A/N: There is character death but most of the oneshot is Killian's thoughts and remembrances of his encounters with Emma. Sorry if he's OOC, I did try to incorporate innuendos and his smirkiness and how he changes with his viewpoint of Emma. This takes place after "Dark Hallow" assuming everyone arrived safely without hitches (therefore, no other episodes exist after "Dark Hallow"). If you want to read about "Operation Mrs. Jones" it's the first chapter of this oneshot trifecta. Also, if you have any requests for me to expound on anything regarding the oneshot (e.g. Killian and Emma's vows), please give me a review or suggestion! Sorry for the long introduction, but I felt it was necessary. Please enjoy and review or favorite! Thank you so much, everyone who already has.
Disclaimer: I do not, sadly, own the wonderful song "Say Something" or any OUAT characters. (Respectively A Great Big World and Adam and Eddy do :)
It all came back in flashes.
The woman would be a tough one to figure, at least to other people, but dare he say it? he identified with her somehow.
As if...the lass was meant for him.
No.
He would not give himself that hope, because it could bloody well destroy him.
She was just an obstacle in his way; he had a motive, and she interfered with his plans.
Just, you know, your typical stubborn, flashing-eyed, feisty woman (though, no doubt, those were all qualities that held a certain appeal to him in a female) who got on his nerves constantly with her confounding ability to see right through him.
But for the time, he observed offhandedly that the lass was resourceful and that could aid him for the meantime, in getting to the beanstalk.
What happened later was of no matter; the present contained significantly more heft than the future, and he would decide then if she was worthy of allying himself with.
Besides, he was never one to resist the company of a beautiful woman.
It was required for him to take the effort of being an actual person, not just a man spewing innuendos who shamelessly flirted with her to get her to talk, that was certain, he perceived quickly. Such a shame; if the woman tried just bloody trusting him, or just in general she could be quite pleasant.
He could be quite pleasant too, at least he was in a past age, and he had certain specialties if she just stuck around long enough...
He tried again, prying into her past, easily distinguishing the residual sorrow that hung around her, the aura of an orphan, and her unwavering devotion for her son.
That wasn't the only person she'd ever loved, however.
To her credit, she was able to detect that he had been in love, in a time where his heart had not gone completely blackened and dark. Despite her superhuman attempts to lie to him, he still knew, so had she. Once, like him, but a love that ruined her heart.
Maybe they were somewhat alike.
No. He wouldn't have left her like she left him on the fucking beanstalk.
She'd saved him from falling over the tripwire, but clearly it was just a distraction to fool him into believing that she trusted him.
That goddamned Swan.
And now, he was stuck in the loveliest of places-the beanstalk.
Next time he encountered her, he was going to take a great deal of enjoyment in telling her to bugger off.
As fate would have it, the next time their paths crossed was after she had no escape.
He used the opportunity to gloat, because him and Cora were almost victorious-was there any doubt?
Still. Almost was never enough, he knew that from experience.
He couldn't resist pouring salt in her wound, though, taunting that her hope was shriveled, lost gone; that she and her companions, foolish women they were, possessed the upper hand no longer, and in fact they had never possessed it at all.
She was useless to him, yet he took a sort of boyish pleasure in seeing her face.
Meeting those eyes, clouded with such sadness, yet such determination. Always determination.
Too bad it wasn't determination to go certain places with him...
It was simply amusing, how quickly he could forget such a simple thing such as her tenacity.
He knew she had him cornered, on his back, both mentally and physically.
"Bloody hell" had become his primary catchphrase when dealing with her.
Was he becoming emotionally compromised? Damn.
Every part of him, though, refused to back down against her, an unrelenting force whose wrath was directed toward him yet again.
He did like the view from below, though.
But of course, the little minx bested him once again, the only person, he reasoned dumbly, that had done so multiple times and not been on the receiving end of a hook through their chest or head or such.
As Cora raged endlessly, he tuned her out and fingered the tender bruise where she had struck him, pondering the mystery of why he had kept her alive this long. Whenever he saw her face, he forgot all about revenge, which was terrible, since it was necessary to eliminate her, and soon, if he wanted the crocodile. He had come upon one opportunity after another to show her no mercy, to show her Captain Hook at his finest, and yet...he held back.
Peculiar thoughts for a man such as him, these were.
Well, heaven was just as wonderful as he imagined.
Or not, as he observed that he was apparently still tied down to this strange white bed, imprisoned in a drab gray room, stripped bare of main furnishings excluding his bed, a shiny white board, and machines.
But you know, Swan was there.
Maybe this place wasn't so bad if Swan worked here.
She could very well count as heaven, he reasoned, and she looked like she would excel at other services other than keeping him company.
He might as well try to win her over, now being as good a time to start as any other. Countless times he deflected her futile inquiries of Cora with smoldering smirks and devilish innuendos (some of them were quite good, if he did say so himself), but all to no avail.
She was, unfortunately, dead set on the one piece of information he wouldn't surrender: Cora's location.
She made that crystal clear with the bruises that were now on top of his already bruised ribs.
Fuck, that hurt. In a good way, he reasoned.
At least she'd somewhat made up for it by informing him of that jiggly thing she called "Jell-O." It did have a nice mouthfeel, despite being quite appalling to look at (what kind of bloody food came in ungodly colors like blue?). "Jell-O" was also truly a ridiculous name.
On another hand, he was starting to remember what failure felt like.
Starting to remember flashes of a better him, things he had buried within himself long ago, things, gods forbid, that Swan never dig up.
Liam-Miliah-Bae...
He didn't want to add a certain blonde-haired woman with a salty mouth to those list of people. He'd all failed them.
Still, he had to guard himself from her. She caught him off guard too many times, too many close calls were never good because they'd always catch up with you, he'd learned long ago.
But truth be told, he wouldn't mind getting to know her better.
Just a peek. (In other places wouldn't be bad either.)
He told himself repeatedly he refused to get close. After all, she was still blocking his way.
Or was she really the way he needed to travel?
His head ached from his thoughts running over a well-beaten path.
Maybe some Jell-O, if not rum, would provide an answer.
This was quickly becoming an all-too-familiar situation for him.
Really, shoved and locked into her ex-boyfriend's, not to forget the Dark One's son and the father of her child's storage closet?
He really was losing his touch.
Pity. He had been ever so close to the bloody fucking crocodile.
Sadly, the closer he got to revenge, the more it seemed to distance him from Emma. (He only ever called her that in his head. Now when had that become a habit?)
As much as he denied it, the thought of choosing between revenge or...a hope for more was undesirable.
Although, locked in a closet, that time would not be coming any time soon.
Yet again she surprised him.
It seemed they had a connection, if not an attraction, where one's thoughts were instantaneously known by the other. Of course, that had been what he took notice of first, her self-reliance, and gods, he possessed that quality and had for over 300 years.
Why was he letting her take that quality away from him? It was as if he had it on display, screaming to her to take his self-reliance away.
Maybe he was just a bloody foolish old wanker. Aye, that he was.
But bloody hell, she was getting through to him, he couldn't lie to himself any longer. (He'd still attempt to.)
However, he still was concerned about himself; he needed to protect himself, and his desire to do so trumped his desire to choose a side.
He was keeping the bean for now; he had to hold the upper hand in that situation, at least, because she held the advantage in another matter.
He could hold the upper hand in yet another situation, if she was up for it.
Well, he was starting to lose something else.
At least, he was only starting to realize something that his heart had recognized long ago.
Damn it, what in blazes was happening to him?
What was he doing, even sparing a thought about returning for Emma and the rest of her motley crew, who most likely didn't give a rat's ass about him?
Was he, gods forbid, becoming soft?
For years he had survived on his own, striking fear into others' hearts, aided by the blackness of his heart.
Not realizing what he was doing at first, he pulled out his heart, expecting it to be, if not midnight black, at least navy blue?
In its center, in his heart's very core laid a tiny crimson spot amidst the darkness.
When he put it back inside, he knew.
That goddamned, bloody Emma had torn his walls down. She'd made a crack in the fearsome Captain Hook.
She was making him soft, he grumbled.
He couldn't deny that he was doing this for her.
But she was also giving him the ability to see things more vividly and brightly, one that he had not had since very long ago. She was, unfortunately, changing him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He was setting sail for Storybrooke.
She shouldn't have been so shocked that he came back.
After all, he could feel again.
Not that he hadn't been able to feel other sensations...
He had been sitting on the question. (Gods, what was going on with him? He had never been one to think first.)
What move should he make next?
Should he converse with her such as a normal man would? Flirt with her? Leave her be? After all, it was her son, her love, who was taken. She probably didn't need him bugging her.
He then settled on a rare sentimental gesture, hoping it would mean something to her.
He saw the hurt etched in her eyes when anyone talked of Neal and his passing; the rage, that she was powerless to stop it. He saw himself, in those moments after Milah died in front of him, and it scared him.
Her face when she glimpsed Neal's cutlass was heartwrenching, if it was necessary for him to use such a word.
Those twenty-eight years of abandonment revealed themselves on her face, and for a second he let all his walls down and stared at her unabashedly, at her completely vulnerable, and it touched something in him that longed so badly to fix her.
But he knew him, a pirate, a bad man, would never be able to.
Still, "no" had never stopped him from trying.
Oh, buggering fucking hell, oh damn.
She was not dying on him, gods forbid she should because if she did his second chance died with her.
Goddamn it, she needed to breathe, and he would physically breathe into her if it would cause her chest to begin to rise and fall as normal.
And he couldn't breathe, he just couldn't, until he saw her cough water up and shoot him a steely glare, as he slowly realized he was panting as fast as she was.
What a wanker he was, indeed.
A petty crush was one thing, but falling was a completely different story.
He had started to need her. And he bloody well needed to stop.
It's oddly comforting that she trusts him, albeit a shaky kind of trust, to guide them through Neverland. He's making some kind of progress, at least he supposes.
Gods, why is he tracking his progress with her? She's not just another woman he wants under his belt, and he's not exactly the type of man to think of these things.
At least she doesn't condemn him like at the beanstalk.
They always seem to be involved in dangerous situations together, but this time is different. This time, they're on the same side. And though it is hard for him to admit, seeing as he is their leader land-wise, the lass, Emma, she does make a very good leader.
He admires that. The dedication and determination and fire she possesses, how she doesn't let the desperation from losing her lad and his father eat away at her.
Not like he did to him.
She has to know that he won't hurt the crocodile, that he won't harm the man as long as he is doing good and Emma needs him.
She needs to know that he is not the enemy, not the villain, and he will never be, when something involving her or the lass herself is in the balance.
He wants her to know that he can relate to her.
But it's not a matter of convincing her, not truly.
It's a matter of convincing the others.
If it felt right, if there was ever a good time, he wanted to tell her that he wanted her to get her son back, to be happy, that he knew, felt it in his guts that she would succeed.
And, in addition, he wouldn't mind her explaining the gravity of waxed moustaches and perms.
Who is Emma Swan, truly?
The map knows, hence why it worked, and he can't help but give his curiosity free reign.
He wants to know the answer to that question.
She looks good in bed, that's for sure.
All jokes aside, he hopes he truly will, someday.
Despite their uneasiness around each other, the awkwardness that came with new lovers (not that they were, or would ever be, of course, he remarked bitterly in his head), he longs to comfort her with more than flirting and endless banter.
Though, he does want to comfort her in a more...physical way.
But, all attraction aside, he knows firsthand what it is like to lose all hope. He remembers how he became one of the lowest of the low, how he lost all emotion and how he felt nothing.
He didn't think anything would ever be right again.
He wants her to know that he understands.
But she just keeps running away.
Gratitude can be shown in many forms.
He has to admit, he quite prefers this one to any other.
In fact, he's been craving it, dreaming of it in his dreams before he even knew who he was kissing, for many hours and days, though she must not know that. Unless she could feel it in the kiss's intensity, but she matched his with a higher level, giving him hope that maybe, just maybe, she has been coveting it too.
The goddamn passion, the intensity, the hunger, all those bloody emotions spill out of them, pouring out onto each other's lips, as if there was no tomorrow and there was only now, only this moment that he wanted to last forever…
Then abruptly, it's over.
She pushes him away bluntly and tells him that it was a one-time thing. Of course, she would deny that she enjoyed it. She has no choice but it pains him, just a tinge, but when he returns to camp, her eyes hold something they haven't, at least not since she lost her lad.
A smile.
He had made her smile.
Oh, he really was something-accomplishing the impossible, add that to his long list of accolades.
There was always a choice.
This time he chose to say it, to tear his walls down, to let the others know what he had seemingly already known for a long time.
He had to be, for once, selfless, but there was no one else in all the realms that he would rather be selfless for.
Despite the fact that Pan had expected (in vain) to break his spirit and crush his heart by taunting him, revealing that Neal-Bae-was alive, telling him he was nothing but a pirate, he knew he had to be the lieutenant he once was for Emma.
If he was being completely honest with himself, she had changed him, from the fearsome Captain Hook back to the hopeful, the idealistic, the foolish Lieutenant Killian Jones.
So reluctantly, because there was only one person he longed to tell this, he released the knowledge of what the kiss between him and Emma made him realize.
Before the kiss, the attraction had been just that-an attraction. Nothing more, nothing less.
Well, who could resist his charm? Except her.
No sooner than he had laid his lips upon the lass's soft ones, there was no more denying that he had fallen hard ages ago, before he himself even knew he would.
But what pained him the most was not the reception of the knowledge by Charming and Snow, but Emma's blunt acknowledgement of his confession.
He could normally read her face like a book, but at the moment it was a blank slate.
Maybe she was fooling him, but then he realized she had never been a woman prone to lying unless absolutely necessary.
Never mind his feelings.
She had Neal and all she needed was Henry.
He didn't even know if he was important to her, but her happiness was all that was important to him.
As long as you know, he got a little extra something in the deal.
The woman was completely daft.
Bloody Emma was utterly unobservant if she could not even perceive that it was her who him and Neal had been fighting over, not just a lighter. It was insignificant, but if they made an impression on her was all that mattered.
Gods, either one of them would've let a shadow rip out their essence gladly, even in good cheer, if Emma had ordered it, if only the goddamn woman would realize that!
Before that whole fiasco, however, he had confronted her in hopes that the kiss carried some weight with her; that had been why he revealed his dalliance with Emma to Neal. He knew it was horrible timing and he felt a pang of guilt, but he had let himself get carried away that one time.
But to his complete disappointment, she was firm-it was and would always remain a one-time thing.
She'd finally started to believe in him, fate would have it.
Couldn't the blasted woman see that he cared about her and her happiness more than he cared for his own damn life?
He was a useless, lovelorn, foolish, idealistic stupid pirate.
Not even that, he was a damn wanker.
Pity.
But he put the utmost conviction and sincerity in his words when he told her the truth, so it would strike her. He would win her affections, fair and square, no flirting, no trickery, no deception.
He couldn't help but be pleased when his was the only name she called when him and Neal were snatched up by the shadows. (Well, of course).
He was taken by surprise, there was no doubt about it.
Why was she talking to him? And now, when she had all the pieces of her family falling into place, when it was all over and everyone was safely on the Jolly heading home? They were grateful to him, but they would never accept him.
He would have given anything to be seen as a hero like Neal.
Which was why, at night upon his beloved Jolly when everyone was below deck, he was utterly dumbfounded that she kissed him.
Again.
So much for one-time thing, love.
But he reveled in the pleasure of this one just as much as the first, the kiss a small victory in itself. It was amazing, soft and sweet and full of love and hope and promise.
It gave him hope that he could be better.
And it was all it took for him to realize that she really did care for him, because he could see her making a visible effort to tear down her walls, since she had deemed it right.
He had predicted it, once again. He was just so amazing, that he had won her heart.
But when they stood there, in silence, observing the stars and listening to the rocking of the boat against calm seas, he felt himself and Emma become part of the scenery.
He felt her become part of him.
Damn, it may have mostly been perfect because of him.
No, not really.
It was all her.
Secret dates, clandestine kisses and hopes for…a little more on the physical end of things haunted his thoughts.
At least he was getting to her, something he had thought was never going to happen.
Until he started hoping…damn. He guessed they had been right, all happy endings started with hope.
And if the gods and fate were on his side, Emma was his happy ending.
When Henry, the lad being as brilliant as his mother, caught on to Emma and him, and realized Neal was not part of Emma's future, he began a devious plan (oh, the lad was really after his own heart) code name "Operation: Mrs. Jones."
The frenzied planning with Henry filled his thoughts and his time.
Though he'd never thought of himself as a child person, the lad was keen and open-minded, qualities that he quite admired in a person and Henry was quite observant for his age, not to mention he had a killer wit, although his attention to detail was somewhat perturbing at times.
But if he was being honest, spending time with Henry was quite enjoyable, especially their little debates on how to propose, how to keep the plan secret (turns out, neither of them were very good at hiding things, and quickly the whole town warmed to the idea, even Regina, Gold, and Neal), and what ring to pick out.
Which was good, because the only ring he'd ever heard of was a scream of delight. Long story short, back in his…gigolo days, he'd named himself the idiotic name of "Ring" and much chaos resumed…
But there was no mistaking how much pride he took in the little speech he prepared for Emma. Despite the fact that she interrupted him when he hadn't even gotten to the good part, that blasted woman.
But damn, he loved her.
And apparently, she did too.
In addition to the booming success of "Operation: Mrs. Jones," he had heard her say the best words he had ever heard from her.
She had said she loved him.
And he didn't think his heart could've been any fuller.
His heart refused to stop its racing pulse on the day of the wedding, which dawned bright, clear and sunny-a perfect day for sailing.
Was it not somewhat ironic, if that was the correct word to use, that he was getting married on the Jolly?
Surprisingly, it was Emma, not his, request. She had reasoned that many of their nights had been spent on the Jolly and she wanted to remember the day.
Well, of course, she wanted to relive some other fantasies of hers as well, and who could blame her; he was irresistible. Although he only wanted to be irresistible to her.
It was shocking, the turnout of Storybrooke, and if his boat wasn't enchanted he would imagine that it would be long locked in Davy Jones's closet. Even Neal and Gold had come, the latter unwillingly, to observe the event.
Neal had even given him a sword, a beauty of an object, to acknowledge that he had won the lady fairly and that he was glad she was happy. Well, Neal had Tinkerbell now, so obviously he didn't mind as much that his first love was getting married. But he'd like to assume that Neal felt just a tad jealous, just to make him feel superior. If that wasn't too bad, after all, Neal had left Emma, but he didn't want to think about that on the wedding day.
Gold had grunted a gruff congratulations to Emma and him before she left to get ready.
He couldn't wait to see her in her dress.
More importantly, he couldn't wait to see what was under after the wedding.
One of the things that touched him most, however, was Charming, now David to him, embracing him. Well, he had to slap the former pirate first, but the embrace was what touched him. Him and David, no doubt, had grown close over the past few weeks, bonding about the ridiculousness of women and weddings. They had even shared a few, alright, many drinks and drunken nights on the couch, which may or may not have involved learning about a karaoke machine and how to work it.
He was just glad no one had seen it.
But anyway, he was, gods forbid, nervous. His hands were sweaty and the smile on his face was just beginning to slide off when the wedding bells rang up on the crow's nest while wedding music played and Emma came out of the captain's quarters with David.
If there was a better word to describe Emma than "breathtaking" or "spectacular" or "gorgeous," he would have no doubt used it and he could not deny that any word was inadequate to describe how she looked.
She was beautiful.
And she was unbelievably, completely his.
Doubtless, he looked akin to a drooling puppy as he stared at her, trying to radiate to her the compassion, the admiration, the love he felt for her.
Gods, if the whole town wasn't there, he thought he was going to faint from her beauty and her aroma as she was lifted up next to him.
He had to stifle a chuckle when he saw she looked twice as nervous as he, but he smiled at her and reassured that everything, everything would go right.
The ceremony passed by in a blur, since his eyes never left Emma's face, but when it came time for the vows, he knew it was his turn to tell her how much he loved her.
And he did.
He spilled out a myriad of feelings he would have previously been ashamed of, he told her what she meant to him, that he would never leave her side or run away from her (trying to avoid a pointed glance at Neal), and that he would never, ever take her for granted.
She looked adorable, even crying.
And he cried too, though he was ashamed to admit it; he hadn't expected her to say what she did.
He still couldn't believe that she thought he was a hero, that he was a good man and that she believed in him, that she loved him.
Gods, he loved her.
And when he was told to kiss the bride, he didn't hesitate for a second before clutching her face in his gently but kissing her hungrily, attacking her lips with a fervor that she matched and even surpassed.
Added to his long list of firsts with her that night was their first movie night.
At least Pirates of the Caribbean and Hook were watchable.
But Peter Pan…well. Now he knew what perms and waxed moustaches were.
He was just...speechless.
Obviously they'd never met the real Captain Hook.
No. Bloody buggering hell, fuck those blasted stupid bastards, what the hell had they done to his Emma?
Oh gods, please, oh gods, no.
Why was she just laying there? Why wasn't she moving?
Why was there a red crimson trail from her chest falling down, down, down her body?
This wasn't real. This was just a dream.
But if it was, then why was he hurting? Why was his hurt so tangible?
So many why's. But most importantly, why had people killed her and why had they
True love's kiss. It has to work. And he kissed her. He kissed her with an almost primal hunger, attacked her lips with the most force he could muster, cradled her head, kissed her with fervor, kissed her softly, kissed her sweetly, but oh gods, nothing worked.
Nothing worked.
He couldn't breathe.
He stared dumbly at the body laying motionless before him and his head spun and oh gods, why? Why?
Before he could even process the thought, the tears came crashing down, with a fervor that rivaled that of water unleashed from a dam.
Please, please, lease, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE rang the words in his head, clashing together and forming a steady refrain that crushed his heart.
Her cold wanton face was all he saw.
The town was silent. Cold, gloomy, devoid of spirit and spark.
And no wonder why.
Emma's dead.
The condolences of countless people pass in one ear and out another. He is no longer an entity but an empty shell, remaining in this land for what reason?
It's beautiful in a sad way, how Mary Margaret and David have decorated her memorial with flowers, the blanket they gave her, and a picture of her and him. Simple, but fitting.
He can barely sit through the funeral.
He was startled when the tears stopped and he felt a sheer coldness on his face.
It reminded him that he was alive.
He can barely deliver an audible eulogy, for his words become jumbled and useless when he tries to speak, and in the end all he says is that he loved her. That he was in love with her.
It's all he has the energy to say.
But really, it's the truth.
Oh gods, how he loved her. She was taken too damn early, taken right when she had everything to live for.
She was pregnant.
And no one knew but him.
He would find those bastards and hunt them down, but he knew Emma wouldn't want that. He was supposed to find love again, he knew she wanted it, but to be honest his last chance died with her.
Despite the fact that Emma would want him to stop being selfish, to tell him that he was stupid and that he should move on from her because he was always better than her anyway, he continued to be selfish. He can't live without her and she's the stupid one if she thinks otherwise.
His soul died with her.
Mary Margaret and Henry and David comfort him, take him in, give him food and shelter and warmth and he subconsciously knows he should be more receptive, act normal, at least have the decency to act thankful. He knows, on some level, that they are as hurt as him. But they didn't know her like he did.
He knew her thoughts, her hopes, her dreams, her fears, her secrets before she even realized herself.
They let him be a shell.
And to be honest, that is all he ever wants to be if he has to be without his Emma.
He snapped back to life and looked around.
Maybe it really had been just a dream.
Maybe Emma was still alive.
But then, no.
His memories were just a dream. He could never relive them with the only one who mattered.
A side of his face was covered in dirt from lying upon the ground next to her gravestone, his hair tousled and matted and dark circles around his eyes.
The cold morning chill set in and he looked longingly at the grave, at the memorial, at the beautiful picture of him and Emma and her smile and-oh, gods.
He didn't care if he was her true love, if she even cared about him at all, as long as she found a way to survive, as long as Regina or Gold or Tinkerbell or Mother Superior or some goddamn person just fixed her.
But it wouldn't happen.
He knew. Instinctively, he knew.
Which is why he had come prepared.
The morning passed by quickly; no one had come to check on him surprisingly. But that was good. What he had to do was of no concern to anyone. He didn't care any longer.
When his handiwork was done, he stepped back, pleased.
He then crossed over to Emma's grave, and kissed her picture with a sad sweet gravity that would have made any woman swoon.
"I love you, Emma Swan. And I'm sorry to do this, but I cannot be without you."
He wiped the tear that fell from his eye and swallowed.
The rustle of leather, the bang, and there was soft thud as well as a loud thud from landing in the hole.
Killian Jones was gone.
Say something, I'm giving up on you.
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you.
Anywhere, I would've followed you.
Say something, I'm giving up on you.
And I will swallow my pride.
You're the one that I love
And I'm saying goodbye.
Thoughts, comments or suggestions? Thanks for reading!