Hopefully you all haven't been too impatient waiting on me; I tried not to leave you on such a cliffhanger this time. After this, there's another chapter yet and then an epilogue, but I am still hoping to have it posted before the premiere on Sunday. It's finally almost time for our real, canon Captain Swan to return! Five more days!

As always, I'd love to hear what you think of this…

Chapter Eighteen: Moment of Truth

(A few weeks later, the day after Thanksgiving)

Erratic pulsing light from the street outside his rundown motel room paints Killian Jones' face with bright flashes of color in direct contrast to its otherwise shadowed appearance as he sits in the darkened room, elbows on thighs, glass of rum in hand, brooding over the night as he watches Boston rush by below him unfazed. The hectic beat of the uncaring city ought to allow him the feeling of fading into the background, as if he could roam amongst the crowd of strangers and get lost. He might not be able to put Emma – and Henry – Swan out of his mind, he might have been undeniably impelled to follow the two of them, along with his former supervisor and partner back across the country when they left to prep for the trial, but with time he had hoped to feel a bit less raw, a bit less ripped wide open and exposed to everyone around him.

Sadly, Killian feels no less obvious, no less as if everyone he passes is staring at the bandaged stump where his left hand had been. He knows that if he had stayed in the hospital and allowed himself to be treated properly, he would have been fitted with a prosthetic – still will be he supposes, though he cannot bring himself to feel it will make much difference – once he had been through therapy, reconstruction, and who knew what else. He also realizes he has done himself a disservice by leaving the hospital before he was cleared and slipping off on his own. He suffered through excruciating pain those first few days, along with frightening bouts of alternating weakness and nausea, and one true scare with inflammation that had sent him crawling back to a different hospital for a time, but he shouldered it all in the hope that he was sparing Emma any more risk or notice than she had already suffered. He can't protect her anymore; he can barely feed or dress himself without an embarrassing amount of struggle and frustration. And though the greatest pain of all comes from inside him at the thought of never getting to experience the love the two of them could have shared, Killian is determined, right or wrong, to keep his distance.

The next swallow of rum burns all the way down, but he welcomes the fiery sensation, counteracting the cold numbness he feels at the separation from Emma. Thanksgiving Day had passed the day before as it has for him for many years now: lonely, bleak, and a taunting reminder of the lives and families that other people have. He should have never entertained the hope that this year would be different, that he would spend it sharing turkey, stuffing, laughter and light with people he truly cares about, who care for him as well. He might still be without blood relations, but the spark that had kindled between himself and Emma in the last few months had let him believe he might have at long last found a family for himself. The dream of no longer being alone had been abruptly and all too cruelly brought to an end, as viciously as the blows that had taken his hand.

Hanging his head, Killian places the empty tumbler on the fake wood nightstand under the window, clutching futilely at his blunted forearm with the good hand left him, hissing against the strength of the recurrent "phantom limb" pain as it comes on him again. Eventually, it passes once more, though he finds himself winded and worse for wear in the aftermath. Taking one more glance at the night lights of Boston, he pulls down the ratty blinds to cover the windows of the rented room, and lies back, exhausted and desperate to find some sleep tonight.

Doubts and nightmares have plagued him ever since he fled the hospital weeks ago. So many times, he has nearly called Ruby and asked her to pick him up so he can apologize and explain; he doesn't even know how often he has nearly walked into their familiar Boston field offices and asked Dave for the lowliest desk job there is, simply to be back in the fold and have some purpose to his life and a way to help Emma's case. More than any of his other regrets though, are the countless dreams – nightmares – of Emma he has been visited with. Sometimes, they begin with him holding her in his arms as they sleep curled together perfectly, only for him to suddenly realize that she is bleeding out, the life pouring from her right before his eyes while he has no way to stop it; in others, tears run down her cheeks, heartbreak shattering her expression as she looks at him with the betrayal he knows she has already felt so many times before, then turns her back on him and walks away.

He cannot remember anything he has wanted more in a very long time than to go back, to be there with all the people who matter in his world, to stand beside the woman he loves, but he simply cannot let his own needs – his own wishes – rule here. His pride balks at returning as a broken shell of a man who will never be the agent he once was, and stubborn, misguided fear and self-loathing still fight to convince him that Emma is better off if he stays away.

Still, Killian's last thought before finding some restless, tormented semblance of slumber is that he will at least see her soon, when they both take the stand to testify. True, it will not be the same as being her protector and hopeful future love, but he cannot help the small bit of solace it gives him to know he will at least be present to see justice served and his Swan at last safe and free. He can only hope he doesn't find cold, pitiless dismissal in her eyes when he sees her again, that somehow Emma understands why he has had to take the actions he has. It is all for her good – even if it is bringing them both heartache right now – and he will love her until he breathes his last. He may have ruined any chance of that feeling being returned in his effort to secure her safety, but he will always choose her alive over being held in his arms if that is the choice put before him. Shivering in the cold, emptiness he must wrap around himself instead, Killian Jones finally falls into the closest he can get to sleep…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0000000000000~~~~~~~~~~~0000000000000~~~~~~~~~~

The morning of December 2nd dawns grey and briskly cold, the sky a blank, harsh slate as Emma Swan steps out the front door of the safe house she has been ensconced in ever since they left the hospital in Kansas, with David and Ruby close on either side of her as they hurry down the steps and into the waiting car for the short drive to the courthouse. She tries to draw deep, even breaths as they make the few turns and stops near the center of town, mulling too many separate things over in her mind to rest easily or find any sort of calm.

Ruby reaches over and clasps her hand in solidarity and encouragement, twining their fingers together where they rest on Emma's bouncing knee. Beside the fact that she will soon be facing down the man she watched pulverize Killian's hand and the woman who literally tried to carve her heart from her chest, Emma fears taking the stand itself for several reasons. She fears her background, her past, and if that will color how the judge and jury see her statement, she dreads reliving Graham's death when she has finally found a way to let his memory rest in peace, and most of all she both shrinks from and yearns for the moment she will see Killian again for the first time since he walked right out of her life.

Though she tried, Ruby had not been able to catch up to Killian; she had not come back to Boston directly with them and spent nearly a week in Kansas trailing the barest clues Killian had dropped (which weren't many) including the frightening record she'd uncovered of his time in hospital once again, before seeing that he had gone to Boston as well. Yet, as hard as she had pursued, Ruby had remained just a step behind him and had returned to her job and her charges with her own and Emma's wishes for answers and a reunion unfulfilled.

The car pulls up at the imposing stone building; the crowd and reporters everywhere more daunting than Emma cares to admit. However, dealing with them has been part of the trial prep she's received, and she stands, exiting the car with an air of imperturbable collectedness she feels far from inside, smoothing her charcoal-grey pencil skirt and holding her head high as she starts up the steps, grateful beyond measure for David and Ruby, still flanking her closely, loyal pillars of strength. Fleetingly, she thanks God once again that Henry doesn't have to be part of any of this. Margaret Blanchard is staying with him back at the safe house. Despite knowing that her little boy is taken care of and having two people she trusts with her very life at her back, she can't help wishing she and Killian were walking into this together, a united front with each other to lean on. In truth, Emma thinks she knows all too well why he disappeared, having often felt herself that she must be a jinx, burning or scaring off anyone good who comes into her life, and knowing without his ever explaining to her that Killian fears he is the same in this. Understanding does not make the desire to huddle into his warmth at this moment any less however.

Finally, they are through the shoving gauntlet of flashbulbs and shouted questions and she breathes a sigh of relief as they pause in the courthouse lobby. David Nolan turns to her with a supportive, gentle smile, clasping her upper arm for a moment, before nodding to Ruby, letting her know she's in charge as he turns to go ahead of them into the courtroom itself and make sure everything is set up to protocol. Emma turns to ask Ruby something, but as she goes to speak, the doors behind them open once again, and at catching sight of the newcomer, her blood drains from her face, her tongue freezes, and words fail her.

Killian stops stock still just inside the door, eyes locked on Emma, every bit as frozen as she is as they find themselves face-to-face once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~0000000000000~~~~~~~~~000000000000~~~~~~~~~~

A few minutes later, they are back outside, tucked away in a seemingly secluded corner Ruby has found for them through a much less trafficked side entrance. She has already warned them that they only have about ten minutes before she needs to get Emma inside to be ready to take the stand, and Killian should follow shortly, not to mention that it won't be much longer than that before some enterprising soul with a camera explores just a bit farther and discovers their hiding place.

Emma is grateful for the cold, bracing gust of wintry air on her flushed face, however fleeting it may be. It hurts to see Killian again, right here in front of her but somehow still completely out of reach. The spot that has lain empty inside her ever since his departure aches now at the nearness of its missing piece. She can tell by the pinched quality of his paler, gaunter face that this is painful for him too, and wants to reach out to him – just barely stops her hand – not sure if that is what he wants or her right anymore.

Killian looks as though he has been through a war: drawn, slumped, lines in his face that she has never noticed before, dark traces of his sleepless nights beneath his eyes. Emma can tell by the way he stands, bent protectively with left shoulder back, that he has taken to both trying to hide his damaged arm from view and keep it from being accidentally touched. Her stomach literally lurches and twists at the amount of extra pain and anguish he has put himself through by cutting his treatment short and going it alone.

Finally, hesitant but still caring and needing to know, Emma manages to ask softly, "Killian, how are you?" It seems so plain, yet it is all she can muster and what she has most needed to know.

For a moment or two stretching on awkwardly, he seems unable to even meet her eyes. When Killian does look up to meet Emma's gaze, blindingly brilliant blue striking her from under those thick, dark brows and eyelashes, it steals her breath that beneath his sorrow and despair laid out obviously, she's still seeking out that glimmer of hope. He had sparked it within her when life had made her a jaded realist who didn't look for much good to happen at all, and now she senses that he needs that hope back if he is going to keep up the fight.

"I'll live, Lass," Killian murmurs, the barest of self-deprecating smiles quirking the side of his mouth up for a second and then disappearing. "Despite it all, it would seem that I am a survivor. It's you I'm concerned with though. Are you well?"

"Shaking in my high heels at the moment," Emma admits sheepishly, trying to give a moment's levity to their conversation, "but trying not to let it show."

"Well, it's working. You look every bit the poised and perfect witness. Deep breath, Darling. You've got this…I promise."

She pegs him then, not letting Killian's eyes shy away or hide from her stare. "Really?" she asks, not in anger, not to punish him, but because she wants his assurance, wants his words to be true, wants to see the faith he has always seemed to possess in right and justice present in his face once more. She needs him to stay and fight with her…and to know that there is still more for him when they defeat these foes once and for all – if he does not insist on denying them both their shot at happiness.

Reading her as easily as one would an open book – as he has always done, though no one else could – he senses what she is saying behind the obvious and holds her gaze, awe and disbelief warring across his features. In a voice so low Emma unconsciously leans into him to hear it, Killian asks in a gravelly rumble. "Emma…how can you still want anything to do with me? I couldn't protect you. I …I failed you when you needed me most." He licks his lips then, dips his head to look at the abruptly shortened arm he allows to move into her view. "How can you even look at me as you did, with this between us?"

The disgust in his voice, for his missing hand and the stump left behind, are almost more than Emma can stand. Before Killian can draw his arm back again, she reaches out with a gentle but determined grasp, taking hold of his forearm high enough that she hopes it will not cause pain to the still-tender amputated end. Pulling his arm forward carefully, Emma holds it against her chest, over her heart – bandages, stump, and all. "This?" she whispers, "doesn't matter to me. It doesn't make you any less desirable or strong or heroic." Emma pauses, leaning over to place the lightest touch of her lips to where his wrist and hand had been, lingering long enough to hope she will prove that she means every word she has said. "You got this trying to save me, fighting for me. Please don't think you have to be ashamed."

Killian's mouth falls open in astonishment, the warmth and tentative hope and longing flooding back into his eyes near stunning in their beauty. Emma can feel him pulling her closer with his good arm around her waist, his voice breathless and awestruck as he begins to respond. "Emma, truly? Are you sure, Love? Because – "

Before he can finish speaking, the deafening boom and crack of a gunshot rings out loudly. People scream, and Emma feels herself falling, shocked and unsure of what is happening for a moment. A second shot rings in her ears, and she feels herself being rolled, her world spinning before it rights itself, and she is under Killian, with him using his body to shield her. Emma's head clears enough to realize that Killian's well-honed instincts have allowed him to move fast, anticipating the strike and diving for her, taking her out of the bullet's path and sending them both tumbling hard to the ground.

Sound and sensation come rushing back; her hip hurts where it struck the cement and her breath is knocked out of her lungs by Killian's weight pressing down on her. She hears footsteps running toward them from all directions and can hear Ruby calling out above the yells and horns and sirens, asking them if they are alright. Emma turns her head, to find Killian's concerned gaze looking down at her tensely. "Are you alright, Swan? Are you hit?"

She shakes her head 'no', still a bit dazed, but more impressed and grateful at his quick thought and action, saving her once again. She opens her mouth to tell him just how good a protector he still is, when he blinks his eyes a bit wearily, that steady, intense gaze of his wavering a bit out of focus. Emma is suddenly aware of something wet and warm spreading over her torso. Looking down, she sees that Killian has taken one of the bullets to the shoulder and his blood is spilling rapidly over them both.

"It's nothing, Swan," he reassures, seeing the frightened look on her face, and attempting to get to his feet. "Merely a scratch." But his voice slurs distressingly at the statement and he stops trying to stand. She knows he is already weaker than he would like to admit from everything else he has put his body through. Instead he lets out a sigh and slumps against her, head resting wearily on her chest. Ruby reaches them just then, and Emma tries to explain that she's fine, it's Killian who has been hit, but when she turns to him again, his eyes are closed and he doesn't answer.