A/N: This is The Sun. If you guys thought this would be anything but a GOOD chapter, then you were wrong. The Sun is ranked up there with The Star, as far as being symbols of things bright and hopeful and … dare I say, RADIANT? ;) Two chapters to go. Thank you all SO MUCH for sticking with me throughout this whole thing. I hope this chapter makes it worth it to you.

Chapter Nineteen
The Sun
"I'm holding you closer than most, 'cause you are my heaven … "

One minute she was there, in his arms, her lips searing against his own, and the next … she was gone. His arms were suddenly empty, and when he opened his eyes, all that met him was air, and dark, and cold, where once had been Emma, and light, and warmth.

The pain he felt was worse than anything. Worse than nearly having his heart ripped from his chest, worse than … worse than losing Milah.

He couldn't move. He stood rooted to the spot, though he knew they were coming for him.

He didn't care any more.

She was gone.

He had thought he could handle it. He had thought that getting her back home safely would be worth it … but he was a selfish, hateful bastard.

He wanted her to be with him. She belonged with him. They belonged together.

It was his fault, and he knew it. Emma was nothing if not radiant, she was light in a world that had long since grown dark for him. But once again, the light was stolen from him. He should've known better than to hope. Even touching her should have been forbidden, and he'd done so much more than that.

You couldn't dance with the sun and not get burned.

"Emma!" The cry, her name, loud and anguished, escaped his throat then, a strangled sob that threatened to tear him asunder if he let it take hold.

"Peter!"

There was a hand on his arm, delicate and warm, so like and yet so unlike Emma's that it nearly broke him. He whirled on his intruder, a snarl on his lips, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Peter, it's me." She snapped her fingers in his face, a shower of golden sparks emitting from her fingertips. Instantly, his rage calmed.

Tinkerbell.

He felt all the tension leave his body then, it was all he could do to remain upright. And she was there, a steadying hand about his shoulders.

"Don't you go weak on me now," she told him. "You haven't the time for this. You've got a whole tribunal of pixies to convince that you're not the man you were last time you were here."

His eyes flicked back to the spot where Emma had stood, not five minutes earlier. "I don't know what I am any more," he said tiredly. "Does it even matter?"

"Of course it matters," Tinkerbell said sternly, but not unkindly. "Don't you have faith in her?"

"She's free now," he said, and his voice sounded hollow in his ears. "Perhaps it's better this way. She's better off not remembering me."

"Oh, shut up," Tink snapped, rolling her eyes. "Enough with the damn pity party! How do you think she could possibly forget you? After everything the two of you have been through? She loves you, Peter, for some reason I can't begin to fathom. She's completely mad about you, despite her own misgivings, despite her past, and most importantly, despite your past. She doesn't care about any of that. She just wants you. And you still exist for her. In the back of her mind, in the area where ideas and dreams are born … that's where you are. That's where she'll find you."

"People come here all the time, Tinkerbell," he said. "They never remember."

"You did," the pixie pointed out. Then she grinned, almost impishly. "Besides, Peter, there are a few things that even the most sound of logic can't explain away. Trust me when I say … you left her with more than enough to remember you by."

Killian's brow furrowed at that and he cast a sidelong look at his petite companion. "What are you on about now?" he asked her. "You mean, the ring?"

Tinkerbell shrugged daintily. "Among other things."

"Tinkerbell," he said warningly. "Stop being so bloody cryptic and tell me what you're talking about." He looked over his shoulder as the sound of footsteps grew louder. They would find him, any minute now.

"Sorta funny to think about, you know?" He just looked at her blankly, and she smiled at him softly. "The boy who never wanted to grow up … is going to be a father."

"I'm … what?" he asked, all thoughts of anything else flying from his mind.

"It was pretty obvious, as soon as I saw you two on the ship … she's glowing brighter than you do, and that's saying something," Tinkerbell said. "You always were the brightest light I'd ever seen … until now. Emma doesn't know yet … but she will, soon enough. It's a girl, you know."

Killian didn't … couldn't… move, even when the council members found him. Whatever they wanted to do to him, it didn't matter.

Emma was pregnant.

His mind was buzzing. Never before had the prospect of fatherhood seemed appealing to him … though chances were high that he'd unwittingly gotten a few bastards on a random tavern wench or two …

But this was different.

This was Emma.

His feelings of despair were gone. She would find him. They always did manage to find one another, after all. Against all odds, pirate and princess seemed to keep crossing paths.

And they always would.

"Her Majesty is waiting for you," the council leader barked then, and Killian inclined his head.

"Of course she is," he said drolly. "I'm quite popular."

Tinkerbell rolled her eyes. "Stop being a smartass," she hissed at him. "That's not going to help you."

"No, but Emma is," he said, and he gave Tinkerbell a grin.

She smiled. "Found your faith, did you?"

"I suppose I have," he said, then turned to look at the council. "All right, you lot. Take me to your leader."

xOx

Emma felt like hell.

It had been nearly two weeks now since she'd woken up in the woods, and she was no closer to remembering what had lead her out there in the first place than she had been. She hadn't been sleeping well … every night she seemed to be plagued by dreams. Not nightmares, but disconcerting all the same. There were stars, always stars, and bright colors, and the sound of devious, mischievous laughter, and always, always, in the background … a figure she couldn't quite make out, a man, encased in shadows that obstructed her view of him.

Except for his eyes. Bright blue. Achingly familiar.

This night's dream was particularly vivid and she woke with a start, her stomach lurching from the sudden movement. She tossed back her blankets and darted from her room into the bathroom, just in time.

She supposed falling asleep in the middle of the snow late at night came with the unfortunate side-effect of getting sick. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd had a stomach bug, though. The only time she remembered ever feeling sick like this was actually when she'd been …

But that was stupid, not to mention impossible. She hadn't been with anyone since long before even coming to Storybrooke. And that was over a year ago.

She leaned back against the wall, her head resting on the edge of the tub, the cool porcelain soothing against her heated flesh. She closed her eyes and saw those blue eyes again, the ones that haunted her dreams.

"Emma," a voice whispered in her head, a voice she knew well. She didn't know how, but she knew it was a voice that she loved. "Emma!"

"Emma!" There was a knock on the bathroom door then, and it jarred Emma from her semi-dream state. David's voice was on the other side. "Emma, are you all right in there?"

Emma sat up slowly, waiting a beat to see if her stomach was going to protest again. When it didn't, she stood up and opened the door. "I'm fine," she said, doing her best to smile reassuringly at David. He'd been so much more protective and worried since she'd been back. She'd find it endearing … if it weren't so annoying. But hey. She was the one who'd wanted to find her parents. "Still fighting that bug."

"You've been sick for two weeks," David said, his brow creased with concern, "and you still don't know where you were … maybe you should go see the doctor?"

Emma made a face. The last thing she wanted to do was go see Dr. Whale — or any of the doctors in this town, at that. "If it doesn't get better in a few days, I will, I promise," she said, mostly just to appease him.

"I'm still not convinced that damned pirate didn't do something to you," he muttered.

Emma shook her head. "And I've told you, I don't even know who you're talking about. There are not, nor have their ever been, pirates in Storybrooke. I'm the sheriff, don't you think I'd notice if Captain Hook were strolling around town?" She bit back a laugh. The idea still cracked her up as much as it had the first night she'd been home, when they'd asked about him.

Captain Hook. What the actual hell.

"Emma, it's not funny," David said sharply, and Emma was immediately chagrined. She didn't know how he managed to do it, but he had a very stern "dad voice" that, despite their age similarity, still made Emma feel like she ought to behave.

"It's kinda funny," she pointed out. "I mean, come on, you guys are convinced I was going to have some sort … what, illicit affair? With Captain Hook? I may not remember where I was, but seriously?"

"Why would I joke about something like this?"

"I don't know," Emma said, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Because you're very, very bored? And mad at me for disappearing and scaring you again, and this is your idea of payback?"

David gave her an unamused look. "Because that's what we do around here," he said dryly.

"You might?" Emma said with a shrug, a small grin on her lips. "But really, you guys couldn't come up with a better fake boyfriend for me?"

David gave her a puzzled look. "Emma, we're really not kidding," he said. "Captain Hook — Killian Jones — he was here. He's after Rumplestiltskin, some sort of revenge thing … you were trying to keep that in check. You were worried about what Rumplestiltskin might do to him. You cared about him, Emma," David sighed. "And as much as it pains me to say it … he was obviously very fond of you."

Emma frowned. Killian Jones… the name sent a shiver down her spine.

Ah, so you've heard of me.

She shifted a little bit as bright blue eyes flashed in her mind. "But he's not here now?"

"He hasn't been seen since the night you went missing … when you didn't come home, we assumed he'd come looking for you here, but he didn't."

Mary-Margaret and Henry had both told her similar things. They wouldn't all be lying to her. There had to be some truth in here … somewhere. The answers to the questions she didn't even know her mind was asking.

"You said he had … issues with Gold?" Emma asked.

"Well, you know, apparently he cut off his hand," David said with a shrug. "I can understand how that'd be a problem."

"No, it was more than his hand," she said, frowning.

She had no idea where that had come from, but she had a brief flash of … being in some sort of ruined castle … with a man … she still couldn't see his face, but there was a tattoo on his arm. A heart, a blade, a woman's name …

For someone who's never been in love, you're very perceptive, aren't you?

The voice rang through her head, clear as a bell, and she took a step back, gasping a little as she felt a pang in her heart.

"Emma?" David asked, reaching out to steady her.

"I think I need to go see Rumplestiltskin."

"I don't think so," David said firmly. "There is no way that's a good idea."

"I know it's not," Emma said. "But there's something blocking off my memories … memories that, according to all of you, should be pretty important to me. And if he and … Killian," her heart gave another pang when she said that name, "if they had some sort of conflict … then don't you think this is exactly the kind of thing Rumplestiltskin would do?"

"Emma … " David said, but she could tell she was winning the argument.

"Can you just trust me?" she asked, her eyes beseeching his.

Try something new, darling. It's called trust.

"I don't know," he said slowly.

"I'm going, whether you like it or not," she said, pushing past him then, tired of standing in the doorway of the bathroom, and filled with a sudden urgency.
She wanted answers, now. That voice in her head, it wasn't going away, and those blue eyes were burning into her.

You cared about him, David had said.

She thought it was more than that. Whoever it was …

She had a ring on her finger, and she was sick like she hadn't been since …

Things were starting to click in her head, but there were still some huge pieces missing.

She was dressed and out the door in a matter of minutes, ignoring the protests from Mary-Margaret, ignoring David's stern glare, and ruffling Henry's hair as she walked past him. Her mind was racing as she made her way toward Gold's shop.

Ooh, you're a tough lass. You'd make a hell of a pirate.

Emma felt her lips twitch a little at the memory that hit her then. "I am a hell of a pirate," she muttered to herself. She cast a glance down to the ring on her finger … and there it was. His face, clear as day in her mind. Smirking and infuriating and altogether too handsome for it's own good … and hers.

She remembered him, all right. She'd never truly forgotten … it had all been there, waiting, just waiting. She wasn't even sure what it was that tripped the memories … something David had said had jangled something in her mind, she was sure of it … not to mention how sick she was.

And the unexplained ring …

The ring. She knew then that Tinkerbell had done something to it … caused her memories to lie there, latent, not vanished, just sleeping. That's what the dreams were. Gifts from the pixie, drawing her closer to the truth. And as for the rest … well … that was a different kind of gift, she supposed. One they'd have to deal with together.

He was out there, somewhere, and he needed her. That much she was sure of. He belonged to her. They belonged together. That was all she needed to know. The rest she could figure out later.

She was going to get him back. By the time she yanked the door open to the shop, there was a fire in her heart like she'd never felt before.

"Ah, Ms. Swan," Gold said, looking up as the bell above the door jangled. He smiled, and Emma fought the urge to punch him in the face. "How lovely to see you. I trust you're recovering from your unfortunate incident?"

"Save it," Emma snapped, flipping the lock on the door and turning the sign to "Closed". "I'm not here for small talk, and I'm pretty sure you know that."

"Then what are you here for, dearie?" he asked, regarding her with some degree of amusement, which only served to piss her off.

"You are going to tell me how to get my husband back," she said, her mouth a thin line. The words just rushed from her mouth, but everything about her felt warm as she said them. She wasn't crazy. It wasn't a dream. He was out there, and he was hers.

It didn't escape her, the look of bewilderment that crossed Gold's face then. He hadn't counted on her remembering. "Didn't expect that, did you?" she said, cocking a brow at him. "You're going to help me get him back, or so help me God, I will end you myself."