I had a lot of feelings after that 5X03 sneak peek. This is set in the future, post-Darkness, as Emma deals with the repercussions of what occurred when she was the Dark One.

She can't bring herself to touch it. Just seeing the pale fabric turns her stomach sour as memories of what she did, how she manipulated him, them both, it's too much. She wants to set it aflame, rid the fibers of her shame in embers…if only that would make her forget. This, it's just one of the many things she's ruined, forever. Pressing her palms against her eyes she tries to calm her thoughts, wishing she had something that was new and unburdened. Everything in front of her, her leather jackets, jeans and blouses, are all from the Emma she was, the Emma she may never be again.

Opening her eyes, she reaches out to push the offending garment to the back of her closet and out of sight, knowing it will never be fully out of mind.

"Perhaps you should put it on?"

Startled, her fingers snag in the collar of the dress as she turns towards this voice, finding him leaning against the wall at the entrance to her room. His hair, still long and unkempt, falls slightly over his eye as he regards her with a soft smile. She can't believe his suggestion, is incredulous as to why he would even want this, this reminder.

"I can't."

Pushing himself off the wall, he takes a few steps closer, walking slowly as if she may get spooked if he approaches her too quickly. It's been this way between them for weeks, his usual confidence shaken as she tries to find her place, again.

"You can, love. I think it might help."

She turns her back to him before he reaches her, not wanting him to see the tears building behind her eyes. They share a deep breath when his warmth surrounds her, his chest rising and falling against her back as he wraps his arm around her waist.

"I've ruined it."

The vice around her heart constricts as he lifts his hand from her side to touch the fabric, ring laden fingers gently tracing the embroidered flowers along the bodice. She sees no hesitancy in his movements, only reverence as he gently pulls it from the hanger to hold in front of her.

"Not ruined, Swan, merely tarnished. I think we might be able to bring back some of its shine."

His scruff scratches her cheek as she turns to face him, needing to see the hopeful gleam she knows she will find in his eyes. It's there. He truly wants this, perhaps needs it as much as she, maybe more.

"Okay."

Her lips tingle as he brushes his lightly against hers, the dress in his hand ending up draped over her shoulder as he steps backwards and back out of the room. Alone again, she doesn't give herself time to change her mind, stripping out of her jeans and sweater in haste. Ignoring the prickles of fear as she shimmies into the dress, she zips the back and shakes out her hair, thinking this time she'll forego the ponytail.

The wood of the stairs is cold on her bare feet, but she needs to get to him and shoes will just take too long. She can't do this alone. She needs to see the forgiveness in his eyes so maybe, just maybe, she can start to forgive herself. She finds him in the living room, his back facing her as he adjusts the volume on the music he's selected from Henry's iPod. The song is one she knows well, a favorite of Henry's, despite it being written before he was born.

Killian turns as the vocals break through the synthesizers, fear at his reaction despite this being his idea causing her to freeze in her tracks. She doesn't miss the initial pursing of his lips as he takes her in, knowing this is as hard for him as it is for her. But then his eyes meet hers and all she sees is love and understanding, trust that she still doesn't truly believe she deserves. She moves as he does, meeting him halfway until they are almost nose to nose with her toes brushing the tips of his boots.

"May I have this dance, my love?"

After taking a deep, calming breath, she slides her hand around his back and lifts her other into his outstretched palm.

"You may."

And they dance. They dance until the rustling of her skirt as she moves no longer makes her cringe and the bodice ceases to constrain her breath. They dance. And somewhere along the way, the dress, it takes on a new life, polished to a new shine with every step they take.