Just a little bit of Killian pondering his true home after the return of the Jolly. Wrote this before the most recent episode, but forgot to post it here!
His ship changing hands a decision made, a necessity, a trading of his home so she could find her way back to hers. His love for her, overwhelming and seemingly unrequited, was strong enough for him to make that choice, the bean in his palm now a beacon of the next chapter of his long life. Knowing that he was adaptable, he hoped to find home wherever she was, however long it took for her to let him in. And gradually, she did, and he felt grounded in a way that he had never felt before. Being grounded for a sailor should be the opposite of what he would desire, but, alas, he couldn't deny that he was content, happy even, a feeling he thought was lost to him forever.
And then the Jolly was back. Roaming her deck and his cabin again made him feel buoyant, giddy almost, like the youth he was when he first stepped foot on her those many years ago. But something was off. That first night back home in his cabin he laid wide awake for hours, unable to find comfort in the gentle rocking, the creaking of the enchanted wood loud in his ears instead of soothing. He chalked it up to his fear for Emma, the conversation with the sea witch weighing heavily on his mind, the need to see her, hold her itching underneath his skin like a wildfire. He can't remember succumbing to sleep; only recalling the nightmares that plagued him, of black waters ripping Emma from his arms, hearing her cries as she disappeared into the darkness. He woke before dawn, tangled in his covers that now felt scratchy to the touch, his pillow soaked in sweat, panic running through his veins.
He escaped the suffocating confines of his cabin, hoping the fresh air on deck would soothe him, shake the melancholy that was beginning to settle into his bones. The sunrise breaking the horizon cast a glow everywhere it touched, his fingers rubbing together unconsciously as his mind found its way back to Emma and how her golden locks reflected the rays of the sun that first morning in the Enchanted Forest. Much like an avenging angel, full of light and good and fight, she had bewitched him from that first moment. But now, there was a darkness threatening to steal her light, her goodness, and he found himself sprinting from his ship towards her home.
Finally, her lips pressed lightly to his throat, his face buried in her hair at the crook of her shoulder, he found peace again, there in her kitchen, in her arms. And later, after tears and revelations, hours of fruitless searching, he found himself in his old home, the gentle rocking and creaking boards once again soothing. The blankets were no longer scratchy, but soft under his fingertips, his pillow feeling cool beneath his cheek. As Emma shifted in sleep in his arms, he pressed his lips lightly to her forehead, the truth of the difference between this night and the last overcoming him as slumber approached. His heart was tethered to hers so strongly that he knew, with absolute certainty, that his true home was now forever in her wake.