pout from the corner of his eye.
"Just take the coffee and drink," she grumbles, clearly in a sour mood from work. She holds out his cup and he doesn't hesitate to free it from her grasp, making a show of taking a sip from the hole in the cover. "You should be glad I showed up at all. I had half a mind to just head home instead after the ridiculous chase I just went on."
Killian huffs out a laugh, encouraging her to go on with his signature raised eyebrow. He delights in the scoff she sends him, thrilled at just how easily he can work her up (on top of her usual state).
"It was weird enough he broke into the library, of all places yesterday, and it's like he was trying to work my last nerve today by making me run all over town just to catch him. Literally."
"Ah, perhaps he's just trying to get your attention. I know that's what I would do." He turns then to send her a wink.
She rolls her eyes. "Troublemaker. Nah, I think he has a thing for Belle, actually. And he's probably just bored and likes making trouble. Lucky for me," she scorns, drawing a long sip from her own cup before leaning her head back.
The pair settles into an easy silence after that and ends up admiring the picture of the slowly setting sun ahead of them.
Killian enjoys the peace of the quiet for a while longer before letting a beat, and then two pass. "Swan, if you're too exhausted I'd highly prefer if you head home instead of sitting out here in the cold with me. You're not exactly a sight I like to witness when you're half dead like this."
He watches in glee as she inches her head around to fix him with a dry and unamused stare, and he can't help but crack a smile under her intense gaze, but he's sure she caught the undertone of sincerity in his words when her eyes soften and blink owlishly at him.
"Too exhausted to hang out with you? Never." The genuineness in her soft tone soon morphs into her usual bark, but he knows that with him, there hardly ever is an actual bite, "Besides, who else would bother to keep you in check? It's like looking after an adult-sized toddler. Thank God I don't need to carry you around like one or anything."
He chuckles as he nudges her arm with his elbow, deciding (not for the first time) that he much prefers her smile at his antics to riling her up for fun. Something in him sobers at her words momentarily, though, reminding him of another meaning he's taken to heart.
"Aye, I suppose you'll do since my brother isn't here to do the job for the meantime."
She takes another sip, which reminds him to do the same to ward away the increasing chill that's taking the place of the fast-fading daylight.
"How long more until Liam visits next, do you know?"
Killian feels his lips trace a smile at thoughts of his brother forming in his mind then. "Somewhere around another three months, at least. One can never be too sure out at sea."
She nods, her hair catching the remaining rays of the sun just before it disappears beneath the sea, and Killian can't help the way it catches his eyes too. He isn't quite sure but something instinctive in him has been drawn to the colour of her hair for as long as he can remember being her friend.
They sit there, watching the last of the orange hue of the sky give way to purple before finally getting up and parting ways, not needing to mention an agreement for their next meet-up because it's developed into a normal for both of them by now.
Three months pass, and then four, and then finally, when a worry that can't be helped gnaws away at his insides so often it's become achingly distracting during his days and nights, the ship his brother left on weighs anchor at the docks. A bubble of anticipation along with excitement expands and continues to fill his chest as he makes his way there with increasingly rapid steps, nearly breaking into a run when he sees the towering shape of the British naval ship beyond the top of the building ahead of him as he makes another turn.
It's not a surprise that he's the only one waiting there, and his eyes dart fleetingly among the men walking about on the deck, hoping to catch sight of his brother's curly brown hair and his warm gaze and his perfect posture as he descends on the gangplank.
He's so busy scanning faces and thinking of what to say first that he doesn't notice the man in uniform heading towards him until he's standing right in front of him and calling him by surname.
The words that follow reach his ears so fast that his brain has to take a moment to replay them a few times before his mind can grasp their meaning, but even then he feels like they don't make sense, and Killian hates that it's all likely due to shock because his mind is literally numb and he can't accept the sympathy in that man's eyes. He feels a violent tug in the very depths of his stomach, bile hot and sour rising in his throat, and he didn't notice when exactly she arrived but she's there to catch him just in time.
The smell of her shampoo impacts his senses and is what finally sets the tears in his eyes free.
Enemy ship. Burial at sea.
They couldn't bring him back in time. He doesn't even get to bury his brother. So how long has he been worrying and hoping for his brother to return when he's already been gone?
Killian forces the thought away when it causes his gut to lurch again, nearly making him empty the contents of his stomach right onto Emma's shoes, but he somehow gets the feeling that she wouldn't mind if he did. Her grip on his hand is grounding—or perhaps it's the other way around—and he curls his fingers tighter around hers. He almost forgets not to squeeze too hard, but she lets him do it anyway, her other arm coming around to pull him in closer— or to shield him, and Killian thinks that he might actually be fine with the latter.
The sky is painfully blue today, cloudless yet the air kept cool by the fragrant sea breeze. The wildflowers that dot the grass beneath his feet seem to be especially vibrant at the moment, random colours in random patterns that somehow don't look out of place—must be nature's mystery.
The day is perfect, but Killian wishes it weren't.
It isn't fair, how time moves on and so does the rest of the world while his insides feel like they've stopped functioning, at least for now. He's almost completely lost his appetite since that horrible day, the only exceptions being the meagre scraps of food that are the most Emma can force him to swallow down his always-raw throat at a time. He wishes the world would darken for a while for his sake, to make him feel like it isn't mocking him with the blatant display of beautiful things everywhere else around him.
There's nothing beautiful or peaceful about his life right now, not when he's lost the only family he has left. How was he to know that the last time he would see his brother alive or at all was when he was seeing him off on another trip? He always came back. Always.
But not this time.
He's lost his left hand, his love and now his brother. (And his parents very long ago, but that's a different thing altogether.)
But he still has Emma. And a small part of him is afraid that he'll lose her to another tragedy, too, that maybe his life is cursed and that it passes onto the people around him, the people he loves.
But Emma is quick to shut down this nonsense of his, a mutter under her breath as she takes his hand and grips it as if he were an anchor when it's definitely the other way around (at least to him). He didn't even need to utter his thoughts because he's truthfully an open book to her just as much as she is to him.
"I'm not going anywhere, so stop looking at me like you're expecting me to leave the moment you look away."
He looks up and meets her eyes, a little shocked when he sees the beginnings of tears taking up space in them, because he's never seen her cry before, let alone tear up, not even when she told him about Boston and Neal. It sends a pang through his heart and he feels such disappointment in himself, knowing that she's just about breaking just because he is, but then she's squeezing his hand to get his attention.
"I'm your friend. And friends don't leave each other, do they? So listen when I tell you that I am not leaving you."
Her breaths, though weak and broken are warm and reassuring against his cheek, and he somehow finds it in himself to squeeze her hand back. He doesn't understand in the moment how she can speak with such conviction because he knows her and he knows that she doesn't have good experiences to base her own words on, but Killian settles with the thought of him being her only exception and evidence. He finds it easy now to return the ghost of her smile, and maybe, just for a moment, he lets himself find comfort in her sure presence, and he hopes and hopes with whatever's left of his broken heart that she's right, if only for his own sake.
Today, Killian feels like the world is trying to crash down on him. It's hilarious because he feels the pain in his head before he even takes the first swig, but that's precisely the reason he's resorting to the bottle.
It isn't because anything bad has happened to him today (yet?) but for some reason this sad feeling settled over him all of a sudden, so heavy it feels like it's suffocating him and yes, it's too early in the day to be drinking but his head and his heart hurt and he just wants it to stop.
Losing Liam is what pushed him over the edge, and he finds he can't pull himself back up.
He knows the presence of a friend would be much more effective, but he's decided that he can't wait when it feels like an invisible hand is buried in his chest and trying to pull his heart out and he just wants this feeling to go away.
He drinks until his mind is numb and buzzing, and it's almost pleasant—almost—that he feels himself drifting off right there on his living room floor when a voice that's actually pleasant sounds from behind his front door.
Recognition of the familiar voice is what perks him up a little, but just enough to let him see the face of his friend frowned in concern, her form now kneeling to meet his eyes. He barely hears anything else apart from his name in her worried tone, and, facetious as he tends to be, he shoots her a self-deprecating smile, eyes already half-lidded and the beginnings of an impending headache causing him to wince slightly.
And that's when his consciousness decides to slip away.
When he wakes, the first thing his eyes catch on is gold. Then, he registers the soft tickle of the ends of Emma's hair on his arm, her head resting on the small available space on his couch where he has now discovered he is lying on.
He realises his mistake of flitting his sight to the window when he feels a dull ache form in the centre of his forehead from the sudden muscle movement but manages to notice that it's turned dark outside. A stone of guilt instantly descends in his gut.
It's not surprising in the least, and though he is fond of and appreciates her presence, he feels another bout of self-loathing and seeks to amend his impulsive behaviour.
Placing his hand gently on top of hers, he hopes to rouse her not too suddenly, and he can't help the smile on his lips as he watches her slowly slip into consciousness. Her brows are furrowed cutely as she raises her head, her eyes remaining closed for a few more moments before opening to reveal tired green eyes.
He gets so easily lost in them, in how deep they are, and it's like they're trying to pull him in. At that moment, he chalks up his inability to focus on much else aside from the colour of her eyes to his mild inebriation that has yet to fade completely—even though she's just about lecturing him now.
But in the end, emotions are threatening to spill out, with Emma confessing that she just had a feeling to come here, and Killian no longer feels alone now that she's here with him (though he shouldn't have expected anything less since she said it herself all those months ago).
Despite realising his mistake, he can't seem to stop reaching for the drink that's always kept stocked up in his fridge. He thinks (knows) that he's afraid of dealing with these roiling emotions inside him the healthy way because it'll take longer, and that means the pain will stay in the moment. The better part of him knows that it'll just end up making him feel worse in the end, but he can never bring himself to care.
But Emma keeps coming back, never giving up on him, and he wonders why she stays because he doesn't deserve it—her—but he can't find the strength in him to get over himself and be the friend she deserves because she's already been through so much.
And, as usual, Emma sees right through him, can read him so easily, and he breaks harder at her warm embrace because it's not what he deserves (it's what he craves, but he can't admit it to himself).
The healing process doesn't seem to progress for a long time, but eventually it does, and only because she stayed with him the whole way, just like she said she would, and Killian knows he has never felt such relief like this before.
He never would have imagined it, but the one-year anniversary of Liam's passing finds Killian smiling, though melancholy, down at the memorial plate already adorned with various species of flowers. For once, his mood matches the weather (to a sufficient extent), magnificent clouds dotting the sky in uneven clusters this time, the air smelling fresh and tinted with promise—a concept he once shunned and doubted when life seemed to turn meaningless all that time ago, but it has since returned with fervour.
Killian likes to think that Liam might be proud of what he's overcome in the past year, but he will never know, at least not in this life. He's proud of himself for not touching the bottle for three whole months without Emma always needing to be around to ensure it, and he's embraced the fact that life goes on, has learnt to let go, and the ultimate feeling of moving on feels sweet now, a sensation he never expected but has taken the chance to relish.
Life goes back to 'normal', with Killian going back to work and the days passing by without seeing him reaching for a bottle at all. This means that he sees Emma less, but not for unfortunate reasons. They still meet up after work by the docks, just like before, but something between them has changed—a new kind of peace that makes Killian wonder more than once how it was possible that she's still here and hasn't left him behind long ago. It makes him fear and hope, his admiration and adoration for her growing every time she sets her eyes on him with that look that just conveys that she's planning on sticking around, and nearly all of him believes it at this point with how much he's messed up and yet finds her still here, sitting beside him as if he isn't damaged and broken.
But truthfully, he isn't—not anymore.
He thought he was beyond repair, but it is framed now in his memories of the people he's lost, in the hollow space below his wrist and in the space in his heart that had been dug out and then refilled that as long as he has Emma Swan to remind (or give it to) him, his life would have meaning.
Killian didn't know it until later, but it seemed like a day as regular now as any other when things began to shift between them. She arrived at their usual spot wearing a pensive look, her eyes betraying that her mind was miles away as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, and Killian could only wait minutes before curiosity won out and he raised the question that was sitting on his mind since the moment she settled next to him.
To say he was just mildly surprised when she declared that someone new had arrived in town that morning would be an understatement—it simply never happens. The only reason he could think of for anyone bothering to drive the distance would be to get away from the city, probably. That, and the fact that barely anyone in town has family residing outside of town.
He learns quickly enough that his name is Walsh, and that he happens to be looking for a new place to settle, though he can't guess why he might have seen a future here in secluded Storybrooke.
Upon his first official meeting with the man himself, Killian finds him pleasant enough, a polite smile that just might have been an attempt at charming when Emma introduces him at the precinct. He doesn't stumble across the man around town very often after that, though he does stay at the docks for work during most of the day and hardly leaves the area until after his shift.
But during the course of the following weeks, Killian notices the way Emma seems to be spending more time with the newcomer. He's told himself before (on more than one occasion) that she's probably just doing her job as sheriff to help him adjust to the way of life in this little town, and it's not like she's spending any less time with him in favour of the man.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous."
Killian's eyebrow ticks up—force of habit—as he regards her with a cheeky smile to complement that playful tone she addressed him with.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to make me jealous…" he drawls, letting his eyebrows dance with that suggestive undertone he knows he's so good at.
He triumphs internally at the faint blush that dusts her cheeks then, not dropping his smirk just yet. It earns him a scoff, but she's still smiling at him, which he finds a little odd because of the way she's smiling. It doesn't look out of the ordinary or anything, but he senses from it that she's keeping something hidden, not something to warrant any real concern but still giving the impression that she's yearning to tell him what's on her mind.
So, as the good (and inquisitive—which really is just a polite word for nosy) friend he is, he prompts her with a turn of his head and a narrowing of his eyes.
After a second's hesitation, finally, she relents and blows out an exasperated huff before glancing up at him, almost nervous, which is quite uncharacteristic of her, and now he can't help but worry a little. But before he can open his mouth to ask properly, she cuts him off with quick words, almost too quick, but his brain still manages to catch them, only needing a few seconds to replay the jumble and work them out into something comprehensible.
"He asked me out."
He's not sure why his mind freezes, blaming it on the sheer shock of those words coming out of her mouth—something he never expected to ever hear with his own ears—and he struggles for a moment to find a reply to that. (He doesn't bother questioning how he knew right away whom she was referring to.)
Of course, he settles on his usual flippancy with a touch of truth.
"Well, never thought I'd ever hear you say that, Swan."
He accepts the swat she lands on his arm, laughing at the sharp glare she fixes him with.
A beat passes in silence, and, realising that she has more that she wants to say, he patiently waits for her to speak. He wants her to be sure that he'll always be willing to listen; he's personally interested in being involved in everything to do with her—especially her most embarrassing moments, because those are just too entertaining to pass up.
"Do you… Do you think I should go?" she says quietly then, and for some reason entirely unknown to him, Killian's heart flutters.
Why would she ask him that? And why him? It's not like she needs his permission or anything—she's a full-grown adult.
"You mean you haven't said yes?" he feigns an incredulous tone, intentionally furrowing his brows.
"Ugh. Do you think I'd be asking you if I did? Seriously?"
He chortles at her irritated expression, one that never seems to get old despite how so very often she wears it around him.
"Well, I don't see why not…"
Emma exhales softly, worrying her bottom lip again. It kind of frustrates him, makes him want to reach out and pull on her chin just to stop the movement, but he holds the urge in just as something hits him.
Of course. How could he not have picked it up earlier?
His eyes soften as he shifts just slightly closer to her, immediately gaining her attention. The look behind her eyes confirms his suspicions, seeing the doubt and the memory of a mistake made long ago, one that completely wasn't her fault yet a burden that is still sticking to her, even till now. His heart clenches at the memory of the dejected look she wore as she told him what happened back in Boston that day. It must have been years.
"Emma, it's all right to be afraid." He doesn't miss the way her nose twitches at the use of her first name. "But he seems like a decent guy and I think it's worth taking a chance."
He worries that it might have been the wrong thing to say, but he relaxes when she just smiles up at him and nods.
"Okay. I guess I'll give it a shot."
For the rest of the fading afternoon, they sit there and bask in the smell and sound of the sea, and it is not until they are about to part ways when Emma's quiet voice is heard above the whispers of the waves.
"Thank you, Killian."
(It gives him the feeling that she's thanking him for much more.)
He suspects the date went well, because the day after that she greets him with a bright smile that she was probably wearing the whole day.
"Should I be jealous, love? You never smile at me like that," he jests.
She rolls her eyes, still sporting that smile, and he's sure at this point that she's somewhat smitten. He can't find it in himself to be envious of the other man when he makes his closest companion this blatantly happy.
"That's because you're always giving me a reason not to," she retorts, plopping down on the bench and taking her cup from his outstretched hand.
"Aye, and you love me for it." He's flashing her his coy grin again, and he fails to notice how her smile falters for a millisecond before she's rolling her eyes again.
"Aye," she mimics with a shake of her head. Then, in a lower tone muttered so silently under her breath that it's concealed by the sounds around them (and maybe he fails to pick it up too because he's distracted by his own private thoughts), "Sometimes I wish I didn't."
Months pass and Killian watches as her relationship with Walsh flourishes. She rarely arrives to meet him without a smile, and though it makes him happy to see her happy, he can't help the jealous feeling that creeps into his chest every time he remembers the reason she's always in such a mood—again, it's not like she spends any less time with him, which is admirable considering he can't say the same for when he was with Milah, so his feelings are really unjustified—but Killian brushes it off as something natural that just can't be helped and doesn't spend prolonged time consciously dwelling on the thought.
Emma is happy, and that's all that matters.
Until one day, she's walking up to him with slow, tentative steps, obviously lost in thought, and the sight of her face sans a smile has become so uncommon now that Killian finds himself bemusedly staring up at her long before the concern settles in.
"Love, something happen?"
Abruptly, her head snaps up to meet his eyes. She seems to forget to sit for a moment before she slides in next to him, the thoughtful look on her face not easing one bit.
He tries again, "What's on your mind, love?"
Killian's eyes trail all over her face to see if he can glean any hint at all about what might be troubling her (he has a very high suspicion it's something to do with Walsh), her prolonged silence causing his concern to rise each second that passes without her reply—not to mention the way her lips are parted, frozen in a clear display of her trying to figure out what to say or how to start.
Finally, after it feels like he's been holding his breath for eternity, "Walsh proposed."
Her voice is quiet, kind of timid, but that's not like her at all, and he's pretty sure he knows why. On the contrary, the sinking feeling in his gut is a mystery to him. Of course he wants his best friend to be happy, and lately, it seems as if the man in question has been playing a large part in keeping her that way, so he can't think of any logical reason to explain why he's feeling… disappointed? He isn't even sure what to name it, and the entire thing perplexes him.
"When?" he croaks out when he finally finds his voice.
"Last night…"
Killian fixes her with a bewildered and feigned-hurt look.
"And you didn't think it appropriate to notify me?! You could have at least bothered with a text! Can't believe you waited nearly an entire day to tell me," he reproaches, attempting to lighten the mood, but for once it seemed to yield no result.
He's not entirely sure if the wide smile on his face is a welcome reaction, and he studies her face imploringly, hoping she'll soon let down her walls and confide in him. "Well?" He pauses and sighs quietly through his nose. Then he lets another moment pass, taking a breath. In a softer, gentler tone, "I'm aware this is a big decision and it's normal to feel uncertain— "
"But I ran away. Literally. Like, it's only been eight months— well, eight months is pretty long, but… I don't know, I just didn't know what to do. I froze. And then I ran." She takes a deep breath afterwards as if she's been holding that in the whole time, and something in him makes Killian believe that's exactly the case. "I feel horrible for just leaving him kneeling there. It must have been so embarrassing. God, I really messed that up."
He slowly places his hand on hers that's resting on her knee, beckoning her to look up at him, and he's glad because it'll help emphasise his point. Eyes never leaving hers, he asks, "Do you feel happy when you're with him?"
She barely hesitates. "Yes."
"And what did your heart say the moment he asked you?"
She wrinkles her nose in confusion. "What does that mean?"
Killian chuckles, "What was your first thought, perhaps your impulsive one when you heard his question?"
This time, she pauses, unsure, and when the silence has lasted long enough, Killian resumes speaking.
"Perhaps you should tell him that you'll think about it. If he truly cares, he won't mind waiting."
I know I wouldn't.
Where did that come from? Killian dismisses it as an inveterate quip of his, though deep down he can't be certain, and it kind of vexes him how he keeps making these statements in his mind on utter instinct.
Her genuine smile then eases the worry in his heart, and a shiver trails from his fingertips up his arm when she turns her hand that's under his up to interlace their fingers. He just blames it on the chill left behind by the departing sun. The warmth of her palm is comforting, though by right, he should be the one comforting her, but he savours the feeling nonetheless and returns her smile.
He loves the effect she has on him no matter what it is and in spite of whatever she might be doing to trigger it. Even tugging on her last nerve thrills him.
"I had no idea you were able to give such good advice, Jones. Looks like there's a brain behind that pretty face of yours after all."
"You wound me, Swan."
The next day comes and Killian can't seem to keep his eyes off his watch. He may always be early—which isn't an exaggeration because it'd be bad form to keep a lady waiting—but she's never been this late. She's been late before, of course, sheriff duties occasionally keeping her away for a while longer, but never as late as nearly an hour.
He's checked his phone multiple times too, hoping to find a message from her at least to explain her prolonged absence, but nothing. His foot continues tapping on the grass in ever-increasing worry, and his body is itching to get up off the bench and head to the sheriff's station to find her himself. A part of him reprimands him for hesitating for so long, not sure what exactly was keeping him from seeking her out earlier, and when he glances at his watch one more time, his nerves screaming at him to just go, he finally jumps to his feet and doesn't need to think—his mind is on autopilot, directing his legs to brisk-walk to the station to find his friend.
When he gets there, David is just heading out, and he halts Killian in his place with a hand clapped urgently to his shoulder.
"Emma just left for the docks. Walsh, that— "
"What? I was just at the docks, bloody hell."
"Just go. She needs you right now."
Later, Killian doesn't remember to wonder how David knew he was looking for her right away, though he supposes it must have shown on his face, but all he can think of now as he's sprinting back to the docks, still griping to himself about how ridiculous it is that he decided to leave right when she was coming his way, is that he just has to get to her.
Then his eyes land on her figure sitting upright on the bench, deceptively calm to anyone else's eyes, but Killian is not anyone else, and the air of vulnerability surrounding her that he can discern from the sight is enough to spark a tangible bout of pain in his heart.
"You're late, Jones."
"Turns out he was trying to skip bail from the city."
Her hand is ominously cold as she grips his despite it being minutes since he tried to warm her up by contact, and it took even longer for her to open up, though he can only find himself feeling enmity for the man who skipped town hours ago, leaving Emma to deal with the truth of him alone.
(Though not anymore now that Killian is here.)
"I guess I was the most convenient thing he could use to try and get away. You would've thought I should have been able to see through it from the start—all the charm and the good looks."
"Well, to be completely honest, I—and a few others I shan't name—have differing opinions of that last one."
His heart feels a little lighter when he manages to elicit a chuckle from her, though low and tinged with sadness—but it's something. It is short-lived, however, when her face falls again, reverting to that emotionless mask—save for the betraying downturn of the corners of her eyes—he is familiar with that she uses to keep herself from falling apart.
"I mean, what kind of bail-bondswoman am I? I can't believe I let this happen again."
He waits in the silence, knowing that it's better if he lets her get it all off her chest, get it out in the open—to him. His grip on her hand tightens just slightly, dragging his thumb along to trace over the veins he can see and reach in repetitive circles.
She takes another calming breath, again deceptive, but he hears how shaky it is and knows that she's doing it (but failing) to steady herself. "And it's— I'm not even all that upset about him leaving the moment things didn't go according to plan, just… I can't believe this is the second guy I've been with who didn't turn out to be who he said he was."
Just as she ends her sentence, her eyes fall shut and twin tracks of tears leak out from beneath her eyelids. It's like instinct despite the action not being done before when Killian brings her hand grasped in his up to his lips to faintly brush them across the back of it, and at her shiver he pulls her even closer, a frigid breeze blowing past.
The smell of her shampoo enters his nostrils, and the same scent he recognises from another incident a while back triggers an ache in his chest. He nearly can't wrap his mind around how much has changed since then.
He releases her hand but only to wipe at her cheeks, the pad of his thumb catching the moistness and tracing deviating paths down the sides of her face. She's trembling just slightly in his arms, and so rarely does he find himself in a situation like this—or never before—but he wishes he doesn't have to witness her ever go through it again. He thinks he'll do anything to take this pain of hers away, knowing it's impossible to get her to shoulder it with him because that's just who she is, and it's a stark reminder of how he used to think not so long ago.
She's just as afraid as he was that the moment she opens herself up completely, the people closest to her will walk away and leave her alone.
But he knows he could never do that to her, though he's not so sure she's as certain about it too. He can only hope that this is enough, but he's prepared to do more to prove it—anything for his Swan.
He basks in the silence along with her, letting her listen to his heartbeat and counting them himself as he preoccupies the rest of his mind with thoughts of her.
Though he's content with staying like this with her for the rest of the night and perhaps longer if she so desired, there are words prodding at the back of his throat for him to utter, and it must be so obvious that he's almost sure she can sense it, but he doesn't want her to shift so he just relents, careful to begin softly so he doesn't risk startling her with his lips so close to her ear.
"Were you considering it? The proposal?"
She moves anyway, but thankfully not too much, just enough to look him in the eyes, her cheek coming to rest in the crook of his neck. Her voice is faint and exhausted, just barely loud enough for him to hear, "Honestly? Yeah. I… I really liked him, but, well, he wasn't who he said he was. As usual. I guess I'm just glad now that I didn't get myself too deep into that would-be mess before things could have the chance to turn out really horrible. It's just… I hate that I had to get my heart broken… Again."
Killian briefly chews on his lip before forcing himself to be brave, steeling himself for her reaction.
"Don't take this the wrong way, love, but I… I'm glad to hear that."
As expected, her head jerks up, eyes narrowed dangerously at him. At eye-level, she's absolutely terrifying, and Killian can't believe he forgot that fact for the shortest moment. But her voice belies the hardness in her features, emerging with an undercurrent of disbelief and hurt. "You're glad I got my heart broken?"
He's sure his eyes must be straining with the reflection of the sting of hurting her, but he braves ahead, knowing that his words are necessary. So he reaches out and takes her hand again, relieved that she doesn't pull away.
"Well, love, if it can be broken, it just means it still works. And it brings me such relief to know that, else I might have lost the use of my only remaining hand for a while if I had to track down the imp to sock him—not that I wasn't thinking of doing it before."
At last, a brilliant, real smile breaks out on her face, and he thinks he hasn't seen anything quite as radiant in a long while. Her eyes are still rimmed red, but to Killian, the green of them shines brighter with her strength than the grass in the most blazing of daylight in this moment.
Not much else is said for a while afterwards, the sound of the crickets around them and the awakening of the stars overhead serving as a peaceful ambience that the pair decided they shall enjoy for as long as they please. It's been a long day.
Then,
"I really know how to pick 'em, don't I?"
"Well, you haven't gotten rid of me. And I highly doubt you ever will, I assure you, Swan."
"Hmm… Killian?"
"Aye, love?"
"I… If I have to be stuck with one guy for the rest of my life and end up never getting married, I'm glad that it's you."
"Likewise, love."
Thank you for reading! The next and final chapter shall have a happy ending, ship-wise - it didn't feel right to leave it just like that in the previous chapter, so I hope the next one will have a satisfying conclusion :)