On we go; here's Chapter Four! Thanks for all the nice, encouraging reviews you have been leaving. I love hearing what people think, and it helps me to gauge if readers are staying interested. This chapter is longer than the others have been, but I don't think you'll mind that once you read it! After this, there's still an epilogue.
As always, I don't own them (sadly), and I truly do hope you enjoy reading.
Villain's Happy Ending
Chapter Four: Salvation
When the steam had dissipated and the street was clear again, Emma could hardly believe that the battle was actually over. She and Regina had done it; the Wicked Witch was gone, and she'd had some part in magically ending the sadistic terror. Breathing heavily, she stood up from where the released power had blown them back, her legs shaking with exertion and shock, and cast a tentative smile at Regina next to her.
"Not bad, Miss Swan," the formerly Evil Queen said in that sleek purr of a voice, obviously pleased with what they had done, but not used to complimenting someone else – or having needed her help. "There may be hope for your magic after all."
Emma merely smirked at the Queen, shrugging one shoulder offhandedly. She remembered how frustrated Regina had been while trying to teach her to wield her magic in Neverland; strange that they had been able to master it together so easily when it was necessary to protect the ones they loved. "I guess desperate times call for desperate measures," she quipped back.
As it turned out, though the Witch had been infinitely more terrible than theWizard of Oz story had ever led Emma to believe, their way to be rid of her malice once and for all was much the same. It had been relatively easy to dangle herself as vulnerable bait, faking being lost, injured, and disoriented as she pretended to limp down Storybrooke's deserted Main Street.
The Witch had obviously been keeping an eye out for her reappearance – Emma wondered idly if the green banshee had a crystal ball to view things with like she had seen in the movie so often as a child – because the sorceress was there facing Emma in moments. The wide, disgusting grin of evil delight stretched across her discolored face was pure malice, thrilled to find her prey so seemingly defenseless. Her smile faltered only slightly when Emma straightened and met her eyes defiantly, clearly not as incapacitated as she had seemed. The villainess didn't even seem that disturbed when Regina sauntered out of one of the empty storefronts to join Emma; instead, like the truly overconfident baddie she was, the Wicked Witch had looked ravenous to take them both out at once. "Well, well, my lovelies," she tittered delightedly, "you must be anxious to meet your end."
Regina flicked her hair back, managing to look completely in control and almost bored with the whole situation – a feat Emma was truly impressed with. "I wouldn't get too cocky," Regina warned calmly, meeting their opponent's eyes with calm, cold readiness. "You don't know who you're dealing with."
"A couple of deluded fools who think they can stop me," the sorceress shot back. However, she didn't spend any more time trading barbs with the queen. Her eyes slid to focus on Emma again, sparking maliciously before her next words twisted Emma's gut with terror and revulsion. "One would think you would know better, Princess," she cooed. "Though you do seem to have mended well from our last encounter, I must say. I'm not sure you will be able to say the same for your pirate – if you ever find him." She must have seen the damaging affect her words had on Emma's face, because then she was practically beaming in sick pride. "I wonder if you'll even recognize his bloody carcass as the Captain you know," she added, her words taunting Emma as they lanced into her heart with searing, red-hot efficiency.
Regina's eyes moved to her and gave Emma an imperceptible shake of the head, warning her not to let their foe steal her focus. Emma nodded, and the two of them raised their hands in unison on an unspoken cue. The Witch was still busy gloating at the pain she had obviously caused the princess, unconcerned by their move, so sure she was impervious.
Emma gathered her rage that this she-devil would hurt Killian so badly – torture just for the twisted thrill of it – and her fear for his safety, and forced herself to channel it into her actions; to use the havoc this monster had wrecked to her own advantage. She couldn't worry about what she would discover when she found him; she would not accept anything other than finding him, and his being alright.
At that, tingling sparks traveled from her heart out to all her extremities, crackling visibly and joining with the energy radiating from Regina's open palms as well. It shot so quickly from the two of them, that until it actually hit the Wicked Witch, it moved too quickly for her to identify it as a deadly jet of water – until it had already hit and soaked her. Howling in rage and pain, the Witch's deadly fire was extinguished at last, and as steam rose off her body and engulfed the entire square, she truly did begin to melt and sink into the ground, wailing just as she always had from the static-y screens of so many foster home tvs as Emma was growing up. If things had not be so deadly serious and the relief she felt so intense, it would almost have been humorously ironic – finally something had happened just as its story version described.
She looked to Regina at her side, needing to make sure that they had really gotten her, that she truly was gone. The monarch stepped forward, regarding the pointed black hat on the street with disdain, nudging it with a toe and seeing no movement or repercussion. Regina allowed a pleased smile to grace her regal face and gave Emma a nod. "Well, there's one menace I certainly won't miss," she stated drily.
"You have no idea," Emma agreed, her relief evident in her voice, even as she tried to keep her tone casual and let herself enjoy the moment of levity and accord with the Queen. However, she couldn't hold the neutral tone or expression for long; she had been struck too close to the heart for that. "What she said…You don't think…?" She couldn't even bring herself to voice the fear that Hook was dying and they wouldn't find him soon enough, or that they might already be too late.
"We won't know until we locate him, Miss Swan," Regina cautioned. Her voice was steady and soothing, but a tinge of sadness in her dark eyes made Emma feel that Storybrooke's mayor understood her turmoil more than she had ever realized before. "Don't give up though. That hag would have said anything to weaken your powers. What is it your saccharine-sweet mother is always preaching?" She smirked. "Hold onto hope."
Emma actually gave her a real smile then, one that reached her eyes at the idea of seeing him once more. "Hang in there, Pirate," she whispered, wishing that in some way he would hear her words. "We're on our way."
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Neither Emma throwing herself against the immovable stone door repeatedly, nor David putting his shoulder to it to help her push, could budge the barrier to the Witch's hidden dungeon once they finally reached the stronghold deep within the mines below Storybrooke. Nothing made an impact until Regina blasted the stone into rubble with one well-placed wave of her hand. Then they were through and greeted by the horrible sight of Killian Jones lying unaware of the crashing, the rain of scattered pebbles onto the ground around him, Emma's scream at the sight of his broken, discarded form slumped lifelessly on the floor, or their pounding feet running to him and her beloved voice calling his name.
The sight of him shocked David and Regina into motionless silence, freezing the two royals in their tracks. Even Emma, who had been with him in the prison at first, was unprepared for how much worse he looked as she finally made it back to his side. His entire face was a mass of black and purple bruising, hardly a patch of untouched skin remained. His shirt was in rags from the lashing he had endured, and the way the skin of his strong, sturdy back was laid open, started silent tears pouring from her eyes. Burns littered the exposed skin that she could see, the fingers of his good hand appeared dislocated, and she knew from what she saw before she was pulled away that he had broken bones that weren't visible as well.
Emma fell to her knees next to him, praying with a desperate fervor she had never felt before that they were not too late. Afraid to touch him, hesitant that anywhere she made contact would do more damage, she still had to show him she was there, that he was not alone any longer. She had to find out if he was still alive. Her fingers gingerly moved to his neck feeling for a pulse and terrified there would not be one. "David! I don't feel a pulse! I can't tell if he's breathing!" She was sobbing now, messily, helplessly coming unhinged in a way that scared her. Yet she couldn't stop it either. He had gotten to her, crawled under her skin, and now it felt as if she could be cracked open, pulled apart at the seams as the seconds ticked by and she got no response and those gorgeous, enchanting blue eyes didn't open to meet her gaze.
"He can't be gone! He can't!" she railed at her father and Regina as if they had tried to argue with her.
The solution came to her instantly, striking her with the force of a vision and galvanizing her into action, beating back the despair. She was the product of True Love, the Savior, and she knew with startling clarity just what to do. At any other time, under normal circumstances, she would have hesitated, pulled back. In that moment though, the feeling that she couldn't live without this infuriating, delicious, charming pirate captain Killian Jones, the knowledge that no one else would ever read her like "an open book", understand her as well because much of her pain had been his as well, overwhelmed her. She had not wanted to find True Love; she had been running from anything with that potential ever since Neal left her and she closed her heart. Somehow though, her True Love had found her despite her efforts in the person of a cocky ruffian sailor, and she wasn't going to give him up now without a fight, not before she could tell him she accepted, that she loved him back.
Trying hard to be careful, to be gentle, Emma cradled his head in her lap, brushed anxious fingers through his dark hair, savoring the feel of the strands running over her skin, having wanted to touch his hair longer than she would have admitted. She eased his torso up and leaned over to press her lips to his, fully intending to wake him with True Love's kiss. She held her breath, anticipating the rush of warmth, the breeze sweeping over them, and the surge of radiant energy engulfing them that she remembered from when she broke Henry's sleeping curse. When nothing happened, it nearly broke her. It couldn't be too late. He couldn't leave her before they even had a chance, just when she found herself able to let him in.
"Please, Killian," she whispered, leaning further over him, her blonde mane falling over the two of them, shielding both of their faces from view and hiding the way hers had crumpled in pain. "Please come back…stay with me…"
"Emma, Emma," David's voice was murmuring her name, filtering in hazily as he tried to comfort her, his hand resting on her shoulder gently. He started to say more and knelt near Killian as well, but his voice cracked on his own emotion and he stopped. Then he drew in a sharp breath that snagged her attention. "Wait, his chest moved! Emma, look!"
Disbelieving and unsure, Emma stared at Killian's chest, hardly daring to hope that she would see it rise and fall even the barest bit. She stroked his hand, having to touch him what little she was able, rocking forward, anxious to draw him back to her. "Then why isn't he waking up? Why didn't it work?"
Regina moved forward again, breaking into the conversation. "It's as though something is holding him back. You brought him around – he's breathing – but he can't quite wake either. I have never seen anything like it. True Love's Kiss didn't fail. He's alive, but it would almost seem his spirit broke. He gave up the fight and let go, and now that is keeping him in this state."
"So what do I do?" Emma asked desperately; willing to do anything to make those incredible ocean eyes meet hers again and sweep her up the way she had tried so hard to avoid. She had spent so much time beating back his advances, resisting his charm and refusing to see the sincere devotion behind it, and now she desired nothing more than one of his flirtatious overtures and that devastatingly effective quirk of his eyebrow. She stroked his hair again, fingers ghosting over the mottled bruises and bloody scrapes on his cheeks, his neck, and his collarbone. Bending to delicately place a chaste, close mouthed kiss to his brow, she tried to will him to respond, to sense her presence, to wake up calling her "lass" and telling her it was "about bloody time", to bring back the broken smile he had started to repair. If she had shut him out until it was too late, if he never got to know how much she did care for him, if he had still felt abandoned and alone, Emma knew she would never able to grant herself forgiveness for her cold denial and stubborn self-preservation.
Storybrooke's mayor shook her head uncertainly, deep in thought. "I'm honestly not sure. Keep calling him, hold on tight. I don't know, but maybe he's just fighting his way back."
Emma let her fingers trail down the side of his weathered face, loving every slope and angle, even battered and scarred. She hoped it was true. "Come on, Pirate," she urged, "I know you're still in there. Come back…I need you."
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Killian did not know when he had last felt so free. Nothing weighed him down or troubled him; it was like a perfect day at sea: calm, peaceful, floating along without a care in the world, the breeze caressing his face and birds crying overhead. He breathed in the crisp, salt-tinged scent and almost felt the gentle rocking of the Jolly riding the gentle rhythm of the waves. Finding himself in his only home once more, Killian attempted to open his eyes, and it was only then that he realized the problem.
Instead of his beloved ship, he saw nothing. There was only gray, swirling air – a void – which his vision couldn't even begin to penetrate. The comforting sounds and smells, along with the ease and happiness he had felt moments before vanished at the slap of reality. He didn't know where he was or what had happened. He tried to sit up, to move, but nothing happened. His body seemed to be completely out of his control, for none of his efforts had any effect. The peace and comfort he had been enjoying suddenly became a frightening abyss.
He strained even harder to see something – anything that he could focus on – but nothing appeared. Killian opened his mouth to call out, hoping that someone would hear him and guide him forward, but no sound came. He couldn't even be sure his mouth had opened. His heart would have been pounding out of his chest, but he couldn't even feel it.
Something was horrifyingly not right. He had been so sure that he had finally earned his redemption, that he had some sort of good rest and reward awaiting him at last, yet this was nothing but a nightmare. Seconds stretched into minutes; aching, eternal, and so out of his control that he could hardly stand it. At the same time, there was nothing he could do; he was simply there. He couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't speak, and he waited aghast as it seemed the oblivion would last forever.
Then, when he had despaired of ever hearing another sound again, his own name touched his ears in a voice seeming to belong to an angel. The sweet notes of it were pained, begging, and every fiber of his being ached to answer. I'm right here! Killian's mind thought frantically, though no words left his mouth. Still, the sweet voice kept calling him, pleading with him to come back to her. It gave him something to focus on, bit by bit pulling himself toward the sound, until he realized that other sensations were slowly returning to him as well.
Pain rushed in next; every inch of him throbbed, burned, or stung mightily, making him have to grit his teeth against a groan that almost voiced itself audibly. Encouraged, even as weak as the action was, Killian kept pushing forward. He could recognize the voice as Emma's now, though he didn't understand why she was begging him for anything so desperately. He wanted to touch her, to get to her, to show her that he would always answer when she called…if only he could see where she was.
Fighting against his unwilling body once more, he finally managed to open his mouth and gulp in a desperate breath of air. Struggling, clawing, swimming up through the darkness, he suddenly burst into the physical world again, forcing his eyes open to find more than blackness.
She was an angel! His mind marveled for a stunned, disoriented moment as Emma's face, so close to his and wreathed in light, was the first vision that burst upon his eyes. He knew his view of her wasn't quite right, but she might as well be his angel; even as muddled as his mind was, he sensed that she had called him back from death. He didn't know why she seemed to be cradling him in her arms or why tears were streaming down her cheeks, but he was so relieved to see her smiling and unharmed and with him once more that he found it did not truly matter. The tiniest of crooked smiles touched his face groggily as his found his cracked, weakened voice to murmur, "Oh Lass, aren't you a sight for these sore eyes…"
She let out a strangled sound that seemed a mix between a laugh and a sob, and she only seemed to draw him closer, pulling him into what he realized must finally be his bit of Heaven.