Set post "Sympathy for the De Vil"…
He's not getting through to her. His comforting touches, soft smiles, words of gentle encouragement, none of it easing the weight off of her shoulders, the vacant look behind her eyes. She's retreating to a place he knows well, a place he cannot see her go, but he feels helpless to save her. He knows she needs to find forgiveness, for her parents, but more importantly, for herself. The blood on her hands won't wash away until she allows it, but she won't, forcing him to watch it seep into her skin like a poison.
Standing outside the loft, he doesn't feel the rain as it begins to fall, his body leeching of warmth as he feels her pull further and further away. The light in her window illuminates, her shadow casting an eerie glow, projecting the outline of the savior while hiding the broken angel she has become. He can feel her searching for him from the glass, her pained eyes pleading to him, for what neither of them knows, but he moves anyway.
Long strides lead him up the stairs and into the loft, not allowing the pretense of a knock, knowing he would enter regardless. David looks up from the crib in the corner, a moment of understanding passing between them briefly before Killian directs his attention where it is needed, upstairs. The lack of the door to Emma's quarters gives him less time to rethink, squaring his shoulders as he turns the corner to face her. She's standing at the window still, her eyes on her hands instead of the street below. The slight clenching and releasing of her fist breaks him, knowing she is replaying the moment at the cliff over and over in her already fractured mind.
"Swan."
"I know. I had no choice." Her voice is shaky, on the verge of breaking, but he knows he has to do this, for her, for them, for everyone.
"No, you did."
Her head snaps up at that, her eyes wide, incredulous the best description of her expression from across the room.
"What?"
It takes every ounce of strength he has to not cross to her, fold her in his arms and hold her, press her cheek against his neck instead of what he is doing now.
"You had a number of choices, Emma, and you chose to kill her. The sooner you accept that, the better it will be for you."
"I can't believe you're saying this."
"Don't misunderstand me, Emma, I am not saying you made the wrong choice, but it was still a choice. As far as you knew in that moment, Henry was in danger of being killed. You acted as any mother would have, you protected your son."
He moves a few steps closer, her eyes still weary and her confusion as to his behavior evident in her closed off stance.
"You're being manipulated, love. Gold is pulling the strings, wanting you to feel out of control, as if your choices are not your own. But they are, Emma. So you need to choose. Choose to face this as what it was, a horrible moment of violence against someone you loved, a choice you made to defend a life. Choose to forget about being a hero, or a villain, or even the Savior and just be Emma. Be the perfectly imperfect woman I climbed the beanstalk with, the survivor whose heart is so pure that no one can take it, the mother who boarded a ship with her enemies to save her son from Pan, the light that has filled my life with meaning again after centuries of nothing but darkness…Choose to come back to me, Emma."
His throat feels hoarse, his lips dry and eyes stinging from not breaking her gaze as he said his piece. The tears streaking her cheeks cause his heart to ache until he sees the slight rise of her shoulders, the release of her fists as her hands fall to her sides.
"It was a choice."
"Yes, love."
His restraint breaks and he crosses to her, her arms wrapping around him as tightly as his cling to her. She doesn't cry, just breathes in tandem with him, allowing his belief in her to fill the cracks she has allowed to open in her heart. They remain there together, the light from her window casting a new shadow, one of two souls who chose to stop running and find strength in each other's arms.