Epilogue

The Future

"Where is everything?"

As much as she was afraid to ask, she knew she had to know.

Killian had arrived in New York with nothing but the clothes on his back and whatever fit in his pockets. The significance of that had never really hit her until she found out that Killian had given up his ship. Now, it was hitting her again with the force of a sledgehammer.

The cabin was empty.

Okay, not empty, but empty of Killian's belongings. The books, the sketches, the clothes, the drawer of Milah's things, Killian's violin...

She recognized the pitcher on the desk, but that was pretty much it.

In fact, it was so decidedly not Killian that Emma could only gape. Whereas Killian's space before had been neat and efficient, this was gaudy. Huge boxes of jewels and gold seemed to cover every surface, where books and more functional or sentimental items used to be. Sure, Killian had some things that resembled pirate treasure, but you could tell that the cabin was a living and working space before. The true treasures had been the things that would be worthless to anyone but him, rather than the gold and jewels. Now the cabin just looked like a hoarding space. Even the meal left over on the table looked overly indulgent for a ship.

Killian pressed his lips together. "Anything left in here is long gone, I'm sure."

Seeing the obvious heartbreak written across Emma's face, he hurried to continue. "I hid my most important possessions elsewhere, though, so there's a chance that they're still there."

From his face, she got the feeling that it wasn't a very good chance.

Emma nodded. "Lead the way."

She followed the pirate into a familiar room. Unless she was mistaken, this was the room where Killian had seen her doing chin-ups and had given her Neal's sword. They certainly had come a long way, Emma mused.

The first time she'd been in here, she hadn't even noticed the grate on the far side of the room.

"Tell me this wasn't your hiding spot," she said.

In answer, Killian pulled up the grate and dropped himself down. Her heart full of despair, Emma followed. There were more barrels and crates down there, which Killian began to pull aside. Emma moved over to help, heart pounding in trepidation. In contrast, Killian was calm and collected, at least as far as Emma could tell.

She paused in her shifting of the heavy containers, wiping some sweat off of her forehead. After a moment, she shrugged out of her red leather jacket, dropping it unceremoniously onto the dusty floor. She didn't miss the appreciative glance that Killian shot her way - her tank-top was quite tight - but she found that she couldn't fully enjoy the attention under the circumstances.

"What if-"

Killian shook his head. "It won't matter."

Oddly, Emma found that she couldn't quite bring herself to meet his eyes. "Yes, it will. Your whole life was on this ship. If you've lost everything-"

The pirate straightened. "Emma, love," he gently pushed a stray hair out of her eyes. Once she reluctantly brought her eyes up to meet his, Killian offered her a small smile. "I knew what I was doing when I gave this ship up; I knew that it was unlikely that I would see my belongings again. If I find anything, it will just be a pleasant surprise. My whole life was on this ship, but now, it's here with you. I haven't lost anything."

Vision blurring, Emma nodded, overwhelmed by the love that this man offered her. Killian placed a soft kiss to her forehead and pulled her into an embrace.

After a moment that could never be long enough, he released her and turned back to the barrels. Some time later, Killian reached the end of them and started prying up floorboards.

Emma found herself holding her breath, unable to look.

Killian stilled, then turned to her with tears in his eyes.

Her insides twisted with guilt. "I am so, so sorry-"

The words died in her throat as Killian pulled out paper after paper, followed by books, followed by his violin, followed by a few hairpins and a naval uniform.

Milah's clothes weren't there, Emma noticed.

She sank to the floor beside him, noticing the way his chin was subtly trembling. She wanted to tell him that he could cry if he wanted to, but she wasn't certain that he'd appreciate it.

"Your parents' portrait!" Emma exclaimed, eyes landing on the familiar picture. Only, now, the picture meant much more to Emma. This time, the painted couple smiling at her were people who she felt like she knew, captured in a moment of brief happiness throughout their very dark and far too short lives.

"You should hang it somewhere," she suggested.

At Killian's mute nod, she picked it up, only to notice another portrait underneath.

"Is this Ciarra and her parents?"

"You didn't see them?"

Emma shoved him lightly. "I'm not that much of a snoop, okay?"

"For a... what was it... bailbonds... detective... person, I would have expected you to find more things-"

She shot him a glare that made him chuckle. "I'm used to computers!"

Once again, she glanced down at the picture. Sari had a wide mouth that was meant for smiling, while Gavin had a twinkle in his that Emma had already imagined from Killian's stories. Their daughter, who looked to be about preschool age, was on Gavin's lap. Before, Emma may have felt a surge of jealousy to see such a happy family, but she realized that she didn't now. She had her own.

"And this is one of Ciarra when she's a bit older," Killian added, passing her a sketch.

"She was beautiful," Emma said, after a moment of study.

Killian nodded, sifting through more of the papers.

Emma picked up another to find a poem:

Crying, my little one, footsore and weary?

Fall asleep, pretty one, warm on my shoulder:

I must tramp on through the winter night dreary,

While the snow falls on me colder and colder.

You are my one, and I have not another;

Sleep soft my darling, my trouble and treasure;

Sleep warm and soft in the arms of your mother,

Dreaming of pretty things dreaming of pleasure.*

It was signed by Milah and dedicated to Neal. Emma desperately wished that he was still alive so that she could show him.

"Irene and John," Killian passed her another portrait, this one much more lifelike than the others.

Emma laughed out loud. Irene had a pout on her face that made her look much younger than she probably was, clearly not happy about having to sit for a portrait. John was smirking.

By now, Emma had heard many more stories about Killian's niece. She'd gotten her uncle to help her fake her suicide using pixie dust, then left soon after with John in search of a bean or another mechanism to get to another world.

"She was sick of helping people, or so she said. She lied, of course," Killian had told her with a shrug.

"Oh?"

"She wanted to become a woman again because she was in love with John. And she wanted to protect him from Moriarty of course."

A comfortable silence fell between them as Killian looked out at the sea, his eyes the exact colour of the water in the afternoon sun.

"For a while, I thought that she would go in the other direction, you know," Killian said. "She seemed unfeeling, and she used people. But John Watson... he was good for her. He made her a hero."

He then offered Emma a fond smile that gave her the feeling that they were talking about more than just Irene and John.

She was pulled back to the present by Killian singing softly as he organized the papers.

"Since Emma is true as she's fair,

My griefs I fling all to the wind,

'Tis a pleasing return for my care,

My mistress is constant and kind.

Ye sailors, I'm bound to my love,

Ye sailors, I'm bound to my love,

I've done with the toils of the seas,

Ye sailors, I'm bound to my love."**

Emma realized that she'd never heard him sing before, and she found that she regretted it. His voice was a warm and rich baritone that reminded her of the darkness that blanketed the ocean at dusk. It was a shame that he didn't sing more, she decided. She briefly wondered if his mother had ever taught him about singing as a child, or if he'd just inherited some talent.

"That's not a real song," she said, shooting him an amused look.

He raised an eyebrow. "Of course it is. Just because your name happens to be in it doesn't mean that I made it up."

Emma would have argued the point more, but she suddenly saw another sketch of a little boy signed by Milah. He was smiling encouragingly and holding out what looked like socks.

Even though she knew the answer, Emma asked, "Is this you?"

Killian took a glance at it and offered her a half-smile. "Aye."

Considering how attractive he was as an adult, Emma should have known that he would have been an adorable child. Still, she felt her heart melt at the sight of the little freckled boy with the large, expressive eyes.

They spent all morning looking through his belongings with Killian regaling her with more stories to explain various artifacts at her request. After going through a lot of them, they started to carry them up to his cabin. Emma took great pleasure in getting rid of Blackbeard's things and putting Killian's back where they belonged. There were less of them, but Emma was relieved that at least some of them had survived.

She had just finished hanging Edward and Christine's portrait when her eyes found the violin. She hesitated for a moment.

"Would you play for me?"

Killian froze, his own eyes drawn to the rich wood with something like fear.

"I'm rather out of practice, love," he said, hand coming up to scratch behind his ear.

"Please," Emma said, offering him her best pleading look. She knew from experience that he had trouble resisting it, so perhaps it wasn't very fair of her, but she really wanted to hear him play.

He sighed, and she knew that she had him.

"Fine. But it's a one time thing."

"Just like our first kiss."

"Swan," Killian said warningly.

Emma ignored him and picked up the instrument almost reverently. It was scratched and faded, but there was something about it that was intriguing, maybe simply because of its history. She had seen it before and not even noticed the scratches underneath the gleam of the well-polished wood; somehow, they made it even more beautiful. She could see why Milah had wanted to draw it so badly.

"It's really been around, hasn't it? I can't believe you carried this with you when you were living on the streets or lost in the mountains or..."

Killian shrugged. "I'm clearly far too sentimental."

He was becoming visibly agitated, fidgeting and avoiding her eyes.

"I won't mind if you suck." He raised an eyebrow, and Emma hurried to correct herself. "Which I don't think you will. You were a child prodigy, after all, and you have two hundreds years of playing under your belt."

He rolled his eyes. "Not helping, Swan."

"At least I'm not asking you to play the piano."

Killian paused in removing his hook to shoot her an incredulous look. "The piano? With only five fingers?" The false hand and bow slid into place with a small click.

"Captain Hook plays the piano in all the movies," she said with a shrug, to which Killian made a noise of disgust.

She offered him the instrument, pleased that her distraction seemed to have worked. At any rate, his nerves seemed to disappear the second the violin was in his hand. He held it in place with his chin and began to tune the instrument with a slight frown. The violin seemed to fit naturally in his hand, causing him to exude something capable yet carefree that made Emma know that he'd had nothing to be nervous about.

She wasn't entirely sure what she was expecting, but, from the first note, Emma knew that her expectations of his playing hadn't even come close to reality. She only barely managed to stifle a small gasp as the first phrase filled the room. In contrast to the emotional melody that filled the room, Killian's face was a mask of concentration, his movements graceful and confident. Emma could practically see the events of his past shimmer into existence with each note from the violin. There was Christine singing her last lullaby, then the snow falling on her grave, and there was his ship bobbing on the ocean waves.

As mesmerized as she was by Killian's playing, Emma couldn't have said what drew her attention to the window. Perhaps it was a sound from outside, or maybe the flickering shadow of wings. Regardless, her eyes were drawn to the small bird on the windowsill, looking intently through the glass with intelligent black eyes.

It was singing.

*Christina Rosetti's poem, not mine - thank you to the reviewer who recommended her way back at the start of this story!

**"Come, Loose Every Sail to the Breeze", British Trad.

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story even with my sporadic updates. It's been a ridiculously rough year for me, and I'm so thankful for all of you who have given my writing a chance. I can't believe it's been over a year. For something that started as a one-shot, this became quite the project. I honestly was not expecting to ever finish this in September what with a suicide attempt, so finishing this is a pretty big thing for me. I'm glad that I didn't disappoint those of you who were reading! I'm especially thankful for all of you who have taken the time to review this.

Of course, I need to thank my amazing beta, Trish Tavor. I certainly never expected someone to want to edit my writing, and I never could have imagined that I would work with someone who does it so well.

I'll answer all reviews over the next couple of days, if anyone wants to take a look at a reply. Again, sorry for delaying that!

One review asked if I was planning another story, and I'll just answer that here. At the moment, I want to focus on my original writing projects. A friend wanted me to write a spin-off following Irene, and I may consider doing that eventually if it doesn't feel too self-indulgent (and once I find the motivation!). I may also eventually edit the start of this piece, since I think my writing has changed a bit over the year, and it may be nice to flesh some of my old stuff out. Again, that probably won't be in the near future. As for a sequel, it's definitely not in the works at the moment.

Now, one last big thanks to all of you who read 44 chapters(!) of my rambling. It's been quite the ride. :)