There will be one more chapter as an epilogue.

The Present

For a moment, the only sound was the whisper of the wind through the forest leaves. While Emma had gotten used to the fact that her world's version of most stories were inaccurate, she was struggling to wrap her mind around the fact that Killian was related to the world's most famous detective. At this rate, John Watson would be Rumplestiltskin's cousin, or else Emma's great-great-great-great grandfather, or maybe a frog that Irene accidentally turned human with a kiss.

"Sherlock Holmes was your niece crossdressing? How have you not mentioned this before?" Emma demanded, startling several birds in the nearby trees into flight.

Annoyingly, Killian didn't even bother to look at her. "It never came up."

She couldn't believe this. Here she was having an existential crisis, questioning her childhood dreams and heroes, and Killian didn't even seem to think that never mentioning his niece was an oversight.

Finding that he had gained considerable ground during her moment of outrage, Emma had to jog to catch up with him. "How did it not come up?!"

Killian raised an eyebrow, his trademark smirk back in place. "I didn't know that you'd heard of her, Swan." He paused, expression abruptly melting into something serious. "Nor did I know that you had such an interest in my affairs."

She didn't miss the pointed look he shot her way.

"Dr. Watson was my favourite character in the books," she said quickly. "Did you get to meet him?"

"I only saw Irene sporadically - Pan rarely let me out of Neverland, and Irene moved constantly until she finally moved into Baker Street with John - but, eventually, yes."

"And? Did you like him?"

Killian chuckled. "Not at first. I thought he and Irene were lovers. In the end, he won me over. He was honourable, and he was good for Irene."

Question after question popped into her head. "How did they become friends? Why would Irene move in with someone else?" Irene hadn't struck her as a particularly personable person.

"He was paradoxical in some ways. Perhaps Irene found him interesting." Grinning, he added, "initially, they probably became friends because John was the only person who could stand her. That man had insurmountable patience when it came to her behaviour."

It was a relief to know that one of her childhood heroes still sounded like... well, a good person.

"He'd also been a wanted murderer for a time, which was likely of interest to Irene considering her fixation with crime."

Or not.

"Seriously?" Emma muttered.

"He didn't actually commit the crime, of course. In fact, he was saved by a letter that Irene sent to the army when she heard the story. She figured it out within seconds, I'm sure."

Once again, Emma found herself wondering how on earth the stories of her world could apparently get such major details wrong. Then again, maybe the stories were created in her world first. Maybe the characters came to life in a parallel universe only to do their own thing. That train of thought was only giving Emma a headache, so she quickly abandoned it.

"Okay. So, Sherlock faked his - um, her - suicide. How did that happen? And-"

Emma's breath was knocked out of her as she walked straight into Killian's stationary back. With the added weight of the woman over his shoulder, he almost went careening to the forest floor, but Emma managed to grab his coat just in time to keep him upright. She was reminded momentarily of their first adventure on the beanstalk, when she'd stopped him from walking into a trap. They were just as close now: close enough for Emma to feel the heat radiating off of his body and to see the beads of sweat on his forehead.

Things were different this time, though. Killian's lips quirked, but he bit back whatever innuendo was almost certainly on his tongue. "Thank you."

Emma had finally gotten her breath back. "What the hell, Hook-"

Then she realized why he'd stopped. From this vantage point, she could see through the leaves to-

"Rumplestiltskin's castle," Emma breathed, only barely stopping herself from running the rest of the way. She had never been so ready to go... home. The word popped into her head so automatically that she felt stupid for not realizing it before.

"Almost there, love," Killian said, relief evident on his face.

Nerves and something like excitement bubbled in Emma's chest.

Of course, Emma should have known that something would go wrong; it always did. She had no magic to work the wand Rumplestiltskin had found and get home. Rumplestiltskin had screwed them over again, and, for a moment, she had thought that Killian was right when he predicted that Rumplestiltskin was about to kill them.

In fact, killing them may have been better than being trapped in his vault. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming in frustration.

Killian, however, seemed perfectly calm.

"I'm just trying to figure a way out," he explained when she yelled at him for trying to touch Rumplestiltskin's things.

She had to admire his tenacity. From his stories, she knew this wasn't the worst situation that he'd ever found himself in, and he'd somehow escaped every impossible situation before. Here they were, stuck in a vault, potentially for the rest of their lives, and he still hadn't given up. She supposed she should have suspected as much from a man who spent nearly two hundred years fixated on revenge, even when he was hopelessly outmatched.

And the New York thing, of course.

"I think not having magic makes it a hell of a lot easier for you to run back to New York and pretend to be somebody else. But listen to me, Swan. You're not. It's time to stop running."

Even through her irritation, she realized that she was beginning to appreciate the fact that he gave her the hard truths that she didn't want to hear. Because, she realized, what he'd been telling her was the truth.

"You think I don't know that? Yes, I run away. That's how I've always survived. But believe me, I want this to work. I want to go back. I want to stop running."

"What's changed your mind?" Emma heard the undertone of hope in his voice, but she knew that she couldn't address it yet.

"Watching my mother die." As she explained, she realized something else too.

Killian's story had helped change her mind. Yes, he'd been telling her the truth, but the ironic thing was that she could only see it when he wasn't even trying to convince her to stay.

He had lost everyone. Thinking her mother was dead had been the worst pain that Emma had ever felt, and Killian had felt that over and over again. If anything, she now realized how important it was to never take her family for granted. She had worked hard to find them, and now that she had them, she couldn't let them go. How could she, when she had the chance that she was certain Killian would have sold his soul for: the chance to have a family.

Still, Emma felt the words stick in her throat. She could only hope that he would understand through what she was able to say.

Killian's eternal belief in her proved to be justified. The wand worked, and she managed to finally get home. Sitting with her family, she felt a contentment that she had never felt before, but it wasn't quite complete.

She was so used to Killian being with her that it took a moment for her to realize that the emptiness that she was feeling, the sense of something wrong, was the fact that he wasn't there. A glance out the window revealed that he was alone, and it hurt Emma to see it.

She hadn't intended to kiss him. If she'd thought about beforehand, she'd never have been able to do it. In her heart, she knew that she liked Killian a lot, but she wasn't brave enough to open her heart again.

But then, he'd revealed what he'd given up to find her.

"You traded your ship for me?"

The idea was staggering in a way that nothing had ever been before. Here she was, Emma the orphan, the girl who had never been wanted...

And suddenly, here was a man who wanted her enough that he would give up the most important thing that he owned just to save her. He hadn't even told her about it before, when it could have been enough to force Emma to stay in Storybrooke out of guilt. He hadn't brought it up when she'd treated him horribly at times, or even when she'd accused him of being untrustworthy. He had never used it against her.

She'd known that Killian wasn't who she had originally thought he was, but nothing could have prepared her for this act of selflessness.

He had traded his home so that he could give her back her own.

It wasn't even just his home. It was his tie to his past, the only thing he had left of people he had cared for. She could picture all of the things that she'd found in his cabin, each one a priceless link to his lost loved ones.

And he'd given it all up for her.

In the end, there was only one possible response.

She kissed him.