Note: I know, I know. This installment is more than twice the word count I limited myself to in these drabbles (making this clearly not a drabble), but I couldn't end it with that first scene. I just couldn't! We needed a little hope and inspiration after all!
Dried up. Dead. Useless. Much like you.
Emma slumped down the rocky wall of Rumplestiltskin's cell and settled on the ground, dropping her head as the utter futility of their situation washed over her.
For several minutes after Cora and Hook had left the cave, her anger had fueled her, giving her the strength to use her sword to bang away at the bars of their prison, to use brute force to try to get them the hell out of here.
If nothing else, it had been a good outlet for her aggression.
The absolute son of a bitch!
He'd betrayed her, betrayed them all, stolen the heart out of a princess's chest for the sole purpose of manipulating them. Who did that?
You betrayed him first, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered.
It was that voice that made the fight go out of her entirely. Maybe if she hadn't betrayed him, he would have continued to help them. Maybe it would be Cora in this cell instead of them. He'd already shown himself to be endlessly resourceful. Who's to say she hadn't picked the wrong side?
Not that she had any illusions that he was anything more than an absolute blood-thirsty mercenary, who would stoop to absolutely anything to get what he wanted. No, she was right to not trust him.
Where she messed up was in trusting herself.
Dried up. Dead. Useless. Much like you.
He was right; she was useless. What good had she ever been? Yeah, she was the "savior", but this cell, the scroll Rumple had written, proved it wasn't anything special about her. She was the savior because Rumple had made her the savior. Now that she'd broken the curse she was indeed useless.
And even a man she'd just met could see it. The two of them understood each other, after all.
Dried up. Dead. Useless. Much like you.
The thing is…he hadn't meant it; not really. Her superpower had not only flipped on at that phrase but sounded as loud as a five-alarm fire warning. He'd been lashing out, trying to hurt her.
Because of how badly you hurt him.
The guilt bumped the hopelessness out of the way to take center stage.
He may have been lying his (smoking hot) ass off when he compared her to the bean, but his insistence that he wouldn't have left her at the top of the beanstalk? Yeah, that had been entirely sincere. He'd trusted her, believed in her, put his life on the line for her, and she'd betrayed him.
Because I knew he'd screw me over the first chance he got!
Her superpower flared to life again. That was a load of crap and she knew it. She'd betrayed him, because she sensed she could trust him. She sensed he could become something to her, something big and important and all encompassing, and she couldn't go there again.
And because of her fear, they were in the mess they were in now.
Mary Margaret continued talking about hope and optimism, insisting they would find a way out and get home, but truth be told, Emma was beginning to wonder if they'd all be better off if they just left her here.
She was, after all, dried up, dead and useless.
"Hey!"
Killian's heart leapt at the sound of her voice, the relief overwhelming.
He was under no illusions that he was anything more than a villain. He'd done what he had to do to preserve his chance at revenge, aye, but he'd done so at a price that turned his stomach.
He'd never forget the squelching sound that accompanied his removal of Aurora's heart. He'd killed before, of course. Killed, injured, maimed, manipulated, all of it.
But he'd never ripped out a heart.
The bile rose in his throat just thinking of it, visions of Milah swimming before his eyes. What had he become in his quest to avenge her?
Still, as uncomfortable as ripping out Aurora's heart had been, it had been nothing to the look in Swan's eyes when he'd compared her to the dried-out bean. It was such a stupid and preposterous lie that he was surprised he'd been able to deliver it with a straight face.
She was anything but useless. She was extraordinary. He could see that even through the pain of her betrayal.
How could he truly blame her for her actions? Was she not protecting herself just as he was? She was desperate to get back to her son after all.
The guilt deepened at that. Killian had already separated one boy from his mother, and the guilt of that had eaten away at both Milah and him every day of their lives together. What manner of man was he to break up another family?
It had been enough that he had almost almost changed his mind, almost defied Cora.
But that would have been suicide. And a suicide from which nothing useful could have come.
Given that, he'd tamped down his guilt and left with Cora, hoping beyond hope that Swan would find some way home, that her resourcefulness would get her out of that blasted cave.
And so, when the princess brigade had shown up on the scene, shooting the compass from Cora's hand and rushing them like a troop of avenging angels, his most predominant emotion was relief.
Cora ordered him to get the compass, and he'd turned to comply, coming face to face with Emma Swan bearing down on him with her sword outstretched.
A blind man could have seen her lack of skill with the weapon. He could have ended their "duel" before it even began, but he had no desire to defeat her, even less to do her bodily harm. His mind went to the bean he possessed. Perhaps there was a way for the both of them to achieve their objectives. Perhaps he could let her obtain her prize—could prove to her that he was wrong, so very bloody wrong, in the way he compared her to the bean.
Perhaps he could remind her just how special she was while at the same time retaining his ability to exact his revenge on his sworn enemy.
So, he'd toyed with her, remaining on the defensive (although he couldn't resist a bit of blatant innuendo once he'd flipped her to her back. The opportunity to see the surprise—and maybe even a bit of desire—in her eyes, too delicious to pass up).
In the end, back in possession of the compass, she'd dealt him a blow that knocked all sense from him. He'd come to minutes later—just in time to watch in horror as Cora's hand shot forward, plunging into Swan's chest. He'd been frozen in place, the shock and revulsion so pervasive he couldn't move; couldn't speak, couldn't even cry out.
But then it had happened. A burst of magic shot forth from Swan, blasting Cora back with such force that she was rendered unconscious.
He was right; she truly was remarkable. Just like this bean that would soon be restored to its former glory, Emma Swan was back.
Far from dried up, dead and useless, Emma Swan was the best of them all.