A/N: I'm going to be gone from now til Sunday, so I wanted to get this posted before I left. It has a scary title, because it's Death, but Death in the Tarot is not literal. What it actually is, is a transformation. The end AND the beginning of something. In this case, it's the end of everything that's come before … everything starts over now. Everything is new. And nothing is going to be the way it used to be. You'll see what I mean when you read it. And hopefully … well, hopefully it will get you through til Sunday. (Oh, and this chapter? This chapter is rated M ... but I don't think it's enough to make the entire fic's rating change just yet.)

Chapter Thirteen
Death
"And it's over, and I'm going under. But I'm not giving up, I'm just giving in … "

"You know," Emma said as she followed Killian back the way she'd come from originally. He had said that there was actually a bridge, not far from where she'd landed, that would lead them onto the mainland of Neverland. The Sea of Stars was a gateway, he'd explained. Anyone who portal jumped — rare though it might be — ended up there.

"At least it's a pretty place," Emma had mused.

Killian had laughed. "Aye, that it is," he'd said, giving her a grin.

He wasn't laughing now though. His face was an unreadable mask of determination and … something else Emma couldn't quite put her finger on. But it unsettled her. There was something he wasn't saying, and she meant to get it out of him.

"What?" he asked her, looking back at her.

"Oh," Emma said, coming out of her reverie as they reached the top of a small rise of land now. She shook her head. "It's nothing."

"No, no, you started in with it, so come, let's have it," he said, giving her a sideways look.

She wrinkled her nose. There was no getting out of it now, he'd never relent on the topic, and she knew it.

"Well, it's silly, and I don't know why I'm telling you, because all it's going to do is give you a bigger ego than you already have," she said, fighting back a grin, "but when I was little, growing up in foster care, the stories about Peter Pan and Neverland were always my favorites."

Instead of making some smartass response, like she'd expected him to, he just stopped walking and turned to look at her. His expression was curious. "Foster care?" he asked her.

"Oh," she said, trying to think of the best way to describe it. "They put kids … um, without families … into homes with other families. It's not a permanent solution, the kids aren't adopted or anything, I mean sometimes they are, but usually the kids just end up going from family to family until they turn seventeen or eighteen." She frowned.

"That's monstrously cruel," was Killian's assessment. "What kind of life is that for a child?"

Emma just shrugged. She didn't really have an answer for that. "Anyway," she said, "like I was saying … it's just sorta funny that those stories were always my favorite and now … well … " She gestured around them.

"This coming from the lass who swears she doesn't believe in fate," Killian said dryly. Ah, there was the smartass she'd been waiting for.

"Well," she said, jutting out her chin defensively. "I've been wrong before."

He gave her a halfhearted smile, then started walking again.

She frowned. "Hey," she said, tugging on his hand, which was still holding hers.

"Hmm?" he said, turning his head to look back at her.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" she asked him, her brows knitted in concern. He gave her a look that clearly said he didn't know what she was talking about. She shook her head. "Don't play dumb with me," she said.

"Princess, if you hadn't noticed, we've a fair jaunt ahead of us to get you home," he said, his tone cool.

She blinked a bit, surprised by the iciness of his voice. "I'm really sorry to have caused you any trouble," she snapped. "I mean, it wasn't like I jumped into the portal going 'gosh, I sure would like to make Killian's life just a little bit more miserable tonight'."

He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. "You finished now?" he asked her, his lips twitching a bit. "Feel better?"

"No," Emma grumbled, making a face at him. "You're acting weird, and I don't like it."

There was a moment of silence, where he just looked at her blankly, his expression that same unreadable one he'd had since finding her here. Then she saw a flicker in his blue eyes, a familiar sort of glow, and he smirked, a real smirk, the kind that sent Emma's mind straight to places it didn't need to be. "So you're finally admitting it, then?" he said, cocking a brow at her.

"Admitting what?" she asked warily, not sure she liked where this was going. (That was a lie. If anything, she was sorta wishing it would go there faster.)

Before she could even blink, he gave her a spin, as though they were dancing, pressing himself against her back, his arm around her waist tightly, holding her against him. She could feel his lips against her ear, his breath tickling her skin and setting a flurry of butterflies loose in her stomach. "I think you know what," he breathed by her ear.

"Tell me anyway," she breathed back, not really sure where this bold, sassy Emma was coming from. It must be an affect of spending too much time with him.

He grazed his teeth over her earlobe, and she felt his stubble against her jaw. She felt hot and shivery all at once, and she really didn't know how much longer they could go on like this.

"You like knowing that I want you," he said, his voice low and feral and right by her ear still. She bit her lip as she felt his hand slide lower down her stomach. "Admit it."

She made a noise that might have been a yes, but words seemed to be failing her in this moment. He chuckled, the sound resonating through her whole body. His hand slipped below the waistband of her jeans, calloused fingers against soft flesh, mere inches from her most sensitive of spots. She inhaled sharply.

"You're going to have to do better than that, love," he breathed. "Say it."

It was so easy, simple words — I want you, or God, yes, or even just Please— and yet they stuck in her throat. It was a leap she needed to make, and she needed to make it with him … but she wasn't quite ready to jump yet.

It wasn't as though she were some quivering virgin. She'd been nothing but a one-night stand kinda girl ever since Neal …

But that's not what this was, with Killian. It was more than that, and when she finally took that leap, it was going to be because she meant it. Like, in the forever kind of way.

At her hesitance, Killian stilled against her, sighing heavily. "Still?" he asked her, his voice sad and a little irritated. Not that she could blame him. She was irritated with herself. He rested his forehead against her shoulder for a moment before releasing her.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment.

He shook his head, looking at her. "Nothing to be sorry about," he said, pushing her hair off her shoulder gently. His expression was back to being guarded again. "But you know, darling, time has a way of making decisions for you."

She frowned. That was a weird thing to say. "What does that mean?" she asked him uncertainly.

He blew out an exasperated breath. "Exactly what I said," he told her. "Sometimes a person waits too long and whatever it is they were hesitating about is no longer an issue."

"What are you saying?" she asked, bristling. "Are you saying that … that you're going to leave me if I take too long for your liking?" She felt a little sick to her stomach as she said the words.

He looked like she'd just slapped him. "Is that what you think of me?" he asked her. "After everything, that's what you think? I jumped into this bloody portal, for you, I gave up sodding everything to come after you, and that's what you think?"

"What does that mean? What do you mean, you gave up everything?" she asked, her tone sharp. "Killian, what is going on?"

He shook his head, looking defeated. "It doesn't matter, does it? The only thing that matters is getting you back to your family."

"And what about you?"

He gave her a wry smile. "I have no family."

"That's not what I meant," she said. She suddenly felt icy cold all over. "Killian … "

"Let's just keep walking," he said, turning away from her.

Emma stood frozen to the spot, refusing to follow. "No," she said. "I'm not … I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me what's going on."

"Nothing is bloody well going on," he snapped at her. "Except for you being the same stubborn bint you've always been. Are you ever just going to trust me, Emma?"

She looked at him, into his eyes, and shook her head. "You're lying," she hissed at him. "You're talking to me about trust and you're lying to me!"

He stopped suddenly, his mouth a thin line, and pulled her up against him, kissing her fiercely. "That's where the trust comes in, darling," he hissed against her lips.

She wanted to slap him. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to …

She pulled him back to her, kissing him just as fervently, gasping at the intensity she felt right now.

"Emma," he moaned against her lips, before trailing his mouth down her neck.
She tilted her head, offering him the column of her throat. Her hands fisted in his shirt, and his name escaped her lips breathily. His hand was pressed against the juncture of her thighs now, rubbing her through the fabric of her jeans, and she was no longer inclined to tell him to stop.

"Yes," she gasped, pressing herself against him.

He raised his head, his eyes finding hers. A bit of his hair had fallen into his eyes, and he looked so perfect, there was no way he could possibly be real. "Yes?" he breathed and she nodded, drawing his face back to hers, kissing him hungrily as they fell to the ground.

He somehow managed to get her out of her sweater and bra without ripping the fabric of either with his hook, and he inhaled sharply as he looked at her. "Bloody hell, Emma," he sighed, and she shivered. No one had ever looked at her the way he did.

He dipped his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat, before he trailed his mouth lower. She let out a sharp cry when he wrapped his lips around one of her nipples, her body arching up into his touch. "Killian!" Her hands reached for the button on the borrowed jeans he still wore, desperate now as she pushed them off of him.

She felt, rather than heard, his sharp intake of breath when she grasped him. He moaned when she began to stroke him gently. "Emma," he breathed raggedly, and it sounded like a prayer from his lips.

Her other hand tugged at his hair, wanting his lips back on hers again. He obliged, and his kiss was insistent now, needy and desperate and full of longing. It took her breath away. She managed to wriggle out of her jeans in what had to be record time. She sucked lightly on his bottom lip, and felt him shiver as she guided him to her center now.

She could feel him shuddering with the restraint of holding himself back. "Emma," he breathed again, pulling away from her kiss to look at her face, his eyes questioning, uncertain.

"Please," she murmured, her eyes on his as she pushed her hips back against him.
That was all he needed. He plunged into her, and she cried out, unable to stop herself. Her body arched into his, her fingers digging into his biceps as she rocked back against him.

He had his face pressed against her neck, and she could hear him breathing her name, gasping, his breath against her skin sending jolts of electricity through her.

It had never felt like this, not ever. Her whole body reacted to every move he made, every single one of their breaths felt like it was in unison, the whole world seemed to stop on its axis in this moment, as though there was nothing else that had ever existed, or ever would.

When her world exploded, he swallowed the cry she made with his lips over hers, his own moans and gasps mingling with hers. "Oh, Emma," he gasped, and she watched his face, mesmerized by the pleasure she saw there as he joined her, falling over that edge into pure oblivion.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and smiling a bit as she felt his lips brush over her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, finally meeting hers again.

"It's about bloody time," he breathed then, and she cracked one eye open to see his cheeky smirk. She punched him on the shoulder, which only made him smirk more. "I do love this violent streak of yours," he murmured, burying his face at the crook of her neck.

"You would," she said dryly, with a smirk of her own. He shrugged, and she shook her head. "We should … rest," she said then. "Before we continue on."

"Rest or … rest?" he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"The kind of rest that actually involves sleeping," Emma told him, trying not to laugh.

"That's no bloody fun," he muttered, but he moved to nestle himself behind her, his arm over her waist and holding her against him in the soft grass.

She closed her eyes, waited until she heard his breathing even out, waited even past that, just waited, wondering when the regret was going to kick in.

It never did, and the realization hit her like a slap in the face.

She loved him.

But it didn't change anything. He was lying to her about something, and whatever it was, she knew it was something big.

He shifted a little in his sleep, mumbled something that sounded like her name, and she turned her head to look at him. He was still asleep, and he looked peaceful right now, younger, sort of like the boy she'd seen in her dream.

She might not be sorry about anything else, but she would definitely be sorry about this.

But she had to.

He was lying.

And she loved him.

Carefully, she slipped out of his grasp, slowly, so as not to wake him. She found her clothes, strewn amidst the grass, and quietly got dressed.

She cast one last glance at him, before turning in the direction they had been headed. She'd find the bridge to Neverland herself, and she'd find the Hollow where the fairies lived too if she had to.

"I'm sorry," she whispered over her shoulder before she started walking away.