(brief A/N: this is unedited, so sorry for any mistakes. I just got so excited when I finished that I had to post it immediately. Lots of love!)
As it happened, no, Emma did not see Killian in two weeks.
The first day after he left, Emma denied any feelings of worry purchase in her heart or mind. She was absolutely fine, really, and her schedule continued as normal. Where she would usually eat with Killian, she would get a quick snack and go on runs with a fellow guardsman, Robin. It wasn't that he was bad company- he was lovely, in fact- he just wasn't Killian. When Robin smiled at her she got no butterflies in her stomach, no teenage-school-girl-crush-jitters. It was just a smile, and he was just a friend. A nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her, Killian is just a friend, too. Somehow, that didn't sound quite right.
By the third day, Emma began to worry. What if he'd been delayed? What if they hadn't brought enough supplies, or weapons, for that matter? What if they had been ambushed, and were stumbling through the forest as dead men? Emma shuddered at that thought. No, not her Killian. He was too stubborn to get himself killed.
On the 6th day after Killian left, it was discovered that a pistol had gone missing from the armory around the time that Gold and Jones left. Emma nearly choked on her hot chocolate when Mary Margaret told her the news. The mayor suspected it had been Killian who took it as an extra precaution, but Emma knew better. Killian was a stickler for rules, a "man of honor", as he would have said. He wouldn't have taken it without permission. Her eyes had gone stormy, and it had taken Mary Margaret a good 15 minutes to convince her to rethink blindly going after them. MM had noted that Emma was quite protective of her family, to which Emma froze up. She gulped down the rest of her scalding hot chocolate and wiped her mouth, completely ignoring the implication that Killian was so important to her.
The 9th day rolled around, and Emma had gotten grumpy. Her emotional turmoil was certainly getting to Robin. He ended their run in front of Mary Margaret's house, sighing and telling Emma that she needed her "best friend for this. God knows that woman is the only one who can handle your pining."
Emma had been quick to deny that- to claim she only felt friendly admiration for Killian.
"Well, of course you don't! Don't be silly." Mary Margaret had interrupted, and Robin took that as his cue to go home (where a pining Regina would likely be). Emma just huffed.
"I don't have a thing for Killian."
Mary Margaret shrugged noncommittally.
"I'm not saying is has to happen now, but it is going to happen, Emma. It's best you be ready for it."
Emma narrowed her eyes at the older woman, crossing her arms.
"What makes you so sure? What makes you think I give a damn about him for anything beyond the fact that he's a decent chef?"
She fired, and her cold tone might have fooled anyone else, but Mary Margaret was ever-understanding.
"Because, Em," she paused, her voice shifting to something soft as she looked at the blonde with sincerity, "Whether it was the end of days or an average life you'd still look at him the same way."
Emma challenged her, but no real anger was held in her voice.
"And what way is that?"
MM just sighed, a wistful look in her eyes, and patted Emma on the back. Her muscles ached at the touch, longing for a different set of hands- ones decorated with rings, scars, and calluses, with the gentle touch of a man wise beyond his years.
"The same way I look at David. Like he's your only hope of salvation."
She turned to look Emma in the eye, "Now come on, dinner's almost ready."
And with that, the raven-haired woman walked briskly into her house, and Emma felt another pang of longing shoot down her spine.
If Mary Margaret was right, Emma might never get the chance to tell Killian for herself.
Emma just shook her head, and grumbled into the house after her.
12 days after Killian had left (and two days before he was to return), the mayor called a town meeting. As the crowd filtered into their seats on the same green and grassy lawn as Emma had sat on 6 months earlier, she got an uneasy feeling in her gut. The way that Regina paced near the podium was unsettling more than anything else, and Liam's grumbling about how he'd much rather be at home with Elsa wasn't easy on her ears, either. Regina's son (a goofy and energetic young boy named Henry) shouted at everyone to "shut your traps", to which his mother scolded him and he amended, "Shut your traps, please."
The group quieted down, and the mayor cleared her throat.
"As you all know, we discovered last week that a pistol had gone missing from the armory." Emma's ears perked up, and she shifted on the edge of her plastic chair.
The mayor continued, with downcast eyes,
"We've since come to possess more evidence that points to this being a threat to one of our own. Late last night, David was locking up the guard's office when he heard static. After searching, he found this." Regina held up what looked to be a walkie-talkie, with a grimace on her face. "A woman on the other end was calling to a Robert, presumably Robert Gold. Unfortunately, her voice was identified as that of the leader of one of the scavenger factions a few miles south of here. You all know her as Cora."
The crowd let out a few shocked gasps, and Emma's brow furrowed in confusion. She took the opportunity to pipe up,
"Wait, who's Cora?"
Regina had a pained look on her face, and her knuckles seemed to turn white in her fist. Robin spoke up for her, Graciously standing to address the group.
"Cora is Regina's mother. She ran this place last year, through a rule of fear and violence. She was forced out a few months before you arrived, and since Regina has taken over, reforms in our security system and operations have kept her at bay. We received word that she had worked her way through the ranks of the southern scavengers, but no one has heard from her, until now."
Regina picked up, then.
"We've changed a lot since then. Besides improvements in our crop growth, irrigation, and general quality of life, we've become a community."
"A family," corrected Mary Margaret.
"So what's the deal with her, then? Has she been working with Gold?"
Emma asked, balling her hands into fists at the thought of Killian being alone with him. Liam seemed to do the same.
"Bloody bastard, I always had a bad feeling about him." His brow furrowed, and he stood, jaw clenched. "I'll kill the sodding prick myself." Emma grabbed him by the forearm, tugging him back down.
"Not until we know what's going on." She reminded him, but it seemed like more of a reassurance to herself than anyone else.
"Emma's right," Regina agreed, "We don't know what their plan is." She stepped forward, her eyes focused on the crowd, who seemed to be overrun by a mixture of fear, anger, and confusion. "All we know is that a pistol was stolen, and Gold has been in contact with Cora. For now, we have to assume that Jones can hold his own."
Emma went rigid, anxiety sliding down her forehead in cool droplets of sweat. Mary margaret grabbed her hand comfortingly.
"It won't come to that, Emma." She insisted, but Emma began to shake nonetheless.
Without another word, Emma stood and briskly left the park. No one dared to stop her.
By the time that the door closed behind her, Emma had collapsed against the wood in a frenzy of panting and twitching. She hadn't had a panic attack in a while, not since her first months on her own. This was different, though, she had something at stake.
She didn't quite know what to call it, yet, so she settled for naming it her 'friend' as she shook against the door. The wood rattled as she heaved, tucking her knees into her chest. The hyperventilation quickly turned into sobs that wracked her body with fragile bursts of violence. It didn't take her long to come to the conclusion that Killian had been the thing grounding her for the last half a year, and if he was gone, she might as well float away.
The next two days were filled with a deafening silence, as the town waited for any word on the walkie-talkie. It was as if the whole community was holding its breath. Emma and Liam in particular receive sympathetic smiles and hugs, and each one made Emma fume. She wished the group would stop expecting Killian to be dead. He wasn't dead, she'd insist. He couldn't be.
By the end of the day that Killian and Gold were supposed to return, when no one had arrived at the gates and no news had been received, Emma let herself into Killian's house and slept on his couch. In the morning, the pillow was wet with tears.
Two days after Killian was supposed to return, Liam punched a fellow guard. The man had only been joking around about Liam's grumpiness, and it was childish, really, but he had been wound so tight that any inconvenience set him off. He was sentenced to two days on house arrest. The two days passed, and Emma spent both of them with him. Each "bloody hell" he'd murmur as he paced reminded her of Killian, and every time she caught a glimpse of his eyes not-quite-as-blue, her throat closed up and she had to hold onto something to steady herself.
Four days after Killian was supposed to be back, Emma threw herself into her work. She took as many shifts on guard as she could, spending any free time going on runs or killing stragglers by the fence. Sleep was a thing of the past. Sometimes, when she'd lay down on Killian's couch, she'd stare at the rug for hours before she could close her eyes without trembling. The part that hit her the worst was knowing that at any point she might wake up with no hope of seeing him again.
After 3 more days passed, an entire week after Killian was supposed to be home, the community held a candlelight vigil for Killian, who they had officially presumed dead. A smaller one was held for Gold, only attended by his girlfriend Belle. Emma couldn't bring herself to be angry at the other girl. She was too empty to be mad. She had cried all her tears on Liam's shoulder, and witnessed him do the same too many times to wish for anything else from the community. Mary Margaret just hugged her tightly, whispering comforts into her ear, and telling her she was welcome to stay with her and David if she didn't want to be alone.
Emma left the vigil early.
Two days after the vigil, there was a sound of a shot fired from right outside the gate. Emma had rushed to the scene with everyone else, carrying her bowie knife, and wearing a frown and Killian's sweater. When Liam had offered it to her, he told her that his little brother would have wanted her to have it. She almost corrected, "younger brother", on behalf of Killian. She held her tongue.
The threat of dusk weighed heavily on the settlement like a blanket, filling their noses with the fog of drowsiness and their throats with the pinpricks of aching.
When David came jumping down from the guard tower with blurry eyes and frantic jostling, Emma stopped breathing. At the screeching of the gate opening, Emma dropped her knife. When the gate opened fully to a starved and bloody Killian, kneeling on scratched knees and grasping a dirty rifle, Emma ran.
For the first time, it was towards something, someone, and she didn't remember to breathe until he finally looked at her. A grin broke out on his scarred and bruised face, face softening in relief through layers of cracked dirt and dust, and she could only believe that it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen before she was dropping to her knees and taking him into her arms with every ounce of love she had. She knew the feel of his scruff scratching her cheek, now long enough to barely be considered a beard; she knew his hands desperately pulling her closer, putting so much pressure on her that she thought she'd split in half, and she knew the heat of his worn and tired body as he clung to her. She remembered what Mary Margaret had said to her about knowing how it would happen, and how he looked at her exactly how MM said Emma looked back at him. Like he was her only hope of salvation.
Through choked breaths, Emma sniffled, salty trails of tears spilling onto his heavy coat. She laced her fingers through his hair and tugged, and he came willingly. He only pulled back enough to slant his lips over hers, capturing her in a willful and needy kiss, pouring months of intensity into one simple action. Emma might have melted right there. She gave back just as heavily, greedy in her return. She had missed him too much to let a second go to waste. His lips were soft and summery, drawing her into the warmth of his mouth. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, and when they finally broke for air, his nose rested on hers and their breath intertwined just like their fingers.
He spoke, then, in a cracked voice that trembled from days without water,
"Are you wearing my jumper?"
Emma just bawled at that, sobs shaking her tiny frame, and he laughed through his own tears, too.
Killian had stumbled into Liam's arms almost immediately after, who shook his head in fury and his fists in relief.
Liam's throat was clogged with emotion as he embraced his younger brother, worn and tired.
"What the bloody hell happened, mate? I thought- we all thought…" He choked on his words, grasping the shorter man with all of his might. "We thought you were dead." He broke out, managing to hold back a damn of tears long enough for Killian to look at him.
Killian began in the same dusted tone, "It's quite the story, but I fear I need-"
"Rest if I've ever seen it! No one is allowed to make the poor bastard speak until he's eaten, slept, washed, and been examined by yours truly." Victor interrupted enthusiastically, clapping Killian on the back.
Emma grabbed Killian's hand, raising her eyebrow at Victor's subsequent look.
She nearly snarled at him before Liam supplied,
"Neither of us are leaving his side, and anyone who raises concern against that will be delivered a swift kick in the gut from both myself and the lady Swan."
Killian smiled at his brother and squeezed Emma's hand. That was definitely enough for her.
After he had properly "rested up and winded down", as Dr. Whale called it, Killian was eager to talk. The mayor, Emma, and the brothers Jones all sat in Killian's living room. He winced as he gulped down a glass of water. Emma wiped stray droplets from his chin, scrunching her nose at his scratchy facial hair.
"Prefer me shaven, do you, love?" He joked, and Emma just leaned her head onto his weakened shoulder. His injuries were minor, except for a bullet graze on his left hand that had to be sutured and bandaged.
"After the last month, I'd prefer you in a god damned tutu and rainbow wig before outside of that fence." She mumbled, revelling in the sound of his hearty chuckle.
Regina rolled her eyes.
"Flirt later, explain now."
Killian cleared his throat.
"Ah, right. Gold. He was working for Cora."
"We know," Emma told him, and Regina held up the walkie-talkie that had been strapped to her hip for the last week. Killian furrowed his brow, and Emma interjected,
"Wait, was working for Cora?"
Killian's face darkened and his jaw twitched.
"Aye, he's dead."
The room let out an unsteady breath.
Killian continued, warily.
"I didn't know until the second week of our trek, We collected our fair share of resources to bring back, but Gold insisted we head to one last part of the woods. He said the south was filled with abandoned encampments. I knew there were scavengers, though, and told him we'd only stay for a day. He agreed. It wasn't until he led us right to Cora's group that I understood what had happened. Apparently, he'd been trying to "switch sides" for a while now. He and Cora… well… they're rather.. Entangled with each other."
Regina shook her head in distaste.
"I so didn't need to know about that."
Emma squeezed Killian's hand, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. He turned to her with a look of bliss, and Liam had to interrupt them with a cough.
"How did you get like… this, then, little brother?"
Killian scoffed.
"It's 'younger brother', and I don't quite like your tone." Emma smiled, really smiled (for the first time in a while, dammit), and turned to the bickering brothers.
"Relax, Killian. I don't think anyone could knock the handsome out of you. Don't get your ego all wounded."
He grinned wolfishly, before looking to his brother.
"Gold took a pistol, not that I bloody know well where he got it, and aimed it at myself. If it weren't for my incredible instincts and amazing agility, I'd have a bullet hole in me."
Liam nudged Emma.
"See? His ego is perfectly in fact, you had nothing to scold me for. In fact, it could use a good knocking."
Killian grinned.
"I think a "good knocking" is more Emma's job than yours, mate."
Emma poked his injured hand, and he winced.
"Ow! Bloody hell, woman!" He exclaimed, and she kissed him for the second time that night. This one was quicker and softer, more a chaste press of her lips to his own than anything else, but Emma could still feel the warmth in her stomach roar to life again.
Regina stood, sighing dramatically.
"Is Cora still a threat, or not?"
Killian huffed, annoyed to be interrupted from his shenanigans.
"No, lass. I managed to fire back at Gold. Went straight through him and hit her."
Regina's breath caught, and Emma had to remind herself that Cora was still Regina's mother, however dangerous she may be. "Not a deadly injury, but enough to take her off her feet for a few months. I ran like hell right after so there's no way to know for sure, but she shouldn't be an issue."
Regina sighed, seeming a little relieved, then, pointing a red fingernail at the group, she announced,
"Right, then. It's good to see the idiot is himself, and Miss Swan has ceased her moping. We're all glad you escaped, yada yada yada. I'm leaving. We'll talk more tomorrow."
After she left, Killian lifted an eyebrow at Emma.
"Moping, were you?"
She elbowed him.
"Shut up, jackass. Liam was no better."
Killian turned to his brother, puckering his lips.
"Did you want one too, mate?"
Liam just stood, grumbling.
As he exited, a trail of, "For christ's sake, I almost prefer you gone" followed him out.
Emma looked to Killian. Now that they were alone, she was itching to tell him what she was feeling. It was something so much stronger than any feelings she might have had for Graham, much more resilient than her asshole high school boyfriend, Neal.
"Killian, I…I..."
What she felt for Killian was low and burning, a fire far beyond her years that she knew in her heart she'd have succumbed to had she met him during the damned apocalypse or not. It was… it was-
"I know, love. And I, you."
She kissed him unwaveringly, cutting off his gaze with a frenzy of pressure, her mouth on his and her leg wrapping around his thigh as she pulled him closer. He was a salvation, more than she cared to admit.
That night, though, she did admit it, numerous times: on the couch, against the kitchen counter, in his bed (which was really more theirs at this point) and even in the shower the morning after, if you'd have asked Killian.
On the first day of spring after Emma's world was righted on its axis, she woke up to a sloppy kiss and a grin from her husband. The dead and the soon-to-be were outside her walls, but on the inside was a 6 foot tall jackass, with black hair and ginger stubble, who drank her awful coffee with a shake of his head, a kiss to her now growing stomach, and a laugh.