"So what is this surprise?" Hook said as Emma led him across a wide road.
Lands, he hated when she marched across the same path the metal carriages used. She tried to explain something about colored lights indicating when it was safe to cross. In his opinion, no little light would ever convince him it was safe to cross the path of something moving that fast.
He savored the feel of her hand in his. If he took a deep sniff, her scarf around his neck filled him with her aroma: Fresh and lightly spiced. Strawberries and cinnamon.
Hook couldn't fathom what inspired the gift, or the kiss, or her hand holding his, but he liked it.
And was it just his imagination, or had she said his name? She knew what it was, but she'd never used it. The way she looked at him back there . . . He felt seconds away from falling over a cliff.
Emma didn't answer him. She just smiled and bounced along. Lands, she was practically skipping!
Hook pulled on her arm gently, bringing her into his side as they walked in tandem. He folded his neck and smiled close to her face. "What's gotten into you?"
Emma just tossed her head and kept her eyes frontward. "You'll see."
Her smile was bright and uninhibited and beautiful. He found himself smiling back. He felt fifteen pounds light and floated along the walking path as he resettled his fingers around hers.
Confound it, she was making him giddy.
As they passed shops and intersections, they saw children walking about with their mums. Destined for evening plans. Time with family. Adventures and fun.
Emma lifted their entwined hands to wave at Ruby from inside Granny's dinner. Ruby laughed, and so did Emma.
Hook heard his own voice laughing, and he had absolutely no idea why. His canteen pulled gently in his jacket pocket, and he realized, for the first time in practically forever, he had no interest in tasting its contents.
He was drunk on Emma.
The wind stung their cheeks, but her scarf protected him from its full bite. His felt his nose grow cold as his hand generated heat within the tight fit of Emma's glove. A strong blast caught him right in the face, and he had to blink the tears away.
"We're almost there," Emma said. Her nose was as red as her scarf. Her cheeks were pink and her hair blew in the breeze and lands above, she was so adorable, he could just eat her up here on the sidewalk.
Emma led them away from the noise of the metal carriages and the shops. They crossed one last street and approached a grassy field littered with lots of rocks. When they were closer, Hook made out low wrought iron fence, and trees in the distance.
A little closer, he saw the rocks arranged in rows and columns.
Hook stopped. The entry gate lay several yards ahead.
Emma looked at him. "It's okay. The surprise is inside."
"You brought me to a cemetery?" Hook said slowly. He tried a smile. "Are you going to murder me, Swan?"
Emma smiled. "Trust me." She pulled on his hand, but he didn't move.
Hook glanced around. "I, um, am not found of cemeteries."
She squeezed his hand. "Cemeteries are where we honor those no longer with us. Where we remember our heritage. Where we feel connected."
"I know what a cemetery is, love," he scoffed lightly. "I just don't like death."
The look she held him with didn't relent. "It's going to be okay," she whispered. "Just trust me."
Hook eyed the entry gate. A suspicion lolled about in his stomach, insisting this had something to do with the way she looked at him back at the house. His canteen weighed a little heavier in his pocket, and he glanced over his shoulder at the path behind them. Something in his head called him to run.
"You can do this," Emma said. "I won't leave you."
Hook's eyes jumped to hers. She chose those words on purpose, he was certain.
He drew a breath. Emma's fingers tightened around his, and he followed her inside. The gate squeaked as they passed through it.
"This is Storybrooke's only cemetery," Emma said. She spoke quietly as they eased down a grass lane between tombstones. Trees ringed the field, offering birds shelter as they sang, soft and unseen. Some of the grass was quite tall, brushing Hook's knees above the cuff of his boots.
Emma led him to the far side of the cemetery. It was private here. A little hill separated these tombstones from the view of the entry gate. Her boots crunched the grass and dirt as she approached two shiny black stones.
Hook swallowed, but he clung to her hand and followed.
They stopped a few feet away. Emma's free hand found his arm just above the elbow and held there with a light touch. She glanced up at him, only to see him already reading the inscriptions.
Milah
Loved by many. Departed too soon.
Here you may rest in safety.
Water brimmed in Hook's eyes. He pulled in air to breathe and it shuddered past his lips.
He was choking. "Has he seen this?"
"No. Neither will Neal." Emma touched his shoulder. "This is for you."
Hand leaving Emma's, Hook drifted forward. He crouched before the second marker. The black stone was so glossy, he saw his own reflection. He traced the white, engraved words with his fingertips.
Wet lips whispered broken words as his tears spilled down his face:
"Captain Liam Jones
Respected officer. Beloved brother.
A man of honor dearly missed."
Hook dropped to his knees. He rested his head against the cool stone and broke. His sobs rode the breeze down the hill, where they mingled with the murmurs of birds and stringed insects. Hook felt a hand brush the back of his neck—Emma, telling him she was still here—before it left and her footsteps faded down the hill.
And just like that, Killian Jones was in Amryeth, the kingdom's capital. The noise of cart wheels and street venders jangled in his ears, in a familiar sort of chorus. His uniform held him in, clean and stiff and snug. A second skin. His boots clung to his calves and his tailored gloves fit just so. His sword swung at his side, reflecting the midday sun. Bobbing beneath his feet, the Jewel shifted, eager to go.
Killian could see the crew's faces as clearly as he could see his reflection in the tombstone's gloss. He stood tall among them, proud, smiling. Sharp, precise, excellent in form and quality, all of them. Boots fell against cobblestone, and Killian turned, beaming smile growing wider. His brother stepped aboard, and all Killian needed to be happy was before him. His heart felt whole.
"Killian," his brother's voice boomed strong in his memory. How he loved the way his brother used to say his name. "Everything looks perfect, as usual." Liam's eyes sparkled. "Are you ready to go with me, little brother?"
"To the ends of the earth, brother."
Hook closed his eyes as the water slid from his lids. His good hand reached to grip the corner of Milah's stone while his hooked arm clutched Liam's.
He had never taken the time to memorialize Liam. He'd been too consumed with hate to honor Milah.
Hook's heart twanged. How could he have forgotten them? After three hundred years, they finally had a place to rest.
"I'm sorry, my love." His dared only to whisper. His voice sounded like an effrontery in the sacred stillness of this place. "Rest now." Hook released Milah's grave.
His head slid down Liam's stone until it found the cool dirt. He dug his good hand into the dirt until he felt stones under his fingernails. "I miss you, brother," Hook cried. "How I miss you. Come back to me."
Emma would stay here as long as Hook wanted, even if her hand froze off.
The wind whistled by her ears as her long stride took her away from Hook. She descended to the bottom of the hill, where only a handful of tombstones lined the bank of a small crick. Emma pushed her hands deeper into her coat pocket. Her gloveless fingers were swollen with cold.
Let them freeze.
Faintly, she could hear Hook's cries. She closed her eyes but kept walking. There was nothing she could do, except let him mourn. Properly. For the first time.
Emma knew plenty about mourning.
Her feet brought her to the tombstone she so often visited. No one knew—not even Mary Margaret. Everyone had forgotten this piece of their history. It belonged to a time when Emma didn't believe and people had names like David, Mary, Ruby, Ashley, and Archie. It was a world ago, an eon.
And on the occasional morning, when Emma walked into the quiet office with her coffee in hand and star pinned to her chest, and she saw those two empty desks, it felt like yesterday.
Emma crouched before the stone. This one was just grey, not shiny like the ones she'd bought for Milah and Liam. She traced the name. The rough cut of the rocks felt familiar under her fingers.
Graham
A good man.
Gone but never forgotten.
The words were sparse because back then, his death was just a heart attack. He had no family to memorialize him, and few friends. Emma chose the words at the time without realizing the depth of their truth: Graham was a good man. He had protected Snow White as the huntsman. And then he braved his memories as the sheriff despite Regina.
Emma closed her eyes. She tried, how hard she tried, not to dwell on that. Henry was navigating a complex family and did not need his mothers reopening an old wound.
Yet some days it still burned in Emma's chest because, blast it all, she got away with it. Regina ripped Graham from Emma's life just seconds after he tasted freedom, and she never paid for it. He was the first to understand who he was and what Emma would do, and he didn't even live long enough to tell her.
So much had happened after that. People changed sides so often, Emma found herself standing next to Regina facing threats, trusting her with her own life, with her son's life, and she wondered how she could let the queen stand there, alive, when Graham lay in the ground, dead.
Where was the justice in that?
That sounded familiar. Where had she heard that?
A few nights ago, when Hook was over for dinner. Henry had gone to bed, and they stayed at the kitchen counter, just talking. Hook was sharing in greater detail than ever the story of Rumpelstiltskin and Milah, of her death and how she had never been laid to rest, which is where Emma got the tombstone idea.
Emma's breath caught in her throat.
She understood. Oh, how she understood now! They were the same. Every day Regina and Rumpelstiltskin drew breath was another desecrated day to the memory of Emma's and Hook's loved ones.
How could they be expected to forgive that?
Emma rested her head against the rough granite. She sighed a sigh that came from deep within her chest.
Forgiveness was the only way to end a cycle of revenge.
Snow had told her that. Charming had told her that. Ruby had told her that. Belle had told her that.
Henry had told her that.
Tears slipped from her eyes as she fingered the petals of the winter flowers braving the cold. Bringing Graham company.
"I'm sorry, Graham," she whispered. "I have to let you go. I know you would want me to let you go."
Time passed, or perhaps it didn't. Emma heard boots approaching, and then a hand touched her neck. She looked up. Hook stood over her, shoulders loose, head heavy. His face was a mess.
He drew her into his arms and rested his wet chin on her head. His body weighed on her like it would collapse without support. She buried her face in his chest, arms crushing his waist lest she loose her grip and float away.
Hook crushed Emma into him as if they could merge into one if they tried hard enough. She had a grip on his waist tight enough to cut off circulation, but at the moment, he didn't particularly care.
Over her shoulder, he saw the name on the stone. It was familiar enough. Emma had told him the story, although he pieced together on his own what she didn't tell him—how much the man meant.
Hook's chest shuddered against hers as he pulled a breath down a swollen throat, and he marveled in how soothing it was to hold someone who knew pain such as his.
His face felt ready to chafe in the cold wind, it was so wet. He pressed his cheek against the satin of her hair and whispered, "Thank you."
Emma lifted her face and moved her arms up around his neck. "When you forget who you are, he can remind you. Like an anchor."
Hook cried into her neck. His whisper tickled her ear. "I want to be Killian Jones, again."
"You will be." Emma kissed him.
Hook met her and kissed her back, holding her too him like he needed her to breathe. The cold swirled around them, but they paid it no mind.
They could anchor each other amid the storm.