Emma wants to go home.
Sherwood Manor, even when dingy and dark, seems like a paradise compared to this feces-covered, foul-smelling speck of land. What she initially thought a romantic idea is an insult.
Near tears, she tries to compose herself. Neal climbs the trees like they are a stairway to heaven, eagerly clambering up roots and branches to get a better view of their current position. He ignores her and the forgotten picnic basket.
She has never felt more disappointed or heartbroken. Is this how much he respects her? Is bringing her to a dirty, repulsive place a demonstration of friendship and intimacy?
Either he is misguided or cruel. When he states again how wonderful this all is, she cannot stand her pain a moment longer. Sweeping up her soiled skirts, she tears through the undergrowth. She hears him call out, his footsteps pounding the ground, but she does not care. She does not give a damn if she stumbles or trips or wanders. Her racing heart is pulling her back to the boat. Back to the manor where at least the children and Robin would never humiliate her this way.
Shame devastates her. She almost believed Neal was different, that he cared for her.
Foolish her, to imagine that someone may love her.
"Emma! Emma, wait!"
She continues to run. After carefully hopping into the hull, she grabs an oar and shoves off.
"What on earth are you doing?" He is out of breath and out of reach. All he can do is watch her leave. She is too far out in the water for him to leap into the boat. "I don't understand."
All her anger comes rushing forth. "Was this a joke? A prank you planned to play on me? Because I won't stand for it. What in God's name made you think that I would appreciate that — that — that mess? That I would sit there and listen to you brag and boast about us when it's clear you couldn't care less?"
"Are you mad?" he yells back, pacing about the shoreline. "I came here for you! I brought us here so we could be together — alone."
Fears she didn't know she had chill her voice. "Alone? Here? Where no one could ever find us? What did you expect? That I'd give myself to you?" Her mind feels numb as she tries to navigate the oars and shout at the same time. "You did hope that, didn't you? After the ball, our talks, everything — you hoped I would let my guard down. And when that happened... You would press your advantage." Disgusted, she clenches her teeth. "Why didn't I see it from the beginning?"
To her surprise, Neal looks shocked, hands in the air as if surrendering. "Emma... No. I didn't — I swear, on my life, that I had no such intentions. Yes, you're beautiful and I recognize that. But believe me — please believe me that I only wanted some privacy. For us. We haven't been able to have a single moment alone. Either Regina or one of the servants..."
She barely hears him now. The water spins and churns around the wood, reminding her that she will soon land on the opposite bank. The journey to the island seemed so long before. Have mere minutes truly passed since she boarded and abandoned him?
Abandoned. Without a second thought.
Neal's distant figure grows smaller. He will have to swim back. The lake looks cold, and today has been windy and cloudy. He might get consumption if he is forced to return in wet clothing. It is a long walk.
Emma curses under her breath and manages to turn the boat around. Damn her sense of honor and that sudden twinge of guilt. Her arms are already sore from the odd exercise of rowing.
She is winded by the time she reaches him, standing with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Very well. I forgive you, Neal Cassidy. But by God, you were abominable today," she snaps, tossing down the oars. "What is wrong with you?"
Silently, he drags the prow forward into the sandy dirt. Then, hands still on the edge, he studies her intently.
Shaking her head, she helps herself out of the boat. Once again, her shoes sink into the mire of this wretched shore. All the while, he is scrutinizing her, his eyes following her every move. It is unnerving, and she is at a loss what to say.
Finally, she sighs and murmurs, "Are you getting in or not? I want to be back by sunset at the latest."
He is right in front of her but still says nothing.
"Unbelievable," she scoffs. "No apologies or explanation?"
His hand curls around hers tentatively. When she does not protest — and she cannot understand why she does not — his fingers intertwine with her own.
"You're right. I was an utter ass and complete idiot. And I owe you an apology. I'm sorry." His lips curve in a half-smile. "Still interested in the explanation?"
He could not possibly exasperate her more. "Naturally, I am," she says drily. It would be childish to sulk, but that is exactly how she feels.
Before she realizes what is happening, his mouth is on hers. All reason, argument, and logic disappear. Her blood is left, rushing to her head in a wild dance.
Finally. Finally, he admits the truth about their connection and bond.
She lengthens the kiss with a broad smile and leans in for another, to which he reciprocates. This one bends her heart to him.
"Emma Swan, I've never met anyone like you," he breathes out. "The past months with you have been the happiest of my life. Incredibly happy. And I understand now how I feel."
She nudges him with her elbow. "You designed this insane trip to tell me that you're happy?"
Laughing, he ducks his head. "Not that. Something far more important."
"As in?"
His lips brush hers. She is tempted to catch them with her teeth.
"As in...my feelings for you." He takes her hands in his. "You deserve the truth, no matter what you decide. Emma, I've fallen in love with you."
Once, Tink had stolen a copy of Sir Burton's scandalous "Arabian Nights." They took turns reading it after curfew under the flickering flame of one candle. Although there were many amusing elements, magic carpets were Emma's favorite fantasy.
With the wind in her hair, his eyes golden in rays of light breaking through the clouds, she might as well be riding on such a carpet. His words, carrying her into the heights of contentment and warmth. Up so high, she wants to stretch out her hand and touch the sun.
Neal looks sincere, and she believes with her whole heart that he is. He also seems nervous, shifting from foot to foot, fidgeting. Waiting on her answer.
She must be as brave. This is all she could ever ask for, so she cannot deny her own feelings any longer.
Whispering "I love you, too" in his ear, she wraps her arms around his neck and embraces him. He responds in kind immediately, bringing her a joy she has never known. In the back of her mind, she remembers Henry and his storybook.
Impossible fairy tales come true after all.
It is hard to pull away from him. She leans forward even as she moves back, willing her body to gather control of itself.
His admission, together with that soulful kiss, has stunned her. Feelings she would rather dismiss come up to the surface as she almost drowns in her turbulent thoughts.
He loves her. Not simply admires her or likes her or enjoys her company — he loves her. That fierce, broken heart of his, resting beneath her fingertips, wants her, shattered as she is.
It all overwhelms her in a moment.
Stepping into the kitchen, she gazes out the tiny window there. The sea winks at her — shining, free, confident. Everything she is not. She promised herself after Neal that she would never love again. She resisted Graham well enough, but Killian is different. The depth of understanding between them is indescribable.
She will not give that up. Still, to say she is in love? She cannot.
"Emma." He whispers it, as if afraid to wake her from a dream. "I know this is sudden and not the right time. I just laid my past at your feet. To ask you to respond now is unthinkable. But I must know...I would like to know...if you can return any of my affections. I've wished for a while to court you properly, but George's return interrupted my asking you." His voice strengthens, vibrating with emotion. "You want to run. I see it. You want to escape this room and pretend that I never told you how I feel about you. You still cannot trust me with your heart."
She cannot even look at him. The weight inside her chest, dragging her down, confirms that all he said is true.
"See, I think you're right. You shouldn't love me. Milah did, in her way, and it was a tragedy. I have nothing to offer you but myself — and a drafty lighthouse in need of repairs — but I want more for you." She turns. His gaze lights up. "Aye, more. A brilliant future, outside of Storybrooke, where all your talents and pursuits will be appreciated. A life where you are content and secure in the knowledge that no one will ever hurt you again. Where you can love and be loved."
"Be married, you mean?" she retorts. Bitterness squeezes her eyes and lungs. "Part of the same cycle all women partake in? Become an ordinary woman, doomed to do ordinary things? There is no future for a woman with my talents, Killian, and you know it. Don't hope for things that will never happen, men say. The greatest ambitions I can have are healthy children and a good husband who won't go astray. To ask for more would be foolish."
To her dismay, he smirks a little and curves an eyebrow. "Who said anything about marriage, Miss Swan?"
Her face grows hot in an instant. "I speak of reality. The reality I chose to escape, as you put it, by coming to Storybrooke. The shame of a spinster is nothing compared to a union where I will be entirely at a man's mercy. Dependent. Penniless. And I have no family, which makes my enslavement all the easier, wouldn't you agree?"
"I agree that this is a sensitive issue for you."
"Sensitive and relevant," she snaps. A familiar fire stirs inside, reviving old wounds. "There was no choice in becoming a teacher. Since adolescence, I was trained to be a governess. The benefits of an education will never be mine because unlike my male colleagues, I am not allowed to explore them. I was fortunate to be taught anything and find dignified employment, being a woman. It is my position here as schoolteacher alone that prevents a lifelong career as a prostitute or mistress. So please do not lecture me about what my future holds."
Shaking his head, Killian whistles under his breath. "Bloody hell, lass. I didn't mean for my meager words to get under your skin."
Her hands clench into fists. "Then do not preach to me," she utters through gritted teeth, "when you of all people know better that we have limited choices. Our stories are far too similar. I want the truth, not falsehoods."
"I said no lies. My love for you is here, yours for the taking. You alone can decide where we will go from this point forward. I will accept whatever you choose. Our friendship is worth far more than some old sailor's wishes."
His resigned smile is painful to witness. He believes she will not take a chance on them and all they could be together.
And what do you believe?
That she is selfish, focused only on her own future because it is what she has done her entire life.
That she is afraid of the vulnerability and insecurity that come with love.
That in the end, he will be disappointed, and she will be heartbroken.
"You know, being up here, isolated as I am..." He gestures at the walls of the house. "It's given me much time to reflect on my life, the choices I made, the ones I failed to make. On Milah, Liam, our father, the mother I never knew. I hated myself. I hated the future. I was so full of hatred before you came. I thought I could live off that until I died. I thought I didn't need anyone, didn't want anyone. Until I met you."
He walks up to her, takes her hand in his, and kisses it. "I want a future now. I want to live. The garden, a boat, one of Bessie's pups... Anything is possible. Because of you. You helped me believe in myself again."
Their eyes connect. Intense and grave, enthralling and compelling. She desperately wants to believe him the way he seems to have faith in her.
Can she try again, one last time?
Can she trust her own heart not to make a mistake?
Is love really worth the risk?
Perhaps not.
But Killian is.
Emma was never so happy. She has walked on a cloud these past weeks.
Dancing her way through lessons with the boys. Humming to herself when walking alone through the gardens. Even Regina's constant snubs and sneers cannot lower her high spirits.
Every time she turns a corner, Neal steals kisses when he is sure no one is around. He slips notes under her door — funny and obnoxious notes, or flirtatious and daring ones — and finds sweet, romantic ways to surprise her every day. She does not want it to end.
How heavenly, to be unabashedly, shamelessly in love.
Blissful though she may be, a restless question bothers her throughout: what is next?
Neal is a stablehand, while she is a governess. Robin might approve of their marriage — her cheeks flush considering that possibility — but that is the only course of action.
Sometimes... Sometimes, moments between them get heated, but she doesn't know how to react. She gently pushes Neal away, makes her excuses, and tries to ignore her physical longings. When she glances back at him, as she always does, he seems disappointed.
As the days pass, it becomes harder and harder to suppress those feelings.
Nonetheless, she must. They need to stay employed, and Robin did warn her about the consequences of a dalliance. No desire is greater than her dedication to her post and her determination to stay at Sherwood Manor. Also, marriage in itself is not appealing. She fears the idea as much as she is fascinated by it.
Neal does not complain. He acts as though their courtship is the pinnacle of his life. For her, it certainly is, and she never hesitates to demonstrate that in words or touches.
When he declared he loves her, her heart expanded too much to ever doubt his intentions.
Until today.
Until this morning, when the boys were out riding and she was to meet him in the stables.
After an hour elapsed and there was no sign of him, she went to his quarters.
The door swings open, and what is inside stops her heart.
The room is empty, wiped clean.
Neal and all his belongings are gone.