AN: Back from yet another absence with some more angst. I've been feeling really uninspired lately, but felt guilty about not posting. So while I'm not too sure about this chapter, I hope you enjoy it!
It had been a week.
They don't speak of this fact, not really, not with anything more than a few loaded glances. They don't speak of it, but they all know. They remember the twisting, sinister magic that had coiled itself around her, the flashes of light blinding them every few seconds, making spots dance across their vision even as they tried so desperately to see her-
They remember. None of them could possibly forget.
It is why, without so much as a word, they meet on Main Street. The four of them stand in the faint glow of the street lights, all of them disheveled, having dressed in a hurry. They'd waited until a late hour, until after Robin-charged with watching Neal and Henry-assured them that the latter had fallen into a restless sleep.
(Because none of them could forget, and Henry didn't need the reminder).
Gathered in a semi-circle, they stare at the last spot she'd stood before the darkness had swallowed her up. Killian stares so hard that his eyes burn, stares so hard that he can almost see the footprints that she might have left behind. He passes his flask wordlessly to David after taking a healthy swig. The rum makes its rounds amongst the group, and Killian can't muster any surprise when even the prim and proper Snow White takes a long pull.
She hands the flask back to him. They still don't speak. There aren't quite words for what each of them is feeling.
Killian wonders how you begin to explain the hollowness in your chest. What words could possibly describe the tangibility of her absence? She was gone so suddenly and terribly, and her eyes hadn't left his, not for a moment, and she'd said she loves him, and he'd had his heart ripped from his chest, but this was far worse, this was agonizing-
His hand clenches tighter around the dagger. He has run his fingers along the cool, smooth engraving of her name so many times he's surprised the letters haven't worn away. Killian knew he needed to bring it with him tonight (not that he's let it out of his bloody sight, anyway). They didn't need to communicate to know what it was they were all doing here.
A few more minutes pass in silence, each of them reflecting-as they have been for a week-on the weight of Emma's sacrifice. When the air seems to shift, Killian glances up at the others. David and Snow wear identical expressions of grief, but hope keeps them standing up straight. Regina's eyes are flat to the point of blackness, but a fire burns from somewhere within them. The Prince gives him a careful nod, the go-ahead, and the dagger shakes as Killian raises his trembling hand.
He knows the words he's meant to say. The words meant for summoning the Dark One- but Killian refuses to see his Swan that way. Instead he says a quiet, "Emma, love, come back to us."
There's a beat of nothing, more silence, and they accept the defeat. None of them had particularly expected it to work, anyway. But they aren't given time to turn away, because suddenly she's there, wearing the same clothes from that night, her hands clutching the sleeves of her white sweater.
"Emma," Her mother says first. Snow's voice is an exhale of disbelief, making Killian certain he's not the only one who'd anticipated reptilian skin and razor-edged fingernails.
But no, Emma looks exactly herself, if a little haggard. Her golden hair is a tangle around her shoulders, falling along her neck in that familiar way, and there are deep, bruise-like circles beneath her eyes, which are still so green, still so Emma.
She is still Emma. An Emma that refuses to look at any of them, with knuckles strained white from gripping the fabric of her shirt, with clenched jaw and curled in shoulders- but Emma, nonetheless. Killian allows the relief to wash over him. He'd been braced for worse. And while he despises the idea of Emma, lonely and tired and fighting the darkness on her own, he'll admit that seeing her-even in this state-lessens the ache in his chest.
Except that she still hasn't looked at him. Her eyes dart up from where they've been staring at her shoes, looking immediately to her parents, then to Regina, and then back. Killian, standing slightly apart from the others, can feel her struggling to avoid his gaze.
"Where are you?" David asks after a long moment, voice hoarse and desperate. "How can we get there?"
Emma shakes her head; a quick, twitchy movement. She speaks for the first time, and Killian's heart cries out for her. "I don't know." She closes her eyes hard, her expression twisting as if she has a headache. "It's nowhere I've been before."
"Is anyone there with you?" Snow asks, in that same pleading tone as her husband. Emma jerks her head again, fists still balled at her sides.
"No. At least I- I don't think so." Her eyes squeeze further shut. "I don't know. It's just- a lot of blackness."
With Emma's face screwed up in pain, Killian yearns to hold her. He weighs the risks briefly, but it's not enough to keep him from stepping toward her. He places the dagger at his feet, reaching both arms out as if in surrender.
Her eyes snap open and finally, finally she looks at him. Her gaze lifts the hand that's clenching around Killian's heart, and he allows his face to betray that emotion. He needs her to know. He needs Emma to read him as he always has her, needs Emma to hear the words echoing with every thump inside his chest.
But she clenches her fists tighter as he steps forward. "Don't." she snaps, and Killian halts as if he'd been struck. Seeing the hurt on his face, Emma's own expression twists into one of horror. "I'm sorry. But you can't touch me. Please, Killian, I don't want to hurt anyone." Emma's eyes fill with tears as she drops her voice to a whisper. "I don't want to hurt you."
Killian holds his hand up, signaling he's keeping his distance. His words come out low and gentle, packing all the tenderness his touch can't. "I'm not afraid of you, Emma."
He can see her fighting to stay calm, stopping herself from arguing that he should be afraid, of course he should be. Killian's palm itches with a desire to reach out and cradle her cheek, to press his thumb against the divot in her chin. "I'm not." He reiterates, never looking away from her, even as Emma's gaze falters. "I lo-"
"Stop." Emma begs, glancing back up. Her tears threaten to spill over. "Don't say it like this."
He would have laughed under different circumstances, would have teased her because she'd done this exact thing to him. Instead, Killian swallows, forcing the words back down along with the lump in his throat. "Swan, just remember it. I do." He motions his hand to include her parents and Regina, standing tensely behind them. "We all do. We'll find you."
Emma nods, breathing an "I know."
They stare in silence for a long moment, taking each other in. It's Emma who breaks it first. "Take care of Henry." She murmurs, stepping back and shattering the spell.
Killian's unable to do anything but nod in response. He continues to watch her as Emma's eyes flicker to the dagger resting on the ground. Understanding the silent request, Killian crouches to pick up the blade, clutching it tightly once more. Emma looks past him, back at the others, bidding them a wordless farewell.
When her gazes refocuses, Killian feels the fist seize his heart again. He tells her in a shaky voice that she may return to where she came from.
And in an instant, he's lost her again.