Summary: Intending to return to Neverland after his quest for revenge comes to an abrupt end, Killian Jones finds himself in Duodenary, a realm whose existence allows Neverland, and the people therein, to live forever. After months of trying and failing to find a way to go home, a princess comes looking to him for help.

Warnings: Language, violence

Notes: Last part on Thursday!

"Well this is just marvelous," Killian says, voice a sonorous echo in the heart of Neverland.

Neverland, he thinks, with some measure of disgust. He can hardly believe he ever longed to return. Dark, ageless, the blood of his brother spilt on the soil only several dozen nautical miles from this very place, likely sinking slowly into the ground, where its story is bound to be lost. To time, to memory.

And now, it ever so slowly drains his Swan, stealing the magic she possesses to fuel its dark purpose. He grinds his teeth, and pulls experimentally at the shackle around his wrist.

"Bloody fucking marvelous," he says.

Emma rolls her eyes. "Is that all you're gonna say while I'm over here dying the world's slowest death?"

Killian slams his hook into the earth beneath him. A chip of the rock comes loose, and it feels mighty satisfying. For a brief moment, he imagines the demon boy's heart in its place, gushing the life force he steals from those around him. He imagines running him through, perhaps simultaneously, if only to hear the anguish that spills –

"Listen," Emma interrupts the train of thought. "Judging by your face, you're murdering imaginary Pan right this second. But can you maybe help me out of these binds instead?"

Killian huffs. In fact, it sounds more like a growl, feral and furious. So dark and vicious, he nearly startles himself.

"I'm stuck, Swan," he says. "How do you expect me to free you when I'm equally incapacitated?"

"Uh," she says, and he's uncertain how she can imbue the simple sound with such incredible sarcasm. "Pretty sure you just chipped a good amount of that rock out of the ground with your hook while you were having a tantrum. Maybe direct it over towards your shackle, and we'll be getting somewhere."

He takes a long moment to chastise himself – they are, after all, practically swimming in time. As the demon said, it will take equivalent weeks for her to perish. Killian's certain they'd starve first, but then again, Pan would hardly pass on an opportunity to taunt them when necessary, to feed them just enough to keep them alive, lying in their own fluids, drinking misery as sure as it were water. He thinks, of course, of these things happening to Emma. He's been beaten, starved, shackled, any number of un-pleasantries. The pain fades, but the memory doesn't, and he thinks of his dear Emma, her charming inability to stay still while she sleeps, traded for the stillness and sleeplessness that accompany nightmares of the highest order.

"Killian?"

He clenches his jaw so hard, he nearly scrapes away the corner of one of his teeth.

"Emma?" he answers.

"I'm okay."

He looks up at her, then, and sees that she's right. While he frets about what could come to pass, she's merely bound. Not ideal, perhaps, but her expression is as light as it ever was. The precious metals and gemstones that seem to forge her person glimmer as brightly as he knows they can.

"I'm okay," she repeats.

"I'm okay, too."

She smiles, and he smiles back.

"Right you are, love," he says, turning to brace his knees on the ground, to scrape a mark into the rock beneath him. He aims carefully, and then begins to chip away. The rock is relatively soft, although it takes him a good while before the brace for the chain begins to jiggle. He's worked up a thick sweat –

"Bloody fucking coat."

"The sacrifices you pirates make for your fashion."

"We're in mortal peril, and you mock my choice of dress."

– before it's nearly come loose. A few more well placed cracks and Emma shouts triumphantly when he topples backwards with the force of his own blow, dragging the chain behind him. He gives his hands a few shakes, the chain and shackle rattling around him, before he turns his attention back to her. As he goes, her joy devolves quickly into laughter, a sound which grows with force and with volume as he extracts a small knife from a harness he wears around his thigh.

"Having a good time, are we, Swan?"

"You keep a knife by your crotch."

He huffs as he saws gently through the rope, huffs harder when he finds the skin reddened underneath. But he has a feeling she'd be no more charmed by his protective frustration than by his mouth when he says –

"Yes, yes, let's all take a moment to entertain ourselves with the thought of my cock cut loose by this dull knife. Do let's eat rather gleefully into the precious moments we have left to escape this grim reality."

Her arms and wrist fall free of the rope, and she rolls her eyes, even as she hauls herself to sitting by grasping his shoulders. Shaking the cricks out of her own shoulders, pausing to stretch her back, she reaches down to take hold of his wrist. She inspects the shackles a moment, poking at the locking mechanism that keeps it in place.

"It's alright, Swan, just leave it. Or better yet, find me another hook, and they can call me Captain Hooks, instead."

"You are so dramatic," she says, but it lacks much luster. "Just let me…"

She bites at her lip, and places her palm over the shackle. It only take a few moments for the chain to come undone, to fall at their feet with a heavy thud.

Emma looks up at him, and smiles, and a heavy tension begins to build between them. He can feel her breath stirring the hairs at the top of his head, as he leans down to slowly unwind her legs. He fumbles when she leans down, and he can feel her cheek against the ruffled part in his hair, even more so when she presses a kiss to his hairline. Another to his temple, another to the tip of his ear. He pauses, and looks up at her, at which point she smiles, seemingly unaffected by the drain that pulls away her magic. Again, he's plagued by all too vivid images of her death, cobbled together from all the other deaths he's witnessed. He shakes his head, redoubles his efforts, and she's free in seconds. He sighs, but the sarcastic commentary he'd cooked up falls from the tip of his tongue when he looks up, and sees her face.

Fear. Fear. Unbridled, darkening the rims of evergreen around her eyes. Now she's free, and can clutch tightly at the sides of his face, she trembles, and he crushes her to his chest.

"Oh, Emma."

"I'm scared too, you know," she says, words warm and wet against the skin of his neck.

"Aye."

Killian pulls back, and helps her to her feet. She's back in his arms before he can turn around. Typically, he'd be in a greater hurry, but he knows they have the time, and though she crushes his toes beneath her feet as she scrambles closer, he can't find it within himself to whinge. He presses his brace hard against the small of her back. He tangles his fingers in her hair, and leans down to kiss along the slope of her shoulder. She, meanwhile, drags nonsense along his scalp, one hand wriggling between coat and vest, pulling gently at his shirt so she can feel the bare skin of his back.

"We should go," she says, and he nods his agreement against the side of her face. They untangle themselves as slowly as the jellysloths he's seen swimming by minutiae beneath the roots of the mangroves in Duo Three. The thought gives him pause, when he finds himself missing the roll of the sun around the rim of the universe.

"I imagine we'll be more vulnerable as soon as we step out of the cavern," he says.

Emma hums, wraps her fingers tightly around his hook. "You first, then. I honestly have no clue where the hell we are, or how to get back."

"We'll take shelter with the faeries. They're not terribly fond of yours truly, but I've yet to meet a creature able to resist your charm. They'll help us to escape, if we help them vanquish Pan."

Killian turns, then, and leads her down the narrow slope to the mouth of the cavern. She creeps behind him as they edge towards the shadows.

"Vanquish, Pan?" she says.

"Aye, love. He's certainly gone too – "

Too far, is what he means to say, of course, but as they step into the shadows, he feels a mighty tug on his hook, nearly falling backwards before the weight of her hands slips away. He turns, and his blood drains from his face so quickly, the world goes silent for a moment.

"Ugh, what the hell," Emma says, writhing in pain, clutching at her temples. Killian drops to his knees, frantically searching for a wound, feeling for her pulse, wondering if her heart's been stolen, if she's near to death, if he has to watch yet another of the loves of his miserable life be swallowed by darkness.

If so, he'll surely perish.

"You know, Captain, I really should be impressed."

"Pan," he grits, but he doesn't give the demon child the satisfaction of drawing his attention. Instead, he gathers Emma up into his arms, getting to his feet, hushing her when she whimpers and curls tightly into his chest.

"What have you done to her?" Killian says, darkly. He longs to turn, to run with her, but he's certain he'll be run through with the sword the hangs at Pan's side. Emma's sword, he remembers.

Pan ignores the question, tapping lightly at the hilt of the sword. "It's only fair that this be mine, you know. I did kill its previous owner, after all."

Killian snarls, clutches harder at Emma's back, encourages her to twist over his shoulder, her cheek pressing hard against his.

"Hurts," she whispers.

"I know, I know," he whispers back, and he does look at Pan then, right in the eye. He walks back up the slope, until he's standing mere feet from the boy. He looks up at him, curiosity overcoming his boredom. At the very least, he seems to sense no danger, and so when Killian takes yet another step, Pan merely quirks a brow.

"Please," Killian says, quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the light pulsing faster within the crystal. The drain, he realizes, has sped up. He curls his fingers around Emma's neck, and feels her pulse beating erratically. He can hear the pain in the sounds she makes, falling unbidden from her lips. He can feel it in the twist of her body, in the chilly sweat that falls down from her hairline, off her chin, onto his throat.

"Please," he repeats. "Haven't you a shred of humanity? Let her live. Take me back into your employ, take my ship, take anything you want. Just...please."

Pan considers him, rather gleefully. He steps back, and begins to circle, the gait of a predator, the unforgiving gleam of avarice and bloodlust shining in his deadened eyes. When he appears again, just in front of him, he gestures mildly with the hand not occupied with the filigree on the hilt of the sword at his hip, and Killian can feel Emma relax in his arms.

"I've slowed it, at least," Pan says. "It was awfully foolish of you to think I wouldn't erect a barrier, and that you wouldn't be punished when you tried to cross it."

Killian doesn't answer, only holds Emma as tight as he can, for as long as he can. He's lived long enough to know when the end of his line approaches. And here it is. He can feel it. So he steps back, lays Emma down on a softer patch of earth. The drain has slowed, but the ground still trembles, and her eyes are shut to him. She appears to be asleep, at least unconscious. Her breathing is ragged, but when he presses his hand over her heart, it beats strong, steady. He wonders if this is the very last time he'll ever look at her. There's a finality in the way the demon behind him taps on his sword.

And so look he does. Killian pulls gently at the tangles in her hair, straightens the wrinkles in her short. One of the buttons on her vest is undone, and he undoes the next for good measure, remembering fondly the way she whinges at her clothes. The sweat dries, sticky and cool, on her face and her neck. He wipes at it with the back of his hand, smooths his fingers over her brow.

"Is it a fight that you want, then?" he says, when he can no longer find an excuse to look at her. He turns, and fights the beast within him that longs to look back.

Pan appears to consider Killian's question, rocking back and forth on his feet in a pale imitation of the fidgeting of a child.

"I think not," Pan says, at length. "I'd rather you were on your knees."

Violent protest flares in his chest. He can hear his jaw crack when he grinds his teeth.

"How can I be certain you'll spare her?"

"I may be many things, Captain, but have I ever broken my word?"

As much as he's loathe to admit it, the shadow of a man did at least carry some honor in his oaths. Even so, Killian shifts in place, turning the rings on his fingers around and around. He thinks, frantically on anything he can do, anything by which to save both their lives. Yet, despite his own cunning, he can think of nothing. Only one of them may live. The choice is easy.

"Let me have it, then," Killian says. "Your word, give me your word. That she'll live. That you'll let her go."

Pan's sneer takes a turn for the grim, then, and he nods. "You have it. Now, on your knees."

Again, the beast within him rebels. Ever since his days as a servant, he's kneeled more times than he could count. He's scrubbed schooners the world over free of muck, turned his eyes down at the feet of the cruelest masters. He'd watched his brother do the same, wondering why fate had cast the both of them aside so viciously. At his own misbehavior, he had borne the lash, the flat end of a sword, all while shamefully, submissively, huddled on his knees.

Now, at least, he can do so in saving another. And so he falls, slowly, never once looking away from the demon's eyes. Pan draws Emma's sword, and lays it rather casually by his neck.

"This has been a long time coming, Killian Jones," he says. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Longer still if you insist talking me to death."

Pan only laughs. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this. I think I'll string you up near the Hangman's Tree. Poetic, don't you think? By your lover's sword, a headless man on the hanging tree."

The boy lifts his sword, then, and Killian, for all his bravery, feels the bright, hot flash of fear, settling something sick in his belly. He closes his eyes, hoping only that Emma doesn't have to bear witness to the aftermath of his death. Poetic, indeed, living and dying by the sword. If for no other cause, he'll perish for love.

He hears a bit of a scuffle, and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter. When he hears the sound of steel cutting through flesh, he waits for the pain to bloom.

Waits.

And waits.

Rather curious, it is, considering he hears the thud of a body, feels blood slick and warm where his legs are folded up beneath him. He wonders if fate has, at least, given him a painless death.

But then –

"This is the worst day ever."

Killian nearly hesitates to open his eyes. Then he hears her sigh, and he can't help but to look up at her.

A goddess, Emma is. Despite the dark scuffs on her clothing from the floor of the cavern. Her hair is wild and wet. She pants, yet pale and weak from the sudden, sharp magical drain. Pan lay dead at her feet, a terrible, crooked line of blood and bone and torn flesh down his back. The dark and terrible magic that lived in his heart dissipates into the air. Killian watches it rise, only for a moment before he looks back at her. The knife in her hand – his knife, he realizes, the selfsame he must have failed to return to its harness at his thigh – is coated with purple-black blood. It drips headily onto the floor of the cavern, turning to a cloud of smoke when it comes into contact with the magic rippling along the stone. Her hands shake. With fear, perhaps, most certainly with anger, and when she lets the weapon drop, at last, with a wet clatter, she says –

"I hope that knife had crotch sweat on it."

Killian laughs, not without a great deal of hysteria, as he rises to his feet. He wants to run to her, but he finds himself nearly frozen, finds himself stepping slowly, carefully around the body of the boy beside them. She mirrors, looking up at him with an unreadable expression – something fond, something awestruck, something else that seems familiar, but he's hard pressed to name.

"Killian," she says.

"Emma," he answers.

It's then that they fall into one another's arms, warmed by the glow of the magic still pulsing around them. He can feel the blood on her hand when she tangles her fingers in his hair, but he can't be bothered to care, not when he can feel her breathing, not when the leather of her pants squeaks delightfully against his own.

"We seriously almost died just then."

Killian laughs, again. He laughs and he laughs, drawing her closer as he breathes in the smell of her skin. Which, to be frank, is quite terrible. But, it's familiar, and so he laughs again before he pulls back. He means to tell her –

You were brilliant.

Don't leave if I can't go with you.

I love you.

– when the grim expression on her face gives him pause. She takes his hand, slots her fingers between his, and places it gently over her heart. It thuds, a familiar sound by now, but he can tell…it's weak.

"Emma, no."

"It's still draining."

He takes a step, presses his forehead against hers. "We'll find a way."

"We can't leave – "

"I'd rather die than leave you behind – "

"If we break – "

"Swan, I will not take one step out of this cavern. Let the gods strike this foul magic down if they wish. I – "

"Ugh, Killian." She pulls back, reaches up to clutch at the side of his face. "It's a curse, dammit. If you'd shut up a listen for a second, I'm trying to tell you the curses can be broken."

He frowns, presses harder against her heart.

"How?" he says.

Killian knows, of course, but his heart is racing enough for the both of them, his hand warming where hers begins to grow cold.

"You've read every book ever and you don't know how to break a curse?" Emma says. But then she hesitates, looks down at his chest. He catches her with his hook, pressing the chilly metal gently beneath her chin, until she's looking back up at him.

"I do know, Swan. I want you to tell me."

Emma sighs, and looks at his lips, licking her own, before looking back up into his eyes.

"I'm scared," she says. "You?"

"Bloody terrified."

"We have to kiss," she whispers, nearly against his mouth.

"We don't have to do anything, my love. It's not duty, it's desire."

She breathes, simply breathes, for several, stuttered beats of her heart. She fidgets, curling his hair around her fingers, leaning back and forth on her feet. The grays in her eyes begin to overtake the greens, and she says, so quietly, he has to cross his eyes to read the words from her lips –

"True love's kiss."

He swallows, nudges one of his feet in-between hers. He lets go of her hand, and clutches gently at the back of her neck.

"Are you certain?" he says.

"Not about that."

"About what, then?"

She leans back, just a fraction, and he pries his eyes open. He's unsure as to when they fell shut, only sure that Emma Swan is the love he's always been searching for. Not the ending he's thought on for so long, but the beginning it never occurred to him to hope for. She tilts her head back, and when she blinks up at him, when she licks her lips, when she flares her nostrils and stand steadier on her feet – the way she does when she's particularly tenacious – he realizes that, whether true or not, he's never loved anyone the way he loves her.

He means to tell her, in fact, when she pulls on his hair, until their lips are hardly a breath apart, and says, with no purpose, with no agenda, with the simplicity of feeling and realization –

"I'm in love with you."

– and kisses him.

The thing about true love's kiss is that it doesn't feel different from any other kiss they've shared.

Well, that's not quite true. Killian's busy savoring her admission while she's busy memorizing the topography of his mouth. She draws over his teeth, his tongue, over the ridges on the roof. He follows her lead, as he always has, and she kisses him with incredible fervor, like she always has. The only difference, is that it doesn't feel as though it's the last time, doesn't feel like he's wondering when she'll pull away, when the taste of her lips will disappear, forever but a memory. It feels like a beginning, and so when she pulls away, he stops only to breath before he throws his arms around her, lifts her off her feet, and kisses her yet again.

"We broke the curse like seven kisses ago," she says, before he counts to eight.

"I can hear you counting under your breath," she says, between the eleventh and the twelfth.

"Are you sure you're not from Duodenary?" she says, on number fourteen and a half.

"Why fourteen and a half?"

"I believe my tongue was still in your mouth when you questioned my heritage."

She smiles, and he smiles back, and it occurs to him, rather suddenly, that he never had the chance to reciprocate. She must know, what with the eagerness of his response, with the magic that still snaps to life around them. But all the same, he wants to tell her. Every day for the rest of their lives, for as long as she, royalty of Duo Twelve, will have him, a centuries old salt.

"I love you," he says. "I'm in love with you." He kisses her cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose. "I love you, I love you."

Emma giggles, softly, beneath the onslaught of his lips. She grasps the lapels of his coat, and it's so heart achingly familiar, that he tells her again. Twice.

"You do realize the first time we're saying this is next to a dead body, right?"

Killian laughs, if a bit awkwardly. "I believe that's our cue to leave, darling."

She laughs, in turn, and he rushes them out of the cavern, and into the forest. These woods have always been a hassle, but the smell of palm, and of wet earth, of sweet berries and salt-tinged winds is enough to lift the rest of the fear from his heart. He turns to tell her so, because he wants to tell her everything. Wants to tell her what he thought when he first met her, wants to tell her every thought he's had since, every trivial detail, down to the hole in the stocking she wears on her left foot, how it drives him mad.

But the words startle off his lips when he spots another woman behind Emma.

"You forgot your sword," she says, at which point, Emma starts as well.

"I ought to gut you, Lady Bell."

"Friend or foe," Emma says. "Because I just killed somebody, and I need like at least a few minutes before I can do it again."

Tink laughs, and hands Emma her sword.

"Friend," Tink says. "Especially after what you both just did."

Killian sighs. Exhaustion – the sort that always follows after a battle – sinks deep into his bones. He leans heavy against Emma, and she leans heavy against him.

"And what, pray tell, might that be?" he says.

Tink laughs, and though he longs for it to be grating, the laughter of a fairy is a different sort of magic altogether. It chips away at the fear that yet remains. Emma is similarly affected, turning into his chest with a sigh, the unburdened sort, the sort he hears when he kisses the patch of skin just beneath her ear.

"Why, you broke the curse of Neverland," Tink says.

At their collective confusion, the fairy rolls her eyes, and comes closer. "Emma is the product of true love. Combine that with true love's kiss, and what do you get?"

"Pure magic," Tink says, before either of them can hazard a guess. At this point, Emma settles fully against him, content to let the Lady Bell have her conversation with herself. "Pan rigged the magical thoroughfare between Neverland and Duodenary so that he could exploit it, if he wished." She looks at Emma, then, smiles softly at the sleepy expression on her face.

No one Emma can't charm, indeed, Killian thinks.

"You and your people were never truly free," Tink says. "Not until now. He intended to reverse the connection, to draw the time out of other, adjacent realms, and channel it through to Duodenary, to reverse time, as it were, to start over and over again as he pleased. He made a mistake, leaving his heart in his chest. And now you've slayed the demon, and have broken the curse."

Killian hums, Emma does as well, too tired to be impressed with themselves. The Lady Bell seems exasperated.

"You know, when I heard you were back, Killian, I was all set to be off with your miserable head. I thought you were nothing but a greedy pirate."

Emma's hands tighten where they clutch at his coat.

"But clearly," Tink says and looks at Emma, "something has changed."

Killian scratches beneath his ear with his hook, looks down at the ground. He's quite certain he doesn't deserve her forgiveness, absolutely certain he at least deserves a threating blade to the throat. But all sins, it seems, can be forgiven when someone loves you, when you love someone in return.

"Aye," he says. "It has."

"Listen," Emma says. "It really is great to meet you, and I'm sure I'll hear all about this…" She waves a hand between them, stopping on a shallow yawn as she grasps at the charms that dangle on his necklace. "…history here some other time. But we either need to find the nearest portal home, or the nearest cushy surface. Almost dying like six times really takes it out of you."

Tink smiles. "I told them you wouldn't stay for the party."

"Party?" Emma scoffs. "We broke the curse like ten minutes ago."

"Fairies," Killian says. "Always prepared."

Tink looks amused, and a bit exasperated. She takes Emma by the hand, who takes Killian by the hand, and they travel like children through the underbrush, down to the pond where the spirits were flowing in. Only now, the skies are empty of death and decay, leaving only clear, cool air in its wake, shimmering not with stolen magic and dark purpose, but with the life that stirs all around them.

Killian, of course, had very nearly forgotten how beautiful Neverland could be. The shadows of Skull Rock melt away, and the creatures around them stir to life. The darkness infecting the island seems to have dissipated. Firebirds arc gracefully overhead, their tails leaving trails of light behind. Ferns at their feet twist in the wind, lighting up to life as they're disturbed. The leaves of the trees above flutter away from their branches, coalescing into shapes of all kinds, watching curiously as the three of them trail by. The vegetation around the pond glows with the blues and purples that seem to live in the water, stirred by the multicolored fowl who sing softly at their arrival. Tink leans down, drops something into the water, and three portals stir to life, whirlpools turning gently with the ripples in the water.

"It's your choice," Tink says. "Go where you will. I can't say I won't see you again, but I can't imagine you'll be vacationing in Neverland."

"Nope," Emma says. She pauses, and regards Tink with a curious expression, before she says, terribly genuine, "Thank you."

"Thank you, Emma," Tink answers, and she glances up at Killian. "You too, Hook."

He waves her off. "Our debts are squared, Lady Bell. No need for thanks."

"That they are." Tink's smile fades, and she begins to back away, into the brush. "That spell only lasts so long, you know. I'll tell the others about you. If you ever return, expect no trouble from us."

The Lady Bell pauses, then, and taps at her chin. The shadows around her lick at her shoulders, and she seems half-disappeared already. But there's a glint in her eyes, prickling at something in the back of Killian's mind. Like she knows something.

"What?" he says, holding tighter to Emma's hand.

Emma makes a gentle noise of protest, and he relaxes his grip, though he does not look away from the fairy before him.

"What what?" Emma says, wriggling her fingers beneath his.

"She knows something," he says, glancing at Emma before he looks back at Tink, waving his hook accusingly. "You know something."

"Just like you know her, I bet," Tink says, grinning when Killian quirks a brow.

"Pardon?"

"Didn't you ever wonder why the bean brought you to Duodenary?"

He can feel Emma's eyes on him, but he doesn't look away, only down at the ground before him, unseeing as he puzzles over the day he'd been dropped into the unforgiving waters of the Pelagy. First he'd wondered if something had gone awry, if the magic was faulty. But then he'd only scrambled to survive. There was no use dwelling on it, especially once he'd discovered that Duodenarians didn't much care to travel between realms, given their history, and so he'd moved on, trying to find a different way to return to Neverland. Or at least…pretending to try, when the weariness of a life ill spent began to drag at the tails of his coat.

"I suppose it simply malfunctioned," Killian says, rather dismissively.

"I'm sorry," Emma says, tugging at his hand and stepping into his line of sight. "What's this about a bean?"

"A magic bean," Tink corrects. "Hook threw it into the seas in the Enchanted Forest, intending to return to Neverland." The Lady Bell pauses, and looks back to him. "But you didn't think of Neverland, now did you?"

"I most certainly did," Killian protests. "I tossed it into the waters below, and I remember thinking…"

Thinking of home, he realizes. Not Neverland, but home. Imagining where he belonged, the bean clutched tight in his hand before splashing lightly down below.

Tink smiles, and slips even further into the shadows, until hardly a specter of the Lady remains behind.

"You should know better than anyone," she says, "that magic works differently in different realms. You threw in the bean, and thought of home. And it lingered, didn't it? There in the magic-saturated waters of Duodenary. Nudging at you until you'd found it, giving you a purpose, molding you just a bit, as though you'd been born there – "

"Wait," Emma interrupts. "So some weird magical…" She waves her arms around, searching for the proper term. "…thing made it so he can wrangle the way he does?" Her face falls, and she leans back on her heels. "So that we felt like – "

"Of course it can't make you feel anything. Fate merely presents an opportunity," Tink intones, then looks to him. "Isn't that right, Killian?"

Emma smiles, much to his surprise, though it's still shadowed with uncertainty. "You say that a lot, huh?"

"It's the truth," he says, quietly. Killian looks down at her, then back at the Lady before them as she sinks ever further into the purple-dark forest of Neverland.

"You thought of home," Tink says. "And here you are. What you do next is up to you."

She bids them both a farewell, then, with a terribly precocious smile, swallowed at last by the pitch roiling around them, beneath the waving canopy above. Then they're alone together once more, looking at one another, listening to the sounds of the forest, the sounds of the portals as they spin away beside them.

"Magic bean," Emma repeats, rolling the words around in her mouth. "That sounds really stupid, you know that?"

Killian smiles. "Aye." He frowns, though, when she seems uncertain, reaching up to twist her fingers in the fabric of his coat. "She's right, Swan. This is no spell." Then, quieter, leaning down to catch her eyes with his, "I love you."

Her hand twists harder, and her lashes flutter. "It's not that. I know magic when I feel it. And this is just…"

"Aye," he says. "It's just."

They stand together, in weighted silence, for several long moments, despite Tink's warning, that the portals won't last forever. The magic in the water spins and spins, with no sign of wearing down. So they simply stand – she watching him, and he watching her, awash in the knowledge that home stands in front of him. Not because of magic, but because he was shown the way, and chose to follow it.

"What is it?" Killian says.

Emma shakes her head, stares up at him, chewing lightly at her lips, and he imagines she's thinking much the same. Though exhaustion still weighs heavy on her shoulders, her eyes are bright beneath the brilliant starlight. Rather suddenly, Killian finds himself wishing he could make love to her here, in the water, down on the shore.

"I'm tired," she answers simply, truthfully, after a while. "I just want to go…"

Go home, of course, but here in the unfamiliar night of a familiar realm, she can't bring herself to say it, and neither can he, tuckered beyond reason and swaying on his feet. And the portals – nearly forgotten in the waters beside them – begin to spin faster, and so he satisfies himself with a chaste kiss to her cheek before he turns back to the pond.

"Which one's which?" Emma says.

They lean over the water. One shows the great current of Clockwork Bay, where the Jolly Roger is yet moored. Another shows a city with impossibly tall buildings, men and women in dark clothes, machines making a ruckus as they clamber loudly down the black and yellow streets. The screeching noises and crowds of people like he's never seen before make him wince.

Emma makes a curious noise. "Where the hell is that?"

"No clue whatsoever," he answers. "Pass."

They glance down into the last, and he sees a familiar harbor, one he visited quite frequently during his time in the Enchanted Forest. The one where he met Milah, where they scorned her husband, near to where he lost his hand. He grits his teeth, jaw jumping beneath flesh as he thinks briefly on the meaning of home. The sun is shining there, beating down from overhead. The trees are all a bright, familiar green. The waters stir with creatures he'd grown up seeing. Though magic is not uncommon, it's not nearly as pervasive, and he wonders what it would be like to return, how it would feel to go where he'd been meaning – at the very least pretending– to return. And though the thought is not entirely unpleasant, he thinks simply, Emma's not there.

"That's the Enchanted Forest, isn't it?" she says.

"Aye."

She hesitates, then, and he looks down at her perplexed, before she says. "Do you want to…?" She gestures down at the portal. "Because I mean, we don't have to go down the same – "

"Bloody hell, Swan." He takes a step backwards, stands by the portal that leads back to Duodenary. He pulls her to his chest, lifts her so her lips are level with his. "I'm already home. I think we've established that many times over. I've made my choice."

She smiles, presses the barest of kisses to his lips. "You sure?"

"Never been more sure of anything, love."

Emma smiles, and though it's perhaps more hesitant than he would like, it's still bright, brighter even than the meteors that turn in erratic patterns overhead. He kisses her, lightly, because he wants to, because he can. Though, it's only for a moment, before Emma pulls away, hooks her foot around behind his calf, and smiles at him before she says –

"Me neither."

– and trips the both of them into the water with a great splash, and with an even greater sense of hope, of love, of longing fulfilled, as they tumble home, together.