At the moment I'm planning for this to be split into about four parts but we'll see how it goes. Thank you so much for all your reviews/follows/favorites/messages - it makes the writing process far less tedious.
Part One: The Fell Swoop
"Life's all about moments of impact and how they changes our lives forever. But what if one day you could no longer remember any of them?" She'd heard it in a movie once, considered the notion and swiftly dismissed it because of its irrelevance to her. Even now, it does not apply to her (not directly, anyway). No, she remembers everything and perhaps that is her curse.
The words have a ring to them, an edge of vicious torment that assaults her ears, taunting her with their accuracy as she stares into familiar blue eyes – yet now, sounsettlingly unfamiliar. Standing at his bedside, held frozen by a mixture of shock and something else that is completely indescribable, the breath backs up into her lungs. He is still staring at her, singular eyebrow arched in question as he waits for a reply to the question he just posed – three little words that tore her from the roots up as he scrutinised her quite seriously .
"Who are you?"
And what answer is there, really? Several words make a circuit in her brain: friend, lover, ally, partner, companion. Nothing quite seems to fit the description of the ever-changing enigma that is them (was them). He's starting to look irritated, voice sharp when he jeers, "You're not a mute, sweetheart, are you?"
The pet name stings even more because of the derisive tone he lathers it with. Just a day ago he'd said it with an underlining of endearment, sidling up to her as they raced towards their most recent foe, the elusive Snow Queen. How could she have known that, when they finally encountered the arctic sorceress, she would send a bolt of icy magic in Emma's direction, her angular features twisted in a haughty smirk? How could she have known that Killian would take the hit, the strange combination of transparent magic and reflective shards hitting him square in the chest? How could she have ever known their problem would not rest with the shallow surface wounds it inflicted?
It hadn't mattered that they'd rushed him to the emergency room, her hand a constant presence over his as he was wheeled through the sterile hospital, completely unconscious. They hadn't been in a position to postulate the ramifications of such a harsh blow, let alone predict the Snow Queen's true intent. With his deceptively superficial abrasions partially healed courtesy of Dr Whale, Emma had waited patiently by his bedside – certain that he would wake with a smirk and a slurred but sarcastic remark.
Of course, when he had finally stirred and she'd scrambled to his bedside, she never predicted that his first words, as his eyes landed on her, would question her identity. For a moment, she had almost expected him to grin and make a joke of her dumbfounded expression. Only, he never did and he's still looking at her, his irritation growing the longer she stays silent, gaping at him.
She can't tell him the entire truth; so she answers him in the only way she can.
"Emma – I'm Emma Swan. I'm the sheriff – uh, law enforcement."
His face remains blank (no matter how much she probes his expression for even the faintest glimmer of recognition) and her throat constricts tighter when he dismisses the information as though it is some inconsequential fact. Instead, he looks around the room, "And where am I?"
He appears befuddled by the abundance of technology that surrounds him. In any other situation she would laugh at the perplexed expression that graces his features.
Folding her arms across her chest, she pretends to be unaffected by his blatant indifference, "The hospital." At his raised eyebrow, she sighs and stammers for a suitable comparison, "It's like a… a healing centre."
Nodding his understanding, he pulls back the starched hospital blanket and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. As he pushes himself into a standing position, he rolls his shoulders once before fixing Emma with what she knows to be his smirk designed for the sole purpose of leeching information. She's seen it before – even been on the receiving end, back when they'd initially met. It's like watching him put on a mask, one she can overlook with relative ease.
"Emma, was it?"
She nods stiffly.
"Emma, you wouldn't happen to know where a woman named Cora might be?"
Her mouth drops open and she's about to try to form some kind of comprehensive answer when, without warning, he stiffens. She follows his line of sight to the room's window, his entire being suddenly vibrating. Emma turns to see Gold passing by the room and she hears a low guttural growl from the pirate on the hospital bed.
Killian is standing and striding for the door before she can really act. She chases him as he stalks down the hall after Gold, her mind running at a speed she is unable to keep pace with. Dr Whale, having noticed their recent patient's sudden exit and subsequently giving chase, reaches Killian first. But, when he attempts to bodily impede his path, he is knocked aside like a doll, landing firmly against a wall with a loud thud that alerts the former Dark One to his pursuer.
"What do you want?" the older man hisses in his typical tenor when he faces the pirate whose eyes are narrowed murderously as he continues to forge a path towards him. Killian doesn't spare a glance for Emma when she catches up to him, throwing herself in his way and forcing him to stop.
His pale blue eyes are still fixed on Gold, "Get out of my way."
"You can't kill him," Emma responds evenly, holding her hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. She tries to catch his gaze. It is to no avail and his jaw locks angrily.
"Does anyone want to explain what's going on or shall I assume the pirate has another dispute he'd like to settle with me?" Gold sneers.
"Get out of my way, now. I've waited long enough for my revenge."
"No."
His icy eyes finally flicker down to hers, and she hopes he can see the determination there – he'd always had an uncanny ability to read her even before the emotional tethers had been tied. Whether he does or does not, she never finds out, because he pulls back his arm to shove her aside.
Before he can act, however, she hears the familiar rustle of magic weaving through the air and Killian is suddenly held in place. Every one of his limbs becomes rigid except for his eyes; those snap back up to his nemesis where, if possible, the hatred burns ever brighter. Blood is pumping in her ears, the air thick to swallow and it occurs to her that he was entirely ready to discard her the same way he'd discarded the ice monsters only twenty four hours prior.
Shoving down the throbbing pain blooming in her chest, Emma schools her features and spins to see Gold with his hand extended, clearly holding Killian in place.
"What's going on, Miss Swan?" he asks, and there's more than just annoyance in his voice – there is a tangible underlining of alarm. Although the two men either side of her are on innately hostile terms, they have learned to taper down their dislike of each other. Apart from the occasional snide comment, they generally try to steer clear of confrontation (no doubt at the behest of their respective partners).
So, it is unsurprising that Gold is floored by the abrupt change in their dynamic.
He's not the only one.
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As they quickly come to learn, his memories have been altered so that the last thing he can recall is the curse being enacted. From then on, it's entirely blank.
He displays little grief at the knowledge that his ally, Cora, is dead at the hands of Snow White. His face narrows to something foreign and deadly at the mention of his current location being the realm previously without magic, expression radiating unmatched anger when he is told the Jolly Roger is gone (no one explains why, no one but Emma knows why). However, it is all nothing compared to the way he now looks at her, an uncomfortable prickling sensation blooming where his eyes land against her skin.
She shifts uncomfortably under his glare, and watches as he is assessed, held immobile by Gold's magic. The sorcerer himself has long since exited the hospital, no doubt to fortify the protections over his home and his new wife. Emma is now accompanied by David who stands beside her as the nurses and a somewhat hesitant Dr Whale try to find an explanation for his on-set of amnesia.
The yellow haired doctor pulls them aside when they finish, expression apologetic as he gestures towards the hospital room where Killian is restrained.
"The MRI we conducted earlier showed nothing, and his wounds were superficial so… I honestly don't know. Did he hit his head when he fell?" he directs the question at Emma, eyebrows furrowed.
She shakes her head (she distinctly remembers catching him and lowering him to the ground gently) and the doctor chews his lip and shrugs, "Well, then I think this is out of my league. I'm guessing the culprit is some kind of magic the Snow Queen intended for you. Perhaps a memory charm of some sort? Either way, you're better off speaking to Gold or Regina."
Beside her, David nods, his hand landing on Emma's shoulder in a gesture she assumes is supposed to be comforting. Yet, she derives nothing from the reassuring intentions offered by the presence of his palm (there is only one person who can successfully assuage the turbulent emotions that wreak havoc within her nowadays) (how ironic that, in this instance, he is the sole one responsible for them). Her eyes are fixed on the patterned floors as David says something to Dr Whale, prompting him to leave them alone. Pulling away from her father, Emma moves to look at Killian through the window of his room. His jaw is locked and he stares at the ceiling as though searching for answers.
He doesn't remember Storybrooke, Neverland, the Lost Year. He doesn't recognise her father, won't recognise her son or her mother. He can't summon up any of the integral memories that have occurred in the past two years, let alone recall the internal development he's undergone since meeting her. Mostly because, in his mind, he never met her.
He never bandaged her hand with heated eyes and skilled lips.
He never called her 'beautiful' on the side of a damp, muddy road.
He never kissed her amidst the wet heat of a jungle.
He never told her he'd win her heart and dismissed all of her self-doubts in the same breath.
He never ignored his own safety to follow her through time, risking his life and limb in convoluted schemes to ensure her birth.
He never revealed his heart in a monumental gesture, trading his ship (his home) just for her.
There is already an ache in her chest, a profound sense of loss she cannot describe. Because after everything that has happened and everything he has given up and every wall he's painstakingly drawn down just to make her admit to herself that she reciprocates, he's under the impression they never existed. Not as allies, not as a single solidary unit, not as whatever they were before all this.
Nothing. Nothing at all. And she aches.
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The overhanging doorbell chimes sharply as Emma sweeps into the pawn shop, completely bypassing the principles of social etiquette as she moves behind the counter, heading in the direction of the back room where she can hear voices. David follows quickly after her, jogging to keep up with her rapid gait. They reach the door just as Gold does, coming to a halt so they are standing on either side of the doorframe.
Behind him, Belle appears and notes the tension already mounting, making the astute decision to retreat with a soft, "I'll make some tea." She obviously trusts Emma and David enough that she isn't concerned about them invoking violence but, for some unknown reason, she also apparently trusts that Gold will not act out of line.
The second she disappears behind a door, Emma cuts the pawn broker off before he can speak.
"What's wrong with him?"
His expression is devoid of mirth when he leers, "I was hoping you two could tell me. But, based on your presence in my shop, I'm going to assume it isn't a simple case of amnesia?"
Emma growls and David places a hand on her shoulder, silently telling her to calm down before he intercedes, "This isn't the time for jokes, Gold. Dr Whale thinks his memory loss is a by-product of the magic the Snow Queen used yesterday while Emma and Killian were giving chase."
"That would be the primary suspect, wouldn't it? So, why are you here to see me?" he asks, eyes wide with faux bemusement. He knows why they've come to him and, if the look in his eye is anything to go off, Emma has a feeling he's already measuring up a price.
With him, there's always a price.
"We need you to figure out what's wrong with him," David answers.
"And fix it," Emma adds, watching his expression morph into incredulity.
"While my lovely wife may induce some philanthropy from me, I am not in the mood to aid an individual who was directly responsible for her less than pleasant experience with the town line… among other things," he replies in a gently derisive tone that sends a ripple of anger down the blonde's spine. Her fists clench and she can feel David's grip on her shoulder tighten, especially when he tilts his head and appears to consider them, "Unless, of course, this is a business transaction?"
Her father's response is immediate as he steps up so he is standing beside her, "What's your price?"
Gold's mouth opens but Emma's cold voice interrupts him, eerily calm as she claims, "There won't be a price. You'll do this anyway." To say that her words surprise him is an understatement. Both men pause to look at her, the sorcerer's eyebrows ascending to his hairline as he smirks in amusement.
He folds his arms across his chest, "And why is that, dearie?"
Emma's lips tilt up dangerously and she holds his gaze intently. "Because if Killian has lost his memory of the past two years, then he still wants to get his revenge and you know he's nothing if not determined. Which means Belle is in danger and I know you're not willing to risk her safety – so really, it's in your best interests that he remember everything so the two of you can live peacefully, dearie." She spits the pet name back at him.
He shrugs offhandedly, trying to appear unaffected.
"Or I could just kill him, save myself the trouble."
But she can see the way his eyes have narrowed; he knows she has him pegged and her next words prove it.
"No, because Belle would know you did it and, for some reason, she trusts you now more than ever and that's really not something you're willing to compromise by killing Killian," she says, weighing up his expression and deciding to add (just for good measure), "that and I'd kill you myself." For all that he claims to be untouchable; she has always sensed unease in him at the mention of her magic. It's a point she feels is perpetuated when his eyes flicker with an unidentifiable emotion – she swears it's a shadow of apprehension.
Whatever potential she has, it threatens him. That fact alone stirs feelings of power to life within her, that if she can just hone her natural ability she'll be a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps, in the future, she won't need to call on this wily man or the Evil Queen for magical guidance.
Lips thinning, Gold takes a deep breath, "Fine. I'll explore my archives; you may want to do some reconnaissance yourself by talking to our newest arrivals from Arendelle." His instructions are begrudging but they are a start nonetheless.
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Elsa and her companions have nothing further to add other than the villainous woman's innate cruelty and elusive nature. The only experience they have with the dreaded Snow Queen is limited at best, fleeting glimpses into the breadth of her power; such as when she managed to trick Gold into bottling Elsa rather than herself, or when she detained Anna for years so even the trolls' attempts at a locater spell were constantly denied.
Elsa and her sister apologize profusely for not being of much assistance, offering their help should it become necessary. Emma understands but she cannot help the frustration that boils up in her, taking shape in hatred for the Snow Queen.
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Twelve hours pass and it is late in the evening when the hospital calls the apartment, a concerned nurse imparting the news that Killian has disappeared. Emma is dressed and driving in the direction of the pawn broker shop in less than five minutes, her parents on their way to the hospital while Henry is stowed safely with Regina.
There's a chance the Snow Queen has taken him, taken advantage of his blank mind to enlist him as an ally. But she cannot think about that right now, so she goes to the only place she can think he might go with revenge still perched ardently on the tip of his mind.
She arrives to see Gold outside the pawn shop, Killian's struggling figure held a significant distance from him by magic. The bug screeches to a halt and Emma tears from the vehicle towards them, the latter shouting obscenities at his nemesis as he attempts futilely to breach the invisible barrier. As she approaches, Gold simply nods to the pirate disdainfully.
"Let him know I may not be so merciful next time he attempts to break into my shop," he tells Emma, and with a flick of his wrist, he sends the pirate in question flying back several feet. Irritated at the inane display of violence, she glares at Gold before running to Killian's side where he is splayed on the ground.
He is just beginning to push himself up again and she extends a hand to help him, an automatic reaction she has become too accustomed to. It is only when he brushes off her attempts to aid him that she remembers herself, withdrawing as he finally rights him and stares daggers at the store and the red door behind which Gold has disappeared.
A short second later, his gaze lands directly on Emma but the scorn doesn't dissolve, "You do realise you're protecting a man who has thoughtlessly murdered countless people and inflicted more pain and suffering than you could ever comprehend." He spits the words and her responding flinch is uncontainable (her reactions to him have never been particularly controllable).
Swallowing, Emma pulls herself up to her full height, "You can't just try to get even here, and I can't just let you kill him. It's wrong –"
"And it's right to simply dismiss his past crimes?" he challenges fervently, stepping forward and glowering down at her, "Were his past indiscretions not wrong or is this realm's officers of the law just as corrupt as those in the Enchanted Forest?" He sneers and shakes his head, his disgust hitting somewhere deep and the tender pain in her chest dissipates to make way for anger.
Her brows pull tightly together, "He didn't bribe me if that's what you mean –"
"Then why?"
There is a moment where she wants to tell him; to unload everything they have refused to tell him so far, impart every infinitely important moment from the second they met to where they stand now. They have withheld certain things for his sake so far, partly so he is not overwhelmed and partly because they do not know how he will react. Only a handful of people truly know the ruthless pirate that existed before he met Emma. And even their encounters were scarce at best – it makes him unpredictable on a good day.
So they haven't told him everything.
Consequently, he doesn't understand the extent of his relationship with her. She internally scolds herself for using present tense; it's a habit she's been unsuccessful at breaking so far.
Instead of saying anything she may regret, Emma settles for something simple and straightforward, something easy to explain and easy for him to understand, even if it is something that will probably make him despise her just a little more.
"Because it's illegal here," she says, lips tight and face carefully blank.
He rolls his eyes and barks a laugh. "Of course," he spits in a voice that drips with barbed sarcasm. Killian shakes his head one more time before he turns around, coat flaring behind him, and heads who-knows-where. She has to dig her nails into her palms to force herself not to follow him.
It feels unnatural to watch his back retreating into the distance. She hasn't had to watch that since his seemingly permanent departure when she was locked in Rumplestiltskin's cell. Even then, trailing his slow retreat with her eyes had prompted a strange pang in the depths of her stomach. At the time, she'd attributed it to hunger. Now, she knows it was something entirely different and infinitely more complex.
Watching him now makes the prior experience pale in comparison. She returns home and tries not to think of him sleeping outside, alone and confused and hating her.
She doesn't sleep a wink.
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A week passes.
He's planning something – she can tell. Every time she sees him in the street, his gaze is calculating and always fixed on the pawn broker store. It makes her nervous and for the first time in a long time she doesn't have someone to tug on an errant curl and instil her self-confidence. That has been his job for a while now and it takes his absence for her to realise his central role in her life.
She uses it to fuel her escapades against the Snow Queen.
Emma is at every sighting in moments, chasing the woman down with fire in her veins and magic thrumming and sparking at her fingertips. It doesn't go amiss to her the way their newest nemesis leers knowingly at Emma whenever they cross paths, and it infuriates her to no end.
Gold scours his shop while Belle examines the library for any hint as to the specific reason for Killian's sudden-onset of amnesia. Her parents are supportive – as supportive as they can be when they don't really know what the specific situation was between their daughter and the pirate. Her son is consumed with trying to help Regina come to terms with Marian's presence but at least he knows about Killian's situation, enough that he knows to avoid the man he was gradually befriending.
Her days are lonely. She tells herself that this is what she prepared herself for, that this is what she predicted from the moment he declared his intent to win her. It eases some of the pain that buries itself deep in the burrows of her heart, and there are times where she is almost convinced that it doesn't affect her. But then the night comes.
The moon rises and the stars twinkle and she misses his faintly sardonic remarks and his smirk and his reverent gaze and the way his shoulder would constantly brush hers. She misses him more than she thought she ever could. She thinks about how it must have been for him when she didn't remember him after a year of separation and it makes everything hurt more knowing that somehow he persevered.
It reminds her (torments her) that there was a time when he loved her.
He may never have explicitly said it, but he loved her – enough to trade his home just for the opportunity to bring her to hers. And, beneath the façade of composure and emotional independence she ceaselessly adopts (second nature, she inwardly grimaces), she holds onto that as the week passes in a blur of isolation.
You would think by now that Emma Swan, abandoned orphan with a heart of stone and walls of steel, would be familiar with the trials of seclusion. Evidently, that is not quite true.
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She is pouring Henry's cereal when the sound of someone knocking booms in the apartment, three succinct raps that can only belong to one person. Ruffling her son's hair as she passes, she moves quickly and quietly to the door, draping her cardigan tighter around herself before pulling it open. Behind her, Mary Margaret and David are just coming downstairs and she hears them approach to stand behind her.
Gold stands at the threshold, hands clasped behind his back as he waits.
"What have you found?" Emma demands instantly, face impassive. It is far too early for pleasantries and she wouldn't flatter herself in assuming he's there for anything other than business. With a curt nod, he moves past her into the apartment and she shuffles to the side to allow him entry.
Closing the door, she turns to face him where he now stands in the centre of the apartment. He glances briefly over his shoulder at Henry before he speaks tersely.
"Without assessing him, I cannot be sure. But my first guess would have been a standard memory charm since the section of recollections pilfered was very specific. However, when I attempted to relieve him of its clutches when he foolishly attempted to break into my shop, it didn't work."
"So it's not a memory spell?" her mother offers with a frown, taking a seat at the table.
Gold's expression moulds to irritation and his tone holds barely concealed derision when he addresses the pixie-haired woman, "Of course it's a memory spell. It can be nothing but a memory spell – but that's not the problem. The problem is I think there is a physical anchor either on him or in him which makes it inherently more difficult to remove. Belle and I are currently in the process of researching potential anchors and how to extract them."
David shakes his head and moves to stand behind his wife, leaning on the back of her chair, "But why would the Snow Queen want Emma to lose her memories?"
Gold's smirk is anything but appealing and he cocks an eyebrow, "What makes you think it was intended for Emma?"
"Because it was aimed at me," she snaps with no shortage of sarcasm, narrowing her eyes. But the Dark One simply shrugs, his brown eyes twinkling knowingly when they meet her green ones.
"And?" he says mockingly, as though the details matter naught, "The Snow Queen is notorious for her observant nature – and it doesn't require a profound level of intelligence to notice the pirate's affection for you, nor yours for him." The statement floors Emma momentarily; because if what he's alluding to is true then things just became a whole lot messier. She's too caught by the possibility that Killian was the target from the beginning to care that Gold is discussing her emotional attachments in front of her. Under any other circumstance, she might feel vulnerable – but really, based on her parent's severe lack of reaction, it isn't news to them that she and Killian shared something.
"Why would she want to take Killian's memories?" Mary Margaret's befuddlement is echoed in each of their faces, even Henry who has stopped eating his cheerios in order to listen to the conversation.
"Multiple birds with one tiny, insignificant stone," Gold answers brusquely, much to Emma's confusion.
"What?"
He rolls his eyes, features tightening so that his expression lands somewhere between unamused and impatient, numbering off each reason by extending a spindly finger. "Think about it," he tells them, "the pirate provides the perfect distraction by reverting to his old villainous ways, the Snow Queen gets the opportunity to flex her muscles and dually show us what she's capable of," he turns to gesture cursorily in Emma's direction, "and she is emotionally handicapped and therefore magically handicapped – removing her as a threat so she may focus her attentions on the rest of us who are magically inclined."
Silence greets his revelation and it seems as though everyone deliberately chooses to look anywhere but at Emma, who is staring intently at the ground. Gold, of course, has no such qualms about studying her, and outright scrutinises her reaction to the realisation that she was never the true target.
Little details begin to fall into place: like why Emma sensed a lie when the Snow Queen said she only intended to attract the Saviour's attention. The merciless woman's cruel smirk of anticipation is more prominent in her memory now, and it occurs to her that the ice monsters would have had an easy time preventing Killian's path to her – but they didn't. More than that, she and her animated minions disappeared the second the deed was done.
It was never about trying to attack Emma – he was the target from the instant they set foot on that snowy expanse. More poignant than that, is the moment she feels the blame settle heavily on her shoulders. Killian was targeted because he was her weakness, is her weakness.
She doesn't look up, not until she sees Gold nodding his farewells to her family, manoeuvring around the apartment towards the door.
But, amidst the guilt already wreaking havoc on her emotions, there's something else grinding on Emma's mind like cartilage on bone and her eyebrows pull together as the pawn broker attempts to leave, having said everything he needed to say. It's the concept of the memory spell: the idea that all they must do is restore the past two years in his mind and everything will return to some level of normalcy.
But it won't – she knows it in the depths of her soul. There's something else wrong with him but she can't put her finger on it.
Before Gold can leave, she's pacing after him and closing the door before he can leave.
"Wait, I think… I think there's something else wrong with him – other than the memory thing," she says, despite the great pain it causes her to make herself vulnerable in this loathsome man's eyes (were Killian here, he'd probably balk at her). The sorcerer pivots slowly to face her with a raised eyebrow.
"Pray tell, dearie, what makes you think that?"
Emma's mouth is dry and everyone in the room is looking at her. They'll found out sooner or later, she tells herself in an attempt to soothe the insecurities abruptly rearing up in a crushing wave. She closes her eyes and takes a breath, leaning against the door while she stares at her shoes.
"He's different."
It's all she can think of on the spot, but how can she truly put into words that this man gallivanting about town is not Killian – and not simply because he cannot remember her. The problem runs far deeper than that and she knows it. Still water always runs deep.
She knows it because when they first met in the Enchanted Forest and he was transfixed by the need to avenge Milah's death, he still wormed his way past her defences and smirked while he did. Even though she tied him to a tree and promised to leave him as ogre fodder, he found it in himself to be endeared by her innate stubborn streak. When they scaled a beanstalk and she asked him who Milah was, he didn't react violently but simply read her like the open book he claimed her to be. He clutched her tighter when she wrenched him away from the tripwire, he sung her praises when she dragged him from the castle's wreckage, and his eyes glittered with potential when she took his hand before she betrayed him.
She knows it because when she was one of the sole forces standing in the way of his revenge more than once, he never once held her personally accountable for it. Despite her direct involvement in thwarting his attempts to retaliate, abandoning him atop the beanstalk, leaving him in the Enchanted Forest, handcuffing him to a hospital bed and later a water heater in a basement in New York; he called her beautiful and outright admitted that he was impressed by her, that she looked good, had the audacity to flirt. The most he ever did was shove her aside when she was physically impeding his path to Gold in a New York lobby.
She knows it because when they travelled to the past and the hatred and bloodlust was fresh in the air, the wounds on his heart still raw and open, the pain and darkness all consuming, he wanted her. The memory remains vivid in her mind; the second she appeared before him at that tavern, it was like he was seeing sunlight for the first time. He'd had two women either side of him who were already more than willing to accompany him home, both of whom needed no additional convincing or alcoholic encouragement, and he'd chosen her. Even in the depths of inebriation, the realm-wide feared Captain Hook had ensured they were alone so he could woo her without interruption. And when they'd returned to his cabin, the way he looked at her – kissed her, held her, touched her – screamed a delicacy that was foreign to the carnal act so clearly on his mind.
She knows it because when they met and she threatened him, when she betrayed him, when he was consumed by the darkness and had no inkling as to who she was... he still looked at her with at least the barest shadow of affection (even if it was occasionally tinted by hurt or frustration). Fondness which grew and deepened to encompass friendship, respect, admiration and eventually something layered and complex (she won't say the word, it hurts too much).
Never once, from the moment they met, has he looked upon her with such potent acrimony or, worse, indifference. The worst she's ever received occurred in Rumplestiltskin's cell when his actions were prompted by the betrayal that had left him burned. At the time, it stung. Compared to this, it was a mere discomfort.
She shifts uncomfortably on the spot. Meeting Gold's gaze head-on in an attempt to silently convey the underlying importance of this request, she clarifies the vague statement. "What I mean is – I've never seen him so… dark. I just think there's something else going on – he was never like this when we met in the Enchanted Forest - and we tied him to a tree and threatened to feed him to ogres, I mean..." She shrugs and her voice drifts off self-explanatorily.
A glimmer of understanding flits across his face so fast she almost doesn't catch it. She asks in a firmer voice, "Can you look into it?"
Several seconds later he nods and she lets him leave, pointedly refusing to make eye contact with her family who are watching her like she'll shatter at any given moment. She is unmoved by the sentiment; she's not made of glass, after all.
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It's like travelling back in time, only this time she isn't accompanied by someone to hold her steady and remind her that she's more than just an orphan with a penchant for attracting disaster. David drives at an indubitably illegal speed through the town, racing towards the docks where Gold has just informed them that 'the pirate has managed to procure my wife - again.'
She never thought she'd have to do this again, chase him down like a criminal terrorizing the town. They should really be focused on the Snow Queen but the woman hasn't staged an attack in days and, while something about that simply doesn't sit well with Emma, she can't ignore the immediate threat Killian presents to Belle. Gold's vehicle is already pulled up to the curb at an awkward angle, no doubt the result of similarly reckless driving in his haste to reach the docks.
Even before they exit David's pick-up, they can hear Killian and Gold yelling at each other. Emma glances at her father and she can only imagine the way his concerned expression mirrors her own. Together, they make their way towards the raucous voices, three figures visible at the end of the docks.
The closer the get, the more they can make out and Emma, faster than her father, reaches them first. Killian is standing at the edge of the pier, Belle held at arm's length to his side, hovering on the brink of the wooden planks so even a minor push will send her careening into the freezing cold waters churning beneath. Gold is opposite them, fists clenched at his side as he struggles to maintain his composure.
Emma's thunderous footsteps on the docks alert all three to her presence and, while Killian spares her a glance, his eyes stay firmly locked on his enemy who rotates on the spot to face her. Glaring darkly, he gestures in the direction of his wife and foe.
"You've finally arrived, have you?" he spits, "Please enlighten me, dearie, as to why I should not simply flay him where he stands."
"Go ahead, crocodile – let your wife see you for what you truly are!" Killian jeers behind him and Gold's eyes narrow to slits.
"Why haven't you just used magic to pull her away from him?" Emma asks, frowning at Belle's stumbling figure – her elegant face is carefully impassive (a front designed to calm her husband and spite her captor).
Sneering, Gold's tone is an infuriating combination of scorn and malice, "Oh yes, I hadn't thought to perform an elementary spell – of course I've tried that but he must have found a counter-curse because, evidently, it's not worked thus far." He returns his attention to the two people standing at the end of the pier and Emma steps forward so she is beside him. Killian's eyes lock onto her and he shakes his head, acid dripping from his every motion and syllable.
"Aligned yourself with the crocodile, sweetheart? And here I thought you told me you weren't under his economic purview," the pirate taunts accusingly. She rejects her body's automatic response: to flinch and cower under his harsh accusations. Practiced in the art of hiding her emotions, she sets her face in a mask of irritation and shakes her head. She will not be cowed by this augmented version of him.
"I'm not aligned with him, I'm aligned with keeping people safe!" she calls back, taking one measured step closer.
Killian shakes his head dismissively, "That may be so, but my loyalties lie with my revenge. And that, unfortunately, puts this lovely lass in jeopardy." He nudges Belle marginally and Gold growls, a low and dangerous sound that raises hairs on the back of Emma's neck. With a feral grin, Killian turns to scrutinise the brunette held deftly in his unrelenting grip, "Unless, of course, she's willing to concede that her husband is a morally corrupt beast."
Belle glares at him but says nothing, wisely choosing not to provoke him with her life potentially in his hand and hook. Emma takes another step towards them and then another, but he notices and snaps his gaze to her.
He raises his brows in scepticism and chuckles darkly, eyeing her in such a way that suggests he's questioning what she's trying to do by moving closer. Apparently, he still considers her to be enough of a reckoning force that she is a threat because he moves his arm so Belle almost falls in before he drags her back.
Emma absorbs the silent demand and stops, raising her arms innocuously.
"Look, she's innocent in this," she tries, at a loss for how to talk him down. In all brutal honesty, she doesn't know what tactic to use with him because this man is foreign to her. It's why she politely requested that Gold take a further look into the possible reasons for his abnormally vicious behaviour.
With every second that passes, it is becoming glaringly obvious that Emma Swan no longer knows Killian Jones; at least, not enough for her to pull him from whatever precipice he's standing over. In fact, given their history since he woke without a mental trace of the past two years, it would have been potentially beneficial to call someone who hasn't yet incited his wrath.
Emma shakes her head beseechingly, "Killian, this isn't you!"
This time, when he bellows at her, it's caustic and brutal – leaving her winded with each punch-packed syllable, "Stop calling me Killian - you've no right to use my given name!" That's all it takes to pull her up short and she stares at him, unable to answer.
"I wanted to thank you, Killian…"
She can still remember the way his face lit up when she finally said his real name of her own volition, the image seared into her soul with a scolding hot brand. It burns now, to hear him order her to use his title after so much time spent wordlessly convincing her to use his name. Emma is too floored to form a coherent response.
Mercifully, David's voice rises from behind her.
"So what's the plan? Kill Belle, hurt Gold, and then what?" he questions and Killian simply shrugs.
"Well, then he can do whatever he pleases," is his deadpan response, staring defiantly at Gold, daring him to retaliate. The exchange transports her back in time, to a damp night at the town line when he was lying bruised and bloodied in a ditch. On that night, his entire being had exuded the same suicidal edge that lines his words now.
As appalling as it is, Killian genuinely does not care whether or not he dies, so long as he gets his revenge. He hasn't yet experienced the empty hollowness this ruthless pursuit offers at its close.
Gold, slamming his foot down on the pier, growls, "Belle, you may need to look away –"
Emma turns on him instantly, "No!" she roars, the smell of smoke suddenly and unexplainably filling her nostrils.
When she faces Killian again, his eyes are narrowed.
"Whywould you give a damn?"
Her mouth opens and closes and it's with his focus on her that his grip on Belle accidentally falters. A high pitched scream pierces the air and, instinctively, Emma reaches out (regardless of the fact that she's at least twelve feet away). Killian has stepped back, fully intending to allow the brunette to drop into the violently crashing waves. The nonchalance with which he watches the following seconds unfold shocks her to the core, but she doesn't have the time or effort to spare as orange light bursts from her fingertips towards the woman tumbling backwards off the pier.
Ribbons of the transparent magic slip around her just as she drops, winding around her waist and lurching her forward before anyone can blink. Belle is sprinting towards them the very second her heels touch the wood again and, in a matter of moments, she is gathered in Gold's arms and being pulled away.
Killian, on the other hand, stands frozen. His eyes snap to Emma.
"You've magic," he hisses, disgusted.
The repulsion in his tone twists the knife already embedded in her heart, and she stiffens. She wants to say something, but every response dies before it ever reaches her lips, bitter and chalky on her tongue.
David sidles up to her in a moment, one broad hand reaching out to land on her shoulder. With a gentle tug, he makes her step back. One step, and then another, until she turns away and follows her father from the docks. As they make their way to David's pick-up, she feels Killian's blazing eyes on her the entire time.
Their journey back to the apartment passes in a blur. There are a thousand things currently pommelling her, moments like stones bruising her. She doesn't cry; she manages to maintain her dignity by swallowing down the thick ball lodged in her throat and blinking away the wetness stinging her eyes.
But there's nothing she can do to assuage the gnawing in her chest.
Especially when she keeps replaying the look on his face when he realised that she possessed magic. It so heavily juxtaposes the pride that used to shine from him whenever she successfully tapped into her power. She doesn't know who to do this without him standing beside her, smiling softly and telling her, 'you can do this, love.'
With his memories destroyed and who knows what else, the same trait that he'd once found captivating now incites abhorrence.
Childish does not even begin to cover the way she feels, picking at her nails as David drives them through town. She is a grown woman who lived independently for years. She is the goddamn saviour of this town – she doesn't need him or his unerring faith in her.
Despite the effort she applies to convincing herself of that notion, she's just as unsuccessful as she has been for the past weeks.
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The hour is late and Gold is fuming as he paces the Charmings' kitchen.
"Why could I use magic to pull her back and you couldn't?" Emma eventually asks, folding her arms across her chest. He grinds his teeth together.
"The deflection spell he was using only worked when she was in direct contact with him."
"How the hell did he even get to her?" David asks exhaustedly, rubbing his hairline with his thumb and forefinger.
The woman in question is at home, where the sorcerer burning a hole in their floorboards has ensured them that the protections surrounding his wife and his house are now impenetrable unless Belle personally permits access. Although shaken, Gold has already told them she is recovering swiftly (his fond smile at her resilience appeared and disappeared in a fleeting instant).
"The pirate must have found a counter-measure to the protective spell I'd placed on her," he growls, rubbing his hands together in thought.
"But that would require power, wouldn't it? And it's not like the one-handed wonder can do much, bar sword fighting?" Regina, who is leaning innocuously against a wooden support, quips in an acid-drenched lilt. Although bitterness still lingers in the air whenever she directly encounters Emma, the Evil Queen has pledged her assistance to their cause (probably Henry's doing).
Realisation dawns on Gold's face as he processes Regina's tart reply and an anvil drops down into Emma's stomach when he chuckles mirthlessly, "But he's not the only one in town with power that rivals my own, is he?"
His subtext ripples through the room – there are only two women in town, other than those in the room, currently strong enough to break the Dark One's enchantments. Elsa is still learning the art of control and doesn't carry the malevolent inspiration of her older counterpart.
The Snow Queen.
Killian was working with her.
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Red tints her vision as her VW bug screeches around a corner, and she is definitely speeding. But let the law be damned, she needs to find him – and she does, loitering down the main street of town. Pulling up to the curb, Emma jumps out and slams the door, stalking towards him so quickly he only notices her when she's three feet away and by then she's already pulled back her elbow.
There is an audible crack when her fist connects with Killian's face and he curses, stumbling back with a hand to his jaw.
"You're working with her!" Emma thunders, the betrayal and anger and hurt all manifesting in this blinding moment of unmitigated rage.
His eyes lock on hers and the expression of shock transforms into pure scorn.
"I've no clue what you mean."
Lie.
Emma shakes her head and takes a threatening step forward, "Don't you dare lie to me!" If her volatility impacts him, it doesn't show because he just smirks insincerely and shrugs. He's about to open his mouth when she remembers what he's clearly forgotten.
"Let me tell you a secret," she hisses, "I can tell when someone's lying to me so cut the shit. I know she helped you get to Belle."
An agonizing moment passes where he sizes her up but then he sighs tiredly and it confirms her accusations before he even speaks.
"The Snow Queen may have approached me," he says with a shrug.
"So you sided with the same woman who stole your memories of the past two years?" she demands, half incredulous, half incensed. It doesn't outwardly faze him though because he starts to move around her, sidestepping her so he can start to walk away before they've even begun (how oddly poetic).
"Isn't it hypocritical to criticise my alliances when you've just been dallying about with the Dark One?" Killian retorts with a cocked eyebrow. He makes it about a step before she reaches out to grab his elbow and yank him back around to face her – her emotions really have her acting without boundaries. But then, she'll be damned if she lets him walk away from her like she's nothing.
His eyes go to her hand on his arm and she retracts it.
The physical rejection stings and she channels it into her words as she yells, "For the fifteenth time, I'm not aligned with him! And, if you weren't so fucking near-sighted, you might realise that I was there today trying to save Belle because you can't just go around killing people like it's of no consequence!"
He steps into her space without ceremony, scowling down at her – his faux joviality fading to make way for something infinitely darker than rage.
"If there are supposed consequences for murder, then why is he still walking around like a free man?"
Emma shakes her head and maintains his steady gaze, "It's not that simple –"
"No, it is – but your subscription to double-standards astounds me, darling," he sneers viciously.
"So you retaliate by teaming up with the same woman terrorizing this town? You want your revenge so badly you're willing to cross any line?"
"Yes."
The concise answer stuns her more than his coalition with their recent foe; he is utterly unashamed of his association with the cold woman.
Emma's jaw drops open and the breath in her lungs stutters as it escapes her parted lips, a wisp of white puffing into the brisk evening air that separates them. And, despite the frigid weather, she feels heat running across her skin and filling her veins with fire.
It's her turn to be disgusted and she steps away from him and murmurs, "Why did she help you?"
He is silent and she demands again, louder, "She's not naturally a freaking philanthropist so why did she help you?"
At that moment, her phone buzzes in her pocket and she automatically retrieves it. Her heart is thudding in her chest, a strange anticipation in the air as she brings the device to her ear and answers it – all the while returning his burning stare. David's gruff voice, lined by anxiety, sifts through the phone's speaker.
"Elsa's missing – Anna hasn't been able to find her since this afternoon but she couldn't get through to us because we were down at the docks with Killian…"
The rest of his sentence fades to a buzz and Emma tells him, in a dangerously calm voice, that she'll call him back. Her hands are already shaking (and not because she's cold). With a rough gesture, she thrusts the phone back in her pocket only to stalk forward and shove him backwards with enough force that he nearly trips.
Based on his deliberately impassive countenance, he's aware of her understanding enough not to question why she's lashed out.
"You were a distraction!" she manages through heaving breaths – the air becoming too thin so she's panting unevenly, "You were a distraction so she could take Elsa! That's why you didn't kill Belle outright – you needed an audience! You needed us to stay out of her way – that's why she helped you!" Killian doesn't say a word but continues to stare, his mouth pulled into a taut line across his face. Emma chews her lip to hide the way it trembles, and as seconds pass he still says nothing.
To her surprise, he does eventually break the silence and she is reminded with excruciating detail as to why words are the most powerful weapons this world has ever wielded.
"The Snow Queen agreed to provide me with the means for my revenge if I provided her a suitable diversion," he imparts in a monotone voice, "I don't expect your understanding, nor do I want it because, quite frankly, I couldn't give less of a damn what you and your band of heroes thinks of me. So, if you're finished harassing me, I'd appreciate it if you kindly refrained from approaching me again."
Emma feels winded by the time he's finished, gaping at him (it was all completely honest, not even a hint of a lie in his carefully constructed statements). The lack of empathy in his hard features makes her think this might be a bad dream, but the brittle air has finally started to attack her skin so she feels colder than she has in a long time. Distantly, she can't help but wonder if it's really the weather that's drained the warmth from her.
Later, she'll blame the weather's effect on what happens next.
"You were one of us once," she murmurs numbly.
Somehow, it takes him off guard and he frowns.
"What?"
Emma takes a steadying breath that does nothing for her erratic breathing. If anything, the stillness of this moment makes it easier for her to feel the punishing thud of her heart against her ribcage.
"I said, you were one of us. You were one of the idiots in that band of heroes and you helped me save everyone and everything in this goddamned town more than once," she adds, staring boldly up at him.
He shakes his head at her, wearing the same expression an adult would as it scorns a petulant child, "You don't even know me, love."
For some reason, it's those words that tip the scale. Such a simple phrase, yet everything it entails is like a harsh blow to the chest that leaves her gasping for breath. Without warning, she is overwhelmed by a tempest of emotions; ire, grief, anguish, and all colliding within her as he dismisses her like it's nothing. And not even for the first time this week.
Of all the things she ever expected from Killian Jones – it was never this.
Emma's voice is high and breathy as she says, "Are you kidding me?"
It's enough to catch his attention because his gaze refocuses on her with a depth she hasn't seen the likes of in weeks. She inhales deeply (shakily) and continues (it feels oddly like déjà vu, only this time she is not on the receiving end of this soliloquy), "I probably know you better than you know yourself – and that's what makes this all so much worse; that you don't remember who you are –"
Killian scoffs, "I know exactly who I am –"
And then she breaks.
"But you don't!" her voice cracks as it rises, "That's the thing!" Before she can stop it, her bottom lip is trembling uncontrollably and her eyes are stinging and her breath is coming in short, sharp, painful pants.
The tint of her own anguish doesn't allow her to see the faintest glimpse of concern in his intense gaze.
A beat of silence passes and she runs a hand through her hair, trying and failing to calm her breathing. She's screwed anyway so she might as well shoot herself to hell. When she begins again, her voice is low; tired and cracking and broken.
"You once told me you hated the smell of smoke because it reminded you of your father. You love rain but only because you relate it to the sea, which is the only place in the entire world you feel at home."
His face is forcibly impassive but she can see the stirrings of surprise at the truth she relays. It is a minor reaction compared to the change in demeanour that occurs when she says the next part – imparting details so close to home it proves her previous place in his life with undeniable precision. "You inherited the Jolly Roger after your brother died and you became a pirate because you believed there was more honour among them than royalty. But even then, surrounded by crime and cruelty, you stood by your own convoluted vision of good form because you didn't want to disappoint Liam! You were, and always have been, terrified of disappointing him because he was all you had growing up."
Killian swallows thickly and she can't see his face anymore, her vision blurred with tears that she refuses to shed over him. But she can't help but go on, proving to him with each syllable that she does know him. "Gold killed Milah in front of you, tore out her heart and crushed it on the very same deck where you lost your brother! For so, so long you couldn't see anything but revenge and hatred and darkness. And then you met Milah's son and when he found out who you were, he rejected you too and it broke you! You lost yourself and you were broken, are broken now…"
A tear slips free, tracing a humiliating path down her cheek and she can finally see him again. His jaw is locked, eyes intent on hers as she tries to dispel the uncomfortable feeling of hardness mounted just beneath her breastbone.
Emma shrugs hopelessly, "And you traded that very same ship you called your home a year ago just for the chance to see me again."
This morsel of information shocks him more than everything else combined. Until now, he's been under the impression that it simply disappeared, no one having told him the root of its absence because they knew it would make him hate her more than he already does. Yet his reaction doesn't suggest hatred that she is the reason he doesn't have the only remaining link to everyone he ever loved. No, it looks like the sidewalk has just disappeared from beneath him.
But she's done – she's exhausted in every way possible. She's sick of feeling the way she does, like there's a constant pressure on her lungs and a vice around her heart. Wiping roughly at the wetness on her cheeks, she turns around and starts to retreat down the dark, yellow-lit street.
Killian's familiar lilting voice beckons her, an indiscernible note of pleading woven subtly between sounds, "Swan –"
She stops but she does not turn, "No, don't. Just… just don't, okay?" Her pace is steadfast down the sidewalk and she almost chokes on the words that feel heavy on her tongue, "I'm done."
So consumed by her own pain, she doesn't realise until she's wrapped safely in her quilt back at the apartment that it's the first time he's used her pet name since he lost his memories.
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Deep in the pits of Killian's stomach, he feels a familiar stirring as she walks away.
But it evaporates before it can fully take shape, swallowed by the coldness in his that leeches the intrinsic warmth of this town, these people, her.
Continuing his path down the main thoroughfare, Killian Jones swears it was guilt that knotted his gut just moments ago – the first inkling of something remotely sympathetic he's experienced since awakening in this strange realm. But that is of no matter, he has places to be and people to see.
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