lacuna

(n.) a blank space, a missing part

Chapter 11: Lacuna

Killian shoots a surprised glance at Swan, utterly clueless about what's racing through her mind at that moment. Before he can decipher it, she shuts her eyes, and her face becomes a canvas drained of color. In a heartbeat, he darts towards her, cradling her in his arms just as she threatens to make a less-than-graceful return to the icy stage. Scooping her gently into his arms, he pulls her close.

"Well, I tend to have this effect on women," quips the dark-blond guy with a mischievous grin.

Killian shoots him a look that could chill a cup of espresso and signals for the dimmer switch on the charm offensive. The girl in the black hat takes a subtle jab at the man, successfully dialing down the wattage on his smile.

"Is she okay?" Concerned, the lass – Lily, or was it? – questions, prompting Killian's sarcasm to make an entrance.

"Does she look like she's okay?" he retorts with a raised eyebrow.

Suppressing the urge to unleash a kraken of irritation on the unwitting duo, Killian reluctantly acknowledges that they aren't to blame for knowing Swan. He really shouldn't harbor resentment towards them. Still, annoyance simmers within him like a pot of overzealous soup, threatening to boil over. As he looks at her, who's blissfully unaware of the turmoil within him, he contemplates the unexpected turn of events.

"Swan," he murmurs gently, but she remains unresponsive. Are her memories resurfacing, threatening to erase the Swan he knows when she opens her eyes? And why does the prospect sting with an unexpected, piercing pain?

Killian sighs and turns to the duo, reigning in his irritation for the sake of friendliness. "You two seem to know her," he observes, prompting bewildered glances and a subtle nod from the man.

"What's going on?" the woman inquires.

"The ice gave way beneath her on New Year's Day, and she lost all her memories," Killian explains, aiming for a more nonchalant tone. No harm in being a tad friendlier. He doesn't want to scare these people away.

"So she doesn't know who she is?" The man scrutinizes Swan with furrowed brows.

"I think that's precisely what 'lost all her memories' means," Killian grumbles. "So who is she?" he demands with more force than he initially intended.

"Emma Nolan, an actress; we're colleagues," the man replies willingly, though skepticism flickers in his eyes.

As the revelation dawns on Killian, he can't help but marvel at the kaleidoscope of clues he's managed to miss. Swan, the living drama encyclopedia: decoding Granny's Shakespearean riddles, flawlessly reenacting cinematic grand finales, pirouetting with finesse, and warbling tunes like a nocturnal serenade. Even Wendy's foggy memories of Swan's photoshoots now seem like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle falling perfectly into place.

Despite the neon signs flashing "Actress Alert," Killian reluctantly admits to himself that he was stubbornly blind to the Broadway-sized truth right in front of him.

A twinge of regret courses through Killian as he contemplates the possibility that if he had entertained the notion that Swan might be an actress earlier, they could have unraveled the mystery sooner. Checking the local theater's website might have been the key, but facing that reality meant potentially losing her – a prospect he unconsciously avoided. The lake, capricious in its nature, giving and taking away, leaves Killian wishing for the damn thing to dry up.

Killian's grumpiness cuts through the contemplation. "Any ideas where she lives?"

"In the actors' building, three floors below us."

"Her bag's probably resting at the bottom of the lake with all her documents and probably her keys. Is there a way for us to get into her apartment?"

"Of course, there are spare keys at the theater's front desk," the man replies, still not entirely wrapping his head around the situation.

Killian takes a deep breath, resigned to the inevitable. "When she comes to, I'll take her home. I'm sure you had different plans for the afternoon, but could you come with us?"

An unspoken conversation flits between the man and the woman, and Killian remains blissfully ignorant of their telepathic exchange. Frankly, he couldn't be bothered.

"Sure," the man acquiesces. "We'll change into our shoes, and we can go."

"Thank you. I live there; I'll leave the gate openfor you. Feel free to come in," Killian dismisses without bothering for further pleasantries. The realization dawns that he hasn't introduced himself, but in the whirlwind of the situation, such niceties seem trivial. They'll catch up soon enough, and then he can roll out the red carpet of formalities.

Stepping into the house, Killian delicately deposits her on the couch, shedding his coat and shoes like relics of a mystifying day, strewn carelessly in the foyer. Returning to her side, he regards her with a cocktail of seriousness and uncertainty.

"Well, at least you're not soaking wet now," he mutters, kneeling down to gracefully remove her coat and shoes. Yet, the script for the upcoming scenes eludes him. Should he coax her awake, or is it wiser to let her slumber undisturbed? Which choice navigates the less treacherous waters?

Running his fingers through his hair, Killian contemplates the options, his gaze hesitatingly fixated on her. She lies there, caught in a blissful dream, a vision of loveliness and vulnerability. How can he shield her from the tempest that looms on the horizon? What's the right play if, upon waking, she's no longer the enigmatic Swan? And if she is, then what? Was it presumptuous to decide to take her home without her input? What if she wants to stay? Yet, now that the mystery of her identity and dwelling has unraveled, standing still is not an option. Not that Killian desires her to depart, but the doctors believe that a familiar setting might be the elixir to restore her memories.

One way or another, he's bound to lose her. His fingers dance across the contours of her face as he continues to ponder. Will she choose to stay once her memory unfurls? Some connection, maybe even a trace of friendship, has sprouted between them, blurring the boundaries of mere camaraderie.

He shouldn't be this entangled, shouldn't crave her with such fervor. The notion of losing her shouldn't sting so acutely. He's never clung to anything or anyone – his only constant has always been the melody of music. Shuffling from city to city, occasionally country to country, hardly ever sleeping in his own bed, he learned to avoid forming bonds destined to slip away. Yet, Swan, with the very essence of her existence, disrupts the meticulously composed symphony of his life. Why is it that she, with her mere presence, eclipses everything that once harmonized so seamlessly?

"Hello! Can we come in?" the man's voice echoes through the doorway.

"Aye, make yourselves at home," he replies, his voice sounding eerily hollow. With a resigned sigh, he rises, deliberately avoiding Swan's unconscious gaze as he ambles toward the foyer.

The man, a few years his junior, appears in his early thirties – a walking contradiction in demeanor. Apart from their shared blue eyes and towering heights, the similarities are scarce. The lass, seemingly Swan's age, might not dazzle Killian as much, but with her long brown hair and expressive eyes, she radiates a captivating aura.

"I apologise for not introducing myself earlier. Killian Jones," he says when both of them join him in the foyer. Not exactly Mr. Congeniality, but at least the grumpiness has taken a slight detour from their lakeside encounter.

"Graham Humbert," the man smiles, his gaze navigating the terrain between kindness and a subtle hint of concern.

"Lilian Page, but call me Lily."

Handshakes are swapped, coats discarded, and he shepherds them into the living room.

"Take a seat," he gestures toward the armchairs, then kneels back by the couch. He's still unsure of what to do – maybe he should call his brother; after all, he's a doctor and likely knows how to navigate such situations.

"How did she end up with you?" Graham asks softly.

Killian turns towards them, giving them the cliff notes of what transpired. Graham and Lily remain silent observers. Graham's gaze periodically flits toward Swan, an undercurrent of growing concern evident in his eyes. Lily, seemingly oblivious, toys with her long hair, occasionally offering wide-eyed glances as Killian unfolds the story – the doctors' diagnoses, the peculiar circumstances that delivered Swan into their care, and the spontaneous trip to the lake.

"This... is scary," Lily declares once Killian falls silent.

He nods in agreement, but how could he convey the resilience Swan displayed in the face of fear? The strength and courage wielded effortlessly, never bending to the daunting challenges with anything but grace and a carefree spirit? How much she, unknowingly, has become his silent mentor?

Gazing at her, he notices the subtle tremor of her long eyelashes. Leaning closer, his fingers gently trace across her face.

She blinks, dazed, opening her eyes.

"Hello, love," he whispers.

A faint smile tugs at her lips. Killian's heart drums with joy – though he feels a twinge of guilt, knowing it's not right to hope she doesn't remember.

"Hi,"

"Who are you now?" He playfully asks. He needs to know if she remembers herself.

"Swan, and I'm afraid I won't be a fan of Emma," she grimaces.

He shares that concern. The lukewarm welcome from Lily and Graham on the lake didn't escape his notice.

Suddenly sitting up, she furrows her brow.

"What happened?"

"You passed out."

"Again?"

"It appears my charm is too irresistible," Killian grins.

Swan blushes, and he takes it as a promising signal—his innocent Swan is still intact. Anticipating a sassy comeback, he readies himself for the imminent wit.

"Damn..." Graham's disbelieving voice disrupts the moment.

Only then does she realize they're not alone.

"Oh, hello!" she greets Lily and Graham with a hint of awkwardness.

"Hello!" they echo simultaneously, both staring at her with perplexed amazement. Killian doesn't quite understand what they find odd about her.

"Why the surprised faces?" she asks, tilting her head.

Lily shakes her head in disbelief, and Graham gives an awkward grin.

"We've never seen you blush."

"But I do it all the time," Swan smiles, sharing a conspiratorial look with Killian.

"It's rather astonishing," Graham mutters.

Lines form on Swan's forehead.

"Don't tell me I don't smile either," she huffs in an adorable, irritated manner. Killian discreetly grins.

"Well, not like this," Graham states uncertainly, looking like someone unsure if being so honest is the right move.

"Like what?"

"So... kindly," Lily ventures tentatively, clearly navigating Swan's emotional territory with caution.

"Oh," her expression darkens. "So, I'm not kind?"

Lily and Graham expertly sidestep locking eyes with Killian, leaving him convinced that the real Swan is more enigmatic than her facade of sunshine and rainbows suggests. Emma, it appears, is either genuinely reserved or, at her worst, possesses the same icy sarcasm that Killian brandishes like a pirate's cutlass. This revelation isn't an immediate issue, but Killian senses the impending challenge of Swan reconciling her public persona with her concealed personality. Navigating this revelation won't be a leisurely stroll through the enchanted forest, but Killian is resolute in facing the upcoming trials.

In a moment of verbal acrobatics, he blurts out, "You're an actress."

Swan shoots him a reproachful look, seeing through his attempt to pirouette around the imminent revelation. Yet, as the words hang in the air, her face transforms into a beacon of delight.

"An actress?" she echoes, already grinning. "I think I like that, although... it might be scary to stand before an audience," she adds thoughtfully, her gaze shifting to Lily and Graham. "And how do you know me? Did Killian tell you what happened to me?"

Graham nods, a mischievous grin playing on his face.

"It's quite an unusual situation, but..." he shrugs, "well, I'm Graham Humbert, your colleague, and this is Lilian Page, or Lily, my wife."

"I'm glad to meet you both," Swan declares with a smile. "Well, currently, I am Swan, and I have no idea who Emma is."

A curious silence descends, threading tension and uncertainty into the air. The room hangs in suspense, a rare moment where even Killian finds himself at a loss for words. His eyes meticulously scour Swan's countenance, attempting to decrypt the silent ballet of thoughts twirling behind her gaze. She discreetly surveys Lily and Graham before fixing her gaze on him. In an inexplicable gesture, Killian takes her hand, as if fending off an imminent disaster. She smiles, inhales deeply, and he can almost predict the question about to unravel from her lips—the question for which she already holds the answer.

"If I'm not mistaken, you don't really like me, do you?" Swan throws a glance at the pair.

"It's... complicated," Lily responds, and Killian detects a story concealed behind her words. A tale that, perhaps, is better left veiled in the shadows.

"Why?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Lily looks uneasy, stealing a glance at Swan.

"No, but it wouldn't hurt to know what I'm really like, right? So, tell me," Swan straightens, though Killian glimpses a flicker of genuine trepidation behind her brave front.

"We... don't really like each other," Lily begins tentatively. "Our first meeting... let's just say it lacked the sparkle."

"What do you mean?"

Lily releases a sigh, as if preparing for the impact of her words, unsure if her decision is the right one. Killian admires the lass – he always respecting those who don't sugarcoat things just for the sake of placating, even if, in this particular moment, a little white lie might be a welcome balm. However, he understands that it wouldn't serve Swan any favors. She needs to confront the reality of her own nature, even if it's a bitter pill to swallow.

"You once told me that Graham wouldn't have any interest in me, so I shouldn't entertain any hope."

Swan's eyes widen.

"Why would I say such a thing?" she asks, her expression almost horrified.

"Well... if you ask me, probably because you were green-eyed with jealousy, though you'd sooner challenge a dragon to a duel than admit it. And to be fair... I was harboring a bit of envy towards you too," Lily confesses, and Killian silently thanks her for attempting to soften the harshness of her words.

"Why would I be jealous?" Swan furrows her brow, shooting a puzzled look at Graham. "No offense, you're a handsome guy, but the thought of me having any romantic inclinations towards you is like a fairy tale gone wrong."

"Emma..." Graham glances cautiously at Swan, discomfort etched on his face, and Killian already senses the reason behind it. A suspicion that subtly tightens his chest.

"Call me Swan, please. Emma is not who I am. I mean, yes, technically, it is, but... that name holds no significance for me. Right now, I am not Emma," she declares with conviction, then fixes a penetrating gaze on Graham. It's evident she won't yield. "So then, why on earth would I be jealous?"

Graham bows his head, sustaining a silence so profound it could compete with the quietude of a library at midnight. Lily gently intertwines her fingers with his and directs her gaze towards Swan.

"You two slept together," she states with a serene composure. Killian appreciates the absence of judgment, pain, or accusatory undertones in her words.

"Seriously?" Swan exclaims, her eyes widening in astonishment as she turns her gaze towards Graham.

Lily nods, and Graham, his gaze a blend of hesitation and a touch of apology, appears to be traversing a minefield.

Killian's stomach performs a complex acrobatic routine, and he eyes Graham through a lens he didn't know existed. He'd rather not imagine the man and Swan engaging in a romantic tango, particularly when his mental image even includes Graham sporting a fashionable bruise under his eye. In a city full of potential acquaintances, why did it have to be someone Swan had a past with?

"Oh," Swan remarks, her expression shifting. "Well, that's weird," her face darkens as she turns to Lily. "But you guys weren't a thing back then, right?"

"No, Graham and I were strangers then."

"That's a relief. And since then? I mean, I can see you two are head over heels, so obviously, I never stood a chance. I didn't make any moves, right?"

"No," Graham asserts firmly. "You never pursue a man who is taken."

This snippet does little to soothe Killian's unease. Graham's mere presence fails to act as a balm, and he wonders if anything in the universe could make him feel comfortable right now.

"Does that mean... well, I wasn't in a serious relationship? I mean, obviously not now, but before..."

Could they just hit the fast-forward button on this part? Seriously, why linger on such topics?

"You're not the settle-down type," Graham responds, but it's evident he'd rather dissect the intricacies of a ping pong match than dwell on this.

Swan gives Killian's hand a comforting squeeze, and he gathers that, awkward as it is, this conversation is far from reaching its conclusion.

"So, by that, you mean... I... so, um..." Swan stammers, her cheeks tinting with a rosy hue.

"You're more into casual flings," Lily chimes in, hesitantly twirling a strand of her hair, as if she's unraveling the mysteries of the universe.

A palpable awkwardness weaves its way into the scene; Lily and Graham avoid eye contact with Swan like it's a synchronized dance, and Killian is left trying to muster up an ounce of nonchalance. He'd rather not dwell on the mental image of countless people touching and kissing the woman who, until recently, was exclusively his—even if the exclusivity was a figment of his imagination. And why the bloody hell does he feel like he's swallowed a lemon now? He's no saint, and surely he has no right to entertain such jealousy... Jealousy? Well, bless the seven seas, he's genuinely jealous.

"Well, this is oddly ironic," Swan breaks the silence, a suppressed giggle pirouetting in her voice. "Currently, I have no idea what sex is like."

Killian shakes his head in disbelief, but then he can't hold it in and erupts into laughter. Swan looks at him with a gleeful gaze, as if she genuinely finds the situation amusing—and perhaps she does.

"You're impossible, you know that?" Killian teases gently.

She tightens her grip on his hand, and a soft, shining smile graces her lips. Despite Lily and Graham's front-row seats, this moment seems to be an encore just for the two of them, though regrettably, it concludes with a speed that would make a time traveler envious as Swan shifts her attention back to the ensemble.

"Any chance you know if I have a family?" she inquires, but her voice doesn't harbor hope; it's more akin to seeking a sonic confirmation for a fact she's already stashed in her mental treasure trove. As if reality needs an echo to make it resoundingly real.

"As far as I know, you don't, but we don't know each other that well, and I haven't been at the theater for very long," Graham attempts to cushion the revelation, a valiant effort at preserving hope, though it's as transparent as a ghost in a well-lit room.

"And... friends?" she persists in her inquiry.

"You're on good terms with many."

Everyone is well aware that this isn't exactly a heartfelt response, but Killian doesn't harbor any ill will toward the man. How does one delicately convey to someone fumbling in the dark about their own identity that, essentially, people aren't exactly singing their praises?

He gives Swan's hand a reassuring squeeze, a non-verbal vow that regardless of what revelations or omissions come to light, she remains as significant to him as ever.

"But not so much that anyone would miss me," she sighs, and Killian regrets the ensuing silence, a void where neither Lily nor Graham attempts to counter this bleak declaration. It's time to conclude this emotional roller coaster and hit the road. She's been served a buffet of self-discovery, and that's sufficient for now. As for himself, a breath of fresh air wouldn't go amiss.

"You reside in the actors' building. Lily and Graham are here to lead the way," he says softly. It's the next step, but it doesn't sit well with him. Escorting her home might coerce her elusive memories into an encore—and who knows what that might unleash?

"That's very kind of you. Thanks," Swan attempts a smile, but even if she were an award-winning actress, she can't mask that everything she's heard is hitting her like a meteor shower of reality.

Killian's heart does a somersault—how can he ease this? Why can't he just be a sprinkle more of a verbal magician? If only, perhaps he'd unravel the secrets of navigating this emotional minefield.

"You know, Em... Swan," Lily cautiously speaks up. "Graham's always been on the 'you're more than meets the eye' train, and, well, if it wasn't clear before, now I'm hopping on board. If you weren't genuinely different from what I thought, you wouldn't be someone else now. And even though I might've found Emma a bit hard to swallow, the woman sitting here right now is someone I'd love to know better."

Swan gazes at her with teary eyes.

"Really?"

"Absolutely," Lily grins.

"Thank you," Swan whispers.

Graham shoots Lily a proud glance, and Killian gets it—what she just said is a colossal leap for her. She may not have been Emma's biggest enthusiast, but in this moment, despite their rollercoaster history, she's extending an olive branch to Swan. If he had the right words, Killian would tip his hat to Lily because he knows Swan just needed this gentle nudge. It's just enough hope to cling to, to stay resilient, to hold onto the persona she's crafted over the past few days.

Swan takes a deep breath and stands tall. She shuts her eyes momentarily, gathering strength, then nods.

"Alright, let's go. Home, sweet unknown home."