A/N: Getting this chapter started… I may have mourned Gilbert for a minute. That's normal, right? *sigh* And then piecing this Frankenstein all together, rearranging everything, rewriting almost everything.. it might have had something to do with the fact that I had been awake for 65 hours. But I think I got it now, after sleeping (finally).. Anyhoo, I love Lily. She's the equal and opposite of Emma in so many ways, and had such potential to be the worst -best?- villain of the entire series. No idea if this story'll do her justice, though. You'll have to tell me.

3:39 pm

Gilbert had been half a block away when..

Emma didn't know how to handle this. She knew him. He was growing on her. She liked him, even. She had called him, actually wanting to start something, with him, maybe something good, and she was prepared to cross that bridge with him -

Because, honest to God, how the hell was she married to a fictional pirate captain who was really a former marine who happened to hang around the college campus she chose to attend? She didn't spend the better part of a decade in Storybrooke with her parents and her son and she never made all those friends like Belle or Ruby and she never got married or had a baby girl -

She angrily swatted at the tears that had miraculously formed on her cheeks because she had absolutely not been crying over non-events and the death of a person who had only sort of been in her life the last two years.

A person who could have been a huge part of her life if not for -

She had stopped the car. When had she stopped the car? When had she been driving? She clearly remembered leaving the station sometime after 2:30, getting into the vehicle… she had no memory of the drive at all, just her thoughts, and her non-tears and - where the hell had she even gone?

Looking around, groaning in realization. She must have driven in circles, eventually arriving at the only place where the offered roof had no idea about - about what had - the event -

She was at the apartment building of, none other than, Mr. Unhooked himself.

She groaned a little more, wondering what the hell inspired her subconscious to come here, of all places. But she was here. And she was already parked. And she was too tired to even think about driving. And she was too tired to think about the fact that she didn't hate where she'd arrived at.

And she was too tired to feel guilty over that statement she was too tired to think about.

She scoffed at herself, forcing herself to exit the vehicle, close her door, lock the door, walk to the front where her bags were -

She wasn't surprised (she was totally surprised) to see a gentleman approach her, in a uniform, who offered to take her duffle and laptop bag. She let him because of her ribs, fully expecting him to run off with her property. Instead, he stood with her in the elevator, awkwardly, and tipped his hat in farewell when she got off the thing with her bags. She was surprised he was genuine, and that his job even existed, though it was definitely handy.

She did not have the energy to overthink about the amount of money spent on this place by not-her-husband.

"Hello?" she called out, standing by the elevator, her bags at her feet. She felt a little - ok, a lot - like she was intruding. She had to set her determination to stay. She was already here. She called out again, but nothing happened. No sounds. No lights. She probably had a better chance of finding him at the college, if she was looking, which she was not.

Which was ironic.

The minutes ticked by, and suddenly, she smelled something delicious and it hit her that she never ate lunch. She felt a little cartoonish as she drifted into the kitchen, basically by her nose, to the crockpot on the counter.

He was cooking something. She shook her head, forcing herself not to reach out to open the lid. Instead, she grabbed an apple off the counter, leaning onto the sink to eat it. And then it hit her why she never ate lunch.

Her mind hated her, drifting to a fuzzy, drunken memory of Gilbert taking her home, tucking her in, and leaving out aspirin and water for her to take. That memory morphed into the one where he had just shown up to fix her door knob, and how he looked at her when she was holding Hope. How he had insisted on taking her to the hospital, leaning against her window. How he had taken her to his own home when her apartment crumbled to ash. His glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. She remembered his scent, how he looked sleeping -

Oh, God, she still had his shirt. She still had that old ass, faded, green tee shirt and he was -

Gone.

She threw the half-eaten apple away, taking the duffle to 'her room', changing into his green shirt as quickly as she could. Her broken ribs could absolutely heal - now, would be nice. His shirt didn't smell like him at all, having been freshly laundered before hand, and was a little - a lot - too big for her, but it was comforting. Or was it morbid?

She kept it on.

She thought about his adoptive parents, how they were taking the news. Not well - obviously - c'mon Emma - like they were anything but devastated - She didn't bother to retrieve her other bag, choosing instead to curl up onto the dream bed to get some much needed shut-eye.

5:36 pm

Emma woke to a gentle shake on her shoulder.

"There you are, love." Mmm, she could melt into that accent -

Reality hit her. The loss. Her location.

She sat up too quickly, wincing at her ribs, making her fall back down.

"I didn't mean to alarm you."

"No-" she croaked out, clearing her throat, looking anywhere but him, her hand pressed lightly to her ribs as she stared at the ceiling, wishing for a split second that there were stars glued up there. "It's been a long day."

"Aye." He stood there a moment. She could practically hear the cogs turning in his mind. "Dinner is available when you're ready - I won't intrude further."

And, damnit, she believed him, looking over in time for him to disappear behind the closing door.

Was this - was he - taking care of her? No way in hell, with her luck, would she stumble on two (completely different) men, both of which would willingly take care of her so wholly. What were the odds?

They'd both end up - just like -

She shook that morbid thought from her head. This one was just.. being proper. He was a good host. It was 'good form'. She still had a few solid memories of that dream world, Killian being a massive part of that, and she knew of all the things he was, he was caring underneath it all.

Having gone to sleep fully dressed, she didn't need to do much to be ready. Aside from sitting up, moving without hurting herself.

Right before leaving the bedroom, she saw her computer bag sitting on the chair beside the door. He must have moved it. Opening the door, she was assaulted with the pleasant smell she first noticed when she arrived. Following it yet again, she found him in the kitchen, ladling something from the crock pot into a bowl.

He turned, smiling when he saw her. It was genuine, but not that whole 'world' thing like before. Had that actually happened? Or was that the 'dream' version? Things were blurring together. She shook her head.

"Alright there?"

"I was just overthinking something."

"Aye, I do that, time to time. Human condition, and all. Would you care to join me for dinner?"

"As long as it's not a date."

"I might protest, if I didn't know you've already had a long day."

He turned back, reaching into a cabinet for a second bowl, filling it, before managing to take both bowls to the table one handed.

She might have been slightly impressed.

"Sparkling water alright?"

"I do need more water to heal."

"Get out of my head." He scolded her playfully. Her own smile was small, but real as it could be, as she remembered telling him that the day she broke her ribs.

He brought the water to the table, and pulled a chair out for her again. She took it, only eyeing him with a touch of skepticism, before she noticed what smelled so good in her bowl.

"You made chicken noodle soup?"

"We've already established that I can cook, love." He settled into his own chair. "Though the crockpot does feel a touch like cheating."

"What happened to the homely, immaculate…" Oh. She glared at him, but knew it held no real heat. He had always planned on taking her to his place for this meal. "Clever bastard."

"Well, you are healing. There's nothing like homemade chicken noodle soup to heal both body and mind."

He was right. It was delicious. And it did calm her mind a bit. She needed this more than she thought possible.

"And I can barely cook an egg."

"I can show you, you know."

She eyed him again. "What's your end game?" She'd blurted that - she hadn't meant - why the hell - always, with the brutal fucking honesty -

"Currently? To eat until I've replenished my body with the nutrients it needs for survival. Yours?"

"You're so full of it sometimes."

"So I've been told. Honestly, love, I do fancy you from time to time, when you're not yelling at me. But having you stay here, hitting on you would simply be bad form."

God, he was looking at her like that again -

"Emma…" he breathed out, a little shocked -

She woke to a gentle shake on her shoulder.

"There you are, love." Mmm, she could melt into that accent -

Reality hit her. The loss. Her location. He remembered my name. Again.

She sat up too quickly, wincing at her ribs, making her fall back down.

"I didn't mean to alarm you."

"No-" she croaked out, clearing her throat, looking at him. Actually looking at him. He looked downright uncomfortable, and her instincts told her it had something to do with 'bad form'. "It's been a long day." she whispered.

"Aye." He stood there a moment. She could practically see the cogs turning in his mind, as he thought of his options, dismissing the majority of them. "Dinner is available when you're ready - I won't intrude further."

She stared after him, catching the smiling glance he shot her before he disappeared behind the closing door.

Was that it? Was this really Killian and when he remembered… everything just kinda… reset?

She felt a headache coming on.

She went through the motions, getting up, going back into the kitchen, choosing a different topic line at the table, finding out that Colin was a published historian who gave guest lectures at the college, which is why she saw him there, aside from his sister-in-law's random shaved ice cravings. Naturally, he studied the history of pirates, and the era they were from.

When that came up, she winced, fully expecting things to reset again. But it never did. He seemed to only remember when it had something to do with her or the words he'd thrown out that she remembered from the dream. She realized he was looking at her across the table, having noticed her face contort. He genuinely looked concerned for her. She waved it off, just blaming it on her ribs.

Fuck me sideways with a broken bottle. Was it real? Was it all real? Why the hell was she here if that stupid, motherfucking, dream was real?!

Oh god. She - She was married. She had parents. She had two kids. She had friends. She had a life that she loved - what the hell happened to her happy beginning?

Her head snapped up at the beautiful man in front of her - this was her husband.

What the hell happened to Gilbert? Was he really -

Nope. Warning. Danger.

Was this a spell? How was she supposed to break it? Kiss Killi-er... Colin? Why the hell was he the only one who - well, she did have that massive dream.

What if it wasn't a spell? What else could it be?

Was she going insane?

9:25 pm

Trying to avoid topics and banter that might make him remember was exhausting. She finally gave up around 9, and hadn't stopped pacing her room since. But she was still too hyped to sleep.

Pacing in her borrowed room, she had no idea what to do. If it was real, she had to do something. But there was always the question of her sanity. What if she was just going crazy? A lot had happened lately. A lot of stressful things, no one would blame her for going a little sideways.

She called Holly.

"Hey, everything ok? It's been a minute."

It really had been. Emma hadn't told Holly about - well. A lot, lately.

"Yeah, there's just-" She looked around the spacious room, crossing her arms as best she could while holding the phone to her ear. "How's Hope?"

She could almost hear the smile. "She's good! But that's not why you called."

"No. No it's not." Emma sighed, setting her resolve, and filling in her friend. By the time she was done, she felt even crazier, and she ignored the fact that her face was - somehow - wet.

"Jeez, that's - that's a lot. How are you coping?"

"I don't think I am. I'm 90% sure I'm crazy."

"Because you're starting to think the dream is real?"

Emma hesitated. "Maybe."

"You can talk to me, hun, I get it."

"Yeah, but - "

"No. Em, seriously. Like. Okay. So the dream thing sounds pretty crazy, I'm not gonna lie. But I'm not the one in the middle of this, so I'm also not gonna judge. So." The line was quiet a minute. "I think you need to test it."

"Test - how the hell -" Emma didn't know how to proceed from there.

"Ok. So Hunky Hunkerson might also be this Killian-pirate guy who you're married to, right?" Emma grunted in the affirmative. "Do you remember anything about him, from that first dream, that you can just - test?"

Emma stopped her pacing. "Maybe." She bit her lip, a few ideas swimming around in her brain.

"Do that. Test him. Find out. Come find me when you know."

Emma hung up the phone a little nervously, checking the time. It was almost 10.

She squared her shoulders, walking out of the room, finding him in the living room, on the armchair, with a book, looking up as she stood at the back of the couch.

"It's hard to believe you read."

"I've written two of these, so far."

"Right. Got any alcohol?"

He smirked, his eyebrow jutting up, before he cleared his throat and reset his face.

"Aye. Rum?"

"That'll do it."

He stood, setting the book down on the coffee table, moving to a small bar in the corner. He glanced at her as she sat, while he poured the liquid into two glasses, that eyebrow back up.

His face still betrayed him as he handed her the drink.

"What on Earth are you thinking about?" She asked, taking a sip. It was coconut rum. She already felt her rib pain fall away, just slightly.

"What are you staring at?"

"Your stupid face. Which I asked about. First."

He shrugged. "Self medicating?" He still stood, just a foot from her, sipping his own beverage.

"That's not it and you know it."

"I suppose I can't help but think of things concerning alcohol and a woman in my home that would not be good form to bring up." He winked.

She scoffed. "I should have known."

"You really should have."

She kept her eyes on him as she slammed back her drink. The look on his face could only be described as sinful. And her half-baked plan was failing.

There was so much she wanted to tell him, to talk about, to try and wake him up - but what would that do, other than reset things? She didn't feel like playing out her least favorite Bill Murray movie.

She shook her head, breaking herself from the spell of his gaze before setting the glass down on the coffee table, thanking him, and going to her room - finally numb enough, and calm enough, to try and get some sleep.

10:06 am

As soon as Emma stumbled out of the room, she found him in the kitchen, again.

"Always with the cooking."

He glanced back, grinning. "Take out kinda girl, eh?"

"Only when I don't have something microwaveable."

He cringed, flipping something in the pan.

"Bloody hell, microwave? How do you keep your girlish figure?"

"I literally beat up men for a living."

He raised a curious brow at that. "Bastards hit back?" She pointed to her ribs. "What kind of profession allows a beautiful woman such as yourself to beat up men who punch back?"

"Bail bonds person."

He paused, looking at her, his mouth gaping a bit. Shrugging, he turned back to the pan.

"I believe you've rendered me speechless. Bravo, woman. Remind me never to cross you."

Emma groaned at her phone, buzzing yet again.

"Yes?"

It was the chief. "Hey, Swan…"

She rolled her eyes. "Hi chief, I'm good, are you good? Good. Now spit it out."

He sighed. "I'm fine. Do you want to know… the service information?"

Emma lost her footing, just a little, Col-Kil- her host rushing to catch her. He helped her steady herself, but she was feeling a little noodley, allowing herself to slink down him, onto the floor.

Why was she - she barely knew -

"Emma?"

She shook her head. "Um. Right. Yeah. Sure. Text- text me."

She hung up abruptly, the man - her husband? - kneeling behind her, holding her up.

She felt stupid. It wasn't the first time she lost someone, even if she ignored the dream. He probably wasn't even real.

His voice sounded distant, distorted. It took way too much effort to focus on his words.

"You're okay, love. I've got you."

"He's dead."

She felt him stiffen, before relaxing, and positioning himself to stand, holding her in his arms. He moved over to the couch, setting her down gently, kneeling in front of her.

"Tell me."

His eyes were caring orbs of trust and before she could even think about it, it all came rushing out. She told him about the man she barely knew for two years who suddenly started trying and how he just died. She didn't tell him about the lunch date. Or the dreams. Or the weird things like time stopping or starting over. She'd wait for Killian to come back - if it really was Killian.

Whoever he really was, he was endlessly patient, understanding, and listened to her every word.

"And the call?" He asked gently, after she'd been silent for a moment.

"The chief. He asked about - if I wanted to know -" This was it. The moment of truth. If this was Killian, he'd be able to fill in the blanks she wasn't able to say out loud. She intentionally, as difficult as it was, locked her eyes onto his.

He was silent a moment, his eyes reading hers.

"The service."

Her world stopped moving, and she felt like she was falling over.

She was falling over.

She wasn't insane - how the hell - the six year dream -

Storybrooke, Maine

The air was thick with tension.

Gold and Zelena still held prisoners against the floor and wall with their spells, Regina was just waking up, stretching from the stress of dying in her dream. Belle and Tink had just unplugged Mary Margaret, and had been on the way to get David, when Lily arrived and dropped a bomb on them.

Waking everyone up wasn't going to just work. She'd added her own codes, creating chaos, knowing the three spellcasters would be woken in the first wave. Their detachment from the computer activated some code that Emma, apparently, wouldn't like.

Suddenly, no one felt like unplugging more of the town's people without getting more information.

Regina, sluggish as she was, still managed to lift Lily magickally by the neck, choking the young dragon.

Lily had the gall to just laugh through the chokes, unaffected by the idea of her own death.

"Kill… me and… you'll… never see…" Regina threw her into the wall, clever little vines attacking her body, keeping her there. "You'll never see your loved ones again." She finally finished, a smug smile on her face.

Lily

She was amused. The people who had been pulled from the dream were just too damn obvious. Just unplugging Rumpelstiltskin, The Evil Queen, and The Wicked Witch triggered a line of code that effectively killed someone Emma was fond of. It had been a last minute impulse, changing the conditions in the code to kill Gilbert when those three were all unplugged. Lily had noticed Emma's affection for the man, and the bastard deserved it anyway.

She wondered if it had already happened yet. She hadn't been able to log into the dream since Belle freed that freakin fairy. She cocked her head at Belle from her position on the wall. Why hadn't the bookworm been affected and captured? She was the only one who escaped her hired men. She had thought of everything - she thought. But Belle had escaped every attempt made, then interrupted her viewing pleasure. She had wanted to see that bastard fall. Besides, she wanted to know just how bad things had gotten in there.

The thought brought a smile to her lips. Even if everything else failed, she succeeded in making life hell for Emma and her family, if only for a moment.

Pulling both Snow and David would have killed Emma in both the dream, and reality. Too bad she'd arrived before they reached the husband. Imagine their faces if David had been freed, too, and she told them what they did to their daughter with a line of code she added on a whim months ago.

There were many whimsical lines of code floating around in there.

She'd taken too long to plan this. Too long to gather the science and equipment she needed to do this without magick. - Of course she had hoped her birth mother would teach her spells for her revenge, but the mighty Maleficent had fallen, let the heroes live their happy endings, telling her stories of letting go of anger , or revenge just isn't worth it .

They stole her freaking goodness . And they kicked her into the land without magick. And Emma - Lily had always been drawn to her, always feeling more balanced the more the two were together, but Emma turned her away. Just like her Charming parents had.

None of it was fair.

But no matter what, Emma would suffer before this was over. And by proxy, her parents too. Likely, they would all suffer a lot before she even found out about the back door in the code she couldn't remove, no matter how hard she tried - and the way to access it.. Lily knew her light counterpart well enough to know, Emma would never do it.

Whatever happened to Lily, it was a good day.

Thank you for reading!