He wakes with a start, clutching his chest, utterly terrified that, when he expects nothing, there's the swift steady beating of his heart that echoes loudly in his ears instead. He closes his eyes, rests his head back against the pillow, tries to remember -

The Dark One. The hat. The dagger. A curse. Emma, wide-eyed and frightened. Belle, and the Dark One. Emma shoving his heart back into his chest. Emma telling him to meet her at home -

Killian's eyes snap open to find that he's in Emma's bedroom (he recognizes that ceiling fan, remembers glaring at it in frustration a few days ago when Emma's parents unceremoniously arrived to interrupt them) and he shifts. His hand brushes against the cool fabric of Emma's quilt as he turns over to the side, places his feet on the ground. His heart pounds loudly in his chest and he closes his eyes, tries to collect himself because he doesn't remember the walk here, just remembers the utter exhaustion that seemed to flood through his bones the minute his heart was returned to him. When was the last time he had slept? Did the Crocodile keep him awake for days on end to do his bidding? That would hardly surprise him.

He sighs, rolling his neck from one side to the other, feeling the tension drain from his body. How long has he been asleep? Where is Emma -

There is the sound of movement, and then "Hey - you're awake!"

Emma is in the doorway, mug of coffee in her hands and all that Killian can think is did she read he letter? She leans against the doorframe, smiling at him, and his heart leaps and pounds against his ribs, so grateful to see her again, so eager to be back in it's rightful place.

"How long was I asleep?" he asks, making to stand up but Emma shakes her head and crosses the room to side by him instead, shoulder brushing against his own as she sits down.

"A couple of hours, I think," she says. "It'll be morning soon."

Morning - a full day since he came here last, since he wrote that letter (did she read it?). Killian nods, glancing over at her, watching her glance back at him, and he feels shy, suddenly, terrified that she knows everything that he feels and he has no idea what she thinks of him. He nods, trying to focus on the conversation, on what happened last night.

"Did Belle…" he starts to say, trailing off as Emma nods.

"Yeah, she kicked him out of Storybrooke. At least, that's what Regina said - and that's what I think happened." Emma shrugs her shoulders, takes a sip from her cup of tea (not coffee - did she read the letter?) and sighs. "When he left, I - felt something. Like a void, in Storybrooke. Regina said it was because his magic presence or something was gone." Emma looks down at her cup, and Killian looks at her. "It's strange to think I can feel other people's magic."

"You're quite talented yourself, love," Killian reminds her, nudging his shoulder into hers. He can't help but smile at the wry look she sends him back, before she mutters "I forgot that you're such a big fan of me," under her breath.

"So how are you feeling?" she asks, turning towards him, placing her cup on the bedside table.

"Marginally better," Killian admits, though his body is currently at odds: for one, he is bone-tired and weary, and the softness of the bed calls to him like a siren; and yet, he is alert, ready and waiting to hear from Emma about the letter that he wrote - or, at the very least, to confess his role in Gold's scheme, to clear his conscience and let her make her decision. "Emma, I - "

"I found your letter," she says, threading he hand through his, squeezing gently. "Thank you for letting me know." He can't read the expressions on her face, cannot tell exactly what she wants from him, and so he starts to talk but she silences him again, this time with a brief kiss to his lips which makes him close his eyes and take a deep breath.

"Look - I understand feeling like you're not enough just the way you are," she says. "I remember when I was younger, how I would try to be whatever my foster parents wanted just so I could stay." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looks away from him. "That's what I'm guessing you meant when you kept talking about being better for me, and being a whole man in your letter. But you've done more for me than most people have, despite how broken you think you are - and that's what matters to me, okay?"

Emma squeezes his hand one more time and when she looks up at him, he can see the tears glistening in her eyes, and it's his turn to lean forward and kiss her, to pull her into his embrace. She breaks the kiss, tucks her forehead into his neck, winds her arms around his back and all Killian can think is how lucky he is to have her, and how grateful he is for her benevolence.

And that, of course, is when he yawns.

Emma laughs against his neck, her words vibrating through his body when she tells him, "Let's get you to sleep," and he can't even find it in himself to make some sort of saucy comment, not with the way that she's pulling back and standing up.

She moves away from him, leaving the room then returning with a pair of folded clothes. She's blushing, Killian realizes, and when he takes them from her, he realizes that they are his - the clothes that he bought to wear at night while staying at Granny's (one time she caught him in his altogether on the way to the bathroom was one time too many).

"You brought them here?" he asks, feeling as if there are things the cannot quite connect with what is going on right now.

"I figured you could stay the night, since we don't have any dark magic-wielding wizards to chase down at the moment," she tells him, the blush still high on her cheeks, the awkwardness in her stance as she slides her hands into her back pockets, not looking at him. "Bathroom's all yours, if you want to change first."

Killian nods, and it's not until he's in there, removing his shirt, that the enormity of what just transpired hits him.

Emma brought him his clothing so that he could stay with her.

He changes quickly, pulling on the loose-fitting cotton pants and the long-sleeved shirt that still covers his brace, and then folds his clothing carefully, taking time to let everything sink in. He places them on a shelf in the bathroom, out of the way so that he may retrieve them when he leaves tomorrow (his heart thunders in his chest and he realizes that he is both nervous and excited to be here, with her, after all that has transpired).

Before he exits her small bathroom, he does one final thing: he removes his brace with the hook attached. If he is to sleep here, than he will sleep as he does in his own quarter (he wonders if this is a final chance for Emma to turn him away, but shakes that thought out of his mind and blames it on exhaustion, even if it is a little true).

When he returns, Emma is nowhere to be found, but he hears her movement in the other rooms of the house. Suddenly, Killian is completely uncertain, unsure of what to do next, because while he has been invited into the beds of many women, there is a stark difference between being invited for a tumble and being invited to stay, and he -

"Hey." Emma is back, closing the door behind her softly, and locking it for good measure. She approaches him, examining his outfit from head to toe before her fingers reach up and trace the charms that he always wears. "V-neck - can't let that chest hair go unseen," she teases, resting her palm over his heart, and he can feel it race at her touch, feel it's speed increase as she smiles at him. He says nothing, merely places his hand over her own with a smile.

With a sigh, Emma steps back, dropping her hand and letting go of him. "I sleep on the left side of the bed," she tells him as she heads into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Killian can't help but smile at the small admission, the way that she's fitting him into her life, especially as he slides into the right side of the bed.

The covers are cool to the touch and the pillow soft, and before he knows it, Emma is sliding in beside him, whispering 'Good night' as she turns off the light. He moves then, pulling her towards him, and she adjusts so that they are wrapped together, her back against his chest, his arm around her waist, his face against her shoulder (he is surprised at how well they fit, at the feeling of her in his arms being so perfect, and suddenly the exhaustion is long gone and the only thing he can think about is her).

It is a distraction, to say the least, to have her in his arms after days and months (and a year) of longing - to feel her pressing against him in such a way that he cannot focus, can barely breathe, as want and desire course through his veins and all he can think about is that she wants him to stay.

Emma, too, seems affected by him - her breathing does not even out like that of a person falling asleep, and she fidgets against him, pressing back into him until he finally groans, burying his face in her hair, trying to control himself.

Except, she doesn't seem to want that.

The groan makes Emma turn around in his arms and she is kissing him, pressing her entire body against him (he can feel every curve through the thin cotton of her own nightclothes, can feel heat from between her thighs as she wraps her leg around him, pressing them closer together) but there is nothing urgent in their movement. While there is desire, there is also an ease in which they come together, in how she moans into his kisses when his hand finally reaches her breast, in how her hand teases at the drawstring of his pants before reaching below and taking him in hand. When he finally does the same, he finds her wet and needy, her fingers clutching at his hair and her whimpers driving him onward.

They remove each other's clothes quietly in the dark, and soon, without much preamble (though she does stop him for a moment, uttering something about making good life choices and asking him shyly if she can slide a sheath onto his hardness, which he agrees too), he is sliding into her and she is arching beneath him, moaning and sighing and shifting and all that he can think is that she asked him to stay, she wants him to stay (what does it matter about his hand when they are both broken and lost, when they can find safe harbor with each other?)

Hearing her fall apart is perhaps the most amazing sound in all the realms (he looks forward to watching her, counting every freckle and tasting every inch of her skin, for he knows there will be a next time in the way that she clutches him to her afterwards, brushing his hair back from his face and pressing kisses against his lips).

"I thought I was going to lose you," she says, and he reminds her, "I told you I'm a survivor, love," which earns him a laugh in response.

He leaves the bed to clean up, and soon she follows him into the bathroom, fingers creeping along his hip, chin resting against his shoulder as she looks at him in the mirror above his sink.

"Stay," she tells him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"That's what I was planning on doing," he points out with a smile, but Emma shakes her head.

"I mean - stay with me. Henry's always at Regina's because that's where his Xbox lives and I…" she trails off, and he turns in her arms, bringing his hand up to her face (he remembers her doing the same earlier, palm hot against his clammy skin). He loves her, this stubborn beautiful Savior of Storybrooke, who takes him for all that he is and all that he can be.

"I'll stay," he tells her, "that is, as long as Granny's fine with losing out on her weekly allotment of gold…"

Emma laughs. "I'm sure we can convince her to let you go…" she says, before she leans forward to kiss him, to draw him back into her bed, and he follows, realizing he would pay any sum of money to assuage Granny if it meant more nights (and mornings) like this, wrapped up in Emma, sleeping easy for the first time in decades.