I owe you all another apology for the delay. I know, these excuses are getting crazier and crazier, but my depression was winning for a while there, and I've actually spent the last few weeks in the hospital. Anyway, I've ended up having to drop my school semester, so I suppose that will give me more time to write (assuming my brain doesn't get in the way). Again, thank you all for sticking with this crazy story; you're all amazing. I appreciate reviews if you have the time/inclination to write them. :)

I also owe another huge thank you to the lovely Trish Tavor for betaing this chapter. Honestly, she's amazing and makes my writing a million times better!

The Present

Killian came to a stop and Emma's eyes automatically moved to scan their surroundings warily.

"What's wrong?" She asked under her breath.

He offered her a brief smile of reassurance. "While rum is my beverage of choice, I admit that water also has its uses, especially on a long walk. I recall a stream near here, and I thought it would be advantageous to quench our thirst before we continue."

Emma nodded, following gratefully as he led her to a small clearing through the trees. For a brief moment, Emma allowed herself to wonder how on earth he'd known about this spot. All the trees looked almost identical to her, with one forest scene blurring into the next. A somewhat reluctant admiration filled her for the man beside her; she had to admit that she'd be quite lost if he hadn't fallen through the portal too.

"You're sure we don't need to purify it or anything?"

Killian shot her the exasperated look of someone who has heard the same question far too many times. Rather than answering her again, he cupped some water in his hand and slowly brought it to his lips, looking up with unblinking eyes fixed on hers as he drank. Something about this struck her as being vaguely sexual, whether that was his intention or not. Her insides started to squirm, prompting her to turn away with a scowl.

As she drank, she wondered if he'd used that look on Milah. He must have. Did he know how it looked? Did he practice in the mirror, deciding that particular angle was the most "devilishly handsome"? Or was it just something he did naturally? A picture sprung up into her brain unwittingly of Killian looking up through his lashes at Milah instead of her, of Milah laughing and leaning down to kiss him.

Emma shook her head. She was not jealous of a woman long dead, and certainly not over a man who she had already refused.

When she glanced back at Killian, he was smirking as though he knew exactly where her thoughts were. Maybe he had practiced that look. Smug bastard. Emma was tempted to splash that look off of his face, but she wasn't certain that would end well. Besides, she didn't have time; she had to get to her mother.

By the time Emma finished, she felt like she was going to slosh as she walked. On the plus side, she wasn't thirsty anymore. She gratefully accepted Killian's hand to help her to her feet.

"So," Emma prompted with a pointed look at her companion. "What happened next?"

The Past

In a way, Killian was unsurprised to see Milah on the deck of his ship the next morning. He supposed that Milah was just someone he had always viewed as spontaneous, like a seed carried on a light spring wind. Why wouldn't she be draped over the rail, hair blowing in the breeze off the sea? She seemed so natural and beautiful there that Killian felt a strong urge to just stop and look at her. Perhaps he would have, if she hadn't noticed him within seconds. The corners of her mouth turned upwards as their eyes met, although something about her expression seemed slightly strained.

Before Killian could even begin to wonder why that was, she flounced over to him proudly, tossing her curls behind her. "I drew last night."

Killian was too busy noting how her dress brought out the faint blue tinges in her grey eyes to respond for a moment. "Oh?"

He aimed for a cool, unconcerned tone. He failed miserably.

With a small smile that acknowledged that failure and enjoyed it, Milah thrust a page in his face. "Look."

Killian dragged his eyes away from the woman in front of him and fixed them on the charcoal outlines of a boy, likely seven or eight years old. His heart, which had been pounding in excited anticipation only moments before, was starting to calm and sink in a downward trajectory.

"Your lad." Killian already knew the answer.

"Baelfire," agreed Milah. Her chin started to tremble, the suppressed tension Killian had sensed starting to emerge.

From there, Killian knew without a doubt what was about to happen. "Ah," he said, scratching behind his ear.

"I love him," she told him. It sounded almost like she were trying to convince herself of the truth of her statement. "I love him," she repeated, a bit more strongly.

"I know," Killian assured her, praying that she could see his sincerity.

Tears were starting to gather in her eyes. "I just wanted to let you know, just in case you think I'm a terrible mother." The words rushed out, slightly accusatory and slightly defensive.

"I don't think that."

She took a step away from him, causing Killian's stomach to sink even further. While he wasn't entirely surprised by the rejection, it still hurt more than he would have liked to admit. Of course, he'd imagined that there would be some fall out after their kiss last night. Guilt was to be expected, he supposed, especially with a child involved. Unfortunately, he himself felt very little guilt. He felt some guilt over Milah being hurt through their interaction and the faint, distant promise of what might have been. He could also summon up some sadness for her child. However, most of his guilt was overshadowed by the feelings of rejection and abandonment that never seemed to go away regardless of how many times he'd experienced them.

"Anyway, I have to go home. I just wanted to let you know," Milah stated with a distinct air of misery, looking for all the world like a lost child.

Killian filled in the blanks that he had known were coming: it was over. Over before it had even begun.

"Aye," Killian acknowledged, passing the page back over to her with his face carefully masked.

She took it without meeting his eyes and then hurried down the gangplank. Killian watched her retreating form with a pang of sadness. It wasn't fair that both of them felt something for each other, something good, and neither were allowed to actually grasp the happiness that was presented to them. Hadn't they both suffered enough? Hadn't he lost enough people without having to say goodbye to another? He wasn't sure which was worse: losing a loved one permanently, like Liam, or always having the faint possibility, the terrible hope, that someone was attainable when they truly weren't. Part of him wanted desperately to beg her to stop, to come back, to give him a chance. However, something stopped him, whether it was pride, fear, regard for her decision or her family's needs, or something else. Instead, he ignored the desperate cry of his heart and returned to his quarters.

The Present

Sympathy flooded Emma's heart, but she pushed it aside with the knowledge that the story most certainly didn't end there. Yes, she could feel bad for the pirate in the moment for the things he had suffered, but Milah was a different matter. In fact, after thinking of the woman, it took all of Emma's will to repress a disdainful snort. Still, something must have shown in her expression because a flash of hurt flickered across Killian's face.

"Milah's resolve clearly didn't last," she commented in a quick explanation, disapproval written all over her face.

Killian shrugged, momentarily appeased. "No. Devilishly handsome pirates are difficult to resist."

He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and this time she did snort.

The Past

That night, Milah didn't come to the tavern, nor the next night, but the day after that-

The Present

"That lasted long," Emma observed drily.

Killian shot her a sideways look. He hesitated a moment, perhaps wondering if he should ignore her clear judgment of Milah once again or risk an argument. When he did speak, it was with words that were carefully weighed beforehand. "As much as jealousy becomes you, Swan, do try to remember her situation. She was choosing between her family's happiness and her own. That choice is not an easy one, and some dithering is to be expected."

As much as Emma hated being taught morals by Captain Hook, for god's sake, a small twinge of shame shot through her. The shame was not only for her attitude towards Milah, though; mostly, she was ashamed for putting Killian in the awkward position of having to listen to the current woman he had feelings for bash the woman he had loved. Not only had he loved her, he had loved her enough to live almost two hundred years devoted to avenging her. He had loved her deeply and was showing incredible bravery to even talk about her, and Emma was yet again disregarding the enormity of what it meant to Killian to share these things.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking into his eyes to allow him to read her, for once.

Surprise at receiving an apology from her briefly arranged his features, but, after a moment, he offered her a smile that promised understanding. "It's fine, love."

"Tell me more? Please?" Emma requested, finally breaking eye contact as she became slightly uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"

Emma nodded.

The Past

-Milah had rushed onto his ship in a flurry, earning more than a few curious looks from Killian's crew. Fortunately, he was on deck himself at the time and able to get to her before his crew gave her any trouble for the intrusion.

In spite of himself, his heart leapt when he saw her.

He knew something had changed from the moment he looked at her. Of course, the fact that she was there at all told him something, but it was more than that. Her face was flushed, her general appearance unkempt, but, most of all, there was something clear in her tight expression. It was a face of barely restrained fury.

At first, Killian feared that it was directed at him. Perhaps she was angry at him for kissing her, even if it had been mutual. However, some of the fury cleared the second her eyes met his, giving way to barely held back tears.

"You're still here," she breathed, running trembling fingers through her curls.

Killian clamped down on the impulse to grab her hands in his own and nodded. "Of course. I said I would be."

Without another word, Milah grabbed one of his hands in her own and started leading him towards the gangplank.

"I want to take you somewhere. Can you come?" She demanded, the illusion of choice clearly negated by the force she used to drag him away from his ship. Still, it wasn't as though he had the power to resist her.

She led him outside of the village into a small wood, weaving amongst branches and roots with the practice of someone who knew her route well. Just as the sun was setting, they reached a small lake. Milah finally relinquished his hand and sat heavily down on the rocks by the shore.

"I hate him," she said simply, staring at the water.

Killian didn't ask who "he" was. Instead, he sat next to her and prepared to listen to a long rant.

"He tried to lecture me - me! - about how much of a failure I am as a wife and mother. As if he can possibly do that when he can't be bothered to protect us, or to be a good role-model for his son. How am I supposed to fulfill duties when I'm too miserable to even get out of bed? He acted as though I was neglecting Bae. If I can't always love him properly, it's because of him. He took my love and destroyed it. You know I actually thought that I could love him once? I didn't realize how pathetic he was then. Every time I try to start again, something holds me back. Maybe it's because he's so unwilling to change. I've tried so hard to encourage him to be brave, and it's gotten me nowhere. I tried to change, to adjust to this life, even when it's not what I want. I never wanted to be a wife or a mother. I wanted to live. I wanted adventure. I wanted passion and- and art, and beautiful things and freedom. I can't stand this!"

Milah was almost hysterical now, tears flowing down her face freely as she shouted at the lake. Hundreds of white moths danced patterns across the surface of the water, completely unperturbed by the woman breaking down beside them.

"And I know I shouldn't have come to you. But you're my only friend," she admitted softly.

Killian was struck in that moment by her vulnerability. She really was so opposite to her husband; she wasn't afraid to say that she was lonely, which was a courage that Killian himself didn't think he possessed.

"And as your only friend, I have the best solution," Killian replied, deciding it was time to steer the conversation onto a less destructive topic.

"Murder?" Milah snorted.

As he'd hoped, he actually got a laugh from her when he presented her with a small bottle of rum from his coat pocket.

"Robbed this from the king's castle." His eyes glimmered with humour. "I was saving it for a special occasion. This seems like the perfect one, hmm?"

Milah wiped her eyes and offered a shaky smile. "Trying to add alcoholism to my list of problems?"

"I would hardly call that a problem, love. More of a solution. I've known many a happy drunk, including myself," he quipped.

For a moment, his companion looked unsure. "Are you sure you want to waste it on me?"

"It's hardly a waste, love. I'm bloody happy to get rid of it, truth be told." Of course he hadn't been able to resist snatching up the small bottle when it caught his eye on the way to his grandfather's quarters, especially because he figured that he might need it to numb the pain if he survived his second attempt to kill Lord Alasdair. The theft was a little bit of extra revenge, petty as it was. Killian decided to spare Milah the details; the memories associated with his last sojourn through the palace were hardly something he wanted to relive. Also, this was about her, not him. "Besides," he continued, "I need a second opinion on whether the palace rum is as good as one would expect."

At that, Milah's eyes lit up; she never could resist a game of any sort. Killian opened the bottle with ease and offered it to his companion. "Ladies first."

Never one to do something halfway, Milah took a large swig. Against his will, Killian's eyes were drawn to her long neck and her lips as they wrapped around the bottle. He was struck with the mad urge to kiss her and taste every bit of rum on her lips, but he wasn't sure what her intentions were at this point and regretfully deemed it as inappropriate to take advantage of her current state.

Milah spluttered and made a face. "Tastes like horse piss," was her verdict.

"Is that a taste you're familiar with?" Killian teased, taking the bottle from her and trying it himself. "Ugh."

"I told you," she said triumphantly. "Horse piss."

"Perhaps it was intended for someone the king wanted to poison," Killian groaned, looking at the bottle of rum with an expression that indicated utter betrayal.

Milah was less bothered. "Or perhaps we're just used to cheap stuff."

"Better that than this." Killian muttered, throwing the bottle into the water in disgust. Of course anything from that day would taste like death. It was sad that even rum, his dear friend since Liam's death, could disappoint him. The couple watched it sink in satisfaction, before falling into a familiar companionable silence.

Milah was the one to break it. "I did something terrible today." She stared moodily at the water, once again refusing to meet Killian's eyes.

Resigning himself to more venting, Killian waited patiently for her to continue.

"It was so stupid, really. There was a bat that somehow got into the house last night, and Baelfire was frightened. He ran to me and clung to my skirts and buried his face in them... and do you know what I did?" A solitary tear ran down Milah's cheek. "I pushed him away and told him not to be a coward, to grow up. He's only a child; it's not his fault that he was frightened. But, for a moment, I just saw my husband," - she said it like a dirty word- "And I couldn't stand the sight of him. Shouldn't I have some sort of maternal instinct to overpower my hatred? I think there's something wrong with me. I just had to get away from him. Shouldn't I be able to love my own child unconditionally?"

Killian watched her sadly, suddenly reminded, not for the first time, of another woman who lacked maternal instincts. What would it be like to not be capable of truly loving your own child? Had his mother ever felt like this? He didn't think so. He'd never understood it with Helena. However, he was seeing a parallel between his aunt's situation and Milah's, and it was making him slightly uncomfortable about the hostility he had harboured in his heart for Lyanna's mother. Both women carried a heavy misery around with them, a stifling of their own spirit. Perhaps it simply wasn't possible to care for another when a mother wasn't even able to care for herself. Perhaps when life was a burden on its own, adding the burden of another life was too much. Perhaps being miserable made it hard for some people to love properly. Maybe, just maybe, love was situational.

"Maybe... everyone is just different. Maybe birthing a child doesn't create a mother. Maybe it's something else, and not everyone has it. I'm not sure you're so unusual," Killian offered finally.

His companion offered him a skeptical look. "I think I'm unnatural."

"Natural is dull, though, isn't it?" He shrugged.

When he received no response, he decided it was time to change the subject again. "Have you ever skipped stones?"

Milah stared at him. "What?"

"Skipped stones. When I was a lad, my mother sometimes took me to the rocky bits of the ocean, and we'd make it a game to find the perfect skipping rock. Mum was bloody brilliant at it; even on huge waves, she could skip rocks a dozen times. She could also do this thing called 'cutting the devil's throat'. I never quite mastered that one."

In some ways, Milah was incredibly easy to understand. Offer her a game or a distraction, and she was... hooked.

The Present

"How long have you been waiting to use that one?" Emma groaned.

He just winked at her playfully.

The Past

"She told me that she did it as a child with her father whenever she was upset. She said nothing fixed a problem like throwing something as hard as you could. She was a clever lady."

With a flourish, Killian presented her with a flat rock he'd eyed at their feet. The one he found for himself was less optimal, but he wasn't too picky. He demonstrated the throwing technique with ease. Milah's attempt was clumsy and ended with the perfect flat rock sinking to the bottom of the lake.

Killian bit back a chuckle. "Well, that was a very... artistic interpretation-"

She swatted him playfully. "Oh, go to hell."

"Here." Killian picked up another rock and stood behind her so that his right hand covered hers. "Like this," he murmured in her ear, showing her the movement. He heard her breath hitch.

Milah's next throw skipped twice, and she turned her head to face him triumphantly. Her expression soon faded into something else when she realized how close their faces were.

"You know," she said softly, her breath ghosting across his face. "I haven't shown this place to anybody before. I discovered it with my father when we visited my uncle years ago, back when I was only a small child. I'd almost forgotten about it, and then I was upset and thinking of just walking away and leaving when I stumbled across it again. It's magical, isn't it?"

Milah paused, looking around her with the wonder of a child seeing something amazing for the first time. Killian nodded his agreement, unwilling to speak and break the spell of her wonderment. This was one of the things he loved best about Milah: her ability to turn something mundane into something exquisite. She may have believed that the place itself was wonderful, but Killian knew that Milah was someone who created the magic for herself and spread it to those around her.

After a moment, she broke her reverie with a faint smile playing about her lips. She pulled Killian's hand into hers and started exploring it with her thumb in a gesture of casual intimacy. "I learned to swim here, and I remember being held by my father and feeling the water against my skin and realizing that I could see the whole world reflected in the water. The trees and the sky and my father and the water; everything was jumbled together into a single picture, but it was always changing, and it was the most beautiful thing. Coming here makes me remember why I wanted to be an artist in the first place." Her voice had turned wistful.

"You still could be," Killian offered quietly, searching her stormy eyes for something, although he wasn't certain what it was.

Pain flickered through her eyes, but then she closed them and bridged the small gap between their lips. It was a quick kiss, yet full of longing. When Milah pulled away, it was with a small laugh.

"What?" Killian asked, smiling uncertainly.

"If only sixteen year-old me could have seen this. I wanted this so badly then," she admitted. "I thought you were very cute."

"I think I would have objected to that term."

"Perhaps," agreed Milah.

"I thought you were quite cute yourself," Killian told her.

Milah rested her head against his shoulder, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"Do you think things would have been different if I'd told you?" Milah wondered aloud.

Killian thought for a moment. "No," he said finally. "I think you still would've gone out, and your uncle still would've taken you here. It would've just made everything more difficult."

"And if we were here now, maybe we'd be wondering if it was just because we loved each other first, and we were chasing something that had been and could never be again," she mused. "I mean, I suppose it was natural to be attracted to each other when we were that age and in such close quarters. Maybe it would make things less real now."

"So really, this is perfect," Killian agreed.

"Except for the small detail of my marriage."

The two lapsed into silence at that, both pursuing their trains of thought of what might have been. Part of Killian wanted to beg Milah to forget her husband and her child, but he knew that he couldn't do that and risk pulling her into a life of regret and bitterness. Still, part of him wanted to argue that they weren't in the wrong for this. Weren't they just victims of fate, just the same as Milah's husband and child? The injustice of it all settled on his chest with an uncomfortable weight.

"I should go," Milah said, her words muffled against his shoulder. She lifted her head and looked at him expectantly. "Will you be at the tavern tomorrow night?"

"Aye," Killian confirmed without even thinking about it.

"Good." She smiled.

Then Killian walked her home, holding her beautiful artist's hand in his own. He kissed her just outside the front door of the house she shared with her husband and child, and he desired her in spite of it, perhaps even partially because of it. He thought he'd have loved her regardless of the situation he had met her in, but something about the thought of something so forbidden enhanced his senses as never before. He thought of her words earlier in the night, when she had called whatever this was between them "real". Killian wondered if perhaps this was the most real thing he'd ever felt, more real than the creaking floor of his ship with its salty air, more real even than the grief he had felt with the loss of each subsequent person in his life. He felt powerful, something that felt tantalizing to him after a life of powerlessness. Killing made him feel powerful, as did captaining his ship, but nothing compared to the feeling of Milah melting into his arms.

What was it about Milah that made everything so real? He wondered vaguely if it was because she herself was so real; she made everything around her so much brighter, so much more real, just by her presence. He wanted to make her feel her beauty - both physical and emotional - in every pore of her being. He wanted to make love to her until she became undone and forgot about every grief she had every suffered. He wanted to heal her and heal himself in the process. Leaving her was going to be the most difficult thing he had ever done.

As it turned out, he didn't have to.

The next night, Milah arrived at his ship before they went to the tavern, looking ravishing in a deeply cut white blouse and skirt. Killian imagined that she could make a potato sack look beautiful, though.

She smiled radiantly when she saw him, and it was enough to make Killian want to kiss her right there. Still, he restrained himself. It would make things more difficult when he left, he knew. However, he couldn't resist giving her some presents from his travels: a silk scarf, earrings and a necklace that brought out the tints of blue in her grey eyes, and a hairpin that brought out their silver. They were something to remember him by, something he didn't need to voice because he knew Milah understood.

They had sauntered down to the tavern in a large group of pirates who treated Milah with the utmost respect. Soon they were involved in a drinking game involving dice and betting, leaving Killian captivated by Milah's laugh. Milah was beautiful, but a happy Milah was radiant.

The happiness was short-lived, however. Killian knew who the man was the second he called Milah's name. He was the sort of man who Killian would pass by without a second glance, an old man by Killian's standards, dressed in poor cloth with messy hair, a walking stick, and an apologetic air.

"Milah, it's time to go," he said, the authoritative words counteracted by the timidity with which he spoke them.

Killian couldn't hold back a twinge of disgust in his gut, although he was careful to keep his face blank.

"Good. So go." Milah was less effective at taming her own disgust, never quite as clear as when she spoke so succinctly.

Although he knew very well who the man was, Killian asked, "who's this?" It was a mocking question, although he asked it as though he couldn't care less. A man that quashed Milah's spirit deserved no respect.

"No one. Just my husband." Her words dripped with venom, and all sense of laughter and fun was totally gone from her person.

"Oh. Well, he's a tad taller than you described," Killian joked, hoping to coax a laugh out of her. There was also a part of him that wanted to see this lowly man stoop even lower, this man who stood in the way of his happiness.

When the man hesitantly begged her to remember her responsibilities, Killian held his breath in anticipation of Milah's ire. She didn't disappoint. Her eyes narrowed, and, if possible, she became even colder towards the man. Killian began to feel almost uncomfortable as she unleashed a tirade against her husband that Killian imagined was a replica of a common conversation in their household. She called out his cowardice and the events that had defined it once and for all, reminding Killian to eye the man with even more disgust. She even implied that she'd have preferred his death over his current state. Milah had a vicious tongue when she so chose, and Killian couldn't hold back a small smile as he listened to her spirited remarks. This was the Milah he remembered. For a minute, he dared to hope that she would choose to leave with him. He had rarely seen a less compatible husband and wife.

Everything changed the minute Baelfire came in. He called for his mother and looked at her with an innocence that made even Killian bubble with shame. Milah's expression changed instantly, turning to one of slight discomfort as she looked deep into her son's eyes. For all her denial of motherly instinct, Killian saw the truth there; she did love him. Perhaps it was hidden under her misery, but it was there. Her eyes darted to Killian's briefly, perhaps in an apology, perhaps to gauge his reaction. Then she was ushering her son out, her face stony. Killian watched the sad, broken family file out with some bitterness. He left soon after, unable to stomach any merriment. He had fully expected to never see Milah again; he had believed that in that moment, she had made her choice. To say it didn't affect him would be a lie; this second rejection hurt even more than the first. He'd had a further taste of what life with Milah could be, and it had only left him hungrier and more wanting.

However, the next day, Milah surprised him once again. Her presence on his ship wasn't the biggest surprise; he imagined that she would say goodbye, perhaps offer a few regrets and excuses.

Instead, she ran to him and kissed him briefly and hungrily. Killian responded with equal fervour, taking in her scent and the feel of her underneath his hands with the desperation of a drowning man.

"Take me with you," she breathed as she broke away from the kiss.

Killian was taken aback. Surely he'd misheard. "What?"

"Take me with you. Take me away to some distant land. Take me the hell away from here," she spoke rapidly, her eyes feverish.

"But... Baelfire," Killian felt compelled to say in spite of the excitement bubbling inside of him. In spite of his own desires, he knew what it felt like to be abandoned by a parent. Damning another child to that fate didn't sit well with him, pirate or not. "Your son-"

"I can't be his mother when I'm miserable. I can't love him the way he needs me to. Besides, he prefers his father. Killian, don't make me beg."

"Milah, I want you to come with me more than anything," he admitted, cupping her cheek gently. "But-"

Milah shook her head, pulling his hand away to hold like a lifeline. "Please. If I stay here, I'll die. I feel myself dying a little more every day. I wasn't meant for this life. You know that. Please, Killian. If you feel anything for me, take me away from here."

Killian hesitated. Could he deny her what she wanted when he wanted it so badly himself? Still, she seemed to change her mind every day, and he feared how she would feel about this decision tomorrow.

"What changed your mind?" He asked.

She looked at him, eyes still wild. If he hadn't known her, he might have thought her mad. "He asked me to try for Bae. He used my son against me." She sounded absolutely outraged. "And he refused to leave this place yet again. I tried asking one more time, just to see if he loved me, or if he could change. It was his last chance, and he refused. Don't you see?"

Killian's heart was starting to speed up as he allowed himself to really entertain the possibility of a life with her. He had been pushing down any hope for fear of disappointment. Now, he could see it outlined so clearly, and it was the most tempting idea he had ever entertained: waking up next to Milah and kissing her softly so as not to wake her too, watching her sketch on his deck in careful concentration, seeing her smile every day, playing with her curls, listening to her musical voice, no longer being alone...

Milah went on, speaking slowly now to drive her point home. "He doesn't love me, except in some selfish way, perhaps. I think my mind was always made up. I told him I would try for Bae, and I knew I was lying the whole time. I looked at him and I felt sick, and I realized that I would kill myself if I had to wake up every day and see that face, or deal with the knowledge that I'm a bad mother. I know that I'm a bad mother without him rubbing it in my face. If you don't take me, I'll leave anyway. But I'm begging you to take me with you because I love you. I think I'd decided to leave the minute I saw you, if I'm really being honest with myself. This was meant to happen, Killian. You were meant to come here. We were meant to fall in love. Are you going to let this stand in the way of our happiness, or will you be brave enough to take a chance?"

Underneath her passionate, driven words, Killian sensed her fear. He saw it in the stiffness of her shoulders and the rapid movements of her bottomless eyes. He knew the fear of rejection all too well; he'd felt it at the hands of his father. So much was at stake for her; this was her chance at happiness after years of misery, and it was his too. Her arguments made sense, especially since they were what he wanted badly to hear and believe. How could he deny her anything, never mind something that could provide them both with a peace that each had sought for so long without success?

"It would be an honour to have you aboard my ship," Killian told her.

Her face lit up as happy tears ran down her face. She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.

It felt like the beginning of a happy ending.