He's finally convinced Emma to go to bed, hours after he's come back to Storybrooke, come back to her, come home to her. She'd spent hours napping on his chest on the couch, her little kitten beast perched on his shin, but the crick in his neck has lit an unfortunate fire under his skin, and he wants nothing more than to stretch out in a bed.
With her.
Curled into his side.
Wrapped up safe in his arms.
So he can hold her, keep her, make sure she's there.
Make sure that this isn't a dream, or a hallucination, or a cruel trick.
The god of the Underworld may be destroyed, but he'd left scars that Emma's magic can't touch. Her physical touch, on the other hand, may eventually soothe even those wounds.
Gods, he thinks, traipsing up the stairs after her, by the gods he loves this woman.
The gods know this, he thinks. Hades, unfortunately, had been all too aware of his love for her. Zeus, he's sure, certainly knew. He wouldn't be here if not.
It's time to send you where you belong.
He hadn't belonged in a graveyard, on a dreary day, save for the fact that that is where Emma was when he'd returned. When Zeus had given her back to him.
He needs her. He needs her like the air he breathes, like the sea outside their window, like the warmth of the sun under a blue, cloudless sky.
He needs to hold her close and just listen to her breathe.
So he showers quickly, letting the heat loosen sore muscles and ease the ache of bruises hiding just beneath the skin on his neck, before he pulls on a pair of sleeping pants Emma had garnered for him.
He sees her blonde hair first, spread out on a pillow and the only sign of her - his Swan is burrowed so completely under the blankets that he would have missed her completely if not for her hair. She is sound asleep, her soft snores just barely audible. He yawns in response.
Killian steps forward to join her, moving silently over the carpet to his side (his side! He has a side!) of the bed. He's already imagining how soft the blankets will be, how warm and comfortable he'll be in their bed. He can just watch her until he falls asleep, resting easily with his head on a squished pillow.
There is a cat on his pillow.
He almost thinks that it's a different animal than the one that had clawed its way up his leg upon their return home. (Home. He has a home! He's part of someone's home.) The cat that is sleeping on his pillow has the same coloring as Emma's kitten, but it's impossible to conceive that so small a beast could possibly take up this much space. But the coloring is identical, and the tiny 'mew' that comes out of his mouth when he notices Killian is the same. This is Pirate, just… magnified somehow.
Regardless, Pirate is not sleeping on his pillow, in his bed, in the same room. Surely, Swan was so tired that she forgot to deposit the creature in the hall. He hates to wake her, so he reaches for the back of the cat's neck and lifts - much as he had for centuries on the deck of the Jolly when one of the beasts erringly made its way into his quarters.
The yowl that comes from Pirate is magnified far more than his shape was, and Killian almost drops him in surprise that so loud a noise can come from something so small.
Emma wakes up with a jolt and sits straight up, her hands up to release her magic before she catches up to the scene.
"What are you doing?!" He's heard her use this tone of voice before - with Regina, with Zelena, with Cora. Not with him.
Not since the early days when his revenge consumed him and before he thought she might possibly be the source of his redemption.
She's still glaring at him, and Killian gently lowers the beast back to the bed, gingerly depositing the ball of fluff on the mattress and not breaking eye contact lest she perceive him as a threat to her kitten. Pirate scampers over to her, stumbling and almost falling over the folds in the blankets, and curls into her arms with a glare of its own.
Cats don't glare, mate. Get it together.
"I didn't mean to wake you, luv. The cat found its way in here, and I only meant to take him ou-"
She interrupts him, matter-of-factly, stroking the animal's fur and cradling it protectively to her chest. "He sleeps here."
An eyebrow raises of its own volition. "Come again?"
Emma nods her head at the pillow next to hers. "That's his spot."
Killian blinks, a bit stupidly, for a moment. He's overtired, he's still reeling from the effects of oxygen deprivation from Hyde's temper. He must not have heard her correctly.
"I'm sorry, Emma. I confess I'm more tired than I'd like to admit. I thought you said that this pillow is the cat's sleeping berth," he said incredulously.
She turns the pest control loose and Pirate immediately makes himself at home on the pillow. On his pillow.
Killian hasn't whined since he was a small child, centuries ago, secure in his mother's arms and pouting because Liam wouldn't let him be the ship's captain in their game.
He wants to whine now.
"What am I supposed to use as a pillow then?" He gestures to his side of the bed, wondering if he'd misread the situation. They are confirmed True Love, after all. He'd come back from the afterlife to her. She'd told him she loved him outside of Granny's. For no other reason than that she can. Falling into an alternate realm aside, she's barely let him out of her sight since he stepped off his own grave and been knocked backwards by her embrace, her kisses, her love. He'd thought…
Emma lies back down and runs her fingers enticingly over her own pillow.
"I figured we could share."