Killian

Killian sighed deeply as the door shut behind Emma's rapidly retreating form.

He had never wanted to tell her what had happened with the Jolly Roger, especially not like this, not when he hadn't even been the one to try and explain.

Bloody Robin Hood, trying to be noble and save a cause Killian knew was completely lost.

It had been a recurring discussion between the two of them, and admittedly between him and David too. He wouldn't have been surprised if the two of them and Snow White discussed the situation at length behind his back. The more Emma began to persist in her questioning to them, the more Robin had insisted it was time to tell her the truth.

Killian had refused every single time, adamantly.

And what a fool he'd been.

But he had once promised to win Emma Swan's heart without any trickery, and this would have felt like trickery. He didn't want her to feel indebted to him. Besides, he had known here was good chance that finding out would freak her out so much that it might drive her away beyond any reach.

And here they were, in the exact situation he had predicted they would end up in.

His worst-case scenario, baring his heart to her only for her to end up running away.

He stood there in his empty living room and looked around as he ran his hands through his hair, hoping a solution to all his problems would jump out at him from behind his sofa.

What a bloody mess.

All he could hope for after the last 24 hours was some sleep, because gods knew he badly needed it after his run in with his uncle.

Gods, his body ached in ways it hadn't in years.

Right as he headed towards his bedroom door, he heard the soft creaking of the floorboards in the hallway outside and tensed, reaching for his weapon as someone softly knocked on his front door.

He glanced at the doors of his balcony, where David had stationed guards. Guards that had been dismissed or told to move to another location when his daughter had shown up, guessing from their absence.

Or maybe they had been taken out?

Without him and Emma realizing? Doubtful.

A soft knock resonated once again through his empty living room, and Killian braced himself.

Surely an attacker wouldn't be so polite?

Too late now, he thought as he swung open the door, sword in hand.

"Swan?"

"I'm so sorry," blurted Emma, walking past him into his apartment as she'd done just a few moments before and as if she hadn't just left.

"Call it a reflex, but I had to get out of here and didn't think before I acted."

"But you came back," questioned Killian, still absolutely flummoxed at her sudden reappearance.

"Yeah, I came back," she whispered softly.

"Why?

"What do you mean, why? I shouldn't have walked away in the first place!"

"But you did, so why are you back?"

"I - I honestly don't know. It wasn't fair of me, to walk out when all you did was answer the questions I have been pestering you about," muttered Emma.

"Except I didn't, at least not all of them, and I wasn't the one who told you about the Jolly Roger in the first place," he pointed out, raising one eyebrow.

"No, and I am sorry. Don't blame Robin, I honestly have been hounding my parents incessantly about it and I'm sure they told him and he only did it to shut me up," rambled Emma pleadingly.

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it went, but Robin and I have already cleared things if it makes you feel better," reassured Killian.

"Oh, thank God," sighed Emma, clearly relieved.

"You still haven't answered my question," reminded Killian questioningly, gesturing with his hook as he placed his weapon on the kitchen island and leaned back.

"Well, you haven't answered mine either!"

"Swan, you haven't even asked a question?" rebutted Killian immediately, visibly irritated with the situation.

'Oh, right, yeah. What was your question again?"

"Emma, why did you come back?" sighed Killian, exasperation filling every word as he ran his hand through his hair. "Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

It occurred to him in that moment that his questions weren't just for tonight; in fact, they hinted at something that had kept him awake from the moment she announced her return to Storybrooke.

What did Emma Swan want when it came to Killian Jones?

He constantly had the thought that he had given her his all. It was a recurring thought. And one he kept coming back to because he never stopped. Every time she asked something of him, he leaped to her assistance. He had given her his sword, his honor, and his heart.

And he couldn't fathom what more she could want from him.

"First of all, that was more than one question."

"Swan, I swear to - "

"Second of all," Emma continued, not even acknowledging Killian's interruption. "I don't want anything from you. In fact, I believe I should be the one to tell you something."

At this, all Killian could do was roll his eyes and sigh.

Why just why couldn't this infuriating woman speak clearly and abandon that cryptic manner of speaking of hers?

Was this a problem of this realm or an Emma thing? He feared he would never know.

What he did know was that Emma Swan was still standing in his living room, glancing around surreptitiously and alternating between assessing him and his living space, clearly not planning to say what she declared moments ago to need to say. Her lingering glances only served to remind him he had been about to go to bed when she'd knocked the first time and thus he remained in his sleepwear.

Which was not much at all admittedly.

With this in mind Killian chose to stride away into his bedroom to grab a sweatshirt, ignoring Emma's protests..

"Killian, I am trying to tell you something here!" she yelled after him as he walked away.

"I'm sure you are, lass, but I'm not trying to catch a cold," replied Killian as he strode back into the living room fully clothed.

He pretended not to see the flash of disappointment on her face and chose the safest route he could take.

"How about a nightcap, Swan?"

Okay, maybe it might not have been the safest route he could have taken but he was trying to win the war, not battles.

He didn't wait for her response as he headed to the bar cart he kept near his desk and poured two generous portions of rum. The sight of the glass in his hand took him right back to that night in New York, when he had been finally reunited with Emma.

An Emma that knew and remembered him.

"Killian, I really do need to tell you something!" said Emma insistingly as she accepted the glass from him.

"So you keep saying, lass, and I've yet to hear it, which makes me believe you don't actually want - "

"I can't stop thinking about you."

That might have been the last thing Killian had been expecting to hear from Emma Swan in that moment, let alone ever, until he heard what came next.

"Truth is, I am in love with you. But you already know that; this whole town does apparently."

Killian did, in fact, not know that and had started to resemble a gaping fish more than a fearsome pirate.

"And maybe in another world, with a different Emma Swan, that would have been enough for an epic love story. But with me, with this Emma, that's not enough because this Emma Swan sucks at love," she rushed to say. "I knew how you felt about me and I threw it back in your face and pushed you away whenever I could," she continued, seemingly on a roll now that the hardest part was over.

"I was scared of my own feelings, of how strong they were, and I know that's no excuse but all my life I've always run from things like that. I run from things that make me feel too much and I still can't believe that anyone could really care as much about me as you seemed to and so I ran before I could find out that you didn't. I know I hurt you. And maybe it wasn't always unintentional, and God, Killian, I am so fucking sorry for that too," Emma said, looking at him pleadingly with silver lining her green eyes only averting them the moment he turned his gaze on her fully. .

She swallowed hard, twisting her hands together, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her but clearly not daring to meet it.

"And I know that there's no chance for us, but I wanted you to know how much I regret it. There's nothing in my life I regret more than ruining things between us before they could even really start."

"No chance for us?" questioned Killian.

"Really, that's what you chose to focus on?"

"It's just an interesting phrasing, that's all, I never knew us was ever even a possibility in your mind, you made that very clear."

"I had to make it clear, Killian! I don't do relationships, and honestly, after Milah, I didn't think you do either. And you and I—we're such a good fucking team, you said it yourself, so why would I want to risk that?"

"You're right."

Was it him or did she seem visibly disappointed with his answer?

"Yeah, yeah, I am right. And I - I really treasure your friendship, Killian. I would never want to lose that. I have behaved horribly, and probably don't even deserve that, but I am selfish enough to want it. So this is me, standing before you, asking once and for all for forgiveness for all that I did and didn't do, all that I said and didn't say. But more importantly, I am asking for your friendship."

He would never say no to that, and yet, for one split second, he wanted to. He wanted to tell her he didn't want her friendship, not if it was all he would get from her.

He wanted more, so much more.

But scraps was all he would ever get, it seemed, in this life and any other.

And so he smiled, and he assured her she could always count on him to be her friend. And if her lie detector didn't go off, it was because it was the truth, because what was love without friendship?

And so he smiled, and he pretended it didn't hurt, and in turn that made it easier to pretend he didn't see the wistful look she gave him as she bid him goodbye. Or the way she lingered in the hug she gave him, or the blush that spread on her cheeks.

If there was something Killian had become a master in.. it was pretending.

Flashes.

That was all he could remember—just flashes.

Davy Jones' sneering face, deformed beyond humanity. Anything that might have given him a resemblance to Brennan Jones long gone.

The rolling sound of the suddenly violent sea.

And pain.

So much pain.

Killian Jones woke up screaming in pain only hours after he had professed his love to Emma Swan.

He looked down, his body taut with panic and pain, as he saw and felt the Kraken's Mark burned on his chest.

When he woke up in the hospital, he'd thought he'd dreamed it. The way his chest had burned where Davy Jones had grabbed for his heart and left the burning mark of the Kraken's Curse behind.

He had woken to no pain and no mark in the hospital, and had felt such profound relief he would have stumbled if he hadn't already been lying in a hospital bed.

He'd hoped and then fooled himself into believing it had been a nightmare.

But the Mark was back, angry and red on his chest, as if it had never left.

Killian knew what the Mark meant, tales had been told of the Kraken's Curse, and he had always dismissed it as pure toss. Even as recently as a few weeks ago, when they'd started researching Davy Jones, he had dismissed the texts regarding the Curse.

It was those same texts he went looking for now as he stepped into his living room, bathed in the early morning light, and glimpsed the used glasses of rum he and Emma had used, and he'd been too lazy to clear away.

Regardless of the newfound truce and friendship they'd agreed on last night with a toast of those glasses, he knew she might actually kill him if she found out about this.

She'd been so fiercely protective lately, befitting her role as the Savior, and had seemed to take his personal safety as her responsibility and any chances he took with it as an affront to her directly.

If she were to find out he'd been cursed in such a manner, and had refrained from sharing it with anyone, let alone her, whatever they'd settled on last night would have been for nothing.

But did it matter? If his days were numbered?

Killian picked up the specific book he'd been looking for, easily finding the passage he had skimmed through weeks ago, not really paying attention to the horrors it described.

The Kraken's Curse, a foul and malevolent enchantment wrought by the dread pirate Davy Jones, is a spell of great and grievous psychological torment. The dark curse ensnares the very mind of its victims, filling their thoughts with unceasing dread, delusions and dire despair. With every passing moment spent near the sea, the curse tightens its grievous hold, draining the strength and vitality of the afflicted. Thus, the victim shall endure a slow but inexorable decline, both in body and in spirit, leaving them ever weary and fractured of mind. This insidious malediction doth gradually sap the life force, reducing even the most stalwart soul to a mere shadow of their former self. Though many have sought a remedy for this wretched curse, none hath been found, and it is said that only death or the mercy of Davy Jones himself may grant release.

Killian sighed heavily, closing the book and staring into the distance, the enormity of his plight settling over him like a dark cloud. From his living room, he could clearly see the rolling waves crashing on the rocky shores of New England, close enough to hear if he were to sit on his balcony. It had been the main reason why he'd picked this flat—his incessant need to be near the sea, even if he didn't live on a ship anymore.

And now the sea would become his worst enemy.

Killian wasn't quite an optimist, choosing to be more pragmatic, but he had never been a pessimist, regardless of the hopeless situations he had found himself in time and time again.

Until now it seemed.

He didn't want to give up, didn't want to give an easy win to his wretched uncle but…

He reread the last sentence that seemingly sealed his fate once again.

Though many have sought a remedy for this wretched curse, none hath been found, and it is said that only death or the mercy of Davy Jones himself may grant release.

"Well, the Witchy Research Trio will certainly not appreciate this development," he muttered to himself as he tossed the book away.

A storm was raging around him, wind violently making the sails and ropes whip around dangerously as ferocious huge waves battered the Jolly Roger. Lighting struck again and again as he held on to the ship's wheel with all his might.

Pain seared his chest as voices screamed his name in his head. Not the sailors running around, following his orders, but sailors long gone, lost in storms like this. Lost because of his mistakes. Lost to the sea and the dangers below because he had been a fool, had not listened, had not known, had not -

Green foliage surrounded him, humidity like he'd never felt before suffocating him, making it harder to breath and fogging up his brain as he trampled through the treacherous grounds of Neverland. He wished he could remove his navy uniform, but Liam would have a fit if he did.

Liam.

Where was Liam?

He was suddenly back on the sturdy wooden deck of the Jolly Roger, voices screaming his name in his head, his dead brother in his arms…

Pain seared suddenly through him and he looked down to see a gash on his palm bleeding. The Jolly Roger disappeared suddenly from beneath him and he found himself suddenly standing in his kitchen in his cozy apartment in Storybrooke, holding a broken glass tumbler in his sink.

The dishes.

He'd been doing the dishes, right?

How long ago had that been?

Killian quickly glanced at the clock hanging in his kitchen and cursed. He was supposed to be getting ready for Ruby's birthday party.

One moment he'd been washing the small pile of dishes in his sink and the next he'd found himself trapped in his memories. That had been an hour ago.

Was this the curse?

For fuck's sake, he had no time for this.

Killian hurriedly grabbed a tea towel to stem the bleeding and rushed to grab his first aid kit in the bathroom. He'd promised Tink he would be on time to help her set up the drinking games she had come up with. And gods knew it was in his best interest to not draw attention to his situation until he figured a way to break the news about his Curse that didn't result in complete pandemonium.

Gods, his Curse.

He was bloody well cursed and his biggest worry was a birthday party and breaking the news about said curse.

Liam would be having a laugh right now, shaking his head at how his little brother never managed to have his priorities straight no matter the situation.

Killian could imagine him, standing in the living room, joking at his expense behind his back as Killian scrambled to patch his hand in the bathroom.

A sudden flash of blonde hair in the bathroom mirror had him whipping around, ready to find his brother standing before him like he'd imagined, like he'd -

Killian burst out laughing suddenly, he was losing his mind.. He was actually losing his mind and he was so aware of it he could feel every fraying thought that formed and would eventually lead to his demise.

He knew he hadn't fully processed it yet, he could recite the book's passage about the Curse, word for word, but his brain hadn't fully committed to the truth yet.

Because how cruel could Fate be?

He had something here, something good.

The moment when he turned his ship around to try and be a part of something, allowing himself the thought that maybe, just maybe he didn't have to be alone and miserable anymore... it was a crucial moment. And to let in hope again, it had felt good... but at the same time also utterly terrifying.

And Killian had carried that fear with him for so long, especially when he had sided with the heroes in Neverland, he had lost some of the hope when they returned to the Enchanted Forest. And had it returned to him in the form of a bird and a memory potion. Had lost it again as he once again saw a yellow vehicle cross the town line, headed to New York, no cursed circumstances pushing for the departure.

But he'd build it back up again.

He had friends, his own bloody company, a purpose, and a newfound family.

And now, he also had a Curse.

Killian focused on carefully lining up the red cups the way Tink had instructed him near the back of Granny's diner. In the end, while he'd been late, everyone else seemed to be too and he and Tink could set up most of the games before the first few guests began to arrive.

"Are we going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what? Emma, again?"

"No, not Emma! I was there Killian— I was there when Regina healed you. I saw the Mark, before it vanished."

It had never, not for one second, occurred to Killian that the Witchy Research Trio might have already known about the Mark. It wasn't in their nature to let things go or to grant him grace and space in dire matters, even when he'd asked them to.

"And you have somehow managed to refrain from barging into my apartment in the last 24 hours?"

"Regina and Belle insisted I give you some time to come to terms with it before confronting you while they got started on finding a cure," said Tinkerbelle, her face telling him how she had felt about that.

"Well, Tinkerbelle, why the fuck couldn't you listen to them?"

"I did, I gave you last night, which I believe was more than enough considering the state of you."

"The state of me?" spluttered Killian.

"Killian, your hair is greasy, your skin is clammy, you have bags darker than Rumplestiltskin's magic and your eyes are bloodshot. And I haven't even mentioned how you zoned out twice already while setting up the cups."

"Well, I have been looking worse for wear for weeks, Tink. Having a megalomaniac murderous uncle after you would do that to you, I imagine. I haven't slept properly in weeks, which, as you can see, doesn't do wonders to my psyche and skincare routine."

Tinkerbelle released a deep sigh reminiscent of the ones Liam used to give him before laying it out to him in a lecture, and Killian prepared himself for the worse.

The pixie, as usual, managed to surprise him once again as she stepped into his personal space and hugged him tightly.

"I know what you are doing—trying to banter and joke your way out of this, out of your own fear. I know it helps you, but it doesn't help me. I cannot lose you, you are like my brother. You - "

Killian squeezed her closer as she dissolved into sobs, turning his body to hide her from the few others present in the diner as he gently lead her back into the hallway that led to the inn.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Tinkerbelle cry. Despite her nature as a fairy, and her short stature, Tinkerbelle was known to draw a knife faster than she could produce tears. He and Will had often made jokes at her expense for her violent nature and he knew she prided herself on being made out of tougher stuff than the average fairy. And yet, here she was, clearly upset with him, for him and his safety.

"I'm sorry, pixie. I never stopped to think how stressful all of this must be for you," he placated softly, awkwardly patting her head.

"Damn right, you didn't think! You never do, you moron," she snapped weakly, softly hitting his shoulder.

"I will not lie to you, I did need that grace period to process the attack and my… affliction," he paused, not sure whether he should share more considering the fairy's state. "I started hallucinating this afternoon, and I am not sure the speed in which my mind will deteriorate."

Tinkerbelle wiped her tears away, standing up straight as she fixed her gaze on him.

"I read about what comes next, Regina has a pretty detailed book on all sorts of Curses, including this one. And, Killian, it is not pretty, but we will figure it out. We always do."

"You got a game plan?" he said with a soft smile, thinking of the three of them sequestered away in Regina's vault, planning and doing research while he stressed about breaking the news to them.

'We do. But first, we have to execute my game plan to ensure Rubes has the best birthday ever, starting with these drinking games and ending with some cake."

Killian filed the sight of the bright smile she gave him, watery bright eyes and all, in the recesses of his mind where he kept the memories of Liam's hugs and his mother's voice and hoped the Curse would never reach them.

Dr. Indira Thalassos was stunning, no one could deny that.

Dr. Indira Thalassos also happened to have a slight crush on him, which again, probably no one could deny.

Born a mermaid to Triton, the son of the god of the sea, her beauty held an intoxicating blend of magnetic elegance and alluring grace. Her deep, soulful eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, could plunge thousands of sailors into a watery end, and her lustrous, flowing black curls could have lured complete ships to annihilation on rocky shores.

Killian beheld her, with none of the face paint many women in this realm and others preferred, in her hospital scrubs and her hair thrown up haphazardly, and listened as she complained enthusiastically to him about how she hadn't been given not even five minutes to change her clothes after her shift at the hospital before Victor had dragged her to his girlfriend's party.

An ordinary topic in an ordinary setting, really, and yet… the more he looked at her, the more he realized that she could not hide the ethereal beauty mermaids were known to use against men.

Even when she clearly tried.

She was a creature of the deep, bound by the mystery and magic of the sea and though she shared Ariel's royal bloodline and inherent kindness, there was a wildness to her, a raw, untamed spirit that set her apart. Even in a town full of fairytales and princesses, she still stood out easily as Princess Indira of the Brinedive Sea.

And while Killian remained wary of sirens and mermaids, he knew Ariel's family to be good and was aware that Indira had certainly proven to be a kind and caring woman when she had gone from princess to hospital doctor in Storybrooke quite seamlessly.

Besides, he didn't think he had much ground to stand on when it came to judging sea entities considering who his mother had been.

He wondered if the untamed spirit of the sea was what he saw so clearly in Indira and recognized in himself now that he knew what he was.

Wondered if that was what drew her to him, and he to her

Despite Will's jokes made at his expense regarding her infatuation, and his somewhat healthy ego, Killian was a gentleman and so had never brought up the lady's feelings. Especially since he didn't exactly reciprocate them. Indira Thalassos certainly deserved more than just a night of passion from him, which was the only thing he could sincerely offer her.

Killian had been certain she would not be interested in that, and would have never even suggested it either way, but judging from the looks she kept throwing him and the not so subtle brushes of her hand against his thigh and shoulder as she spoke passionately, waving her hands around, she was very much interested in any type of offer from him.

Which might not have been a problem if a certain green-eyed Savior hadn't been glaring at them from across the room.

Killian wasn't sure if this was Emma's idea of subtlety, or if she truly didn't care that anyone with eyes could see how she was glaring at Storybrooke's newest resident doctor. Or maybe she hadn't really noticed how the lights seemed to flicker in sync with Indira's casual touches, but he knew this could quickly become a problem if she didn't get her magic under control.

He hated to be proven right in situations like this, but minutes later, as the light right above him and Indira exploded into a million pieces as she leaned further into his personal space, he glimpsed the town's Savior storming her way out of the diner and couldn't help feeling smug for his accurate prediction.

He quickly deposited a shocked Indira, guess she hadn't noticed the glares sent her way, to a helpful Tinkerbelle for damage control and sidestepped David before he could follow his daughter, nodding at him to signal that he would handle it.

By the time Killian had left the commotion behind him and strode outside, Emma had almost made it to her car parked on the other side of the street, seemingly rushing to make a quick escape before her parents or anyone else confronted her for her appalling behavior.

"Swan, stop!"

Emma halted immediately, but remained standing in front of her car with her back to him in the middle of the road.

"Killian - " she sighed, still refusing to turn.

"You don't get to do this, you don't get to feel jealous and be antagonistic to me and mine. Not when we just settled that you have closed the door on us."

Emma turned around sharply, shock clearly written on her face. It occurred to Killian that she hadn't been expecting him to call her out on her behavior so directly.

"It's not that I want to! I never - ," said Emma haltingly, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. "You also closed the door!"

"What? I didn't - " spluttered Killian, not expecting her rebuttal.

"Also, me and mine? Yours? You mean her? What happened to mermaids are liars?" she sneered at him, clearly incensed with his defense of the mermaid.

"Dr. Thalassos is the sister of a dear friend of mine, Emma, and she saved my life, ergo, she is a friend of mine."

Emma scoffed as the street lights flickered around them and she took a threatening step in his direction.

"She didn't do shit! Regina and Tink saved your life! Dr. Fish Tail only monitored your already stable vitals."

"I could do without the insulting nicknames, Swan."

"And I could have done without her obnoxious flirting and giggling. Do you want to know how many times she flipped her hair? Because I counted each of them!" snapped Emma.

"Swan, really, that is not the point I am - "

"Also, I never said I wanted to close the door. I just said we should because it is better for us, for our friendship, because I don't know how do this, Killian. I don't do relationships, I know nothing about them and honestly, I suck at them and I always end up ruining everything," said Emma, raising a hand as she interrupted him.

"Ahh well, pity for you that they didn't hand you a manual like they did the rest of us mere mortals at birth, aye?'

"Killian, I am being serious. That's not - "

"Well so am I, Emma!" snapped Killian, his patience running thin as he pointed between them desperately. "Yeah, you and I— maybe we didn't have the best of luck in love or even in life. But even the most well equipped human out there, with the idyllic childhood and life, still won't know what to do when it comes to love. It is not something you are taught or something you inherit. That's not how it works."

Emma opened her mouth, ready with a rebuttal but Killian kept rambling on, decided to have her hear what he had to say.

"You keep using your parent's love story and every fairytale out there as some bloody standard you have to achieve, ignoring their personal stories in the process!" exhaled Killian forcefully, taking a deep breath to calm himself before he continued.

"Yes, your mother was a princess. But she was a bandit when she met your father. And your father might have been a prince when they met, but A, he was engaged, and B, he was a bloody shepherd impersonating his evil twin. Does that sound like the stuff of romantic fairytales to you?"

He didn't give her a chance to respond his rhetorical question before plowing on to his next example, desperate to make her see his point.

"Ariel was a bloody mermaid, a princess in her own right I'll tell you, impersonating a human and then fell in love with a prince! A fucking prince! Do you think they happily swam off into the sunset? Did you think Disney would show the countless court meetings that had to be held regarding their relationship? The emergency council discussions between Triton's court and the king of Oristide, the treaties that had to be drafted and signed before they could even court let alone marry, the - "

"Oh, will you just shut up!" snapped Emma as she surged forward and grabbed his face, bringing his lips forcefully to meet hers as the streetlights around them exploded.

Magical.

Her kiss, like all the other times she had kissed him, had felt like magic.

He didn't think it would resolve the underlying issues beneath their fighting, but her words, and her kiss, had given him a newfound hope that maybe they could be more than friends.

It was a hope he saw reflected in her eyes as she stepped back when sounds behind them at the diner made them separate and put some respectable distance between them. Hope that gripped him tighter when he'd stood there, in the middle of the road, and watched her drive away with a small smile on her face and twinkling eyes.

But much like other times, Killian holding high hopes only led to a harder crash against the ground.

He hadn't dared to think too much about it, afraid that if he did, it would hurt more if it wasn't the case.

But for one split second, he'd considered it.

There had been no sudden flash of light, and beyond the explosion of the street lights, he hadn't felt any sign of magic.

And yet…

He had hoped, beyond all reason, that her kiss would break the Curse, and banish the shadows that haunted him. Emma had told him she loved him, now even for a second time, whispered against his lips, and he had clung to that fragile thread of hope—maybe, just maybe, her love could save him.

But as he stumbled through the door of his apartment, he caught the flicker of a reflection in the mirror on the wall by his entryway—a ghostly image of his brother, dressed in the clothes he had died in, mocking him.

His heart sank like a stone. The hallucinations hadn't faded.

He still saw Liam, and it crushed him to admit what he had feared all along... True Love's Kiss had not worked, and would never work, because someone like him didn't deserve it.

He didn't know what made him more of a fool, believing she loved him to such depths or believing a villain like him would deserve True Love's Kiss.

Killian closed the door behind him and leaned against it, sinking slowly to the ground as he felt the weight of his despair crashing down on him.