Okay so it's been a while since I updated but I feel like that is partially counteracted by the fact that this is the longest update yet. We're coming to the end, there's only one part left after this. I truly cannot put into words how much I have appreciated your reviews and messages and I love you all very deeply and hope you all have a fantastic Christmas!
P.S. Don't kill me.
Part Five: Rook takes Queen
"We found her!"
"Where is she?" is Emma's immediate response, reluctantly pulling away from Killian and making her way over to her father. He holds up a finger and keels over for a moment, catching his breath before he divulges any news. She takes the transitory break to glance in Killian's direction; he has not yet moved and he stares at the ground like it holds the answers to his prayers (it occurs to her, not for the first time in the past five minutes, that telling him was a mistake). But then he swallows whatever is choking him, sidles up to her and focuses his attention on her father like nothing out of the ordinary just happened; it's not as though he is now painfully aware of the very real, very magical object lodged in one of his primary organs.
His poker face is remarkable, she thinks, as he studies her father with a blank expression.
David's eyes shift uneasily between them for a second, no doubt questioning their former proximity. But he gathers himself enough to finally say, "West of here – Belle and Gold were looking for ways to track her whereabouts –"
"She's been pretty good at hiding her tracks so far, how do we know this isn't a trap?" Emma intercedes instantly, eyebrows drawn in scepticism. David nods, as though he was expecting that, and answers her with wide eyes and a voice tilted by adrenalin.
"They couldn't track her – you're right," he says, earning himself a round of raised eyebrows, "So Kristoff and I came out here to bring you back for a town meeting; we were going to stage a man-hunt again. And while we were looking for you both, we found it –"
"Are you sure it is hers?" Killian asks, shuffling forward eagerly, eyes glittering with the barest smattering of newly kindled bloodlust. His fist is clenched and Emma has to forcibly remind herself not to reach out and link her fingers through his in an effort to calm him. It's been more difficult recently, to act like basic acquaintances around him when she can see him changing, reverting to the man she knows he can be without even realising it. The fact that her all-too-observant son made comment just the other day is a testament in itself.
David watches Killian warily, "Unless you know anyone else in Storybrooke who is a fan of giant ice caves hidden in the forest?"
"Wait – did you go inside?" Emma asks, her protective instincts rising up and mutating quickly into anger. For a moment, her father shifts guiltily from foot to foot but then he lifts his chin and nods unapologetically in an affirmative answer. She wants to glare but she loses her train of thought when he relays the bare outline of a plan; there will be time for her to reprimand him later.
"We didn't stay long but she wasn't home. Kristoff is getting everybody together – we're meeting everyone at Gold's shop to figure out what to do."
She nods tightly and is about to follow her father back through the trees, when she notices Killian's rigidity. She's only taken one step when she realises he is not following them and she turns, lifting a sceptical eyebrow at his wordless refusal to join them.
His jaw is locked, his knuckles are white, and he has murder in his eyes.
It's the glass; she can almost see it working on him, flushing his body with black bile.
"Hook?" Emma asks tentatively, catching his attention so his eyes snap up to hers.
His gaze darts away in the direction David pointed and he shakes his head feverishly.
"You expect me to waste time making a plan when we can ambush her now?" he spits.
Emma takes a step in his direction, softening her voice as she says, "We can't just go in all guns blazing, for all we know she's in there now waiting for us –"
"What ever happened to blindsiding her?" he accuses, eyes dark. She feels the air change, become charged with something volatile. Maybe it's because she knows he's just responding to the fact that he is emotionally compromised but she doesn't find him dangerous, not even with his teeth grinding together and his eyes spelling dark, macabre things. Not even with his hand twitching at the sword on his belt and his hook glinting in the sunlight filtering down through the leaves. Not even then.
He just doesn't strike her as a threat.
She swallows the urge to snap back a response and keeps her voice deliberately smooth, "That was different. Elsa's life was in danger."
Killian scoffs derisively, "Oh yes, and it's not as though the Snow Queen has an unfounded vendetta that spans the population of this town and a new plan we cannot yet divulge."
"Elsa's life was in immediate danger."
"This town is in constant danger with her around or have you forgotten your little encounter with her the other day? We need to –"
By now, she is only a few feet away from him, enough space between them and David that her father won't hear her voice if she keeps it steady enough. She catches his gaze and holds it, interrupting his tangent with a firm one of her own (she may not be able to physically reach out to him, but there is more than one way to get to a person when they are consumed by their own demons – his ability to conquer her walls with one look was evidence enough).
"Killian," she stops him (that mutinous heart of hers aches again at the same moment his face becomes a pillar of anguish, eyes softening), "Blindsiding her when she is in her domain is not a good plan. I know you're angry – trust me, I know. I am too." His gaze darts between her eyes, and he must see the residual hurt there (weeks of pain will do that to a person) because his shoulders slump slightly.
She shuffles closer again, tilting her head ever so slightly up so she can stare directly into his face, a quiet fierceness bubbling under her breath, "But we need to get back to town and come up with a better plan so nobody gets hurt, alright?"
An infinitely long moment unfolds between them where she can hear David shifting his weight impatiently. Other than that, there is but silence and breathing. His gaze digs into her, he is searching for something in her face; an answer, a resolution, a strategy, a salvation.
Whatever it is he eventually sees, it is enough that he drops his gaze to the forest floor and nods imperceptibly. His face closes off, thick impenetrable curtains shrouding any and all emotions from her.
"We should hasten to the town before she finds out we know the location of her lair," Killian says with furrowed brows, brushing past her and walking around David. His abrupt change in demeanour unnerves her, but at the same time, she counts his acquiescence as a victory so she lets it go as he stalks away in the direction of town.
David and Emma exchange a look before they race after him, drawing closer to the town by the minute.
(Drawing closer to disaster by the second.)
8888
Kristoff is partway through his explanation when Emma, Killian and David enter Gold's shop. The typically-hostile location has become a rendezvous point of sorts and the deceptively homely antique store is brimming with people: Emma's mother, the dwarves, Ruby and Granny, the Merry Men, Gold and his wife. David leads them through the crowded space towards the sound of Kristoff's gravelly voice.
He is talking directly to Mary Margaret and Regina, the two women standing side-by-side in an identical stance – hands on their hips and focus on their face. Anna stands at her fiancé's side, listening intently as he regales how he and David incidentally happened upon the Snow Queen's hide out. As he finishes, Gold is the first to speak.
Out of habit, Killian bristles beside Emma and she silently warns him with a glance.
"There is no way on this Earth that she didn't intend for you to find her lair," he scorns, "Physical cloaking spells are obscenely simple to conduct and she would not have made such an elementary mistake. Do not be so foolish as to underestimate her wiles."
"Then why didn't she kill us when she had the chance?" Kristoff retorts, slightly cowed.
Gold leers, "Because she has bigger fish she needs to fry." His eyes drift deliberately in Emma's direction and she feels her face grow hot. "If there is one thing the Snow Queen is good at, it's setting traps."
"So what do we do about it?" Emma asks, voicing the question on everyone's mind.
Gold's smirk is feral when he answers, "We play into it."
With a flourish of his hand, he procures a small vial that holds deceptively innocuous dust.
8888
Regina pulls Emma aside as they are leaving the shop, insistence carved into the grave turn of her lips. Killian watches the exchange warily and can just hear the tail end of their conversation as he passes them, ears perking at their voices and straining for sound.
"Remember the loophole we found," Regina urges quietly, "Remember to use it if you can."
Emma nods, "Trust me. I will."
8888
As they hike through the woods, he idly notes that any time he spends with the Swan girl and her family inevitably ends in traversing forests with any number of dangers hanging precariously over his head.
Mary Margaret and Kristoff are leading the way, both experienced in the art of retracing footsteps forged in the wild. Both evidently possess significant practice, and even if they didn't – David is trailing behind them, eyes scanning the ground for traces they may have missed or misinterpreted. Then again, both the King and Queen have only tagged along because the innkeeper and her daughter are looking after their infant child; Neal. Personally, he finds their solidarity foolish. Should they both die in this fight, Neal and Emma would both be left orphaned and he's all too familiar with the feeling of loss that entails.
Then again, if all goes to plan there will be no fight to begin with.
He walks a short distance from Emma, his hand constantly twitching for his sword at the slightest sound. His body is a livewire - for multiple reasons. There is his newfound understanding of the depth of his affliction (knowing there is glass in his heart is, unsurprisingly, quite unsettling), as well as the growing realisation that getting it out must be exceptionally difficult if they haven't extracted it just yet. Then there's the burgeoning recognition of emotions swimming in his blood, fighting the cold that barely has the ability to touch him anymore. Piling on top of that, there's the overwhelming urge to protect Emma Swan from the Snow Queen's wrath.
Which is why he trails behind her, hyper aware of every movement and every noise in her immediate vicinity. His eyes are constantly perusing the area, on a never ending loop of the space she inhabits in search of danger. It is strange how invested he is in her safety.
A voice in his head mocks his thoughts, claiming underestimation. You're long past the point of merely worrying about her, it chides.
But there's something else, too. Something he can't quite process, let alone vocalise. As he continues to walk, he thinks about Emma's words earlier that day when they were inspecting the woods. Specifically, he ponders the way she revealed his circumstances with quiet words and a tangible hesitation.
"It's impossible for you to see the beauty in things…"
It sticks to him, crawling around his head and refusing to drift off into the abyss of fleeting thoughts. And while he cannot decide what it is about the diagnosis that strikes him, he knows that it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like the truth, not when he is the one experiencing the effects of the Snow Queen's dour enchantment.
Initially, he would have said she was correct in making that assumption.
In the days immediately following his 'arrival,' he couldn't see anything worth looking at twice. It certainly translated in his actions. For the life of him, he could not understand why he would have given up on his revenge let alone why he would have sacrificed his ship (his only home, the only constant he'd ever known) for a woman who was decidedly not Milah.
But days and weeks passed and he slowly encountered her with a greater frequency, learnt the complexities of their relationship and the depth of their history, was all but forced to get to know her. Then, to his utmost surprise and horror, she'd begun to strike him as something worth reconsidering (something fierce and bright and intriguing beyond all comprehendible measure). But it wasn't uncontaminated beauty – not yet.
Not until –
"Alright, everybody," David calls, interrupting Killian's thoughts. He swallows the words, suddenly afraid of what they denote, and strides to where everyone is gathering. His shoulder brushes Emma's and he refuses to look in her direction when sparks erupt across his skin at the inadvertent physical contact.
Her father waits until their small group is organised to speak, and he truly has the voice of a royal when he tells them, "Her cave is just through there. Does everybody remember the plan?"
The group nods their assent and Emma and Killian immediately move towards the front. She gives her parents one last reassuring nod and a tight smile before she's moving forwards. They are supposed to enter the Snow Queen's lair under the guise of discovery as she has anticipated, and then wait. When she reveals herself, they are to keep her occupied so that Gold and Regina may neutralise her. Of course, there is a contingency plan but they will get to that only if they need to (which, in his opinion, is a very likely scenario).
Emma leads the way until, surely enough, a cliff wall appears before them – it's rough, grey surface broken by a ragged cave mouth. Sharp icicles border the yawning hole in the wall, a downy floor of snow reaching out of the dwelling and onto the grass where it eventually fades into the dirt. He peeks once in the blonde's direction; he is still uncomfortable with her being the proverbial bait.
He can shoulder that honour alone – even insisted it back at Gold's shop when they decided Emma would accompany him. But apparently he does not enamour the woman nearly as much as Emma, and at least with her at his side he has an ally with magical abilities. Of course, that is no consolation when he knows how easy it was for the Snow Queen to neutralise her last time.
If this plan backfires, he can only imagine what lays wait for them both.
Not for the first time, he has to question his priorities.
They circle the mouth of the fissure until they stand on opposite sides of its periphery. Drawing his sword at the same moment she retrieves her gun, they share a nod and shuffle cautiously into the Snow Queen's temporary home. Every surface is white or constructed from ice-like glass, the walls adorned by a variety of intricate mirrors.
They move together further into the cavern (he scrutinises everything in front of him as well as everything remotely near her). It opens up into a wide room where the only thing not made up of harsh lines and rigid surfaces is a plush chaise that sits in the centre of the room. An elaborate circular frame is located on the opposite wall and he feels his heart squeeze for some unfathomable reason.
He doesn't realise he's wafting towards it until Emma hisses his name, asking, "What's wrong?"
He shakes his head and mutters, "Nothing, I just… that frame feels familiar for some reason."
Her eyebrows draw together and she looks over her shoulder before meeting him directly in front of the strange frame. There is no picture in it, but by the looks of it, it once held something. His heart is thudding harder in his chest, but he doesn't know why.
The thought is cut short when there is a sound from the mouth of the cave. It echoes off the crystalline walls and Killian's head snaps toward Emma at the same time hers veers towards him. Before he knows what's happening, she has a hand around his elbow and is dragging him behind the floating frame towards the wall.
Instinctively, he pushes himself against it so roughly he feels as though he should melt into it. The cold burns through his clothing so a shiver wracks his body when his hand falls flat beside him. She mirrors his movement, and they both strain to hear the noise that drew them from their observations.
However, several moments pass where nothing happens and his shoulders relax in tandem with hers, a foggy sigh escaping their mouths. She turns her head to regard him a tight smile of relief and for some godforsaken reason, that's when it hits him with all the force and swiftness of a freight train.
Their backs are still pressed tight against the wall, and he cannot fathom why it occurs to him in that instant but it does. His eyes trace the line of her profile, and he frowns as the fog in his mind clears for a split second; enough for realization to forge an unstoppable path.
He feels foolish for taking this long to notice.
His voice comes without permission, the words tumbling from his mouth unbidden and unbridled.
"You're wrong."
Emma's head tilts to the side, eyebrows drawn in confusion. She eyes him and answers, in a voice that broaches no room for anything but sarcasm, "You'll have to be more specific, I've been wrong about a lot of things lately –"
"You're beautiful."
Her mouth drops open and he feels a piece of him click into place.
It's what's been gnawing at his chest, the fact that she said he cannot see the beauty in things. Or at least, he shouldn't be able to. But he can. Because he sees her, and she is the most beautiful thing he has laid eyes on in an exceedingly long time; and it only (finally) occurred to him just hours prior.
With the morning sun lighting her face, stoking the constantly burning flame in her eyes, her voice quietly fierce and wildly determined as she bid him to think before he acted (coaxing out a level of patience he didn't know existed). It was then, with every piece of information but one, that something shifted irrevocably and he saw what he'd been slowly growing aware of for weeks.
Emma Swan is beautiful. Exceptionally so. In every way that a person can be.
She struggles to answer him, but eventually manages a breathless "What?"
"I can see the beauty in things – I see you," he says, sure and determined and somehow weightless. Admitting this tiny insignificant thing feels like floating in a pool of water, like the chains dragging him down are just beginning to fall off his limbs. More than that, telling her this makes the cold grip on his heart falter. For an iota, there is unimaginable warmth, the sort that is gold and light and pure.
"Wha – I… Killian –"
"Well, well, well… look what we have here."
The moment shatters when the Snow Queen's voice pierces the air. He is still holding her gaze so he sees the way her eyes widen in a mixture of shock and barely visible fear before she punches it down and adopts a neutral expression of determination. Taking a deep breath, Emma painstakingly drops her eyes from his and leads him out from behind the mirror into the center of the room where the woman waits patiently. There is no point in hiding – not when they are in her territory.
Poised like a snake, she surveys them both. Killian's fist clenches of its own accord, the heat in his eyes burning bright enough to melt this infernal cave.
"I am so glad you found the time to visit me in my home – Turkish delight?" she gestures to a bowl of the treats on a glassy table.
"No thanks," Emma returns curtly, "We're not here for your candy."
Her face twists into a sneer and she chuckles scathingly, "Oh, now that is such a surprise."
The woman takes one step and then another, circling them so they have to move to keep their distance. All the while she talks, and they both feel the stifling pressure of anticipation grinding on their bones as they let her distract herself with idle commentary.
"I've actually been waiting for you to find me, Emma. I was truly hoping we could have a nice long talk," she says, still moving, "I'm not going to lie. I left my cave unattended specifically for you to find it. As luck would have it, you did… and brought along your pet pirate. I would have thought by now you'd know how imprudent it is to have him accompany you – especially after the last time."
At his side, Emma bristles but stays silent.
"It is of no real concern to me, of course. Not when he will be among the casualties you inflict. I won't have to do a thing."
They both frown at her and her lips tilt up, happy to have piqued their interest. A leaden weight is slipping into his gut as the woman tells them, "You see, I've never wanted to hurt you or Elsa. I've only ever wanted to help, make you both stronger, better. And when I do…" her voice drifts off and she closes her eyes in some disturbed rumination, "When I do, you will not only be my sisters. You will be my weapons."
Killian glances to Emma; fear has begun to seep into her mask of indifference.
"In order to build you, I must break you. No one will be able to salvage you once I have finished. No one will be able to stop you. No one will survive your wrath – not your friends, not your family. You will destroy everyone," she announces in velvet tones.
He doesn't have to look to know Emma's facade has dropped in the wake of this woman's self-assured words. He can almost hear her thought process, the way she is no doubt running through the list of people this sorceress can turn her against. He wants to offer her reassurance that she would never do that, that she is stronger than anything this woman could conjure, but he doesn't know how – so he merely glares at their aggressor with as much hatred as he can muster.
The Snow Queen's back now faces the cave's opening and he can just make out silhouettes approaching behind her as she stops walking. It calms him ever so slightly, knowing that this will all be over soon. This woman will be defeated one way or another. There is no way she cannot be – their plan is not bulletproof by any means but it is steadfast enough that he houses faith in it. Especially since they have such a wide variety of fall back plans (her family made comment on having experienced enough villainous curve-balls to last a lifetime).
His thoughts are cut short by the Snow Queen's high-pitched voice addressing him directly, tone breathy as it floats around his head like a cold caress.
"And you. You look more aggravated than the last time I saw you," she smirks, "That wouldn't have anything to do with some revelation pertaining to your current condition would it? Your strange inability to treat with compassion those who offer you nothing but sympathy has troubled you recently hasn't it?"
He growls a feral sound and Emma shuffles closer to him when she tells him, "She's trying to rile you up to fuel the glass's influence over you – don't let her."
"Smart girl," the Snow Queen praises with a maniacal grin. But then her face deadpans and she almost seems like she's glowering, the contrast in her expression so sudden it takes his breath away. She never stops looking at them when she says, "Not smart enough to outdo me, though."
They don't even have time to ask what she means before she's lifting her fist high in the air so the roof of the cave entrance behind her begins to shake. He seeks out the outlines of the sorcerers behind the Snow Queen, watches as they stumble before stepping back just in time to avoid the snow and ice that crashes down to block the entrance. The Snow Queen's mouth curls into a menacing thing and she shakes her head gently.
"You truly thought I wouldn't know that your father and the thoughtless reindeer man had been here first? You think I'm so foolish as to believe you would deliberately enter my home without a plan – enter the lair of the lion without so much as forethought? Unlike you, I do not underestimate my foes."
She takes a deliberate step towards them and Killian is instantly maneuvering himself so his torso is angled in front of Emma's – shielding her as much as he can. He snarls at the sorceress eyeing them, flexing his grip on his sword. The shock at this turn of events hasn't truly taken effect yet, although that may be because they anticipated this. As much as they had wanted to stock faith in their original plan, there was never going to be a situation where the execution would be flawless. Truthfully, he'd internally acknowledged that this was the most likely scenario from the moment the strategy was proposed. And it was one he had agreed to with ease.
He glances at Emma once, nodding imperceptibly and turning to the Snow Queen (he doesn't stare long enough to see the deep-rooted fear in the blonde's eyes when she regards him).
"If you think that blade will ever touch me, you overestimate your abilities, Captain."
"Personally, I think you grossly underestimate my abilities, your majesty," he returns, biting off her name, lunging forward and deflecting a ball of magic with the flat of his sword. For a moment, she appears puzzled by his ability to refract the magic, but dismisses it – the weapon has been enchanted to repel this woman's spells courtesy of Regina.
"I see you have a new toy," the Snow Queen comments idly, pulling her elbow back and thrusting another toiling blue ball in his direction. Again, he shifts his grip and blocks its path so it lands against one of the walls with a fizzle. He cannot withhold the smirk of satisfaction at her frustration, using it to fuel his approach. Her eyes flick to Emma, and then she growls, "Two can play at that game."
From the ground, jagged ice monsters begin to take shape and something in his brain screams recognition. He sees it in Emma's eyes when she looks at them, her breathing coming in heavier than it did before. Whatever happened the last time they were battling these beasts, it panics her. For this plan to work though, he needs her focused.
Before all havoc can break loose, he booms across the space that separates them.
"You can do this, Swan!"
Her eyes snap to his but he barely has time to register it before one of the creations is lunging at him in tandem with the Snow Queen's magic. He moves fluidly through them, slicing and twisting out of reach, stabbing and side-stepping their attacks. In his periphery, he can see that she is dispatching the woman's minions in swift, steady motions and it heartens him. Ignoring the burning of his muscles, he shoves his way towards the Snow Queen until he stands only a few feet from her.
Although she glances occasionally in Emma's direction, her focus (and her rage) is very obviously fixated on him.
Which is exactly where they want it.
Sucking in a breath, he grits his teeth and purposefully swings his sword too high. He catches the head of the last monster trying to stab him but misses the ball of magic so it hits him in the shoulder, sending him reeling across the room and into a wall. He has barely begun to fall to the ground again, his sword lost in the jolting journey across the space, when the Snow Queen is in front of him, eyes alight with untempered arrogance as she uses her magic to hold him in place.
Striding up so she is chest to chest with him, she pins him with her eyes, "Do you want to know the truth, pirate?" He never gets the chance to answer because she is already speaking again, "I was never going to let you live."
Barely a second passes before she is pulling her elbow back, ready to bury her hand roughly into his chest where his heart is thudding violently against his ribs. She falters when he smiles, a wide grin that splits his face. The Snow Queen tilts her head, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he levels her with a smug look.
"I thought you said you didn't underestimate your enemies," he pants, leaning forward to spit, "But you clearly underestimated her."
His words have only just passed his lips when her eyes widen in shock and she freezes. Her magical hold on him drops and he lands to the ice floor with a thump, scrambling up and around her to stand beside Emma whose arm is still outstretched – the vial of neutralizing urn dust clasped firmly between her shaking fingers. She closes her eyes and shivers, but he takes it as her reaction to their victory and sends her a hopeful expression. Behind them, the Snow Queen has stumbled backwards, falling slowly to her knees.
The stillness is unnerving, the silence deafening save the sound of their heavy breathing. He reaches out to hold her wrist, forcing her to drop it so he can take the vial from her. Around them lies the icy debris of the dead monsters, and as the spell takes effect, they slowly begin to melt into the floor once again.
Their victory wraps slowly but surely around him, prompting him to look at her. She looks at him too, her temples damp with a thin sheen of sweat, and he think her lips might be twitching into a smile –
The Snow Queen's deranged cackle ricochets off the high-ceilinged walls and they both stiffen. Whipping around to face her, they watch her twist around, still on her knees, to face them. Her face is nothing like he would have expected.
It's a terrifying mixture of amusement and anger and arrogance. She wears a rictus grin, teeth bared and cheeks tight. Her eyes sparkle with delight as she rocks ever so slightly back and forth.
"You got me," she coos softly, "You neutralized me. Congratulations to you."
Killian frowns down at the pathetic woman, alarm bells already tolling in his head. Either she is completely deranged, or she still thinks she's won. And with the way she looks between them, his gut is screeching the latter.
The Snow Queen's eyes flick towards him, stab into him, hold him incontrovertibly in place.
Her voice is calm and collected when she whispers, her upper lip curling with primal glee, "But that doesn't help you does it, Captain? You still can't remember a thing, not when I've got my spell rooted in that lovely little shard of glass in your heart."
The heat in his chest simmers to life, teeth grinding together as the woman antagonizes him. She giggles and the sound grinds against his ears uncomfortably. He can feel Emma shift closer to him, her eyes darting between the woman on the floor and his quickly darkening face. Unfortunately, however, her movement only draws the Snow Queen's attention and gives her a new angle of attack.
"I'm the only person who can remove that shard and we both know I can't do that while I'm powerless. Which means, sadly for you, that you will never remember what you had with that girl – let alone how to feel."
"Don't listen to her," Emma's voice implores him quietly at his side.
His head snaps towards her, half-pleading, half-livid, "But she's right – isn't she?"
He cannot define the expression on her face when he says that. He doesn't have the time to unravel her reaction though, because the Snow Queen is still talking – taunting and tormenting all at once as she leans forward on her knees, eyes intent on him (a predator scrutinizing prey) so it is impossible to look away.
She bares her teeth in a poor imitation of a grin, "You might neutralize me now," she admonishes gently, a knowing glint in her eyes before she tells him, "But without me you're stranded an emotionless imp – just as dark as every man you've ever despised. Your father. The King. Rumpelstiltskin."
He doesn't know how she knows about his father let alone his brother's murderer. It wouldn't surprise him, though, if she had dabbled in his past when they had worked together. Or even before then, when she first began considering him a threat. After all, isn't the old idiom to 'know thy enemy?'
He slips away from Emma's grip instantly, stalking forward so he can lift the woman into the air by her throat. He shoves her against a wall, heedless to his companion's reaction behind him – vision tainted red by her acid-drenched words. His whole body is on fire with the rage she induces and even though he knows her intention was to elicit a rise from him, he cannot deny the feeling of satisfaction when her head raps sharply against the icy surface of her cave.
"Shut up!" he roars at her, but she merely laughs and he shifts his grip so he can press his forearm harder into the fragile sinew of her neck, growling under his breath at the simple provocation she provides. The woman's eyes bug out as she struggles to breathe, yet she's still smirking and he doesn't know why – until the world around him comes back into focus and he hears someone else gasping for air behind him. Maintaining his iron grip on the slippery woman, he looks over his shoulder to where Emma is holding her throat and panting.
His eyebrows draw together, "Emma?"
The Snow Queen's frigid breath brushes his cheek when she manages to hiss through stunted rasps, "I would stop while you still can, pirate."
At that exact moment, Emma drops to her knees, and a red rash is climbing her neck, coloring her face an unhealthy shade. Eyes widening, Killian roars "Emma! What's wrong?" The only answer he gets is her wheezing and the Snow Queen's chortling suggestion that he let her go before it gets worse.
He softens his hold instantly but keeps their foe in place, watching the pieces fall into place as the pressure dissipates from Emma's neck as well. His eyes are glued to the blonde behind him when she falls forward with a heaving breath, palms slapping the floor as she sucks in as much oxygen as she can. He frowns down at her, a soft clicking sound resounding in the back of his mind as realization settles discouragingly in the marrow of his bones.
A chill runs through the air and he turns back to the Snow Queen, whose self-satisfied smirk broadcasts her glee just as surely as her iridescent eyes.
"What did you do?"
She grins knowingly, "You may want to let go of me first, dear. After all, you're only hurting her."
Heat ripples down his spine and the desire to slam her head against wall again is strong – but not strong enough to overcome the recognition that doing so will only hurt Emma. With stormy eyes and itching fingers, he finally extracts himself from her and steps back. However, he wastes no time in replacing his arm with the tip of his sword, holding it out towards her so she cannot manoeuvre any further without risking a wound. Her expression is the quintessence of derision; almost daring him to try something. Every pore on her face screams 'check mate' and they haven't even begun.
Killian shoots her a vicious look before returning his attention over his shoulder to where Emma crouches on her hands and knees, eyes rimmed by red as she coughs and splutters.
Slowly, he turns back to the Snow Queen and, murderously, growls, "What did you do?"
Her lips twist higher and higher, the corners of her mouth digging deeper into her cheeks, spreading wider so it is the leer of a mad woman. Eyes flickering up from the blade at her neck to the man wielding it, she tilts her head.
"You do recall the night I punished you for your imprudence?" she asks, and he nods curtly, "Well, as you should be well aware by now, I'm quite the fan of multitasking and I thought I would seize the opportunity Emma provided me when I stole her away for that brief little encounter."
Behind him, he hears the blonde in question grumble, "What the hell?"
The Snow Queen's eyes fixate on Emma, manic and wide when she tells her in a voice redolent of sweet-smelling acid, "I linked us. Anything that happens to me, also happens to you – and vice versa. It was quite simple really, binding us while your magic was neutralized."
Killian's cold and charred heart ceases to beat against his jagged ribs at the revelation, eyes drifting to the floor as the information settles over the room like a brisk fog. Gooseflesh erupts on his skin: it means they cannot destroy this woman without destroying Emma and they cannot restrain her using brute force (without hurting Emma) and they cannot simply lock her away (she could always hurt herself, and Emma in the process).
Check mate indeed.
And the more he thinks about this, the more guilt slams into him hard because, inadvertently or not, he just hurt Emma. It isn't like the other times he's hurt her – when there was a physical sickness that he couldn't shake. This time it strikes deep, a needle being driven deep into his chest. The frost doesn't even begin to encroach on his emotions this time – the magic sticks close to his heart now and solidifies there in a futile attempt to barricade the warmth from penetrating any deeper.
"But you almost let me drown!" Emma cries incredulously, drawing him from his thoughts.
The Snow Queen merely chuckles, swinging her gaze between the pirate and the princess like a pendulum, "It was a calculated risk. I don't make the mistake of underestimating people," she glances deliberately at Killian, "nor the lengths they will go to salvage love."
The pun is not lost on either of them and so it comes to no one's surprise when they growl at the same time. Killian reaffirms his grip on his blade, shuffling closer, "You conniving –"
Before he can do anything else, she is leaning forward so the sharp edge of his blade is pressed precariously against the gentle skin of her neck. Any further and blood will be drawn, and she knows it. She watches his expression morph with deranged delight; moving quickly between anger and worry and hesitation and anger before resting on jaw-locking restraint.
The muscles in his face twitch with the self-control it takes to retract the sword until there is a decent amount of space between the Snow Queen and his weapon. Her eyes flash in the harsh light of her domain, whispering words that echo around the high ceilings – she doesn't need to yell, whether by magic or by acoustics, her voice just seems to travel of its own accord.
She leans close, close enough that he can see the whites of her eyes and feel the chill of her breath again, "Go on, dear. Do your worst. You'll only be hurting her." The Snow Queen pauses and cants her head towards Emma, taunting when she says, "Why do you think I did it? We both know no one's going to let her die. It's why I chose her… Really, you should be thanking me. It means I'm not a threat to her."
He's got to hand it to her, she's right. As much as his distaste for her multiplies with every second that passes, he feels the barest hint of relief that it is now in the best interests of the Snow Queen that Emma remain unharmed.
The Snow Queen's face darkens, her eyes boring directly into his – ice clashing with ice.
"You, on the other hand…"
He has no time at all to prepare for the way his body is jerked across the room, every bit of air escaping his lungs in a sharp whoosh as he snaps flat against the opposite wall – held paralyzed in place by an invisible grip. Distantly, as his head cracks against the ice and he feels the world spin, he hears Emma scream his name. But then his eyes are filled with the blurry sight of the Snow Queen's pale face.
"Forgiveness is not one of my natural virtues. I'm old fashioned that way," she says, and his blood curdles at the downright venomous whorl to her words. Even in his hazy state, he manages a scowl – his now sluggish mind struggling to reconcile the unanticipated turn of events. How did she even do that when she's supposed to be neutralized? They packed enough of the goddamn stuff to sedate the Dark One himself, let alone this snow-savvy bitch.
"Let him down!" Emma screeches from somewhere in front of him, his view blocked by the Snow Queen. The latter turns to look over her shoulder, voice gently condescending when she reprimands Emma.
"Or you'll what? Emma, sweetheart, you couldn't even keep me contained for five minutes – let alone stop me altogether."
That must trigger something in the blonde, because, in a voice that is partway between terrified and desperate, she yells, "You must have used a counter-curse or – or a protection spell or something, there's no way you can be using music right now – we neutralized you!" She says it like she's trying to convince herself; the prospect that this enemy is stronger than their first and last alternative far too frightening to confront. When the Snow Queen speaks again, she adopts a poor attempt at reassurance.
"You did neutralize me, my dear, don't fret. But you also misjudged me and the unlimited power I now possess – thanks to you," she says, pride emanating from every minute deviation in her expression. The Snow Queen's smile grows (there is the barest hint of affection laced into the unbalanced calm).
"I linked us physically – but that also translates magically. If you're strong, I'm strong – why do you think I haven't attacked anyone over the past week. I've been culminating your power within me in tandem with my own." She shifts to the left so Killian can finally get a glimpse at Emma where she stands several feet away, face tense and hands clenched as she stares down the Snow Queen. The woman continues to speak, completely dismissing her prodigy's innate lack of reciprocation, "Together, we are boundless. Without me, you will be wasting your talents. Without me, you are a waste of potential – a waste of valuable space."
For some reason, those words are poignant enough to set off something deep and primal within Killian; especially when he watches Emma's hard facade falter to reveal the broken pieces beneath. Writhing against his invisible binds, he spits down at his captor, "You're wrong."
Emma's eyes snap up to him, and the Snow Queen whips her head around to face him. She narrows her eyes and tilts her head as he speaks.
"She doesn't need you, she has never needed you. You're the one who needs her, you are the one who is powerless without her, you are the one who has limited magic, you are the one who has limited resources. She doesn't need you to be boundless, you wretched bitch – she is boundless on her own."
There's a moment of silence where his words trickle down through the air.
Then there's pain, a sharp ache that starts in his midsection and unfolds outwards. Try as he might, he cannot stop the cry of pain that escapes his mouth. Scrunching his eyes shut, he can't see what is happening – but he can hear. His ears are fine-tuned to the two voices in the room and he tries to stay conscious. With everything he has, he staves off the way his body is betraying him to this recalcitrant magic.
"Whatever you're doing to him – stop it!"
"I cannot do that."
"Why?"
"I have no use for him other than to activate you. Hurting him clearly has a strong effect on you – I can feel the magic thrumming to life in you. I can only imagine what will be unlocked when he dies – after all, loss begets strong emotion and strong emotion begets stronger magic. I'm doing you a favor by killing him."
He screams again when a fist confirms a purchase on his entrails and twists, ruthlessly knotting his insides so pain rockets through his system.
Emma's voice rises and he hears something like glass shattering in the distance, "Stop it!"
The pain disappears so quickly his muscles spasm, his teeth grinding together harshly. His head falls, chin against chest, and he can do nothing but listen as he regains the tattered vestiges of his strength. All he hears, the only unnerving sound that reaches his ears for several long seconds, is the Snow Queen's soft chortling.
Her footsteps echo around the room and he can see it in his mind, the way her opalescent dress ripples along the ground as she approaches Emma. He can just barely make out the sound of heavy breathing, and there is silence for a long moment – until there's not and he hears Emma's familiar voice wafting across the air to him. She sounds defeated, exhausted, desperate.
"Please," she takes a deep, cavernous breath, "please, if you care about me at all – if you have ever cared about me, you'll let him go. I'll go with you, I'll – I'll do whatever you want just… for the love of god, stop hurting him. Please."
Forcing his head up, he stares at her – her emerald eyes drift up over the Snow Queen's shoulder towards him where they meet and hold. If only his breathing would slow, he could tell her how stupid that idea is. But he cannot, he can barely rasp a word out let alone yell with his chest still rising and falling like turbulent waves in a hurricane.
So he pours everything into his eyes, letting them burn into hers with the heat of a thousand suns as he wordlessly tells her, "You are not going with her." Her answering expression tells him she has already made her decision – an apology written in the creases of her cheeks.
Their moment is only interceded by the Snow Queen's voice as she circles Emma, trailing one long finger along her shoulders in what he estimates is supposed to be a comforting gesture. It comes nowhere close.
"Oh, Emma," she chides, "Of course I care about you – why do you think I've done all this? The only reason I have done any of this has been to save you and Elsa from yourselves. These people you trust with your hearts and your lives… precious commodities they will undoubtedly waste."
She gestures in his direction and Emma's jaw locks, "Just look at your pirate. Taking his memories was supposed to trigger your darkness but it didn't, it just made you weak… and sad… it broke you. So I tried to make you angry using him as a vessel, making him betray you, making him lie to you, making him endanger your family… but it was all still anger tainted by grief."
The Snow Queen returns her full attention to Emma and continues her route around the room, tone deepening as she explains the detailed lines of her plan like a venomous spider unravelling its own web, "I was planning to take your family and friends from you, for your own good, to make you see your power. And then he betrayed me," she turns momentarily towards him, "and I realised I had a greater weapon at my disposal."
When her smile twists into a grin, his stomach drops into his feet and he swallows thickly. His gaze moves haphazardly between the two women, "The pure untainted bond between the two of you is… it has been enough to challenge not only my memory charm but its anchor. That glass in heart is failing, it's struggling – I can feel it now. And here you are… after everything." She stops directly in front of Emma, blocking her from his view and looking down at her. She pauses, tilts her head and, with tangible disappointment, speaks, "You still love him – and in spite of that pesky little mirror in his blackened, shrivelled excuse of a heart – he loves you. And we all know the indubitable destruction of love is the only way to truly make a person dark – ask that Evil Queen of yours."
"Please don't do this."
Killian winces at the way she begs for his life. His autonomy has returned to him, his breathing evening out enough that he doesn't have to fight the urge to give in to the exhaustion dragging down the ends of his eyelids. It is being rejected by the far more urgent need to escape, to live, to keep his goddamn promise to Henry.
The Snow Queen turns, her cape sweeping around her, and starts a path toward him. There is murder in her eyes and a song in her voice when she apologises, none-too-sincerely, "Emma, my love, you will know powers the likes of which know no bounds. And one day, you will thank me for this." He can see her pulling back her arm, readying herself to reach into his chest.
She has one hand on his shoulder, holding him steady where her magic can't, and jerks her arm forward.
He closes his eyes – prepares for the pain, prepares to see his heart thumping in another person's clutches, prepares to watch his obscenely long life reduced to dust before his eyes. All he can think, in that moment, is how much he wishes he had been given enough time to remember Emma Swan.
(Be careful what you wish for, they always say.)
Nothing happens and, as he hears the Snow Queen stumble on the spot, a soft gasp filtering from her mouth, he feels relief. Until he opens his eyes; which is exactly when the panic slams into him with all the force of a tidal wave.
A deep red stain blossoms from a wound in the Snow Queen's midsection, crawling up the pure white gown and tinting it in an irreversible pattern. He knows what he will see long before he sees it, his heart already drumming a painful staccato against his ribs. Emma has propped herself up against one of the various elaborate tables, and there is a very long, very sharp icicle in her hands (there is a jagged stump rising up from the floor where she snapped it off its unsuspecting perch) – and it is coated in her blood.
His voice is ringing in his ears before he even realises he has cried out.
"No!"
The Snow Queen is unmoving for an extended second, until finally she touches the wound and moans. Her features distort into excruciating pain and a shocked sort of sadness. She turns, mouth hanging ajar, and staggers on the spot.
"…What have you done?"
Emma's voice catches in her throat on every word, no doubt a by-product of the wound that is already making her face damp with sweat as she fights to stay standing, using the tabletop as a support. But she's waning, and he can see it in the way her muscles shake on every inhale.
"Regina and I found something interesting while we were looking for a way to bring him back," she manages to say, tilting her head down so she can level the Snow Queen with a condescending sneer, "Apparently – your weakness… the only… the only thing you cannot heal is your own element… you can't heal this because you technically made the weapon… bet you didn't see that coming." She lifts the icicle weakly and, as her arm drops back down, it falls from her grip and rolls across the crystalline floor – leaving a scarlet smear in its wake.
As the Snow Queen falls to her knees on another soft moan of pain, the magic restraining Killian dissipates entirely and he drops through the air like a steel weight. His legs give out when he lands, but he manages to force himself into a crouching position in time to see Emma adopt a poor excuse for a smile.
"Check mate, bitch."
Then she falls, and it catalyses every fissure in his chest to crack simultaneously open.
Killian's hook and fingernails carve into the ice floor as something white, and blinding, and incomprehensibly powerful passes through him. It hurts, his heart seizing as something inside him begins to yawn wide open, forcing apart the jaws clamping down on that locked box until it opens wide enough for everything to pour out in a disorienting series of images and colours and feelings.
His eyes are shut so tight he can feel tears pooling there, his hand and the blunt edge of his hook going to the sides of his face and holding steady as he is overcome with everything.
She stands over him, golden sunlight haloing her face as he sees her for the first time and his heart swoops traitorously in his chest.
They navigate a beanstalk that spans up into the heavens, he bandages her hand, she leaves him burnt and betrayed.
They meet again at a cell, harsh words are exchanged, he ignores the tether that tugs on his chest when he turns and leaves.
They battle at a portal, he throws the fight, drops and watches with fear clogging his throat as Cora nearly kills her – but she survives, and he doesn't want to put a name on the feeling that overcomes him when she does.
Their paths cross once again on the side of a rain-dampened road. She sits at his side on a hospital bed; the words 'I'd pick you,' rattle around his head for days.
Things begin to speed up now, coming in faster flashes, the recollections returning with greater urgency and he swears he is on the verge of heart palpitations.
They are in Granny's Diner; she stares into his soul with branding eyes pleading with him to join them (join her). He is on the verge of a new horizon but he cannot disappear with her name on his lips and her face in his head – he comes back only to leave again with them in tow, their destination the one place he swore he'd never return: Neverland.
They are searching for her son, he is learning her but they are mere morsels and he wants the entire compendium of everything she is, everything she ever has been and everything she ever will be. His want broadens as the days pass, deepens as their eyes linger, stretches the breadth of his rotten old heart until it broaches something bigger. It's not until she's matching him move for move, mouths fused together as she clutches his lapels, that he realises just how far he's let himself fall.
They stand in a cave, his voice echoes.
They stand at a town line, her eyes glisten.
He stands on the Jolly Roger, his hand flat against the mast, apologising under his breath to the only home he's ever known as he leaves it for a chance at seeing her (it is a risk he is willing to make).
He stands at her door and the second his eyes land on her, it is like seeing a sunrise for the first time, like watching the dawn of a new day over calm waters, like breathing again – and he knows it in the deepest parts of his soul that it was all worth it.
They are outside a police station and when she finally recognises him, eyes blown wide with recognition, he cannot refrain from smiling.
They are in her New York apartment when she calls him Killian for the first time. He maintains a neutral façade but his heart thunders as the vowels and consonants tumble over her lips; he relishes in it every single time over the following weeks.
They are breathing the same cold air, surrounded by muted greenery as she gapes up at him, silently questioning his resolve to reassure her that her heart may be damaged but it functions perfectly well.
He is at the docks, and he swears on her name because she is the last thing of value he has left to swear on. He is cursed and he is tormented and she is telling him she is ready to forget about the past and their timing has always been atrocious.
They are in a boathouse, and she no longer trusts him.
There is water everywhere, and then he is choking, spluttering, breathing, looking up at her as realisation settles over him like a cold shower and he can only manage one terrified question – her expression is all the answer he needs.
They are in another time, another place, another realm – he followed her here, would follow her anywhere she travelled. She is kissing him, but not kissing him and it is the closest thing to jealous rage he has ever felt because that man does not deserve the infinite treasure that is Emma Swan.
They are dancing and she is beautiful and she is happy and, just for a moment, she is his.
They stand atop a castle spire, watching through a window as an inferno erupts and she clings to him as roughly as he clings to her: she might be gone from him in moments and he will not let go until she is air beneath his fingertips (and even then, he will not let go).
They are in a vault, her eyes glitter with unshed tears and self-doubts and it stabs his heart with startling precision to see her so unable to see her own greatness. But then she is grinning, wielding a wand that glows as brightly as her smile.
There is a chill in the air outside Granny's, the fairy lights glowing as she tells him he is a hero, asks him how he found her, asks him what he traded. Her face shifts to something soft and pliable and warm when he tells her; and when she leans in to press her lips to his, he comes to the inevitable conclusion that he would endure it all again in a heartbeat if it meant having her in this moment.
From there, things become blurred: snow monsters, pilfered moments, precious kisses, lingering glances, shared memories, nightmares, fears, likes and dislikes. When it stops, when everything is a roiling mass in his mind and heart, he drags himself up to his knees until the storm calms and the sky of his eyes clears.
And he remembers.
It's devastating and liberating – it's everything.
For a moment he forgets what has happened. There is a blissful second where he merely revels in the return of his memories, in the return of his world to its rightful angle upon the axis of his perception.
Then, of course, the world that has just righted itself comes crashing down.
Emma is propped up against the chaise, breathing heavily, eyes fluttering as the blood seeps from her wound to stain her shirt. Her shaking hands are tinged red, held precariously over her stomach. Killian's blood freezes in his veins, only one word coming to mind.
No.
Scrambling up from his spot, he flies across the room, so fast he skids when he drops to his knees beside her to, as smoothly as possible, scoop her into his arms.
8888
It hurts more than she thought it would – but then, she's never been stabbed before. Sure, she's suffered bruises and scrapes and even the occasional dislocated limb from her time as a bail bondsperson. But none of that compares to this inferno searing her abdomen every time she breathes.
Comfort is nigh impossible, even when she finally falls to the ground and pushes herself onto her side, curling up and closing her eyes. The foetal position lessens the pain, compacts the hurt in a small ball that she carries close to her. Her shirt sticks to the skin of her stomach, her blood leaking onto the icy ground in a stark pool of red; seeing it, her eyes water because it's her life (and it's leaving her).
She wishes several things as she sits there, waiting for death to come – she thinks about Henry (he will be so angry with her for this), about her parents (they will break because of this), about Killian (he will hate himself because of this). Yet, as much as regrets dying, she does not regret saving the town or her friends or her family or him. She will never regret saving the people she loves.
The sound of footsteps slapping the hard ice floor snaps her to attention and she tilts her head towards the source just in time to watch Killian fall to his knees at her side, shuffling until she is cradled in her lap. His eyes are frantic as they drink in the sight of her, his hand and hook hovering over the wound as he growls, "What did you do? Emma, what have you done?"
He pulls her closer, a twinge of pain making her wince as she gathers enough strength to answer him, "Sh-she was going t-t-to use me against every-one… I s-saved everyone-n."
Anger, hot and fresh, distorts his features and his voice is deliberately quiet when he hisses, "I thought I bloody well told you not to save everyone at your life's risk! I told you to take caution!" Her automatic response dies in her throat when she finally registers what he said. That specific phrase, that exact demand… it sends firecrackers exploding in the back of her mind, her heart stuttering as realisation forces her eyes to widen. The memory is still vivid, that last day with him branded into her head.
"Promise me you'll take caution with this woman. Promise me you won't make any irrational decisions just to secure her defeat… You're the saviour but that doesn't mean you have to save everyone at your life's risk"
It was a moment enveloped in a cold alley, his stuttered words pervading the air with an intangible warmth before he pressed her against a wall and kissed her for what she had thought, for a long time, was the last time. Several seconds pass where she studies his face, stares up at him and traces the softened features, the familiar eyes, the gentle touch; it's him.
Emma's lips twitch up and apart, the pain in her midsection not remotely strong enough to dampen the respite of this moment.
"W-wait – you reme-me-member?" she whispers, reaching up to touch his jaw (part of her is terrified that this is a hallucination, her body's way of lulling her into death). Her fingers brush his skin and he manages a poor impersonation of a smile, leaning down to press his forehead to hers.
"Aye, love, I remember."
She curls further into his embrace, eyes glittering with a mixture of grief and contentment when he pulls back. Tilting her head into his hand, Emma murmurs, "H-how?"
He shakes his head rigorously, "I don't know," then his face drops, shoulders pulling forward as he scrunches his eyes shut and grinds between clenched teeth, "Gods Emma, I'm so sorry –"
"Wasn' you-your f-fault-t," she interrupts, firmly despite her predicament. His thumb swipes her cheek as he retorts.
"Yes it was –"
"D-don't do – do that…" Emma frowns, finding his wrist and clutching it as tightly as she can manage. She holds his eyes intensely, reassuring him in a voice that drops out with her inability to properly breathe, "I underst… I under…" The words won't form and her eyes drift shut, a heavy weight smothering her so she feels as though she is being dragged into cold, calm water. It's oddly similar to when she was in the hull of the sinking boat (only this time, she isn't desperately trying to escape her fate – this time, she has accepted the inevitable conclusion). Her wound doesn't hurt as much now. She thinks, perhaps, dying isn't so bad -
"Hey! Stay with me – eyes open, Swan," Killian jerks her roughly awake and she bites her lip to withhold the cry of pain that wants to erupt from her. He uses his good hand to hold her jaw and manoeuvre it so she's looking directly at him, "Do you hear me? I'll be damned if you're going to die before I can atone for these past weeks."
"S'cold," she mutters incoherently in response, eyes dropping shut.
He shakes her again, gentler this time, and breathes against her cheek, "I know, love, I know."
Forcing herself to stay conscious, she uses the last vestiges of her strength to watch him. She has waited for him to come back to her for so long, and she will revel in the golden glory of these stolen seconds while she can. In a word, it is bittersweet. When she had envisioned the moment he returned, it hadn't been on the cold floor of the Snow Queen's lair with a mortal wound and a deathly fate.
She can feel the cold claim finding an anchor in her body; the frigid grip of death on the precipice of her being, tendrils of darkness coiling out across her skin.
Emma holds onto his wrist again.
"I'm sorry, Killian."
His eyes snap to hers and he shakes his head, "I know it's cold right now, but please just hold on. You've done this before," he looks like he's searching for something and, when he finds it, his eyes are wild as they meet hers in a desperate bid for hope, "Remember when Elsa accidentally trapped you in that cave? You held on then. You can do it again."
She smiles sadly (barely a smile, more of a grimace), "Y-you and I b-b-both know that was – that was d-different, Killian."
There is anger bubbling beneath the surface of this broken man. His grip tightens, and the way he stares at her; she is tempted to believe he thinks he can ward off the hand of death with his willpower alone. That, however, is simply not true.
"No, I refuse to believe that," he growls, an idea occurring to him as his gaze jumps hopefully between the sickening wound and her pale face, "You can heal yourself."
Shaking her head is impossible with the dense exhaustion that plagues her, so she is forced to use words that clog her throat and struggle to escape. She chokes on them and everything they denote, because telling this man not to hope causes her more agony than any icicle could ever inflict.
"N-no, I can't."
His reassuring expression does nothing but drive daggers through her heart, especially when he says, in that voice woven from unwavering faith, "Yes you can, you've been training with Regina, haven't you? You're magic is strong Emma, so strong the Snow Queen wanted to use it, you can –"
"No, y-you don't get it. If – if I heal m-myself, I'll h-h-heal her," she nods weakly in the direction of the Snow Queen, shivering on the ground a few feet from her as she too begrudgingly waits for death. Emma catches his gaze again, an apology written across her crumpled, ashen face, determination carved into her brow. "The only w-way she surv-survives is if I h-h-heal myself because sh-she can't do – do it."
This time, it is undeniably anger that darkens his eyes (but there is anguish laced into it).
"Emma, no –"
"I'm sorry –"
"Emma."
"I'm so sorry –"
His voice breaks, "Please don't do this. You don't have to do this. She's not worth it." His hand is trailing down her jaw, tracing the muscles in her neck, splaying flat against her breastbone where he can surely feel her heart still sluggishly beating. If there is one thing she wants more in this world than to live, it is for him to know that she isn't doing this because of some convoluted saviour complex; although that is still a large part of it.
The grin that drags her lips apart is genuine.
"She's not. But you are."
Everything fades out at a rapid pace after that, the world fragmenting, disintegrating, falling between her fingertips. The last thing she sees is the look of realisation on his face. Distantly, she thinks it's a shame that the last image she has of his face is one of anguish deeper and greater and stronger than anything she's ever seen in her life.
I can already feel your hatred - why don't you express it in a review? (P.S Before you all bite my head off, there is still one part left!)