This one-shot was written as a gift for my Captain Swan Secret Survivor, RobbieKayyy, over on Tumblr.

Synopsis:After a heated argument with Emma, Killian heads to the Rabbit Hole for the comfort of his old friend, rum. Expecting a bustling bar scene, what will he do when he discovers Gold is the only patron? A conversation three hundred years in the making…

Rating: K+


The harsh crunch of Killian's boots against the snow-laden sidewalk audibly portrayed the driving irritation pounding through his thoughts. It did nothing, however, to drown out the remembrance of Emma's caterwauling, nor his own less-than-gentlemanly rejoinder. "Just because we've had sex doesn't entitle you to stake any sort of claim on me," she'd argued. "Maybe woman of your time were only too happy to be at your beck and call, but I do have a life beyond you." Even lovelier was his addition to the foray; "I didn't hear any complaints when the actual staking was taking place."

Killian had known even before Emma yanked on her red leather jacket that his wit had not been appreciated, but it was the eerily calm manner in which she'd told him they'd talk about it later then slipped from the apartment that made her wrath bloody well clear. He'd considered going after her, but some miracle of rationality stayed his course. She'd outright denied his offer to help interrogate the Knave; showing up uninvited would only validate her assertions that he was jealous. "Preposterous," he scoffed to himself as he picked up his pace. Had he not proven time and again how useful he could be? And yet she attributed his good form to a lack of faith.

For the past three weeks, a dangerous hope had descended on Killian's life. Ever since he and Emma had returned from the past, she'd gradually taken him beyond her impressive wall, culminating in a recent bout of passion far exceeding any amorous encounters he'd experienced in his long life. His Swan was magic. She'd given him back his life, whether she knew it or not. There was very little – if anything – that he would deny her, especially after that shy smile she'd graced him with outside of Granny's. His heart was hers completely. But as a seasoned sailor, his eye was always on the horizon, searching for the next storm beyond the calm. When vengeance was the driving force of his existence, his life had been much simpler. He was just as willing to die for love as he was revenge, but love was far more complex…so much more at risk. Emma was constantly in danger. They'd had a grand total of ten hours to recuperate from their time travel before the next obstacle was dropped in their path. And she wondered why he objected to her traipsing all over Storybrooke unattended?

Killian's footsteps led him of their own accord to the well-worn door of the Rabbit Hole. The blast of hot air coming from the bar's heaters contrasted uncomfortably against his chilled skin as he stepped inside. At first glance the normally bustling den of debauchery seemed deserted. He'd hardly offered regular patronage to the establishment, especially since his Swan had begun to favor him with her attentions, but on the rare evening when his spirit craved the familiarity of a past which stretched far longer than his present, he'd found a measure of comfort sitting amidst the revelry of Storybrooke's rowdiest watering hole. The often lively banter exchanged across the varnished wood of the bar and the shamelessly forward women reminded him of the taverns (and the friendly wenches) he and his crew had frequented once upon a time, not that he'd ever been more than a simple observer since he'd set his site on Emma. But no such balm would be found this evening.

Without the crush of bodies and the clamor of dozens of voices fighting to be heard above too loud music, the large room felt sad and depressed. A tired-looking waitress swabbed a dull gray rag over one of the tables, muttering under her breath and completely ignoring Killian's appearance in the doorway. Aside from her, a solitary figure sat quietly at the bar nursing a crystal tumbler of amber colored liquid. The poor lighting should've made it difficult to make out who it was, but the unmistakable gleam of a gold-handled cane gave the man away.

At the sight of his nemesis, Killian hesitated. While they were currently engaged in a feeble sort of truce, he and the Crocodile would never be the best of mates. And even the lure of rum wasn't strong enough to overcome all situations. He shifted his weight onto his back foot, preparing to turn back into the frigid night and mentally cursing himself for getting rid of his flask. Surely Granny wouldn't object to pouring him a glass from her private stock?

"Don't rush off on my account…Pirate," Gold suddenly remarked.

Killian straightened, returning his attention to the bar. Gold's back was still toward the door, but their eyes met coolly in the mirrored panel behind the liquor bottles. "Seems a bit crowded," Killian replied, injecting the perfect balance of sarcasm while being wholly sincere.

"Few are willing to brave the cold."

Killian cocked his head to the side. "And yet here you are, despite your reptilian nature. Trouble in paradise so soon?"

Gold pivoted on his stool, tilting his glass toward Killian as his lips curled into a semblance of a smirk, though challenge reigned in his eyes. "Only a man embroiled in his own issues of the heart would leap to such conclusions. Has our fair sheriff finally seen you for who you truly are…Pirate?"

Killian tucked his thumb under his belt buckle as he sauntered closer to an empty stool several seats away from Gold. Perhaps a sparring session with the Crocodile was in the cards tonight after all. "As much as your Belle sees you," he retorted. The waitress slowly made her way behind the bar, and Killian gestured toward the bottle of Captain Morgan. The chap on the label resembled Blackbeard a bit too much for his liking, but having 'captain' as part of its moniker had always amused him. He took a large swig of the spiced rum, wincing at the somewhat insipid flavor of this world's spirits, before baiting Gold further. "Tell me, how fares the lovely Mrs. Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Exactly what part of our history leads you to believe I would ever be interested in discussing my personal life with you?"

"Oh, I don't know…perhaps the fact that I am currently residing with your grandson?"

"For lack of anywhere else," Gold countered, sipping at his own drink. "Once the boarding house is restored, we'll see how comfortable Miss Swan is with sharing her space."

Killian chose not to respond to Gold's less-than-subtle reference to his present circumstances. When the ice monster demolished Granny's B&B, Emma and Henry had already relocated to the rented space beneath her parents, leaving him as the only misplaced guest. With the Jolly Roger gone he'd had few options for lodgings, though he would've still chosen Emma even if his ship was moored in the harbor. Her offer may have been expedient to his situation, but he believed it to be a genuine, permanent invitation into Emma's life. At least he hoped so. Thinking back on their earlier conversation, he wasn't entirely certain.

He tossed back the remaining liquid in his glass and motioned for another. "Despite our many centuries of mutual malcontent, you know very little about me. Nor do you know Emma for that matter," he muttered.

Gold smirked again. "I know enough. Sooner or later, Pirate…" His words trailed off vaguely.

A flicker of the same old enmity toward the Dark One flashed through Killian's countenance. Not too long ago it had served as the inferno which fueled his existence. He'd set it aside – for Emma – but it never entirely died out because in his core he'd never made peace with what had happened. Killian wasn't naïve; he well understood the premise of 'an eye for an eye,' but the man had cheated. He'd been given a chance to win back his wife and he'd forfeited. To return later with stolen powers, then kill her out of spite? Could there be a better definition of bad form? Killian's hand tightened around his glass. That the man was now happily married and yet still had the gall to smugly criticize Killian's own relationship was unconscionable.

Gold set his empty glass on the bar counter, seemingly oblivious to the quiet storm manifesting in the man nearby. "You do realize that in a sense, you are the boy's step-grandfather? That you've not only taken the woman I loved, but my son's as well?"

Killian clucked his tongue. "You paint me as some lothario intent on stealing away innocent maidens' virtues….She chose to go with me…begged it of me before she even knew me," Killian asserted, confident that Gold was well aware that he wasn't referring to Emma. Taking a slow sip of his drink he continued, "It was never about me, at least not at first. She was a deeply unhappy woman seeking an escape."

Gold laughed once – a harsh sound full of derision – as he twisted his hand in a flourish. "Is that supposed to make it alright? You liberated an unfit mother from her circumstances? Don't tell me the pirate really does fancy himself a hero now?" He paused, assessing Killian with a serious eye. "Just what are you hoping to accomplish from this little heart-to-heart?"

Killian's jaw clenched. He didn't know what to expect from this humanized version of the Dark One. It had been a very long time since the two of them had occupied the same space without the buffer of their ladies, and they'd never been virtually alone. Perhaps it was the earlier row with Emma, or the alcohol he'd already imbibed, but Killian was rallying to exercise a few demons. He'd tried – and failed – several times to pay back Milah's death with her murderer's. Falling in love with another member of the man's family had forced him to tame his thirst for vengeance, but it was still there, lingering under the surface. Violence was out of the question now; his love for Emma and – surprisingly – her family had altered him. But this was a very small town, and now that he was leading a mortal life again he refused to waste another moment of it on hatred.

"We've accepted this farce of a truce to placate the will of others. I doubt we'll ever come to an understanding, but perhaps it is time to call it even," he offered.

"You almost killed Belle," Gold spoke through gritted teeth.

Killian exhaled with disgust. "You did kill Milah."

"Because she deserted us!"

"Because we shamed you," Killian corrected. Anger gleamed wildly in Gold's eyes. Killian was not afraid of him, but he did have a healthy respect for his power. He thought back to the meek, crippled man who'd trembled in his boots when he'd faced a crew of pirates and pleaded for his wife. Then, seeing him again – some time later – saturated with dark power, lethal and cruel.

Gold was quiet for a long moment, staring at his own reflection in the bar mirror. When he finally spoke, a hint of resolution laced his voice. "I loved her. Or rather, the thought of her. She was a wild bird who refused to be tamed. As I was, I knew I would never be able to hold her. And whether you believe me or not, I doubt you would've either…at least not for long. Such was her way."

Killian's brow arched. "So she deserved to die?"

Gold scoffed. "She was in my way. Don't you understand? I would've done anything to get to Bae. You've spent centuries trying to get pay back for something I deemed so inconsequential at the time that I hardly thought of it afterwards."

A heavy silence descended on the pair as their conversation staggered. The sound of the howling wind permeated through the walls, joined only by the scrape of chairs being placed on tabletops as the sole employee prepared to close. Killian's thoughts swirled like the ravaging storm, frozen on the irony that in killing Milah to get to Bae, Gold had unintentionally set Killian on the course which placed him directly in Bae's path. Had Bae ever told his father of his years in Neverland? Of the pirate captain who'd once shown him a kindness only to become a rival for a woman's affections years later? At this point, the string of wrongdoings leading back from each of them were so tangled that it seemed pointless to continue clinging to the ends.

"I'll never be able to forgive you," Killian said quietly.

"I'll never say I'm sorry," Gold replied in the same manner.

Killian lifted his glass once more to his lips, drinking down the remainder of his second drink. He glanced at Gold's reflection in the mirror, catching the same weariness in the man's expression that often assailed him. No matter their feelings toward one another, they were irrevocably linked; like two sides of the same aged coin. A common tragedy had aligned their paths centuries ago, just as a similar hope now cleared the way for a future of redemption.

A gust of cold air swirled into the large room as the front door pushed in. "Rumpel?" a soft voice called, sounding slightly muffled. Both men turned, taking in the appearance of Belle. As she worked to unwind the scarf from around her neck and face, Gold slid onto his feet. She eagerly walked into his embrace, kissing him gently on the cheek before slipping her arm around his waist. "You've been gone so long, I was beginning to worry," she explained then smiled tentatively at Killian as her eyes darted curiously from one man to the other. "Hello Hook."

Killian nodded hello as he stood. Watching the pair of them, it was evident that his earlier accusation couldn't have been further from the truth. Their love surrounded them; even succeeding in softening the almost permanent glower Gold wore in his presence. A small tendril of envy coiled in his stomach. He would never complain about his own burgeoning relationship with Emma, but he longed for the day when she was as open with him in the company of others as Belle was with Gold.

"Have you finished then?" Belle inquired of Gold. Then, for Killian's benefit, she explained, "Rumpel insisted on collecting the rent checks tonight, despite the nasty weather." She squeezed him affectionately and Killian did nothing to hide his sudden smirk as Gold flushed ever-so-slightly.

"I always collect on the first Wednesday of the month. A little snow isn't going to change that," he groused.

Belle rolled her eyes even as her smile widened. "A deal is a deal, we know," she laughed. "Some things never change."

"I don't know about that," Killian interjected. He'd come to understand quite a bit about the Dark One tonight, and while he maintained that they'd never be friends, he could appreciate that they were both seeking a second chance. Gold had clearly found his with Belle, just as Killian knew Emma was his. "The love of a good woman does change a man," he offered

Belle's expression softened. Her brilliant blue eyes met his. "I passed Emma as I walked over. She was heading for the apartment."

Killian swallowed but said nothing.

A knowing smile tilted Belle's lips. "She looked a bit upset," she added. At his continued silence she reached into her pocket and pulled out a key ring, removing a small brass key and holding it out to him. "Here. This is to my father's florist shop. Why don't you stop and pick out a bouquet before going to see her. Modern women tend to like that sort of thing."

"Belle, are you sure you want to do that?" Gold asked, looking askance at Killian.

"Of course!" she exclaimed. "You heard him; the love of a good woman changes a man." She smiled at Killian again before turning toward Gold and touching his arm. "Just as the love of a good man can heal the heart of a woman."

Killian inclined his head at Belle, saying a simple, "Thank you," as his fingers closed around the key. He crossed to the door of the bar and twisted the handle, but he paused before opening it. Turning back toward Gold, he silently nodded once more. The two men met each other's gaze for a weighted moment, acknowledging the strange sort of accord they'd established in this lost evening together. Stepping out into the cold, Killian wrapped his coat close to his body and set off for the florist shop. What an unexpected evening this had turned out to be.

******* An Hour Later *******

Killian crossed the threshold of Emma's apartment with hesitant footsteps. Soft light filtered down the hallway from the open bedroom door. Shifting the bundle of flowers onto the dining table, he shucked off his heavy coat and kicked off his boots, placing them neatly on the mat by the door, just as Emma preferred. Part of him wondered at the wisdom of his actions; would he be requested to put them back on again in just a few minutes?

He picked up the flowers and started down the hall, pausing in the doorway. Emma sat on the bed, her back propped against the headboard and her long legs crossed at the ankle. A book rested in her lap, but it was clear in the way her head jerked toward him that she hadn't been giving it much attention.

"You're back," she stated. Killian noted the soft relief in her voice, but dared not take it for granted.

"Aye," he replied then peered further down the hall to Henry's open door. "Where's the lad?"

"With Regina," she answered, setting the book on her nightstand.

Shuffling forward, Killian held the bouquet of flowers out to her. "These are for you." He'd picked the little yellow blossoms because they reminded him of the tattoo on her wrist, though he had no inkling of their name.

Emma pushed off from the bed and tentatively took the flowers, the cellophane wrapping crinkling in her hand. A strange expression settled on her face. "You bought me flowers?"

Killian cleared his throat. "Something like that."

Emma met his eyes, something akin to disbelief shining amidst the green depths. He let out a tiny sigh of relief. He'd take confusion over anger any night. "Why?" she asked as softly as he'd ever heard her.

There were a million things Killian could've said: how sorry he was; how much she meant to him; how glad he was that she'd taken a chance on him. But in the end there was only one thing that mattered, and oddly enough, it was an evening spent reminiscing with his least favorite person that reminded him of it. "Because I love you," he answered. It wasn't the first time he told her, and it wouldn't be the last, but it was honest and it was real.

Emma's eyes dropped from his to the flowers in her hand. The corners of her mouth fell. "No one has ever brought me flowers," she commented, almost to herself.

Killian's pulse sped in his veins as his mind tripped over itself to make sense of her reaction. Had he done the wrong thing? "I know it doesn't excuse my poor behavior."

She glanced up quickly. "I'm sorry, Killian," she spoke in a rush. "What I said earlier…about not belonging to you…" she pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. "The truth is I already do."

Killian stepped forward unconsciously. He opened his mouth to speak, but her hand stopped him.

"I know this isn't the most eloquent way to say this," she mumbled, then seemed to gather some sort of inner courage. She lifted her eyes to his and smiled, that same shy smile he'd treasured ever since that night of their first real kiss. "I love you. I should've said it before…I was scared."

He didn't remember moving, but his hand was suddenly cradling Emma's cheek. His thumb traced soft patterns over her fine skin and her smile blossomed. Matching her expression with a grin of his own, he teased, "Say it again?"

"I love y-"

His lips were on hers before the last word could escape. He slipped his fingers through the strands of her silky locks just as her own scratched lightly where his dark hair tapered onto his neck. Killian's arm tightened around Emma's waist, his hook carefully angled away from her back. Neither of them paid attention to the crackle of plastic trapped between their bodies, each seeking the comfort of the other.

Emma pulled back slowly, the anxiousness stripped from her gaze and replaced by a tender emotion which tugged at Killian's heart. "I am sorry, love. I never meant to imply that you couldn't make your own decisions. I only worry about you."

"I know," Emma said. "It's like I told Mary Margaret before…I'm not used to that." She shrugged, and the motion called attention to the bouquet. "Oops," she laughed as she looked at the slightly crumpled flowers. "Better get these in some water."

She told him about her meeting with Will Scarlet as she moved into the small kitchen to get a vase. Much to his relief, the interrogation had been uneventful. She admitted to spending most of the evening dealing with some minor traffic accidents due to the icy roads before coming home.

"And what about you?" she asked as she set the flowers on the table.

Killian smiled wryly, thinking back on his evening. "I was burying the hatchet, more or less."

Emma's brow quirked upwards as an amused grin played at her mouth. "Do I want to know what you're talking about?"

"Let's just say it was a conversation centuries in the making."

Emma's look of surprise was priceless. "And did you learn anything?"

Killian stepped close to her again, resting his hand on her hip and looking intently into her eyes. He'd known that she loved him for some time, but now she knew it too, and it really did make all the difference. "That the past can't be changed, but the future can," he said. Then, taking her hand, he led her back into her room – no, their room – where they proceeded to embark on their future together.