Warnings: Smut

Notes: It's so bittersweet to be posting the very last part of this story! Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/followed/favorited. A special thanks to ripplestitchskein and unfolded73 (both on tumblr), without whom this wouldn't be half the story it is. And credit to seethelovelyintheworld (also on tumblr) for the accompanying artwork. I hope you guys enjoy this epilogue!

Epilogue

Two Months Later

Emma couldn't sleep.

Or, rather, she could sleep, but she didn't want to.

It was early yet, a faint, golden light seeping in through the open windows, casting a glow over the stone walls of her bedroom. She watched it arc higher and higher from the sill of the window nearest the bed. The light caught on the edges of mirrors, on the gilded whorls around the paintings she had brought into her bedroom since Killian had come to sleep beside her. Lilies and buttercups and forget-me-nots, that sort of thing, erupting into unnatural shades when the light passed over the paint.

Emma pushed the window open a little wider, and the warm, muggy breeze limped past. It smelled sweet, like summer rot and overheated water, a touch of salt. Wearing nothing more than a thin shift, the heat still grabbed at her neck, and the backs of her ears. Early in the spring, she'd thought she might never see summer again. Watching the ships bob in the water – one in particular – Emma couldn't find it in herself to be irritated by the oppressive weather.

"What are you doing, Swan?"

Emma turned, and saw just one, overbright blue eye peering at her from half beneath a flat pillow.

Killian, as it were, could sometimes sleep for days.

She had wondered if it was because he'd not slept for so long. Scratching at the back of his neck, he had admitted that he wasn't sure, that he'd forgotten what his sleeping habits used to be like.

Sometimes, though, he would hardly sleep at all, when she'd coax him out of nightmares, thrashing restlessly throughout the night. Others, like this very morning, he was completely unmoving for hours at a time, his head tucked beneath the closest thing that he could find, living or not, his back bare to the room, whether it was cold or hot. His arms would sprawl, and his neck would twist.

It was the most ridiculous thing she had ever seen.

And also, the most charming thing she had ever seen.

"Just…watching the sunrise," she said, and shrugged.

Killian reached out, his hand lying where she had been. He flexed his fingers, and lifted his head, the other eye coming out to join the first.

"Come back to bed, won't you?" he said.

Emma leapt off the sill, and crossed the room. One knee on the bed, she twisted her hands in her shift.

"Take this off?" she said.

Killian grinned, and kicked at the sheets until he was bare, stretching languorously.

"Whatever you want, darling," he answered, though there was twinkle in his eye.

Emma tugged at the shift until she was nude as well, and lay beside him. He twisted until he could gather her in his arms, his nose pressed against her cheek. She could feel it, when he smiled, and she smiled in turn, reaching up to bury her hand in his hair. With the other, she caressed the tender skin over his collar, and down from there, where wry hair curled down towards his belly. For some time, he lay with her, eyes closed, lashes fanning out over his cheeks. When he breathed, she could feel it, a cool rush of air that belied the heat of his body.

"What are you thinking?" he said, quietly.

"That I can't believe we have to wait until the afternoon."

He snorted. "Your parents want to see you off, Swan, I can't say that I blame them."

"But why the afternoon?"

Killian leaned back, and there was a flush in his cheeks. He turned his head, beard scratching against the silk while he looked somewhere over her shoulder.

"Perhaps they'd rather not come anywhere near us in the morning," he said.

Emma cringed, and thought briefly of the very moment her mother had found them in an antechamber to a small ballroom in the east wing, nearly undressed.

"Oh."

"Oh," he echoed, and laughed.

At least we get to be out on the water by evening, she thought.

For a moment, she almost expected him to answer her thoughts. He didn't, of course, but it was the same with food, or with sleep, or anything else the darkness had taken. It had left its mark, and often, food and drink would be tasteless, sleep would be fruitless. Killian's hand and hook would shake, violently, left unsatisfied by magic he no longer possessed. Emma would reach for him, and sometimes he would pull away, gazing off into some distance, where she couldn't follow.

I was so tired, he'd said, when she'd met him on the battlefield. He still was.

She hoped the sea would help him. It would help her, she knew. Minor repairs and a great deal of magic had brought Jack back to Misthaven's ports, where he could be hauled up into the shipyard, enchanted wood brought to bear upon the wounds he'd taken in the north. There were many days when, absent anything else to do, and still hurting from war and strife and death, of all things, they'd wander the beaches. No boots or stockings, kicking at the waves until day turned over into night, stars reflected on the calm waters of the harbor. Killian would bend down, and pluck at a shell, or a rock nearly buried in the sand. The grit on his fingers, the salt in his hair, he'd gaze out upon the sea, and seem to remember happier things.

When she'd asked for an assignment, Emma's parents had obliged, and had given them one to the south, to Agrabah, a land with which she was familiar, and in which Killian might find the oppressive heat and clear waters he seemed to prefer. That he might find some peace.

"Are you sure you want to go?" she'd asked him, again and again, wondering if, perhaps, for a while longer, he'd rather be squirrelled away in the castle than adventuring on the sea.

To which he'd always answered, "I'd follow you anywhere."

Still, Emma couldn't help herself, tangled up with him in their bed, the sunrise at her back. She touched his face, fingers drifting aimlessly down his chest. She scratched at the tender skin stretched over his ribs, and he shivered, his hips canting towards hers.

"Are you sure you want to go?" she said, yet again.

"Emma," he said, a very serious expression on his face. He knew what she was asking. "I assure you, I want for nothing else. It will take me time to remember what it's like to live. In the meantime, I'll need a compass." He smiled, and glanced down at her lips. "You?"

He said it like a question, still hesitant. Emma frowned, and turned on her back, tugging on his shoulders so that he would follow, sprawled half on top of her. She shifted, and could feel him against her thigh.

"Pretty sure you died to save everyone."

"Non-sequitur," he breathed, against her mouth.

"I mean, you've been through a lot. Ask me anything, and I'll do it."

Killian hefted himself higher along her body until he leaned just above her, his hair falling into his eyes. He tugged his arm out from beneath hers, and reached up to push her hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. His hand wandered, lingering on her neck, where sweat trickled down towards her chest. He quirked a brow, and touched his nose to hers.

"It's rather inconvenient," he said, "that you can't hear what I'm thinking."

"Why don't you just tell me?"

He sighed, and kissed her gently, almost chastely, on the mouth. He wriggled, until he was fitted more snugly between her thighs, his chest rasping against hers. For a moment, he settled, his weight crushing down on her while he spoke against her ear.

"I don't deserve you, Swan," he said.

"That's ridiculous," she said, loudly, right in his ear.

He startled, and leaned back. Her hands slid down his face, then over his back, pulling and shifting until she could feel him against her. His lashes fluttered, and he made a noise that twisted in her gut. Arrhythmic and soft, he began to move, little jerks of his body that could hardly be called thrusts, but that couldn't really be called anything else, either.

"You'll follow me anywhere?" she whispered, and he nodded. "I'll take you anywhere. Don't think I won't."

Killian laughed, and braced himself on his elbows. When he looked down at her, the smile in his eyes began to fade, and as so often before, she watched him focus on something she couldn't see. Darkness crept out from nowhere, and needled at him until he didn't look much like himself. Emma reached up, and pulled at his ears. Surprised, he shook his head, and the darkness disappeared.

"Would you look at that," she said. "Surprise still turns the darkness off."

He smiled, then, and it was full bodied.

"Make love to me, won't you, Swan?"

As if I'm – "already not doing it," she half-thought, half-said, a habit that drove everyone around them mad. Though he couldn't hear her, he nodded, as though he had, and began to move with more purpose. Hard against soft, he moved, his fingers roaming over her body, pausing at her breasts before threading through her hair. A circuit on repeat, soft, like a song, until, without warning, he bore down with his hips. She panted wetly against his mouth, and dug her fingers into his shoulders, an abiding pleasure plucking at the base of her spine. Emma reached down and guided him, until he groaned, loud and long, the sort of sound she wished she could bottle up and keep for later.

"I'm sure there's a spell that could do just that," Killian said, roughly, when he was settled inside of her. When she tiled her head, confused, he smiled. "You said that out loud, darling."

Past the point of caring, Emma only nodded, and guided him once more, until he moved the way that she liked, his back arched and his knees digging down into the mattress. He spoke against her neck, and her cheeks, her lips and her hair, nonsense that she was sure was half-caught in his mind. It was a slow and sensual slide, a dance that had no end goal as yet. Greedily, she touched every part of him that she could reach before her hands settled in his hair, tugging until it was irreversibly mussed.

"We'll need a bath after this," he said, into her mouth, when she pulled him down to kiss her.

"What a shame."

He smiled through the look of concentration of his face, a quick and bright expression that faded when she rocked up against him harder, and faster.

Time, it seemed, had always been their enemy, forcing them to move too quickly, or slow to a crawl. With the darkness banished, and the afternoon many hours away, it no longer mattered. It was an interminable length of time before she came, a feeling that began where both his and her fingers were gliding over her flesh, and pulsed outward. Yet another length of time that she didn't care to measure before he followed along, mouthing at her shoulder while his knees slid out from under him, a mad scramble that made her laugh when he lay flat against her.

"Oops," he said, and it sounded so unlike anything he'd say, that she pushed him over on his side, and followed closely, just to watch the twinkle catch in his eye.

That was something that happened, too. He'd say something, so unlike the man she'd known, that she'd stop him, and stare at him. She was desperate to know him, the way he was before the darkness, and the way he would be now that it was gone.

"Do you think we'll ever forget?" she said, quietly. "What it felt like to be dark?"

He sighed. "No."

Emma chewed on her lip, her hands still wandering over him. His lashes fluttered, like he might fall asleep again, if she let him. But, when she squirmed, she could feel an uncomfortable rasp on the inside of her thighs, so she tugged at his shoulder.

"We're a mess," she said.

"Aye."

"The bath is in the next room."

"I've been there before."

Emma huffed, and sat up. "Come on." He groaned, and she plied him with a hand on his chest, scratching down towards his navel. "There's probably food there too. Fruit, some disgustingly sweet stuff. Your favorite things."

Killian blinked up at her, and smiled.

"Lead the way, Swan."

He allowed himself to be tugged until he was sitting, and then onto his feet. They padded quietly across the room, still bare, and towards the door adjoining to the next room. The wood groaned when Emma pulled it open, swollen with the weight of summer. It swung shut behind them, startling the birds that played on the lone windowsill. The tub just beneath was copper, stained green with age. As he often did, Killian reached out, as if to cast a spell. Her heart broke a little when his face fell, and his fingers curled back at his side. He clicked his tongue, and flashed her a self-deprecating smile.

"Sorry, love," he said. "I can hardly seem to remember…"

Emma laid her hand on the lip of the tub, and clear, lukewarm water bubbled up from nowhere. Killian gazed blankly out the window, hair limp and curling in the heavy, tepid air. He obeyed when she gestured for him to get in, though she didn't follow. She touched his face, curling her fingers around his jaw, beneath his chin. He sighed.

"Do you miss it?" she said. "Your magic, I mean."

"No," he answered. And then, "...yes."

She did follow him, then, water sloshing around her legs, and out upon the floor as she settled with her back against his chest, rising and falling when he breathed, wiggling when he spoke, the sound of it vibrating down her spine.

"You were the Dark One for six weeks, my love," he said, "and you fought it as I never could. Imagine having given in, and living with it for three lifetimes. I just...don't know who I am without it."

Emma wasn't sure what to say. She reached back, and threaded her fingers through the hairs at the base of his neck. He breathed against her temple.

"Well," she said, haltingly. "You'll figure it out. Only one lifetime left, at least…oh gods, that was morbid, forget I said anything."

Killian laughed, and pushed gently on her shoulder until she was looking up at him. He kissed her, lingering on her bottom lip.

"Aye, love, but you're right," he said, eyes shining. "Just the one, and all of it with you."

Emma smiled against his lips, and kissed him back.

When afternoon came, several wispy clouds followed on its heels, blotting out the sun. There on the harbor, the sea wall slick, and the breeze whipping to and fro, the heat was bearable. Emma watched her family mill about, with her father at her side. His hand lay on her shoulder while they laughed at Leo, who was just about leaping in place, grinning up at Killian while he asked him question after question. Killian took it all in stride, and smiled back down at Leo as though he were his own blood.

"Leo will miss you," her father said. "Both of you."

"I don't think we'll be gone all that long," she said. "It's more of a test run than anything else. Just the two of us. We'll probably get there and just lay on the sand."

Her father, wearing a serious face, bent down, catching her eye.

"Listen," he said, and paused, a glimmer in his eye. "Take care of Killian."

Emma laughed, and her father echoed. "Not the other way around?"

His eyes twinkled. "Take care of each other, then."

When the clock in the tower in the city square struck three, she wandered towards the docks, the wide wooden planks groaning in the heat. When Killian caught sight of her, he reached out, and Emma curled her fingers around his hook, her other hand reaching up to tug at the collar of his coat.

"Aren't you hot?" she said.

He shrugged. "No. Besides, it would be poor form to refuse such a gift. Particularly from your mother."

She looked it over, a coat much like the one he'd had before, only absent any enchantment, and boasting quite a lot more stitching, and silver clasps. It must have been stifling. She could see the flush on his cheeks, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Yeah, okay," she conceded, and he smiled.

They lingered a while longer, and Emma watched her mother embrace Killian, and then turn to her. Her father followed, and several others lingered behind – August and Jo, Regina under the meager shadow of a lone tree. It didn't feel particularly momentous when they'd decided to set sail, but now that her family and friends waited to watch her go, Emma felt like she was turning a page.

"I'm proud of you," her mother said.

Emma knew that she was referring to many things, and for a moment, she could feel the past few months weigh in on her. She nodded, and rubbed fiercely at her cheeks.

"I know," Emma said.

When at last they'd managed to say their goodbyes, they boarded the ship. Jack hummed, a delightful noise that made her laugh. Killian, as he had the first time he'd ever stepped aboard, looked at the sails like he'd never seen anything quite like it before. He let his fingers dance over the gunwale, and then the helm, before turning back to the bow, where the bowsprit pointed up and out towards the horizon. More clouds had come, but they were harmless, little things that glowed yellow beneath the intensity of the sun. For a moment, he merely stood on the deck, and the light broke around him. She wondered if it was her imagination, or if she could truly feel his mind unfurl, not within her own, but adjacent to it, a soft and calming presence at her side.

"You ready?" she said.

"Aye."

There wasn't fanfare, or much of a crowd. They wouldn't be gone long, but still Emma had to bite down on her lip when she waved, tears gathering behind her eyes. Killian leaned over behind her, his chest stretching out over her back. She was certain that he had no idea who half of them were, but he waved as well. The sails flapped at their backs, a frisson of magic quivering down the length of the ship, carrying him out from the harbor to the bight, until the people they'd left behind were little more than a swipe of color along the sea wall. Emma lingered for a moment before she went back to the helm and began to tilt towards the south. With the light directly overhead, and her compass tucked away in her pocket, it was more memory than anything else that guided her out to sea. The surface waters began to churn, a metallic canvas waving sharply in the breeze. She sighed, and scrubbed at her eyes.

"No offense to the sun," Emma said, "but I kinda can't wait for it to be night."

"Oh?" he said, and stepped into her. He breathed, deeply, and she could feel it against the small of her back. "I thought you might prefer the light."

Emma shook her head, and reached up behind her to curl his fingers at the back of his neck. "I like the night."

Killian clearly knew what she meant. He pried her fingers from the helm and turned her in his arms. He swayed to one side, and the ship seemed to follow. Emma wondered if, given enough time, Jack would come to favor him, even more than he did her.

"Don't be absurd," Killian said, bending his knees until he was nearly level with her.

"Did I say that out loud?"

He nodded, and grinned. "It's a charming habit, Swan."

"Yeah, until I say something really embarrassing."

Killian only laughed, and pressed his mouth to hers. When he pulled away, he tilted his head, and considered her.

"What?" she said.

"I just…" He shrugged. "…love you, Swan. Quite a lot."

"I just…love you too."

He smiled, freely, and so close, he already smelled of salt, a little like sweat, and leather oil as well. She reached up, and tugged at the collar, then let her fingers glide down to the lapels. Killian was silent, as was she, and she let herself rest against him, truly rest, the water turning at her back, and his living blood churning at her front. And further still, at an unearthly height, the sun began to fall. Night would come, and she suspected, so would darkness. It always did. But – and she held him tighter, his breath trickling down the side of her neck – she had been well enough acquainted with them both, that she was not afraid…

Did I – "say that out loud too?"

"Oh, aye," he laughed. He leaned back. "I'm not either, Swan. Afraid, that is."

Emma flushed, but she looked him in the eye, her hands tangled up in his coat, when she answered him, simply –

"Good."