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“You did this? You brought them together?”
He can’t take the look in her eyes, the one to which he couldn’t put a name, the one he’d never imagined he wouldn’t want to see. Before the missing year, before Pan’s curse, he’d reveled in the idea that he, Killian Jones, could ever have somebody look at him like that again. Now, the joy is overpowered by the sinking dread he feels at the thought of leaving her.
“No. It was Ariel. She never stopped believing.” The words leave his mouth and it takes all his strength to check them, to keep every trace of his emotion out of it. She knows how to tell when somebody is lying; it is her superpower, after all, and she sees through him better than anybody.
He focuses on the truth in his words; Ariel did find her prince. He tries to avoid her eyes, but it’s magnetic, the attraction between them. It’s as if knowing she is now forbidden has enhanced their connection, has made her even more irresistible.
“Modesty? You’re just full of surprises today.”
He wishes she would stop looking at him like that, because he knows he’s going to have to break her heart. He doesn’t want to remember this look when her eyes fill with hatred at his inevitable betrayal, when he hurts her.
For he knows he must – he could never leave her. She has been abandoned all her life, and perhaps her misery would haunt his dreams even more than her anger. The thought of hurting her brings bitter bile to the back of his throat, or maybe it is just the words he longs to say. That his kiss is poison. That Zelena wants her to lose her powers.
That he loves her.
The arrival of her family is a welcome distraction. It reminds him that her family, her loved ones’ lives are at stake here. His selfishness would undoubtedly result in the death of these people he’s come to appreciate as if he were a part of the clan. He saved David; he would protect Henry with everything he has – he does not want any harm to come to them.
Of course, her family’s return also draws her gaze, and he can finally breathe again.
He is careful to hide his hook from her son and desperately searches for a chance to exit. He deflects Snow White’s questions as best as he can, before quietly excusing himself and bolting for the door as soon as the subject of dinner is raised.
“You’re not coming?”
He cringes, inwardly, for he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The disappointment in her voice is one more stone to heap upon the pile weighing him down. Again, he avoids her eyes, and he mutters, “another time, perhaps.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where we’ll be,” she says, invitingly.
If he had another hand instead of a hook, perhaps he would have pinched himself: the woman he loves wants him to join her and her family for dinner. He can’t even bring himself to speak.
“And Killian,” she continues, and the jolt he feels at her speaking his given name threatens to break his resolve, “whatever happened this last year, whatever you’re not telling me… I don’t care. I’m tired of living in the past.”
The Evil Queen could reach in and tear his heart out and he would gladly take that pain over this, this agony. He would give his ship to Blackbeard; he would walk the plank himself if he had to. Under different circumstances, he’d have kissed her right there; he wouldn’t care if the whole town was there to see it.
“I know how you feel,” he whispers, willing her with his eyes to understand, to read his mind, but she says nothing. He can feel her eyes on him as he leaves.
He is masochistic, though, and he can’t help himself. He watches her from the street, observing her smile, her laughter, the way she lights up when she is with her unconventional family, and he knows he has made the right decision. She has loved before, and she will love again. He knows the pain of losing a family member; the wound left by Liam’s death is as fresh as if it were yesterday. He wouldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all the woman he loves and cherishes above anyone else in his sad, cyclical mess of a life.
He loves, and then he loses.
He is a pirate, and it seems that his one and only eternal love will be the sea.
He threatens to hand Henry over to Zelena. A mother’s love is first and foremost for her son, so it is his best hope of forcing her to hate him.
Of course, he knows Henry is never in any danger. He makes sure of that, because Baelfire is dead and that kid is the last tie Killian has to the young boy he took onboard his ship, Milah’s son, a child he never had a chance to have.
No, he intentionally butchers the hand-off, and Emma’s maternal instinct kicks in, her powers more voracious than ever, and he is blown off his feet.
He wishes the impact had killed him.
He limps to a half-assed boat, a baffled but obedient Smee at his side, but her words echo in his mind.
“How could he do this? Why would he hurt Henry? I thought he…”
Perhaps the fates took pity on him, for she didn’t finish her sentence.
There was also the added bonus of revealing the secret of Storybrooke to Henry. That would keep Emma occupied long enough for him to make his getaway. The last thing he wanted was for her to come after him, demanding answers he couldn’t give.
Stubborn woman, not willing to accept that she couldn’t rationalize everyone else’s decisions.
“Where are we sailing, Cap’n?”
But he doesn’t know. They can’t leave Storybrooke without turning into monkeys, and he’ll be damned if he ever allows himself to become a weapon to be used against her.
Is that not what he is trying to avoid with this charade?
No, simian Killian is not the answer, nor is staying. The only place he wants to be is by her side – he was lost in the year without her; how could he ever endure the rest of her lifetime?
The only other option is a watery grave, but a traitorous part of him is holding onto the hope that he will find his way back to her, one way or another.
He hides in the poor excuse for a ship, and loses track of the days that pass. He tells Smee to leave, and the only other contact he has is with those black-winged birds that hang around like a bad omen. It slowly starts to drive him crazy, and he hallucinates; his dreams and nightmares blur into reality, Milah blurs into Emma, Zelena laughs maniacally and points to his hook, which suddenly feels heavy, and he lifts it to see that it’s speared through Emma’s still-beating heart…
“Killian!”
He groans as she swoops to his side in the dark and musty captain’s quarters. He had known she would track him down; it is in her nature and it is her strength.
“Swan…” he croaks, but his throat is too hoarse to say anything further.
She is concerned, gentle, tender even as she helps him to a sitting position. He doesn’t deserve her tenderness.
“How could you?” she whispers fiercely. “Why?”
It is not until after she has lifted a flask of room-temperature water to his lips that he can form the words, words he hates more than he ever thought he could.
“Because I’m a pirate, lass.” He punctuates it with a hollow laugh.
“No,” she replies, determined. “You were a pirate, but you’re not the great and fearsome Captain Hook anymore. You don’t act out of vengeance or spite or selfishness. You don’t take for your own personal gain. You don’t kidnap somebody’s son and offer them up like a sacrificial lamb… you left the key to those handcuffs where I could find it on purpose, didn’t you?”
It’s rhetorical; he knows she’s onto him.
“Lass…”
“Don’t lass me.”
“Swan,” he tries, but she smiles, incredulously.
“You can’t even say it, can you? My name. You can’t bring yourself to let down your guard even that much.”
“I don’t know what you are expecting me to say, but I am not a hero, Swan.”
“I took a chance, and I wasn’t wrong about you. Believe me,” she implores, widening her eyes. “I resisted you for long enough to know that you weren’t going to let me down. So this, this whole elaborate plan you concocted, it didn’t make any sense.”
He snorted derisively. “Why does everything that I do have to make sense, Emma? Even if you think you knew me, a year is a long time to be apart. I still have my memories; perhaps Zelena had me on her side the whole time. It isn't unheard of for me to play the villain's advocate, is it?”
Her determined smile falters slightly, but she doesn’t back down. “When I left, you told me there wouldn’t be a day that you wouldn’t think of me.”
“Pirates lie.”
“You’re a good man, Killian. All the good things you’ve done in the past can’t be erased just like this. You saved David from the nightshade; you’re the reason my son can’t stop asking us to take him sailing. God, you even came to track me down in New York, persisted until I would listen to you, when you could have just walked away… but you can’t walk away, can you?”
No, I can’t. Not from you, Emma Swan.
“You swore to me,” she presses, and he is shocked and dismayed to hear the crack in her voice, to see the tears in her eyes, “you swore that you would win my heart. Can’t you see? You did. You won it.”
He can’t react before she leans down and her lips are on his, and there is nothing gentle or tender about it. She tastes of fire as her mouth opens to him and she climbs across him, straddling his lap; he can almost feel the magic vibrating through her as her teeth scrape at his lip and her fingers dive into his hair.
Magic, the very same force that destroyed his first love.
Reality comes rushing back to him, and he pulls away with a gasp.
“No!” he shouts, grasping her shoulder as he presses the curved edge of his hook into her back to force her to sit up, searching her face and eyes, waiting for the first signs of her imminent death. His love would die at the hand of dark magic once again, and it would be his doing.
But her skin did not turn pale; her eyes did not roll back into her head. She simply regarded him with a perplexed and slightly offended expression.
Perhaps it would be a slow poison?
“Okay,” she said slowly. “The last time I kissed you, your reaction was a little more favorable.”
“How do you feel?” he garbles out, and she looks even more confused.
“Uh, my pride is a bit wounded, but otherwise, fine?”
“Nay, but… I mean, Zelena-”
“Is dead,” she finishes.
“Dead?”
“Like a house fell on her.” She smirks slightly at his blank look. “Never mind.”
“But… her curse…”
“The lost year?”
“No! She cursed me.”
Realization begins to dawn in her eyes. “She wanted you to hurt me.”
“She wanted me to take away your magic.”
She nods. “So you tried to push me away.”
“And it would have worked, if you had just allowed me to leave.”
“Killian,” she murmurs, the smile creeping back into her voice as she takes his hand, her fingertips unknowingly caressing the image inked on his forearm, “I’m fine. The curse must have lifted when she died.”
He scrutinizes her, looking for any evidence that her words are not the truth.
“You killed her?” he asks, a hint of pride in his tone, and she nods, slightly bashful.
“With Regina,” she clarifies, but he continues to gaze at her, absorbing this moment, the return of his freedom.
“May I ask you one question?” he inquires. “What made you so sure I hadn’t left, that I hadn’t betrayed you and taken off?”
“I never stopped believing,” she replies simply, and the relief starts in his stomach, swelling and growing; the weight on his shoulders lifts and the tight coil around his heart is released.
That look is back in her eyes again, and now the words fly to his lips: adoration, admiration, longing, love. Her words sound again in his head. You won my heart.
“I love you, Killian Jones,” she smiles as if she can read his mind, and perhaps she can. She is welcome to; for her, he is an open book. He will confess all his secrets to her as long as she never stops looking at him that way.
“As I love you, Emma Swan.”
Their lips meet again, and he is impatient to catch up on all the kisses they’d missed. He can’t get enough, nipping and tasting, kissing down her neck and enjoying the appreciative hum she emits at the feel of his stubble on her skin.
He runs his fingers through her hair, enjoying that he can finally toy with those perfect curls he finds so intriguing. He wraps his other arm around her waist, his hook curving over her hipbone, just lightly pressing against the strip of creamy skin exposed where her red leather jacket and black shirt have ridden up.
“Killian,” she mumbles, between kisses.
“Mmm?”
“We’re on somebody’s boat.”
“Mmm.”
“It’s not a very nice boat,” she laughs.
He pulls back, brushing the hair out of her eyes and fixing her with his trademark brow-raise. “Swan, remind me to take you out sailing sometime. In a real vessel, not this pitiful, rundown, floating embarrassment.”
“Okay. In the meantime, I’ve got a room at Granny’s with a bed much, much more comfortable than this grimy floor.”
Tapping his chin in mock consideration, he purses his lips thoughtfully. “And what do you propose we should do with this comfortable bed?”
“Hmm… I’m sure we could think of something. Why don’t you take me there and we’ll find out?”
He grins and bows his head, obediently. “As you wish, my lady.” Her bright blue eyes sparkle, and he can’t resist sneaking one last taste of her lips as they stand together and he lifts her into his arms.
She is the sea, powerful and endless.
She is his ocean, and he is lost in her.