"I was hoping it'd be you." He smiled and she pretended not to be amused.

"We're going to meet our kid today."

He exhaled a shaky breath. "And that doesn't terrify you?"

Emma smiled and the anxiety was lifted like a weight from his shoulders. "Not this time."

"Just who are you, Swan?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Their fingers touched when she returned his flask, and a spark of something—he didn't quite know its name—further fueled his curiosity. "Perhaps I would."

"What are you thinking?" His greedy hand roved every bare curve it could find, basking in the knowledge that this was real.

She turned to him, engaging in soft explorations of her own. "Seven years is too long."

Astonishment seemed too simply a word for what washed over her. She looked at him in a way he'd never imagined possible. "You traded your ship for me?"

"Aye."

"I've always liked Elizabeth for a girl."

Killian ran his hand over her stomach, feeling a gentle kick. "I think she approves."

"Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?"

She smiled without a shred of hesitation and said, "I do."

"Swan?" It took every ounce of strength for him to step back. When he did, it was no longer a tempting stranger standing before him, an obstacle to his happy ending, or a thorn in the side of a discontented queen. It was Emma.

She linked her arms around his neck and reclaimed his lips—and he'd be damned if her hunger didn't match his own. Indeed, it would seem the sheriff's station was primed for the same fate as his quarters aboard the Jolly Roger.

Scarcely had Beth succumbed to unconsciousness, nestled against Dave's chest, when the two of them slipped away. Such was their haste that only the minimal requirement of garments had been removed—Killian wasn't completely confident they'd even locked the door.

Indeed, seven years was far too long.

"So you never…" her words trailed off, but Killian inferred their meaning. "I would understand. I mean, for all you knew, you were single—"

"Call me old-fashioned, Swan."

She smiled, running her fingers through his hair. "I like the gray."

"Gods, I missed you." Killian spoke against her neck, interrupting the trail his mouth had followed from hers.

"Did I go somewhere?"

Breaking contact was the last thing he wanted—if this realm knew any mercy, he'd be spared the truth he feared was unavoidable. Her eyes were laced with confusion; Killian searched them for any trace of hope. "How long have we known each other?"

"Few days."

Bloody hell.

Was there no limit to the number of times he'd lose her?

Forcing a smile, he tucked a tuft of Emma's hair behind her ear. "I should go."

"Is something wrong?"

He untangled his limbs from hers and took a step back. "I've just remembered, Beth made me swear I'd return home at a considerably earlier hour tonight."

"I see I'm not the only one who worries about you." She smiled, and with a light tug of his collar said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

—

Killian zipped up his jacket, lifted the collar to cover his neck. If the rain kept steady at this rate, Main Street would be flooded before dawn. Good thing Granny's wasn't too far from the station, or he'd be a drowned rat by the time he arrived.

He could imagine Beth's surprise at his news, and anticipation quickened his steps. The curse was all but broken—he wondered if he should tell her at all, or if he should wait for his kiss on her cheek to wake the town.

He was so lost in his own excitement that he didn't notice his pursuer until it was too late. With a heavy sigh, he turned to see the witch, dry as the night was dark, wielding an umbrella the size of a small country.

"Your Majesty. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You've been dragging your feet, Captain." In place of their previous red, her lips and nails and hair boasted a somber shade of blue. "I thought you'd take my incentive a little more seriously."

She'd really done a number on the town, hadn't she? And on Killian, more than most. Returning him to his most villainous and love-starved self, and convincing him to kill the wife he couldn't remember. Not to mention passing herself off as a queen—naught but a common charlatan, to be sure. He vowed then and there to find a way around the mutually beneficial deal she'd made with the Crocodile, and when he did, she'd rue the day she targeted his family.

But for now, he'd be wise to play along.

"I'm luring the Savior into a false sense of security. Once I've gained her trust, she won't know what hit her."

"You better hope she doesn't." The witch advanced, and gone was the exaggerated sway of her hips, the teasing tone from days prior. She narrowed her eyes, inspected him from head to toe. "Something's different about you."

Killian swallowed thickly, praying the truth wasn't written on his face. There was no telling the murderous rampage that was liable to ensue should she realize their agreement was null and void.

"Must be the girl." She purred with satisfaction. "Yes, I know about your little stowaway—quite the scintillating twist, if you ask me. Tread carefully there, Captain. Wouldn't want her to get caught in the crossfire."

Killian clenched his jaw, biting back the threats forming in his mind. "What is she to me? Other than a nuisance."

"I'm told she's your daughter."

"A minor technicality." Channeling his former self, he grinned maliciously. "Rest assured, Emma Swan is as good as dead."

The witch stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "You say the sweetest things." Placing a kiss on the opposite cheek, she whispered, "Until we meet again, Captain," and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

In taking up his previous route, he nearly collided with two figures he realized, with paralyzing horror, had overheard his exchange with the witch. His daughter regarded him like the monster from her nightmares.

"Beth, sweetheart—"

"Henry was right." She said through trembling lips. "You were lying the whole time. You're not my dad."

"Love, let me explain—" But when he reached for her, she ran away.

—

She wasn't at Granny's. Or the loft that was presently under new ownership—thankfully the occupants weren't home at the time of Killian's unceremonious entry. The last place he thought to look was the place his evening had started.

Emma was at her desk, pencil between her teeth while she squinted at the computer screen.

"Swan?" Killian stormed into her office.

Seeing him, she switched the writing implement to her hand, and smiled. "Hey. I thought you were done for the day."

"Have you seen Beth?"

"She was just here, but she left. I thought it was strange that she was with her teacher, but they said you'd okayed it, so—"

"Did they say where they were going?"

"No." Emma scooted her chair back. "They just showed me some book and left."

"Book?" Killian's heart skipped a beat.

Bloody brilliant lass. Of course.

"Yeah." Emma shrugged. "A bunch of fairytales—she seemed pretty upset by it."

"Did you touch it?"

Emma looked at him like he might've lost his senses, but like she also wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I skimmed through it." At his crestfallen expression, Emma stood, placed a consolatory hand on his arm—sometimes she was too much like her father for comfort. "They're just stories—why is everyone so worked up about them?"

"It isn't the book, Love."

Emma waited for him to elaborate, not removing her hand.

"I'm afraid I may have…said something Beth wasn't supposed to hear. It's got her rather distraught." Of all the conversations, his daughter had to overhear the one in which he called her a nuisance and pledged to off her mother in the same breath. "I can't find her anywhere."

"You need some help?" Stepping back to emphasize the badge at her hip, Emma said, "This thing's been known to open more doors than a skeleton key."

"Aye." Killian smiled. "Thank you."

—

They exhausted every probability they could think of—the library and the docks included—before arriving at the school, just to be absolutely sure they'd checked everywhere.

In another circumstance, Killian would've found it supremely suspect that the door with Miss Blanchard's name on it was unlocked a full day after closing, but it was far from the strangest thing to happen in the last week—hardly stranger, in fact, than Mary Margaret teaching second grade. She'd followed Henry through the ranks of his academic career and discovered a fondness for high school instruction.

He moved to a desk in the back row with the hope that not everything had been altered by the curse. Opening it, he lifted the first assignment to meet his grasp and held it under the beam of the flashlight Emma had supplied him with. Written in a sloppy script ("Honestly, Love, your penmanship is worse than your grandfather's chicken scratch." "I heard that."), was his daughter's name. Setting it aside, he rummaged through the papers and pencils, art projects, opened glue sticks, peanut butter sandwich from two weeks ago—damned thing was more cluttered than her bedroom—and stopped at the feel of cold metal, closing his hand around the attachment he knew by touch.

Was there no security in this school that a seven year old was able to waltz in with a weapon of this caliber and no one was the wiser? When this bloody curse was broken, Killian needed to remember to write a strongly worded letter to the schoolboard.

"Anything?" Emma flashed her light at him from the doorway.

Killian secure the hook in his jacket—he'd never fully appreciated the usefulness of inside pockets until this moment. "All clear."

"Can you think of anywhere else she might go?"

—

The doors had been breached—were they at sea, and the mausoleum an enemy vessel of the King's Royal Navy, he would have assumed the damage came by the barrel of a long nine. But seeing as this was Mainland Storybrooke, there seemed only one explanation for their mangled forms. The question was, Light or Dark?

"What is this place?" Asked Emma as she followed him into the vault.

It didn't appear as though anything had changed—every bottle, every handwritten, leather bound incantation in its place, save one.

"Eye of newt? Seriously?"

Emma took a turn about the room while Killian directed his attention to a book lying open on its shelf, displaying a page that related to the Dark Curse. At least, what he assumed to be such—his Elvish wasn't what it used to be. But what started as a cursory glance developed into an intent, unblinking gaze with every passage.

"Bloody hell." He whispered with a turn of the page.

"Whoever owns this place is one twisted sonofabitch." Emma came up behind him, peeking over his shoulder. A cloud of dust engulfed them when Killian closed the spell book a tad too hard. Once the fog cleared, Emma frowned at him. "Did you know this was down here?"

"Aye."

"So what are you, some kind of…wizard?"

Killian was far from a bantering mood. And if Emma were her proper self, she'd appreciate the gravity of the situation. But if what he'd just read was true, he didn't know how he'd ever get her back.

"No." He studied her, wondering how much of his wife remained beyond the physical. "Emma…" he began before he really knew where to start. Thinking over their interactions from the past days, he saw her with fresh eyes. She was less burdened than a cursed Emma should be, more generous with her smile. Emma from the era of the original Dark Curse would've turned tail and run after kissing him. She would've hidden behind her walls and sworn it hadn't meant anything ("It was just a kiss."). "What can you tell me about a man named Neal Cassidy?"

Her eyes were vacant beyond their mounting confusion. "Who?"

"You don't remember him?"

"Name doesn't ring a bell—he owe you money or something?"

"You met in Portland when you were a teenager—"

"I've never been to Portland."

"And you were forced to serve a sentence for a crime you didn't commit—"

She took a step back. "How do you know about that? Those records are sealed." She shook her head, laughing without humor. "Open book, huh? Have you been checking up on me? Did you bring me down here for some kind of ambush?"

"The child you gave up for adoption—"

"What child?" Emma's voice rose with every question asked. "What the hell is this? How does any of this help us find your kid?"

"By telling us what she was looking for."

"In some evil lair under a cemetery?"

"It's a long story." Killian walked past her, to the flight of stairs leading to higher ground. "Too long for now."

Before the first step was cleared, Emma pulled him back by the arm. "Not so fast—"

"We're wasting time. If I'm right, our destination lies at the west end of the woods—"

"I'm not going anywhere with you until I get some answers."

Killian tempered his frustration, knowing that none of this was Emma's fault—but he'd be damned if her very proximity wasn't driving him mad with vengeful impulses. He only hoped that sodding bloody sorceress bled like the rest of them—it'd been a good long while since his hook had tasted flesh.

"Well?"

One thing he knew for certain: no matter the curse that befell Emma, she was a bloody marvel. "There's something I haven't told you about my wife."

"I'm not sure that's relevant right now."

"She was the most stubborn woman I've ever met. But she was also the most compassionate. She gave second chances to the least deserving of us all." Emma's expression softened as he spoke. "She saved me. By reminding me of the man I wanted to be, and I promised to spend the rest of my days proving that her affections weren't wasted on a miserable scoundrel like me." Slowly, Killian reached his hand forward to cradle her cheek. "When confronted with the truth, she had a habit of running. I fear she'll run from me now, if I reveal it to her."

Emma's voice was small, nigh on a whisper. "I thought you said she was dead."

"Aye. That she was."

For a brief and bittersweet moment, he was transported to another time, another realm, to a vow he hadn't known was on his lips until she'd kissed him.

"When I win your heart, Emma—and I will win it…"

Then she fluttered her lashes and turned away. "You're right, we're wasting time."