Disclaimer: I do not own the show or the characters of Once Upon A Time. There's no profit except writing practice being made here.

Emma slumped against the couch cushions and uncaringly kicked her feet against the coffee table. Killian had polished the wooden top that August had made them only a week ago, treating the wood with that same tender look in his eye he had when he was cleaning the rails of the Jolly.

Emma let her feet fall from the edge, feeling guilty for ruining his handiwork with the arches of her boots. The movement put her feet firmly on the floor, her body pulled by the action, her jacket bunching uncomfortably at the bottom of her spine as she slid down the sofa.

Even girls' night, her mother and Regina's answer to when Robin and Killian used to pull David out of the house for drinks once a fortnight, wouldn't help her shake the tense feeling in her jaw and neck. The one that had been twitching incessantly since she'd woken up and discovered Killian still wasn't home. Snow and Regina would pribably try, genuinely, to ease her mind from Hook's absence. They both thought the best option was to drown her sorrows at the new bar in town and distract Emma from the fact she'd been abandoned once again by someone who swore they loved her. Of course, it was easier for Emma to let them think they were helping while she used the alcohol to fortify her walls, and it would be safer for her to break down but only with the excuse of drunkenness and the face of a stranger she'd never seen again. But Emma wasn't going to let it happen. It was better if she blamed the pirate for leaving instead of ruminating on what her father had told her that morning.

"He didn't have the guts to come and tell me himself?" David furrowed his brows, a pause in his rage-filled and confused pacing, the action showing he was struggling to understand what Emma was telling him. Hook's actions, as much as they'd broken her heart, had only done so because they didn't marry with everything else Emma knew of him. Killian was always grumbling about cowardice and calling himself a survivor, he'd always, always, valued bravery and sticking around to fight for what you wanted and never once lied to her. It seemed her father agreed.

"There's more," Emma swallowed, closing her eyes, hoping he'd walk into the room, all swagger and stupid eyebrows and that infuriating tongue between his teeth as he sniggered at his own innuendo, and she'd never have to admit the next part. "Hook. He left town."

David stopped. The sentence didn't make sense and his whole body refused to believe it, refused to move until things made sense again.

"We had a big fight about him hiding this, and I told him if he wasn't ready to trust me, tha-that we shouldn't talk for a while, So, I guess he wasn't ready because Leroy saw him on the docks, and he got on the Nautilus and just," she shrugged, apparently it had been as easy to leave her as being carried away by the wind gathered in billowing canvas, "sailed away."

David, in two strides, swept her up in his arms, apologising as though he'd had some hand in the events that had passed. Emma didn't blame him, although part of her wanted to, just a little. David hadn't cared all that much about his father until the Evil Queen had brought him up, evidently doing so to tear their family apart. Whether it was his father's neglect or alcoholism or the fact that it was more than thirty years ago and David had made peace with it, Emma wasn't sure, but she and her mother had been absolutely certain whatever the Evil Queen knew and was taunting David with, wouldn't matter to the man. Only it had.

"Are you sure he's gone? Is his ship still in?" David asked in the soft way he always did. It was nice, almost, to have David give Killian the benefit of the doubt and try to reason with her, try to be logical. It was as though she had both him and Snow with her, talking her through her emotions - a poor substitute but a good attempt. "Maybe he was just saying goodbye to his brother and his captain."

Emma nodded into David's shoulder as she let him hold her, let herself hold him. "Leroy said he had a bag."

Emma hadn't been down to the docks to corroborate the story with anyone else, didn't want anyone else looking at her with that harsh pity and barely hidden smirk as they confirmed the pirate had left her, so she didn't know that the bad Killian had taken with him was the thing that had been abandoned on the wharf, or that Smee had lifted it from the snow in the morning, recognised his captain's things inside and deposited the bag in the quarters on the Jolly Roger for when Killian returned.

"And he never came home."

"Killian at the docks is pretty normal, Emma." She felt his hand cradle her head and, for the first time, Emma found that she liked the coddling as she stepped from the counter and really let her father hug her. "He always used to carry his satchel, remember?"

Emma chuckled at the memories of hanging the strap against his hook, hearing his breath stutter and stop completely when she reached to his hip to pull the book from the leather pouch back when they'd been stuck in the past together. He did always use to carry that bag around. That was until he had a permanent residence on land.

"Maybe he just went sailing," David offered, probably a fair statement if his ship had been free of its mooring. But Emma had looked. She could see the Jolly from the house Killian had found for them, his telescope showed the whole deck and crow's nest and Emma hadn't been able to see him aboard.

A night on the rolling ocean beneath the waning moon, that's what Emma had expected of him. She'd seen movies, nights apart weren't out of the ordinary for couples. That was why, despite Leroy's words to her in the station right as she finished her shift just after midnight, Emma had left the bedroom lamps on so Killian could see her from the ship if it turned out he'd been saying goodbye to his brother before they left and then spent a night on his ship. She'd left them on so he could see her from the ship if he pulled out his telescope and decided to check in on her. He would have seen her sleepless night as she kept vigil, turning the porch light off but still hope-filled and waiting.

"I know your mother and I need space for a bit after a fight. Maybe he just needs his space for a day, like you said you asked him to take. The closest thing he has to family is on the Nautilus, perhaps they're just spending the day together. If I know Hook, he's probably planning something romantic and probably using their help for it."

Emma shuddered. Liam and Nemo were Killian's family but so was she. So were she and Henry and Snow and David. They were the closest thing to Killian's family. She was glad the captain and his surrogate sons had been reunited, she loved the look that crossed Killian's face when he spent time with them, the way he sponged up everything they said, visibly committing it to memory at dinner like he was desperate to know everything about the boy that was named after his hero, the boy his father kept.

For a moment, Emma wondered if Killian was sitting at a table, rum in hand, just as he had when they'd all had dinner and was merely spending his time a little way out into the harbour with Nemo and Liam. She could remember the way he smiled when they were all together, but couldn't remember him smiling at her which was ridiculous given how they'd grinned unabashedly as they discussed their nuptials and beamed continuously at the dinner table every night since he'd moved in. In her heart, Emma knew those moments existed, but the only moments her mind could recall were those last few shouted words and the look on Leroy's face, as though her mind was haunted by that last expression on his face - the pleading, the regret, the confusion. The hurt. It was almost possible that Killian was just spending the day with his brother and second father, but that didn't account for the chill in Emma's veins and that lost feeling she hadn't felt since she got out of prison and had nowhere to go.

Emma's jaw clenched. She wasn't helpless. She wasn't a young girl with rose-coloured glasses and too much hope and trust in people who didn't respect her enough to tell her the truth. She wasn't some Lost Girl, not anymore. Emma blinked to keep her emotions at bay and her cheek twitched with the effort. She shook her head, digging her nose into her father's shoulder. "He's not doing that."

Her voice came out far smaller than Emma would have otherwise allowed. At least it was hidden and a little muffled.

David chuckled against her crown and pulled away from her. His smile split his face, a complete contrast to her own expressions. "I don't want to spoil anything, Emma, but I'm-"

"Mum didn't tell you?"

David's eyes searched hers.

"You said no?"

"'Course not."

David's expression asked all the questions his mouth could not, but Emma didn't want to answer them. She didn't want to know why her mother hadn't told her father on their daily video charts. She didn't want to know why her father seemed upset on Killian's behalf at the thought of Emma's rejection despite the fact he'd just found out about Killian's role in David's family. He hadn't even seem all that upset about what he'd learnt and seemed more confused by it, concerned with the implications to everyone's mental health, which wasn't all that surprising but still begged a couple of questions; like why David seemed more worried about asking why Killian was burning his memories not telling him himself than asking why Killian had done it in the first place.

(Over the following days as Henry and August put the new pages of Pinocchio's story in the book, the Author, the Keeper, and David used the book and its pictorial history of the Enchanted Forest to deduce David's home had been the same as Killian's and Rumple's [something they'd already known] and that not only was the kingdom the same but that King George was a direct descendent of the King James who had sent the brothers Jones on the quest for Dreamshade [and then conscripted children into his army once Killian had failed his assignment]. The lineage explained why Killian had been stealing from that kingdom and those guards in particular. The pictures told the story that Killian had been adamant about killing the guards and afraid that his actions, if witnessed, would end him. It explained, to David, why his father had died a helpless bystander, aligned on the wrong side in a larger plot despite having no knowledge of it.)

David's eyes implored her for more of the story, and again he asked whatever she had meant by her adamancy that she'd accepted the proposal but her lack of ring on the drive to work, but Emma refused to divulge more. Evidently, Killian had gone to a lot of effort, thought through his proposal long and hard and sought approval from her father. It was something he'd thought about, something he was certain they were ready for, and then Emma had tossed his ring in his face and telling him that he was the one who wasn't communicating or ready. She'd been so prepared to put her walls back up that she'd done so without letting Killian explain even though none of his actions had ever even hinted at him being anything but all in and prepared to stay the course.

Emma had asked him to leave. It was the only reason Killian had done it. She'd asked and he'd listened, always doing what she wanted if he thought it would benefit her in some way. He probably was only gone so he could collect himself just as she had asked him to, and that thought alone kept Emma standing upright. But she wasn't about to reveal that it was her fault he was gone.

Because what if hadn't changed and was still the man she loved and had been offended and hurt by her accusation that he wasn't and wasn't planning on coming back?

Emma had kept her mask up most of the day, jaw aching with the effort of keeping her words and fears at bay. But walking into her house, the one that Killian had wanted for her to remind her she had a home and an anchor, a future after the darkness, gifting it to her with the hope that - but not the proviso that - they would one day share it, only to see Hook's chest on the floor had been the catalyst for her finally facing the reality of what had happened.

Henry, just as manipulative as his other mother and fully embracing the pirate motto of let the victim's own conscious do most of the heavy lifting for you, hadn't moved the chest and was feigning teenage disengagement on the couch. Emma knew him better than to fall for the little rouse her son was engaged in - never had he ever been disinterested in his mother's wellbeing.

Unless it was a small rebellion to let her know he didn't want the pirate to be absent from their home, didn't want to lose another father. Was Henry mad at her for making Killian leave?

Emma didn't want that answer either. Nor did she want to move Killian's things all the way to the Jolly. This was his home. She wasn't kicking him out. She just couldn't face that he was gone and the things he had left behind when he abandoned her; his flask, his shell necklace, his mother's necklace.

Emma lifted the long chain and pinched the silver ring between her fingers.

"You know I'm a survivor. This ring is why. I've had it for many years. It's the reason I'm alive. Or it could be. Who knows?"

Emma's throat closed at the shock of the memory as she turned the jewel over in her palm.

Killian was a superstitious man. He claimed that all men of the sea were and Henry agreed that he'd heard similar of this world's pirates and sailors. He followed the same routines and adhered to time-honoured traditions so as not to tempt fate. He'd worn the green and silver around his neck with his other necklaces (his flask in his pocket, sword at his side) every day for his centuries of life. His actions hadn't wavered for three hundred years and he might have joked but Emma could tell he was serious when he announced his faith that his mother's ring had been the reason he had survived as impossibly long as he had against insurmountable odds.

He carried that ring everywhere and fretted after it when he couldn't recall having gifted it to her, afterward claiming that so long as she wore it and was near him, he'd continue on surviving.

He'd left it behind.

He'd left the totem of his survival, the reason for it, in her possession. Perhaps there was a romantic undertow to the notion like there had been the first time he'd given it to her, begging her to be the one to survive, to have a future, to embrace it with or without him. Killian had always wanted that for her, he'd said as much every time he'd died for her.

Except Emma couldn't help and recall the man she had met, the one who had torn through Storybrooke, not knowing how a gun worked but aware it could be deadly and that the town line stole memories. Belle losing her identity had been enough retribution - a lost love for a lost love both in the most tragic of manners - and Emma had watched that chilling night when the man who rattled chains and stormed giant's caves to keep himself alive hadn't fought back when his enemy held him down. He'd smiled at her eerily when she told him he'd be dead, sure enough, enough that Emma had thought it a cute response to her affectionately-skewed wording until her head had hit the pillow and she hadn't been able to sleep with worry that death was exactly what he wanted from all of this.

She'd been so scared then that the dread Captain Hook would throw himself into stupid situations, that she'd been glad when she'd left him in New York and taken his ship. He'd be safe from magic there, and now he knew not to jump in front of cars. He was wily and he'd survive. So long as he was away from Storybrooke.

He'd tossed himself headlong into danger back then, all for the sake of his lost love, uncaring about his own wellbeing. Would he do the same this time? Was he already doing it? She and he had been confirmed three times now that their love was true from outside sources, and Killian himself claimed to have always known she was the one.

Only this time, he didn't have his ring.

Emma shuddered as she fingered the band. Her pirate had left with no intention of surviving and it was her damn fault for telling him he wasn't good enough the way that he was and asking him to leave.

And if she didn't believe in the superstition, didn't believe the merit of Killian's belief in a mere trinket keeping him safe, or in the fact that he always put her and her desires first and would leave if she asked even if it broke him, then it was still alarming he hadn't taken it with him, that he'd packed a bag and left these things behind.

The ring was his mother's, the first person he wanted to do right by. It was his last physical tie to her, the only thing left of the long-gone woman he barely remembered, something he wasn't about to give up when he kept so few things. Then it was Liam's, the second person Killian had been desperate to make proud, a reminder from the man himself that the two of them would be, could be, heroes even when the world was against them.

Then it was hers.

And he'd left them both behind like he was abandoning hope and the tethers that kept him trying to be good.

Emma toyed with the band, watching the light glint off the stone like she had back when she was the Darkness and he was her light, the ring a reminder of everything she was fighting for, of the man he was, not the voices he was hearing.

It was the only ring he owned that he didn't wear on his fingers and Emma had always wondered about it. Her pirate claimed he'd never worn it, that it was a woman's ring and he'd was keeping it safe.

That was all he ever discussed of the green and silver jewellery. Emma had always, for some reason or another, suspected it was Milah's, something he had taken from her fingers before he said her eulogy and then goodbye forever. That didn't quite seem to fit, she knew, especially given that Killian had felt the need to tattoo the woman's name on his skin because he owned nothing of hers, something that did fit what she knew of him - Killian Jones was sentimental and he kept a token of all the people he'd loved; a drawing of Milah, a sword, a dried-up bean. And sometimes he parted with those things; he kept Baelfire's cutlass in pride of place alongside the red robe he'd left behind on the ship, one from his Neverland cave and the other from his time on the Jolly, both gifted away to other people who had lost him and needed comfort. He kept Liam's insignia tucked in his inside pocket right against his heart and given it to David when he needed to hear the truth. When he lost those items, did he replace them somehow, like an inky name carved on his pulse?

If it wasn't Milah's, Emma suspected it had been intended for her. She wasn't jealous or haunted by the shadow of the other woman, but she knew Killian had lost her too soon and loved her for centuries afterwards, that stagnant and unchanging loyalty was one of the things that drew her to him in the first place. She loved it about him. He'd had a life before he met her and he had loved deeply, the reminders of Milah signalled to Emma, who had never been loved at all, exactly how passionately and eternally she'd be embraced if she let the pirate into her heart.

She'd watched him approach her, the fearless pirate filled with concern and worry for her even though she was immortal. Then Emma had watched him bow his head like he was approaching royalty with a meagre offering.

What she knew of Killian Jones was that when he offered a token, it wasn't second-hand. And if it was, there was reason behind it. A purpose for both him and the recipient, and a connection between the previous owner as well. He wouldn't have handed over a ring to her if it had been for Milah, but still, he said nothing about it's origins. Perhaps his mother? Had Liam been betrothed? Maybe it was an enchanted piece of jewellery gifted to him by a sorcerer and enabled him to talk to fish.

Killian took her hand, that soft look in his eyes he always got when he was about to spew poetry unexpectedly at her and cause her heart to stop and skitter ("That doesn't mean I'd leave your father to perish on this island." "I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love, my Milah, to believe that I could find someone else that is, until I met you," words he said about a kiss that didn't make him feel that way but did mean he could no longer fight it.) Emma had learnt, roughly the same time he told her he'd not let a day go by without thinking of her with that same determined expression on his face, to prepare herself a little. She wasn't good at controlling her heartrate or her shaky knees, but she was good at spotting when it was coming.

It was coming now. And he was handing her a ring!

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she held a steady palm up to stop him, even though the rest of her was shaking. They weren't ready for that next step, nowhere near.

Killian smiled down at their joined hands, tenderly unfurling her fingers and placing the necklace in her palm. "Calm down, Swan," he used her surname, putting distance between them with it despite his affectionate tone, using the name to remind her of their friendship before their courtship, of how far they'd come and how well he could read her. "I'm not proposing."

Disappointment lanced through her and Emma let her face show it.

She wasn't sure why, but both of their first thoughts had been of proposals. Perhaps they were a little more ready for it than they thought.

Emma considered the ring in her hands, the proposal that never was. When Walsh had proposed, Emma had run. She had been afraid and almost certain it wasn't the right decision. It had come out of the blue and she'd been blindsided with shock because she hadn't considered a future with the man until he'd outright asked her for one. But with Hook, she was always thinking about it and confident in her answer and terrified but in a tingly sort of excited way. Scared but not in a way that made her want to run away from him, but take his hand and run with him. The real fear was what her family would think, how Henry would react and how she would manage as someone with something permanent, finally.

Perhaps Killian had left it behind to remind her that he had indeed proposed this time. She'd given him back her ring, but he'd left the token from the first time they'd discussed it properly, a promise he was coming back to offer himself again. He was always leaving little notes and messages - texts, papers, lunch in brown paper bags, little trinkets - for her to find and decipher. "Pirate, love."

A dark thought crept up her spine. What if he'd left it as a reminder of his words instead; I'm not proposing.

Emma shook the thought away. He might have been confused and hurt and betrayed by her actions, but Killian Jones wasn't cruel. She also didn't think he was the abandoning type - Liam, Milah, Bae, her, David, Meg - not unless they asked to be left alone. What if he was so eager to leave her that he'd forgotten his belongings, left everything and run? She shook that thought away too. He wasn't a coward.

Emma clenched her jaw tighter. She'd talked herself around in circles. She couldn't reason why he was gone. No matter who she blamed, how she explained the things he'd left and where he was, none of it tallied up quite right. The only thing she knew for certain was that Killian Jones was gone, he had left his things and town and her, without word. That was the only fact she knew. He was gone and while she might be in the book but she didn't live in a fairytale. That was all she had to go on.

That, and the niggling feeling in her throat that she was missing something, some key that would make this all make sense.

Her phone rang and Emma shoved the ring in her pocket in the same action as lifting the device out of it, the nimble fingers of a pickpocket working in reverse to leave a treasure instead of take one.

Emma closed her eyes as she headed out the door, ready to go stop the bar fight she'd just been notified about. As she left the house, out of Henry's sight, she slipped the chain from her pocket and looped it around her neck, tucking the familiar weight of the ring inside her shirt. If he wasn't going to wear it, then she would, and hopefully that would suffice to keep Killian Jones safe; wherever he was.

The cold metal dangling against her heart remained. What had he called it, "A reminder you've got a piercing-eyed, smouldering pirate who loves you."