A/N: Gosh, it's crazy that this is already the penultimate chapter, where has time gone?
Major thanks to my betas acourtoftruelove and ofshipsandswans and my incredible artist shady-swan-jones
She drifted in and out of sleep, a shallow one where her conscience seemed to resurface with every quiet noise, every small movement. She was on edge, body tensed until Killian moved closer and Emma felt her heartbeat slow down, her breathing decelerate, her eyes fall shut.
-/-
Emma woke up with a throbbing headache, she flinched when the light hit her eyes. As she checked the small, digital clock on the bedside table, memories of yesterday returned. She remembered how Killian's hand caressed her face, the way he disinfected the cut on her cheek, rubbing the cotton ball so gently against her marred skin; she still felt the tingle of his kiss on the bruise on her cheek, how it somehow had magical properties, taking away the pain, even if just for a second.
She turned in the black sheets, her hand venturing out to pat the empty patch of bed next to her. The sheets were cool, no sign or remnant of the body heat that had laid on it during the night. He must've gotten up a while ago.
The sheets carried a trace of the perfumed scent of washing powder, a soft haze that was contrasted by Killian's smell on his pillow, sharp and musky. The combination of the two made her head spin, the smells too incompatible to be pleasant.
Emma felt disoriented, the long sleep seeming almost more harmful than remedying at this point, with a sore throat, clammy skin and bursting headache. And still, she wanted to go back to sleep. Burrow herself back into those bundle of fabric and doze until she entered a deep sleep that would erase her memories, until she woke up feeling like something remotely herself; she wouldn't settle for less.
Once upon a time, she believed in the sanctuary of sleep, that there was no ailment too grave that a good night's sleep could not conquer.
That time seemed to have passed.
In the end, it was the rumble of her stomach that sent Emma out of bed, that stopped her from closing her eyes again. Her last meal had been… God, she couldn't even remember. Did she eat something at noon? Nothing more than a hasty snack stuffed into her mouth as she rushed away from the place she'd expected Gold to be.
Her body screamed with ache as she moved, slowly and distorting her face, clenching her teeth to keep from crying out. The last thing Killian needed to hear right now was her wailing, it would only make him more worried. Possibly more angry.
She understood what yesterday was but she knew Killian enough that he'd want to discuss this. He would never just let it be overlooked, as much as she would like that; he'd want to talk until there was not so much as a worry in sight, until all of the skeletons had been found and the closets were empty. Emma dreaded it, with all her being, but the alternative wasn't any better.
They couldn't dance around each other, both on edge, neither saying what haunted their minds and what tormented their thoughts.
She placed her hand on the light wood of the door, her palm touching the surface and pushing it open, only a crack, but enough to invite the smell of coffee and something baked in. Emma almost moaned as the scent that equated morning for so many hit her nostrils. She stood there for a while, her hand almost a lifeline holding her steady. It was simultaneously holding her back, however. From opening it further, from taking those steps, from meeting Killian's eyes.
Another cry for food was emitted by her stomach, angry this time, ready to explode like a toddler who did not get their way having a tantrum.
Finally, she launched some strength into her connection with the door, a little too much by how it swung open, almost hitting the wall that surrounded it. She scrunched up the sleeves of the loose sweater until they hung loosely around her elbows, and rearranged her pants. Her hair and face were left alone because, even though she couldn't see herself, Emma was quite certain that those were far from salvageable.
The tiles of the hallway felt cold under her bare feet, making Emma skitter along them which made that she ended up in the living room way faster than she had planned. There was a soft whirring, a CD being played and the subdued click as a next song was prepared and ready to be heard.
As a first, her eyes scanned the kitchen and table but no sign of Killian. Only of a small stack of pancakes, some yogurt and fruit, and an assortment of juice and coffee spread out across the table. Emma couldn't help but sigh at the sight.
He'd done this for her.
He could've kicked her out once the sun had risen, shut the door with no more than a goodbye and he would've had every right. Emma would have understood.
But he did not.
Instead, he made her breakfast.
"Morning."
Emma whirled around, heart suddenly beating ten times faster at the sound of his voice.
There he sat.
The picture of domesticity.
He was wearing a grey sweater and loose black pants, seated on a chair that fell just out of Emma's field of view. His one leg was crossed over the other, a newspaper resting on his knee. His face was neutral, not a crinkle or feature out of place that could betray his thoughts right this moment. No, he just stared at her with the pair of glasses that resided on the bridge of his nose.
She stared back. Until she realized he had said something.
"Morning," Emma croaked back, far too late to be polite.
Her answer seemed to peel off a layer of Killian's mask, the indifference making way for concern.
"How did you sleep?" he asked.
"Okay," she replied, shifting from one bare foot to the other. She wanted to tell him how it was all thanks to him, how his presence had been an anchor for her in a stormy sea of strait, but it all felt too cliché to actually utter, too vulnerable and sentimental to try and express. A couple of heartbeats passed, she was all too aware of them. "Thanks for letting me stay again."
Killian shrugged, the movement causing even more of the neutrality to fade away. He closed the newspaper and laid it on the little coffee table next to him.
"Don't mention it, Swan. Couldn't very well let you roam the streets while you were hurt."
Like she had said earlier, he would have had every right to.
His eyes flashed back to her face, presumably the cut that resided there. She should've looked in the mirror before she came out to check the damage that had been done to them, to avoid the way he was presently looking at her.
"Not everyone would've been that kind to someone who has betrayed them," she stated.
Killian sighed and combed through his hair, a clear response to her remark.
"We will discuss this later," he said, "You have a breakfast to get through and I think you haven't eaten in quite a while."
Which he thought correctly.
She flashed him a grateful smile, the first one her face bore in quite a while. She seemed surprised by herself as the corners of her lips turned upwards and attempted to look away to hide it.
Killian grabbed the newspaper from the coffee table again and unfolded it, going back to the last page he'd previously read. The gesture said that he was releasing her from talking, so Emma sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and made herself comfortable, pouring a mug of coffee.
Emma had never been a morning person. She did not see the allure of waking up with the sun; she preferred sleeping in, until the time she would wake up couldn't technically be categorized as morning anymore. When she woke up—once she woke up—she needed at least an hour of sipping liters of coffee to be brought back to life and to find her voice again and from the looks of it, Killian was granting her time. Giving her some peace and calm to enjoy her breakfast and come back to herself before.
As she ate and enjoyed the food that he'd made for her—with an exquisite talent for cooking, she had to admit—Emma watched Killian out of the corner of her eyes. She watched how he was at peace, reading comfortably and unguarded in the safety of his home. There was a new wave of gratitude for him that overcame her. He let her stay here and risked having this bubble of calm being interrupted by Gold. He was so much better than she was and Emma had no idea what to do with that information. She was too selfish to actually admit it to him and to part ways.
Killian's newspaper had been read and discarded at the side of the chair and Emma was resorting to pushing her food around, her stomach full and sated. There were waves of expectancy emitted from around him, telling her she couldn't postpone this anymore. Taking a deep but silent breath, she stood up, taking her almost empty bowl with her and placing it into the sink.
She could feel Killian's eyes on her, following her movements, his gaze quickly averted as she turned towards him and walked towards where he was sitting. The couch—the one where she could still picture them facing the television, munching on popcorn, so carefree and unscarred—remained empty so Emma went and sat down, crossing her legs beneath her to make herself more comfortable and bracing herself in the smooth material to prepare herself for what was to come.
"Say what you need to say," Emma said, wanting to get straight to the point.
Killian's eyes narrowed at her direct request and he turned his chair around to face her even more, slightly moving forward to get closer to her.
"We do need to discuss this, Emma," he declared.
"I know."
Emma put her clasped hands in her lap, worriedly fidgeting with her fingers and her sleeves and it seemed as if he had noticed it; it only took a moment before Killian left his solitary chair and went to occupy the empty space next to her, to minimize the distance between them, both physically and mentally.
"What you did yesterday was not alright, Emma. I told you not to go and there was a reason I said that. I didn't want you to be anywhere near danger."
Her eyes found the ground.
"I had to do it," she defended herself.
He scoffed in disbelief, clearly not buying what she said.
"No," Killian objected, "You did not. What you should have done was leave it alone. There was no use for you to go and risk your life as if it means nothing."
The tone of his voice rose.
Emma stood up and walked away from the couch for a moment before turning around. "After all I've done?" She looked him dead in the eye, the disgust towards herself overt, out in the open. "I had to make up for it somehow."
She bit her lip nervously as she saw him shake his head in unmistakable disagreement.
"Do you know how you should've made up for it?" he asked, rising from the couch as well and bringing them back to the same level. Emma didn't reply, she could sense the answer coming. "By showing I meant something to you. By coming here, talking, not bloody leaving in the middle of the night after we had sex to do some stupid 'I don't care about my life, let's risk it all' act."
"I already did it, I can't take it back, okay?" Her hands flew in the air. "I'm sorry I tried to make things right."
"You're sorry? Emma, bloody hell! Do you not get it? You would've done me no favors if you had ended up dead in some gutter. None at all," he stipulated. He looked away from her, let his head drop into his palm in utter desperation and let his eyes shut. His chest expanded as he took a breath and his blue irises found hers again, Emma silently gasping at the emotion that hit her. Killian spoke softly this time, but his words resonated as if he'd yelled them. "I don't know—" He paused, searching for his words, his usual eloquence clouded by his emotions. "I don't know what I would've done if you had died. I—There is no way I could've coped with that. This… It seems way too unhealthy, Emma. I cannot keep doing this." He sounded so defeated, helpless and yet again, it was her fault. He was fine before she came along.
She took him in again, saw the confusing mix of about a dozen emotions swirling in his eyes.
"Then we won't," Emma replied, ignoring the bursting pain deep in her chest, ignoring the deafening beep in her ears.
The distance between them grew as Killian took a step back, a flash of hurt across his features as he looked taken aback.
"You would be okay with that? I mean that little to you?"
The consternation in his eyes felt real enough and the quiver in his voice seemed to be the right frequency to break her heart. It was the opposite but if he did not think this was worth it, if it did him more bad than good, she would not force him, not after what she'd done. He deserved his freedom, he of all people deserved more than her.
"It's the opposite, Killian."
He meant that much to her.
"Which is why," she continued, "it's best I leave."
Supporting the statement she had just made, she began to step away from the couch, from him, mentally planning what she'd do next.
Probably return to the States. The not-so-prodigal child, coming back as a failure. Her friends not uttering the I told you so's clamoring in their heads, because she seemed sad enough already, broken enough already by things they would probably never find out about, memories she would keep bottled up behind those walls of hers because digging it all up would be too painful.
Maybe she'd do some soul searching, improve herself and all of her flaws, maybe even find her way again after being lost for so long. Try and forget him by keeping as busy as possible, assume he was doing perfectly fine without her.
Emma walked until she couldn't anymore. Until a warm hand wrapped around her elbow and stopped her from continuing. Prevented her from leaving. Her pulse sped up and she was pretty sure Killian could feel it too.
"Don't leave," he said, his prosthetic settling on her hip, his hand moving upwards, an excruciatingly slow and gentle path from her elbow to the apple of her cheek. "This chaos has left my mind quite muddled but I do know one thing and that is that I cannot let you leave. I could never accept you walking out of this door, disappearing to God knows where and me never seeing you again. Not like this, not after all we went through."
"Killian, you just said I'm not good for you."
"I'm perfectly aware of what I said and I stand by my words. However, you were put into some difficult predicaments the past couple of weeks, a part of which was admittedly your own fault. We need to change how we are with each other, Emma. The lying needs to stop, even if it is to protect me. It is about time we are completely frank with one another. I'll begin: I don't want us to quit. Not before we've even started."
"I don't know, Killian." She looked away, needing to break the connection between them to be able to think, to come up with arguments he could not refute. She hadn't expected him to want to fight for them, had deemed their relationship—whatever it may be—a lost cause and it hurt to admit, but that was convenient. It was what she did best, leaving and starting over. She had no idea how to even be in a relationship, how to quench the urge to run. What if she stayed and it suddenly resurfaced. It would kill her to leave him.
"I fuck things up. Clearly," she heaved, using their recent past as an example. "I endanger people."
"Gold was already chasing me before you entered the picture."
"Yeah, but I made it worse. You shouldn't try to justify my actions. I am bad for you and you are way too good for me."
At some point, he would realize that too, see that he'd been wasting his time with her and that she wasn't worth all of the trouble it took to be with her. And the only thing that would hurt more than having to leave him, was him leaving her.
"Swan. Not this crap, not again," he pleaded.
"Why have you suddenly forgiven me?" She wanted to know how he could when she couldn't even forgive herself.
"Because I know a thing or two about self-loathing and I know that when someone else does believe, it makes the hate slightly fade away. So, yes. I am going to forgive you for what you've done and you are going to try to forgive yourself."
"And we're just moving past this?"
"We are." The resolution in his voice was omnipresent. "Give me time, Emma. I will get there even if it might take me some time. But you have to forget about Gold. Forget that he's still here, because it'll prevent you from fully living life and that's something I cannot recommend. Trust me."
"I have to go."
His face fell and he stepped away from her to give her some space. It felt like he was giving her permission to leave even if it hurt to hear the words after the speech he'd just held. She should probably clarify what she meant.
"My phone is almost out of battery and I desperately need a shower but if it's alright with you, I can maybe come back tomorrow? And we can talk some more?"
"You are welcome here anytime, Swan." A corner of his lips quirked up.
She managed to smile back, before resuming her path to the front door.
"Wait," he stopped her. "Can I have your phone?" Killian held out his hand with the request, his palm a flat surface for her to deposit it, which she did, respecting his order. As he clicked to unlock the device, he was met with Emma's security code. The phone was turned to face her again before she swiftly tapped the six-figure code and granted him unregulated access to her phone and every secret it contained.
Turning the screen back to him and simultaneously hiding his actions from Emma, Killian clicked and typed. With wonder, her eyebrows crunched, curious about what he was doing.
"I hereby lift the ban on calling me. Rest assured, I will not alert the police if you do."
"Thank you so much. I feel so honored, you really shouldn't have." With an edge of sarcasm and bite to her words.
Killian ceremoniously bowed and Emma smiled at the sign that their banter had returned, not as unhinged and inhibited as before but getting there. They had a long way to go but at least they weren't stuck on the emergency lane.
And she left with a positive feeling, the weight she'd been dragging along suddenly discarded and hidden somewhere out of plain sight. She could breathe again, feel again, smile again without it restricting her movements, turning each and every one of them painful.
She could not wait until she could dive into her own bed, smell the comforting smell of cherry blossom that was imbued into her sheets and sleep for the rest of the foreseeable future.
-/-
She opened an eyelid while rubbing her face. If she were to believe the light coming from behind her curtains, the sun had already set.
Emma had one more stop to make today and if she was lucky, he'd already be open. So she dressed, applied some makeup to her face to lessen the bruises a little bit, make her seem less bruised and battered than she actually was.
She left her apartment and walked the two blocks it would take her to arrive at the store. As always the bell rang once she entered and Samir looked up from his phone, his eyes widening once he recognized her.
"Emma!" He left the counter to step towards her and hugged her. "God, I was worried about you," he said once they broke apart again.
"I'm okay," she tried to reassure him, her hand squeezing his arm.
"What happened?"
Emma sighed, going through her blonde tresses with her hand.
"You got a minute?" It would take longer than a minute to explain the entire situation to him, but it felt like something she had to do. He was her friend and he knew nothing about what had been going on in her life. And who knew, perhaps telling a third, objective party everything would help her sort some things out too.
"For you? Of course. Come, we'll go out back." His head motioned towards a curtain separating the shop with what she presumed was a storage space. He led her to a table with two chairs across from each other and motioned her to sit down.
"I don't think we'll be interrupted," he said while also sitting down. "Today is usually a more quiet day." His dark eyes landed on her, telling Emma he was waiting for the story. Here it went.
"I met a guy—"
"Did he do this?" Samir cut her off indignantly, his hand pointing at the wounds on her face. "Emma, do you need help?"
"Easy, Samir," she attempted to calm him down and prevent him from jumping to conclusions. It was a complicated tale and he needed to hear all of it. "He had nothing to do with it. It was my fault. Let me tell the story, okay?"
He didn't seem completely convinced by her reassurances but nodded either way, pursing his lips and returning his full attention to her and the story she had to tell.
And so she began to summarize the last couple of months, the whirlwind of events that had taken place over the span of little more than a dozen weeks, only leaving out a couple details that weren't her story to tell, like why Killian and Gold were enemies exactly. She talked about her job and how she and Killian had gotten closer. She mentioned the soccer match and the boat ride and ended with everything that had transpired today.
"And then I went home and came here." She looked at Samir who was currently frowning deeply, lines appearing in the brown skin of his forehead.
"Wow, that is some tale." His head lightly moved from left to right as he tried to process everything he had just been told.
"Yeah," Emma puffed, "I know."
He rested his chin on his balled hand and seemed deep in thought before he looked up again.
"And you're sure of it? Of him?" he specified.
"I am." A small smile appeared as she nodded. "More than anything."
It was all Samir needed to hear as the frown on his face disappeared completely and a tentative smile took its place.
"Good," he told her, sincerity in his voice. "I want to see you happy. I don't want to see you here at midnight to buy ice cream and wine."
"Hey," she protested. "That was one time."
One time when she was in the midst of an 'Anne with an E' binge-watch (damn you, Gilbert Blythe) and she felt an urge—no the need—for ice cream. The wine was just a lovely bonus.
"Well, it doesn't exactly scream happy single to me, Emma."
Why was she letting a twenty-three-year-old lecture her? She was the elder in this situation and the saying was respect your elders, not "be brutally honest with them."
"Wow, I'll definitely come back here, Samir. Maybe I should find myself another ice cream and wine provider," she threatened.
A gasp left his lips.
"You wouldn't dare."
"Watch me."
They held a staring contest, their eyebrows, his dark, hers lighter, challenging each other, teasing until one gave up and let the other's claim for victory be ascertained.
Emma began laughing and Samir's snort joined.
"It's good to see you laughing again, Rocky Road."
Come back once more next Thursday for the last chapter. And happy New Year people, I hope 2019 will treat you kindly and with the love you deserve 3