A sea breeze whistled softly around Storybrooke, which looked the same as ever. But wasn't it supposed to be destroyed?
That didn't matter. He'd made his decision—stupid and crazy enough to please even Swan—and he wouldn't go back on it. He had his honor. He had his code.
There was shock written on the familiar faces on the wharf as he sauntered off his ship. Unsurprisingly, Swan was the first to speak.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Typically delicate, he thought, but something about it warmed him inside. "Helping."
"Well you're too late." Her voice trembled—so slightly that he just barely could make it out.
"Am I?" he returned. Keep it jaunty, Killian. It's the only way you can hide how you feel when you look into her eyes.
She stood before him, looking up, with all of her undaunted poise but something tragic in her eyes. "I thought you didn't care about anyone but yourself."
With his good hand, he nonchalantly caught up the pouch off his belt and looked, really looked, at Emma Swan. "Maybe I just needed reminding that I could."
Her whole face changed. The tragedy didn't leave it—not quite—but he saw hope kindle in her eyes. He hadn't thought he could ever do that…awaken hope in anyone, awaken light. He had always only brought darkness.
But Swan was different. Swan, he could see, believed in him. Swan had reminded him that hope was just beyond the horizon, and he was captain of the fastest ship in all the realms of the world.