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Chapter Text

those dark moments before the dawn

 

And I am done with my graceless heart

So I tonight I ’ m going to cut it out and then restart

 

1. 

Emma stumbles through the portal, falls face first onto the forest floor, hand still holding Henry’s tightly.  After a moment of stunned awareness (they have done it, they have crossed realms) she hears a low chuckle and glances up to see Hook’s hand extended towards her.

“I told you to watch your step, Swan.”

Henry is up and on his feet, turning around and examining their surroundings so Emma huffs, places her hand in Hook’s, and allows him to pull her up.  Her free hand splay across his chest as she stands, fingers clutching at the soft leather of the vest he wears, and she swears she can hear his breath catch.  But there is no flirtatious remark, nor a cheeky grin or smirk.  If anything, Hook tries desperately to ignore it, stepping away from her as soon as possible. 

“Your father should have three horses stabled nearby,” he tells her, avoiding her eyes (like he has, more often than not, since she’s regained her memories).  “Have you ever – ?”

“Once, at a Y camp, years ago,” she tells him.  His eyes meet hers, confused by her language, but he turns to Henry.

“Better once than not at all, aye lad?” he asks her son, who grins.

“So this is the Enchanted Forest?” Henry questions Hook, who grins back.

“Aye, that it is.  And we are going to your family’s palace,” he tells Henry, who is practically jumping up and down with excitement (he has taken the whole memory-loss thing much better than Emma has, to be honest.)

Then he turns to Emma, and when he looks at her she can see the entire year that she’s missed stretched between them, the entire year that spawned Hook’s rescue mission (she plans to question him more extensively on how exactly he found her and why he thought true love’s kiss would work at all, not just on a woman with amnesia) all in the blue of his eyes, and suddenly she remembers that her mother and father are probably waiting for her, along with everyone else in the kingdom.

While she is eager – very eager – to see her parents again, she shudders inwardly at the amount of hugs she’ll have to endure, and puts on a smile for Henry’s sake.  Even with the new memories invading her older ones, there is one thing that has remained constant and that is the fact that other than in regard her son, Emma is not much of a hugger.

“Well, let’s get going,” Emma tells them. Hook nods, and leads them deeper into the forest.

Riding a horse is much harder than she remembers, possibly because the last time she rode a horse was when she was twelve, so she is grateful that Hook is there to give her directions (she teases him on how well he rides and he does respond with ‘Practice, Swan,’ and a saucy wink that she’s sorely been missing). He is patient with her, irritatingly so, but they reach the palace by nightfall and her family is there to greet her, along with Belle and Neal.  Henry races into his father’s arms and she will admit that her Grinch-like heart does grow a few sizes at seeing the father-son reunion.

Regina, it appears, is elsewhere, but she will arrive tomorrow with the small force that she commands.  When Mary-Margaret Snow tells her this, it’s as if it’s common knowledge, which makes Emma wonder what has happened to make them so desperate to bring her here.

While she is welcomed back by everyone from the dwarves to Granny, she glances over and sees her father shake Hook’s hand and congratulate him on a job well done.  There is a moment, when Hook meets her eyes that she swears there is color on his cheeks, but she wonders if perhaps it’s just the cold night air.  He talks with her father, Emma is caught up in another hug from Ruby, and when she turns back Hook is gone.

Emma’s rooms in the palace (rooms, plural, she is still trying to wrap her head around the fact she has multiple rooms) adjoin Henry’s, and are near those of her parents.  Her bedroom alone is bigger than her apartment in Boston, than the loft in Storybrooke, than any space she has inhabited her entire life.   She makes sure that Henry is settled in before exploring her new home.

This is so foreign to how she’s always lived – ready to move at a moment’s notice, with barely any money for personal possessions – that it is disorienting.  Her bed is full of sumptuous linens and way too many pillows – not that she is complaining – and a closet full of so many clothes that it will be impossible for her to wear them all regardless of how long she stays in the Enchanted Forest.

She finds a nightgown to wear, and pulls back the covers on the bed, settling into the lushest, more comfortable mattress she has ever slept on underneath the softest sheets imaginable. But instead of sleep, her active mind chooses to process all of the events of the past few days, which makes sense because she’s been moving so fast that she hasn’t had time to really think about it all.

The fact that she’s lost a year to magic (sure, it’s been a year spent with Henry but it is a loss of time with others dear to her as well) is a bitter pill to swallow, and it makes her uneasy to think that all of her memories of Henry’s childhood are just fiction.  That is more difficult for her to adjust to, because some things – Hook finding her in Manhattan, for one – are just easier to grasp.  The new threat, she can handle that.  But knowing that all of the memories of her son growing up are just fabrications or, perhaps, Regina’s own memories made to fit Emma…well, she’s still having some difficulty there.

But she does not regret returning to her family – does not regret listening to Hook and drinking the potion that would allow her to cross realms with him.  She can’t, because she’s here with her parents once again, and there’s a purpose to her life that was sorely missing in New York.

She shifts in bed, rolls over onto her side, thoughts drifting back to Hook and how she still remembers his last words to her, and her own to him before getting in the bug and driving out of Storybrooke.  Her feelings about him are less-clear than her feelings about everyone else, but having him there at her side once more, ready to head into battle with her, gives her a feeling of steadiness that has also been missing from her life.

Emma’s just not sure that steadiness equates to love, at least not the kind that’s accepted as the norm in this realm.

…

She wakes the next morning to an influx of maids.

Or, whatever the equivalent of a maid is in the Enchanted Forest.

She submits to their ministrations as they dress her in soft leather pants and an elaborate tunic, braid her hair back from her face and make sure that she is fed.  She is seated at the small table near the door, eating pastries and drinking hot chocolate, when Hook arrives to bring her to the war council.  He is still dressed in black, but instead of the fake hand he wore in Manhattan, he wears his hook.   He does not wear his leather duster but his sword is still slung low on his hips.

He looks tired, and Emma wonders if this is the result of crossing realms (she remembers Jefferson’s madness all too well). 

“Have you eaten?” she asks, gesturing for him to take a seat at the table with her.  Hook shakes his head and sits down a bit apprehensively, but takes a fancy pastry when she passes it to him.

“Thank you,” he tells her, as she hands him a mug of hot chocolate.  “I trust you are ready for some answers, Swan.”

“I am,” she says.  “Is Regina here?”

“Her company has been spotted and she is expected to be here shortly.  Neal has taken charge of your lad while you attend council,” Hook tells her, glancing at another turnover.  She pushes it towards him, and they finish their food in silence.

Emma takes a moment to appreciate it, and to mentally prepare herself for what is to come.

Regina has changed since Emma saw her last.   She looks as tired as Hook, as tired as they all do (Hook had told her about Regina’s constant battle against the Wicked Witch) and Emma can clearly see that the other woman has turned her mourning over Henry into something more productive, and perhaps a way to combat her bitter legacy.

Regina’s company is, interestingly enough, Robin Hood’s Merry Men, their leader a tall man who stands by Regina’s side when Emma and Hook enter the room.    The Queen’s eyes meet Emma’s, and she seems shocked and surprised and happy, if Emma is completely honest.

“Henry’s with Neal,” Emma tells the other woman.

Regina nods.  “Welcome back,” she says, “and thank you, Hook.” There’s a small smile on her face that betrays her excitement over seeing their son again, which Emma can hardly fault her for.

“Of course, your grace,” Hook says with a bow before moving to the far edge of the room and leaning against the wall.

The war council starts with a briefing over the recent activity of the witch, and as her parents, Regina, and Robin talk, Emma struggles to see what was so important that it necessitated her return to the Enchanted Forest.  

“What am I supposed to do?” she asks, uncertain, and it is Regina who has the answer.

“The Witch was once a fairy, and so her magic is similar to our own.  She was cast out of our realm into another, known as Oz, and – “

“She’s going after Dorothy, isn’t she?” Emma says with a groan.  “Oh my god, are there any stories from my childhood which are still sacred?”

Everyone in the room frowns (except Hook, who hides a smile in his hand).

“You know her?” Snow asks as Regina questions, “You know about Dorothy?”

Emma crosses her arms over her chest, and shifts her footing.  “She’s trying to get to Kansas, right? Ruby slippers and the wizard and all?  Are you guys fighting flying monkeys at the border?”

The room falls silent, and Emma shakes her head. 

“Just my luck.”

“We need you to help defeat the Witch,” Regina says, first one to recover.  “We need to keep her out of your realm, and make sure that she doesn’t get to Kansas and find Dorothy.  And because you have always been impervious to curses cast in your realm…”

“You want me to take the witch down.”  Of course.  Because she’s the Savior, and she doesn’t get a day off, and the one story from her childhood that she thought was untouched by this realm and its weird-ass magic is actually not.

She really did not miss the sense of impending doom when she was in New York, living with all of those false memories.

Suddenly, everything from the past week – the bitterness that arrived with her returning memories, the feeling of frustration that surfaced moments before, the awareness of her station in this realm complete with maids and fifteen pillows on her bed and too many clothes  - is too much for her to bear.

“I need a moment,” Emma tells them before stepping out onto the balcony and closing the doors behind her.

She should have known better, but being pulled out of a world where her life is a haze of memories and deposited into one where her services are needed once more – she feels like she’s in shock when really, she shouldn’t be, because Hook came to get her for a reason.

The balcony doors open and close softly, and she doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s him.

“I’m sorry,” Hook says, his footsteps soft as he draws near.  “I am so very sorry that I had to intrude on your life and bring you back.”

“Are you?” she asks, anger creeping into her tone.  She sighs, leans against the balcony and buries her head in her hands.  “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“I’ve actually been expecting that response for some time, Swan,” Hook tells her.  “You’re getting slow in your advanced age.”

Emma snorts. “Says the man who’s three hundred and some change.”

This earns her a laugh, and she glances over to see Hook standing beside her, looking at her in that way of his that makes her feel better.  “Aye, perhaps it was expecting a bit much of a princess.”

“Hey now,” Emma warns, “this princess thing is new to me.”

“But I am sure that you will excel, like you always do.”  Hook grins.  “However, I’m not sure that the townspeople will know what to make of Emma Swan, princess of the realm.”

Emma laughs, and realizes that Hook is doing what he always does – breaking the tension, making her smile.  She came out here frustrated at her lot in life, and now she’s laughing about the thought of her as a princess.  

“Can you imagine me in a ballgown?” she asks, smiling.   Hook smirks, but the response that she expects -something about imagining her in many different states of dress – doesn’t leave his lips.

Instead, he looks off towards the forest, and is silent.

He has been silent more often than not since they found Neal in Neverland, which has been far longer for him than it has for her.  A year has passed in the Enchanted Forest and events that to her were just days ago are ancient history here.   It makes her feel off-balance, constantly checking herself before she commits some error.

But there is more than just time that spans between her and Hook – there is a declaration made under duress, a failed kiss (and a successful one), and probably more, moments from the beanstalk until now that echo in each and every one of their interactions.

She knows that Hook loves her, believes that his feelings are not at all reciprocated, and that burdening her with this knowledge is unfair.  His guilt and her walls are the reasons that their interactions teeter between easy and tense and Emma still has no way to address what should be or what could be when all that she sees in front of her is the constant need to save everyone else and the lack of time to think about herself.

She sighs, pushes off the balcony.

“Thanks,” she tells him.  “I needed that.”

“Of course, my lady,” is his response.

Hook follows her back into the room, where only Snow and Charming remain (of course Regina is eager to see Henry, but Emma knows her parents probably advocated for this private audience, to talk with their unruly daughter).

“Emma,” Snow says, reaching for her hands, “I know this is difficult for you and it’s unfair of us to ask so much of you.”

“It’s okay,” Emma says, even though she’s not sure that it is.

“Regina says that the Witch isn’t ready to cast her curse yet, and that we have some time, so we think you should take it.  Get acclimated to the Enchanted Forest.”  Take time to get over everything is not spoken, but it’s there, a silent request hanging in the air between Emma and her mother.

“All right,” Emma agrees, glancing over at Hook, who nods encouragingly and then back at her parents.

“Let’s take you on a tour of the palace,” Snow proclaims enthusiastically, and as Emma is dragged out the doors and down the hall, she looks back at Hook once more.  His smile, as always, is reassuring, and so she allows herself to be swept onward by her parents, and to try to indulge herself in making up for lost time. 

Chapter Text

Life in the Enchanted Forest continues.

Her parents take on a tour of the palace that would have been her home, introduce her to the staff, and try very hard to make sure that she knows she’s welcome here.  And Henry loves it – loves spending time with his family, with Neal and Regina and Snow and Charming, loves running free through the palace and discovering new things, and Emma is happy because of that.

There is another young boy here – younger than Henry, maybe five years old – named Roland.  He is Robin Hood’s son, and he worships Henry, trailing after him like an over-excited puppy (and with those big eyes, Emma can’t help but make the comparison. Really, the kid is adorable).   And Henry is so sweet with the child, teaching him how to charm the cooks and how to play games and while it’s heartwarming to watch, it also strikes Emma that this is the first time that she’s seen Henry play with another kid (at least, in her real memories).  In New York, Henry had friends over and went on sleepovers but she can’t remember a single time with Henry played with another child in Storybrooke.  She does not blame Regina, but rather the curse itself, stalling time but allowing Henry to grow up isolated and alone.

And Emma’s so, so very grateful for the year in New York that they both had, for the time here with Roland. 

But there is still the bitterness that lingers in her veins when she thinks about what she lost.  She’s coming to grips with being brought back – she remembers her own insistence at helping (always helping) because of her role as the Savior.  She remembers the brief time she had getting to know her parents, before they returned here, and how she always wanted to know more about them, to spend more time with them.

She doesn’t hate the Enchanted Forest, doesn’t hate that she is called to help others (sheriff or Savior, it’s in her blood) but the memories of giving Henry up are what she hates.   They clash with the false memories Regina gave her, when she remembers being blissfully happy even through all of the hard times, and she would give everything to have those happy memories be real.

...

Regina tells her that in three days, she will return to the western borders and that she would like Emma to come with her.  She says it so politely that Emma wonders exactly what has happened since she was left behind.

“Hook has agreed to come as well,” Regina adds, glancing over at Hook who leans against the wall nearby.   “He’ll be the one heading with you into the Witch’s lair.”

Emma glances over at Hook, who nods.  “Good,” is all she says in response, because anything else might betray the turbulent emotions that seem to be swirling through her entire body.

The news is not a surprise to Emma, but what does surprise her is her reaction: gratitude, not because she will have assistance, but that it is Hook that is accompanying her.  The realization that she does not wish to be parted from him is far more shocking than his inclusion on this journey; his presence at her side has become so vital to her existence that she feels as if she will be lost without him there.

It is Hook that found her in New York, Hook that convinced her, Hook that endured traveling back to Storybrooke and jumped first through the portal.  Hook, who brought her back to her parents and who has lingered near her the entire time she has been back, as if he needs to make sure that she’s really here and letting her out of his sight would make her disappear again.   She doesn’t mind it – she’s acting the same way towards him, seeking him out for reassurance that she really is here, that this is really happening.

“Thanks,” she tells him later (she is always thanking him, it seems) and he raises an eyebrow.

“Is it a surprise that I would insist on accompanying you?” he asks.   Emma shakes her head.

“No, it’s not,” she tells him.  “You know you can’t get enough of me.”

Hook smirks.  “You have no idea, Princess,” he teases, but the look on his face – the look he normally keeps well-hidden, one full of fire  – definitely gives her some ideas.

“Good,” she says, turning away from him and towards her parents.  She can feel his eyes following her and she glances back, once, to see a small smile on his face and a look in his eyes she hasn’t seen since Neverland, and which she has desperately missed.

Emma decides to take the opportunity to enjoy herself for the next few days before she must become the Savior again.

…

First, she has lunch with Neal.  Or, whatever is considered lunch in the Enchanted Forest (meats and hard cheese and wine, in the gardens of the palace).  She chooses to settle this issue first, because it is the one that is most pressing. 

“I loved you,” she tells him.  “But I’m not in love with you anymore.”

Neal sighs, temples his hands.   “Is this because of Hook?” he asks. 

“This has nothing to do with Hook,” Emma tells him.  “This has everything to do with me, and the fact that I’m not the girl that loved you once, and you’re not the boy that I loved.”

“I could be,” Neal promises, and Emma shakes her head sadly.

“We’ve got twelve years and a prison sentence between us,” she states.  “A lot has happened and just because I don’t love you like I used to doesn’t mean that we still can’t give Henry the family that he deserves.”  Emma grabs his hand, pleads, “I don’t want Henry to grow up without a father, without parents like we did.”

Neal squeezes her hand in response.  “Agreed.”

It is not what he wants, Emma can tell, and when they finish their conversation and she asks how he is doing, he lies to her to make her feel better.  But this will have to be enough, because the part of her heart that contains Neal is too covered in scar tissue, too far gone to heal itself.

The next person she seeks is Regina.

Everyone is different here, even Regina (especially Regina).  With Henry back, there is a softness that Emma has rarely seen, and though the Queen carries much of the burden on her back, it seems that some of the weight is lifted by the assistance of Robin and his band of men – and his son, who plays with Henry in the corridors of the palace.

It is nice to see Regina so at ease, even if there is a threat breathing down their necks.

“Were those your memories?” Emma asks Regina, when she finds her watching Roland and Henry play in the courtyard.  Robin lingers nearby, watching the boys play, and Emma notices a fondness in his gaze when he looks at Regina that Emma finds intriguing.

“My memories?” Regina asks, confusing showing on her face.

“Memories of your time with Henry – were those your memories that you gave me, when you sent us out of Storybrooke?”

Regina nods.   Emma hugs the other woman.

“Thank you,” Emma whispers, because those memories she has of Henry – even if they aren’t hers, they are still wonderful: every parent-teacher conference, every birthday, every skinned knee bandaged and nightmare soothed.  Every single moment that Regina experienced, now shared with Emma.

“Thank you,” she whispers again.  Regina is slow to respond but soon the other woman’s arms wrap around her in a hug and it occurs to Emma that this is the first hug from someone other than Henry that Regina has probably received in some time.

There are tears in Regina’s eyes, which she wipes away discretely when Emma lets her go, and she smiles.

“Some day you’ll have to share with me about your time with him,” Regina says. 

“Of course,” Emma promises.

She spends time with her parents.  She can tell her mother is greedy for the time together, arranging meals and asking her to sit with them, telling her about the childhood they wanted for her, their own childhoods in the forest.  She lets her mother play with her hair while her father watches them, small smile on his face, and she just listens. 

And finally, there is Hook.

Despite the disorientating feeling of the last week, Emma is still grateful that she has her memories of Hook back.

She does not regret kissing him as much as he thinks she does, and during these difficult days that follow her return, it is his steady reassurance that helps her adjust.  She’s not sure what she would do without him (or with him, if she’s being honest, but she wants to know so desperately that one evening she finds herself sitting in the abandoned ballroom of the palace, drinking with Captain Hook).

“You know what I miss about Storybrooke?” she starts. “Granny’s lasagna.”

“Aye?” he asks, handing her his flask.  “That was the dish with the tomato and the – “

“The noodles,” she fills in, because she has yet to see an Enchanted Forest equivalent to noodles. 

Hook closes his eyes and sighs.  “That was indeed delicious, lass.”

“It’s even better with garlic bread,” she tells him, and when he raises an eyebrow to question her, she realizes that he must not have tried that.

“You’re missing out,” she tells him.  “Anything you miss from the other realm?”

Hook ponders for a moment, tilts his head to the side, and then winks at her.  “I think the answer to that question is obvious, Princess,” he teases her.

Emma laughs, limbs loose from the rum and from him, sitting there, with her.  She is not his princess – no, what she is to him is something else entirely, something terrifying and exhilarating all at once, something so meaningful that it would make a man cross realms to find her.

“You know what I really missed?  Those ridiculous remarks you made,” she tells him, because it’s true.  With her memories back, there is a gaping hole in the past year that takes the distinctive shape of a one-handed pirate.

“Didn’t think they were quite welcome at the time,” Hook responds, taking a small sip. 

“You were fine.  I needed to loosen up,” Emma admits.

As they drink, she manages to pry out the story of how he found her piece by pieces, starting with the pixie dust that brought him to her realm and ending with his arrival on her doorstep.

“Why did you try to kiss me?” she asks, because this is the only pressing question she has.  Beside her Hook shifts, takes a long pull from his flask, passes it over to her.  She reaches for it, fingers brushing against his, and she appreciates the warm glow that seems to spread over her body at the contact.

“Your father put the idea in my head.”  Emma glances over, sees him staring at his hand, flexing his fingers.  “He thought that perhaps I could rouse you from your stupor with a kiss.”

“I had amnesia,” she points out.  “If there’s something I learned last year when Gold tried to kiss Belle, it’s that you don’t kiss people who don’t remember who you are.”

Hook glances at her, a strange look on his face.  Emma wonders if he never considered that the kiss might not have worked because she didn’t know who he was, not because of anything else like True Love (she tries not to think about the implications of this, about True Love, because she doesn’t believe it in and because part of her doesn’t want to give him hope, her heart is such a ruined wasteland as it is...)

(...but would it be bad to give her them him hope?)

“Would have been nice to know beforehand, I suppose.”  Hook reaches for the flask, and their fingers brush and linger, his hand closed over hers.

“For someone from a magical realm,” Emma points out, “you don’t seem to know a lot about magic.”

Hook smirks.  “And you do?”

“Maybe I do,” Emma replies, with a wink.   “I guess I’ve got a lot to teach you.”

“I look forward to your lessons, Swan,” Hook responds, taking another sip of the flask.  “I am sure you’ll be a fun teacher.”

From that night on, Hook flirts.  And shamelessly, just like he did when they climbed the beanstalk (has it really been years since that day?).  And Emma loves it, every bit of it making her cheeks flush and her heart sing because the look on his face when he speaks to her – well, he’s not avoiding her gaze, not anymore.  Instead there is something else in his eyes, something she doesn’t quite no how to name but what she wants to know better.

…

It snows, flakes falling thick, and Henry drags her out to play in the courtyard with Roland.  Regina, Robin, and Neal are all there, and soon there is a snowball fight.

It is a moment, and Emma is grateful for it, because tomorrow she leaves with Regina and Robin and Hook to begin the assault on the witch.

Hook appears mid-fight as he walks back from the stables, and the young boys ambush him, hurling snow balls as quickly as possible, urged on (entirely good-naturedly) by Robin.   Hook feigns defeat, allows them to smother him with snowballs until Emma finally calls them off.

“He’s given up!” she shouts, and Hook, on his knees, holds up his arms.  “You win, young lads, you have defeated the dread pirate.”

“How about some hot chocolate?” Regina suggests, and there are cheers from Henry and Roland, who are shepherded off by parents towards the kitchens, red- cheeked and faces dripping from melting snow. 

Emma lingers near Hook.  She can’t help it; while the lure of hot chocolate is strong, the thought of leaving him behind is something she can’t do, so she turns to Hook, who is still on his knees.  He smiles at her, and she feels warm inside – warmer than cocoa would make her, she’s sure –

and that’s when he strikes.

He reaches for her knees with his hook, pulls her down so that she in the snow next to him, lying on her back.  While Emma is dazed, he moves quickly, looming over her with knees on either side of her hips, a snowball in his hand.

“So tell me, Swan,” Hook’s voice is low and thick, lowering his face towards hers, “just what would you to do make sure I don’t hit you with this snowball?”

Several ideas come unbidden, and she bites her lip before she responds.  “You won’t,” she tells him, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Won’t I?” he asks.  Emma smiles…

…and slams a handful of snow into his exposed chest, making sure that it falls down the deep V of his shirt.  Hook flinches and Emma takes the opportunity to roll them over so that he is now on the ground.  She straddles him, hands pushing his shoulders into the ground, grinning as she she grabs another handful of snow.

“Cruel, Swan,” he tells her, arching upwards with a gasp (the snow must have trickled further down his shirt – that’s what he gets for dressing so indecently) and the sudden contact between their bodies causes a rush of blood through Emma that makes her more than aware of the fact that she is straddling him in the snow, alone, in a courtyard, and that people may be watching.

There is a small voice in her head that doesn’t care, that wants to push back against him just to see what he would do.

There is a louder voice in her head that points out that princesses don’t grind against men in courtyards to begin with and while she is not the best example of a princess…she’s pretty sure her mother would be horrified at her behavior.

Emma stands on shaky legs, reaching for his hand like he reached for hers just a few short days before and pulling him to his feet.  His hook brushes against her hip and she steps back, shoves her hands in the pocket of her coat.

“We should go meet the others,” she tells him, suddenly frightened and nervous around him because it is one thing to flirt, another entirely to touch so intimately.  She’s not some seventeen year old girl, bright eyed and excited at the first thought of love or romance.  She’s thirty, and apprehensive, and no matter how many walls she raises in an effort to keep him out, he finds the weakness in her defenses and he breaks through.

It makes her why she keeps building these walls to begin with.

“If you don’t mind, Swan, I might go warm myself up after your attack,” he tells her, then adds, “unless you’d like to help me.”

“In your dreams,” she tells him, but the thought of seeing just how far the snow trickled down his chest is enough to make her turn her heels and head towards the kitchens and if she arrives with a flushed face, well, it’s just the cold air.

(The same cannot be said for that night, when Emma wakes up from a dream – not the first – where she does, in fact, help Hook stay warm, and it is such a distraction that when morning comes, she wishes that coffee was not rare in this realm because she has no idea how she will handle the journey in the state that she is in.) 

Chapter Text

3.

Saying good bye to her parents – again – is painful.

Saying goodbye to Henry is excruciating.

Even though Neal is there – even though her parents are there, even though Regina sets up a defensive perimeter around the palace the minute they leave – Emma still is wary, still concerned about Henry.  Neverland is still a recent memory for her and Henry both, and Hook must know that because he passes his flask to her once her family returns to the castle.

They are dressed simply, in browns and greens that Robin and his men wear to help them go unnoticed in the forest.  Even Mulan covers her elaborate armor with a simple brown cloak. Emma hands the flask back to Killian, noting his apparel.

“You look like you did when we first met,” she tells him, pointing at the cloak he wears to cover his leathers.  He smiles at her, takes a step closer.

“And just look how far we’ve come, Princess,” he teases, and she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, because she’s a bit flustered considering she doesn’t really know how to categorize what exactly this point is that they’ve come to (more like an impasse, Emma thinks, with each of them daring each other with looks and words to be the first to jump across).

They linger towards the back of the party, not really sure what their place is.  Robin is chatting with his men when Regina comes back from the palace, tugging at her cloak.  Behind her a defensive spell shimmers in the morning sun, though the woman who returns isn’t Regina – or, at least, she doesn’t look like her.   Her image distorts in front of Emma’s eyes, and she becomes someone else entirely.

“What’s going on?” Emma asks.

“I’m not very popular in these parts,” Regina tells her (even her voice is different) and it takes Emma a moment to realize that wearing a different face – pretending to be a different person, using magic to hide her from the citizens she rules – is how they will get through the towns speedily and unscathed.  But the cost of this magic comes with a price, Emma knows, and she wonders how much of this is comes directly from Regina’s darkest emotions, from her belief that she really is a villain.

The thought makes Emma’s heart hurt, and she turns away.

Hook helps her mount her horse, because she is still unsteady about how to do things that come so natural to everyone else raised in the Enchanted Forest, and when he hands her the reins, he smiles at her.

“Ready, Swan?” he asks, and she shrugs.

“Probably not,” she responds and he laughs as he easily mounts his own horse beside her.

“That’s the spirit that will save the day,” he teases with a grin.

She can’t help but smile with him (she always smiles with him).

…

The forest is peaceful, with snow still dotting the edges of the path they take.  It will take them three days to reach the border, which Mulan tells them is good since not all of their party is on horses.  Those on foot seem to disappear into the foliage, searching for signs of danger, though there doesn’t appear to be any.

Yet.

They break in a meadow at mid-day and Emma dismounts, tugging her cloak around her.  Her breath is coming in cold puffs of air that hang in the air in front of her face before disappearing into the noon sun.  She’s lived in Boston and Maine and yet the Enchanted Forest feels colder than both.

“Is it always this cold?” she asks Hook.

“I’m not originally from these parts, but I would assume so,” Hook says, stepping up to stand beside her.  This is news to Emma, but the longer she stays in the Enchanted Forest, the more she learns about the lay of the land and the various and sundry kings and queens that rule it.

She glances over at Hook, who stands beside her, holding the reins to both of their horses.  Behind them, the others look in their saddlebags for food and for drink.  Regina and Robin confer near their own horses.  Emma rubs her cold hands (she really should not have left her gloves in her saddlebag).

“Where are you from, then?” she asks, watching as he pets the neck of his horse who is more concerned with the winter grass than Hook. 

“South of here,” he tells her.  “The kingdom that I am from has long since been conquered and no longer exists.”  He doesn’t look at her when he tells her this, and so she wraps her arms around her chest and pulls the cloak closer.

Emma does not ask him if he misses home; the way that he grits his jaw and the quiet tone of voice answer that for her. 

“You’re cold.”  He turns away, roots around in his saddlebag for something.  He tucks whatever he’s found into his coat pocket before wrapping a scarf around his hook and reaching for her. 

“Give me your hands,” he requests, and Emma extends her hands towards him.  He takes them in his own, hook resting against her wrist, and she takes a moment to let it sink in that the scarf is keeping the cold metal from pressing against her skin.

He is always thinking of her, even in the smallest of moments.

“Chilled to the bone, Swan – did you forget your gloves?” he asks.  He reaches for one hand, draws her close.  “Do you trust me?”

His eyes are wide open and so very blue that she nods.  She trusts him.

He slides one of her hands underneath his cloak until is brushes against his vest (she shivers but not from the cold).   The other he wraps his fingers (her hand feels so small in his).   He brings it up to his mouth and breathes on it, the warmth penetrating her skin and spreading through her body, making her stomach flip and her breath catch.

She slides her hand along the small of his back, curls against the soft leather.   When he exhales, shakily, she feels it brush along her jaw, along her neck.

As he releases her hand and reaches for something in his pockets, she flexes her fingers slowly, trying to get them to stop tingling where his hand touched hers. 

Hook does things to her, first with words, then without them, and now with touch.  Everyone here touches her – a pat on the shoulder or a kiss on the forehead - but he is the only one that does it deliberately, with purpose, and never seems to ask for anything else in return.

Emma wonders if he knows how terrified she is to give him what she what he wants.

He smiles, reaches for her hand again, slips a glove onto it.  It is fur-lined leather and too big and his, Emma realizes, and her hand feels better almost instantly.

He drops that hand, reaches for the other and repeats the process, warming her hands with his fingers and his breath, slipping it into too-big gloves.   This time, she rests her hand on his chest, trying to feel his heart’s beats beneath her fingertips but there are too many layers of clothing between them.

“There, now,” he tells her when he finishes slipping the glove on.  “Can’t have the Savior losing fingers due to frostbite.”

“Can’t have her partner in crime lose any either,” Emma tells him, feeling the blood boil in her veins as she brings his hand up to her mouth, exhales on his knuckles.  She rubs her gloved fingers against his, watching his eyes open wide as he draws nearer to her, so close that they are sharing the same breath.

Even though she was bold a moment before, welcoming his touch and his proximity, it is the overwhelming desire to close the distance that frightens her.

There is noise behind them – a loud laugh, followed by another – and she pulls away, dropping his hand. 

“I’m hungry,” she says, turning back to her horse and digging around in her bags for some of the provisions that the kitchen has packed.  She turns around, sees Hook behind her, looking at her with guarded eyes.   He blinks, looks away, and she approaches him again, a piece of bread in her extended hand which he takes.

They eat in silence, tension in the air until everyone else mounts their horses again and they must rejoin the party.

He helps her back into the saddle (his fingers linger on her calf, his touch like a brand through her boot).

“Emma.”  Hook speaks so softly that she’s not sure she heard him, but when she looks down his hand is pressed against the flank of her horse and he is looking at her with wide, hopefully eyes.

“If we’re going on this journey, Swan, where we very well may meet our ends, I’d prefer it if you called me Killian,” he tells her. 

Emma nods.  “I can do that, Killian,” she says, trying out his name on her lips.   The look she receives in return is part surprise, part wonder, and he pats her horse once more before walking to his own.

She likes the way his name sounds when she says it, and how it sounds when she repeats it silently.  She’s always known his name but this is different – this is permission, this makes it personal, this is more than just calling him by a name he earned long before she was born.  Calling him Killian changes things.

Calling him Killian makes him hers.

It is a thought both terrifying and exhilarating, and it – and the gloves she now wears – keeps her warm until nightfall.

…

The party spends that night with a farmer who Robin has assisted and who feeds them and houses them in an expression of gratitude.  Their horses are watered and left in the barn, and they are fed, and Emma realizes just how tired she is from riding all day.

Hook – Killian – sits beside her as she eats, and listens as she talks with Mulan.  The other woman tells her about Robin and his Merry Men, about her own adventures, though she does not tell everything.  Emma is never one to press for answers (she can tell that whatever burden Mulan carries, she wishes to do so on her own and Emma respects and understands that all too well).  

Regina approaches, sits beside Emma.

“There is a loft in the barn where you can sleep,” she says.  “It’s warmer than outside.  We’ll be taking shifts, keeping watch.”  Regina looks so tired that Emma shakes her head.

“No, you’re not taking shifts,” she tells her.  “You’re going to get some sleep.”

“You need your rest if you’re going to go up against the witch,” Regina points out, and Emma shrugs.

“Maybe but that’s my problem.  Go and rest, Regina – you’ve earned it.”

The words are carefully chosen but they have their intended effect: Regina visibly relaxes, and the spell shifts until her own features reappear.  She draws her hood over her face and Emma winces because the gesture is deliberately meant to protect them from being associated with the Evil Queen, but before Emma can say anything Regina stands.

“Thank you, Emma,” Regina says softly as she heads towards the barn.  Emma nods, then glances at Killian.  Other than Mulan, she doesn’t know these people very well and Killian is supposed to be her partner on this journey; they will make decisions together.

“What do you want to do?” she asks, and then immediately regrets it because his eyebrows shoot up and he licks his lips. 

“Princess, I can think of several things I would like to do but this is neither the appropriate time or place,” he says with a smirk.   Emma huffs, but responds with her own snarky remark.

“I’m not impressed with your lack of imagination, Killian.”

She’s not sure if it’s his name or her comment that makes him raises his eyebrows until they nearly touch his hairline.  A wicked grin crosses his face and he leans closer – close enough that she can feel the warmth of his body on this cold night.  

“Really, Emma, I have quite the imagination when the situation calls for it.” 

He’s looking at her and she’s looking at him and she really really really wants to see just what the imagination of a three-hundred year old pirate is like.

She licks her lips.

Mulan sighs very loudly and stands up, leaving the two of them alone, and it’s like a faucet has been turned on, dousing her with cold water.  This is not the time for innuendo, for sneaking off with someone whose very presence puts her heart and mind into constant conflict.  They are here on a mission and everything else can be settled later on (just the idea of pushing things back means that she intends to face matters eventually, just not now).

Emma shifts, glances back at Killian, and clarifies.  “I was talking about the sleeping situation.”

“And what are your thoughts, then?” Killian’s mood shifts much the same as hers, and he looks a bit sheepish now that Mulan has gone – embarrassed, too, that their flirting has been so disruptive.   He stands, stepping away from the fire.

Emma stands up, stretches, shakes her limbs loose.  “I just thought that we could keep watch together.”

“And when will you rest?” he asks.   Emma doesn’t know, and her silence answers for her.

“Emma.”  His hand grabs her wrist, and she turns, realizing how close they are.  She doesn’t move away.  Instead, she shifts her hand so that her fingers intertwine with his. 

“I know you want to let Regina rest, but you need it as well.  You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping well.”  Hook smiles meekly as he squeezes her hand.  “I’ll talk to Robin.  We’ll take second watch.”

“Promise me you won’t play the hero card and let me sleep.” 

Killian brings her hand to his lips, where he places a gentle kiss across her knuckles.   Her heart races at the contact.

“I promise,” he tells her, and his eyes speak of sincerity that she’s come to expect from him in all of her most trying moments.   His eyes tell no lies.

“Good,” is all that she can say in response as she pulls her cloak tighter around her and heads to the barn. 

Emma’s thoughts are already crashing down on her like a wave, so she makes far too much noise when she climbs the ladder to the loft and settles down into the hay with a grunt.   Regina, who is already there, is startled, but something in Emma’s expression seems to convey the chain of events to her.  A sly smile crosses her face.

“Did your boyfriend tell you to get some sleep?” Regina asks, and Emma sighs, crossing her arms over her chest.   She’s heard this line of questioning from Regina before.   Her body is still warm from the press of Killian’s lips against her knuckles, her mind still active from their conversation earlier, and while telling Regina that Killian isn’t her boyfriend would be the truth, she doesn’t want to deny his importance in her life.  She is up here because of him.  She is back in the Enchanted Forest because of him. 

“Remind me again why you sent him to come find us?” Emma asks.  The barn loft is warm, the horses moving quietly beneath them.

“Because he loves you, and he would find you regardless of where you were.”  Regina tucks her knees to chest.   “Never bet against love.”

Hearing that Killian loves her from yet another person stirs up conflicting emotions: she cares about him, but she’s not a fan of relationships – they require trust that Emma’s bad at giving.  She doesn’t believe in true love, not in the form that exists in the Enchanted Forest.  While she may physically want him, there’s too many possibilities of hurt that make her terrified of actually letting him possess her, body and soul.

“Anyway, it worked, and you’re here.”  Regina leans back against a hay bale, and Emma sighs, grateful the conversation is taking a different turn.  She doesn’t want to talk about relationships now.

“Emma,” Regina says softly.  “Can you tell me about Henry’s time in New York?”

Emma smiles.  Talking about Henry is something she can handle right now.

“Let me tell you about his twelfth birthday,” she starts, and she talks until the other woman drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Emma wakes suddenly when someone touches her arm gently.   She’s sure there’s drool dribbling from the corner of her mouth, and she’s sure that she’s messed up that complicated braids her maid did for her that morning, but her eyes focus quickly on Mulan, who is peaking up over the ladder to the loft.

“Your watch,” Mulan mouths, eyes glancing behind Emma to Regina, who sleeps soundly and peacefully, or so Emma hopes.  She nods, and follows Mulan back down the ladder.

“Is Hook…?” Emma asks, and Mulan nods.

“He asked that I wake you up, and told me to get some rest.”  Mulan’s smiles ruefully.  “I think he has some rather old fashioned ideas about men and women in large companies and sleeping arrangements.”

Emma nods.  She could totally buy that (despite his brash, flirtatious demeanor, there is a streak of chivalry that never ceases to surprise her).    She pulls her cloak around her and smiles at the other woman before heading out of the warm barn and into the cold night.

Killian is seated at the fire with Robin, exchanging stories and drinking something out of warm mugs; he passes his to Emma when she sits down, and she is surprised to find that it is cider, spiced with cinnamon.  She feels better already.

“Sorry to wake you, princess, but your pirate was most adamant that we needed to honor your wishes,” Robin tells her, and Emma looks over at Killian, who is not looking at her. 

“I don’t mind at all,” she says, only realizing afterwards that Killian has, once again, been identified as her pirate.   She is not sure if it is the cider or the thought that makes the warmth spread through her sleepy limbs.

“Regina – she sleeps?” Robin asks.  When Emma nods, he seems satisfied and rises, patting Killian on the back as he heads towards the small encampment beside the barn where his Merry men are to be found.

“So you’re my pirate now, huh?” she asks, bumping her shoulder against Killian’s.  He turns to her, but where she thought she’d find a smirk, there is something else entirely.

“Does that bother you?” he asks, eyes open and earnest, and when she shakes her head it’s because she’s telling the truth.

“No,” she tells him.  “Not if it doesn’t bother you.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather have claim me,” he says as he takes another sip of his drink before handing it back to her.  As she wraps her fingers around the warm mug, she realizes how commonplace this has all become to them – sharing space, sharing food and drink, sharing their thoughts.  Even as they sit, her arm brushes against his with every move.  Everything they do is closer and more intimate than should be, considering what they are to each other (or maybe it’s because of what they are to each other that everything is the way it is).

Emma wants to tell him that there’s no one she’d rather claim – wants to claim him as hers, claim his body and soul all in one – but the intensity of her feelings frighten her because they are both new and yet not new, filling the space between them and making the air grow warm around them.

“Good,” is all she says in response.  She shifts.  “How are we doing in terms of watching?”

“Fine, I suppose.”

Emma pulls the gloves he has given her earlier out and puts them on.  “Well, since we’re going to be here a while, you should tell me a story,” she tells him.

“A story?” Killian responds, obviously surprised at her request.

“Yep,” she says.  “I just spent told Regina about Henry’s birthday – I don’t feel like being chatty right now, so tell me about you.  I already know about Hook – I want to learn more about Killian Jones.”

His face seems to change while she makes her request – it’s as if he grows younger as she speaks.  His eyes grows wider, his smile changes, and he ducks his head down in a self-conscious way that is very much the opposite of anything Hook would do.

“I’m afraid that Killian Jones is rather boring compared to my other identify,” he tells her.  “Nothing quite as dashing as a pirate captain – just a young naval officer, preoccupied with heroics and good form.”

“Henry would say that’s the beginning of a good story,” Emma teases, enjoying how Killian seems to blush at her remark.  She glances away, scans the tree line.  She’s got her magic, she’s got her sword, and she’s got Killian by her side. 

Oddly enough, it’s in the middle of the Enchanted Forest that she feels safer than ever.

Killian scoffs at her words but he starts to tell her about himself, slowly but surely.  He dances around his brother’s death, only focuses on his life, and even though she’s focusing on the forest, not him, as they take turns walking and watching the camp, she can almost picture the expressions on his face, she knows him so well.  He takes her up to Milah and the crocodile, fitting the pieces into the puzzle of his life that she had only begun to assemble.

There is a truthfulness in everything that he tells her – even the more difficult chapters of his life - that means more to her than she could ever tell him.

He finishes as others wake, their noises drifting throughout the small farm.  There will be food and drink and then they will be on their way, still two day’s ride from the western border.

“I hope that tale was sufficient, my lady?” Killian asks after when he reaches the conclusion. 

Emma smiles.  “I liked learning more about you,” she says, because she knows the fear in opening up to someone.  “I think I like Killian Jones just as much as Captain Hook.”

He looks at the ground, bringing up his fingers to rub at his forehead – a gesture Emma now knows means that he is thinking about something.  When he looks back up, there is a nervousness in his features.

“Does that surprise you?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Aye, it does,” he tells her, unable to meet her eyes.  “Emma –“

There is a loud commotion from the barn, as the horses are being let out, and then Robin calls to them, announcing that food is ready.

She wants to stay and hear what he has to say, but he doesn’t appear to want to continue the conversation.  He gestures towards the rest with his hook, as if to usher her there, and the conversation ends on that very unsatisfactory note.

It frustrates Emma.

As they prepare to set off for the day, she is approached by Regina, who looks well-rested and like, well, herself.

“Thank you for telling me about Henry last night,” she says, and Emma smiles.

“Of course.  You’re his mother too – it’s only fair that you know.”  Regina nods, looking away.

“It was a kindness – something I’ve become unfamiliar with, no doubt as a result of my actions.”  She looks back at Emma, and says, “Allow me to do the same for you.  Your feelings towards Hook – “

“What about them?” Emma asks defensively, but Regina continues nonplussed.

“Feelings like that can seem overwhelming at first, when you try to understand it, so break them down into smaller parts.  It makes it easier.”  Regina smiles, a sincere smile that Emma has only see directed at Henry in the past, and adds, “At least, when I was in love, that’s what I did.”

Emma is tongue-tied by both the woman’s advice and the fact that she’s shared something of herself that she probably hasn’t before (because how could she? Regina was hated by most of the Enchanted Forest, and her mother was a certifiable piece of work that probably never considered her daughter’s needs).   She nods, unsure of how to respond, but Regina does not wait for a response, merely mounts her horse and rides to the front of the group, her appearance shifting once again so that the woman who rides alongside Robin is not the Queen at all.

“Everything all right?”

Emma glances to her left to find Killian there, waiting for her.  She shakes her head.

“Yeah, I think it will be,” she tells him.   She reaches for the saddle, turns to look over her shoulder at him.   “Okay, so I’m going to try it this time on my own – make sure that I’m doing it right.”

She succeeds in mounting her horse with little trouble, with Killian’s encouraging smile as her reward, though Regina’s words linger in her mind as they set off.

...

Emma has spent the day thinking about Regina’s words.  She’s been quiet during the ride as a result (this has resulted in a look of concern on Killian’s face that she tries to brush away but can’t). 

She’s been reducing everything to their finite categories instead of talking.

If she was to break apart how she felt about Killian, she’s not sure where she would begin. 

Or, maybe, she would begin with the fact that out of everyone on this journey – out of everyone in the Enchanted Forest, her parents included, he might very well be the only person who listens to her.   She remembers Neverland and Dark Hollow, and how her harsh words to him meant he pulled back.   He never pressed or hovered, never repeated his feelings once he thought they weren’t reciprocated (he’s so completely wrong, so very very completely wrong) and has respected her wishes always. 

He’s been the only one to believe in her, to give her his complete trust, to not lie to her regardless of her ability or not.   His unwavering loyalty to her means he’s at her side right now, and Emma’s never had anyone so selfless when it comes to her that this is a new and frustrating proposition, and it’s completely terrifying.

It’s easy to separate the parts of her that emotionally and mentally find Killian appealing from the parts that are attracted to him in other ways, because it is significantly less terrifying to flirt with someone you’re attracted to physically as opposed to opening yourself up to someone emotionally.  Emma’s been attracted to Killian for far longer than she’s been comfortable with him, and that’s something easy to break down because the man is attractive and he knows it.

But beyond the attraction and the trust and the faith is a person who understands her - who she knows makes her better.  He makes her want to trust more easily, to tear down the walls that she’s built and to let other people in as opposed to keeping them out.  Emma knows there is a sharpness to her, edges formed by being broken so many times that she’s most definitely not whole, but he sands down the harshness, dulls the sharp corners, and makes her better.

And that knowledge changes everything.

When they make camp that night, Emma sits next to Regina, which surprises the other woman far more than it should.  

 “Thanks,” Emma tells Regina, who frowns.

“For what?”

“For what you said earlier, about breaking things down.  For what you said about Killian.”

 Regina’s mouth curls upwards into a smile.

“First names, then,” Regina remarks.  “I see.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma says awkwardly, “you were right – when I actually looked at the separate parts, it made more sense.”

Regina nods. “I’m glad I was of service.”

Emma stands, goes to seek out more ale.  She can feel Killian’s eyes on her from the fire but she isn’t ready to talk to him yet because she knows that everything she has been thinking will fall out her mouth in a flood of words.

She is surprised when she turns back from the cask to find Regina beside her.   There is a look of fear on the other woman’s face that startles Emma.

“Is something wrong?” she asks, looking back at the group by the fire.

“No,” Regina says, “I just -  need to tell you something.”  She stops, looks away, laughs nervously.  “I need to tell someone something.” 

“Thanks, I guess,” Emma says, slightly affronted, but the look on Regina’s face silences her.  It’s sheer panic – a look that she hasn’t seen since Regina realized she would be forced to leave Henry behind.

“Do you mind if we walk?” Regina asks, looking back at their company, gathered around the fire. Emma nods, following as Regina sets the pace away from the fire but still far enough from the forest that they are safe (they are also the only two with magic so they’d probably be safe anyway but old habits die hard).

“The business with me and Tinkerbelle,” Regina says quickly.  “It’s complicated.   You know about Daniel – “

“True love, your mother killed him, you blamed my mother…” Emma responds. 

“I was miserable when I married your grandfather.  He was far too old and far too in love with his dead wife to notice me.  I was miserable, and one day I was out on my balcony when the railing failed.”  Regina swallows.  “Tinkerbelle saved me.”

“Okay…”

“She swore that I would find true love again.  She even used pixie dust.  I followed her trail to a tavern, where she swore I would meet my true love.”  Regina pauses, closing her eyes.  “I saw the man, drinking with friends.  But I couldn’t go in – I was too scared.  So I ran.  And I never looked back.  My lack of faith cost Tinkerbelle her wings and it allowed me to become a vengeful monster.”  Regina pauses once more.  “When we met her in Neverland, she told me that not only did I ruin my own life, but I ruined his as well.”

Emma’s unsure of what to do, if she should comfort the other woman so she says, “Regina, I’m sure you’ll find him.”

“It’s Robin,” Regina says suddenly, griping Emma’s arm.  “He had a tattoo, same arm, same lion.  It’s Robin.”

Though she has paid little attention to the interactions between anyone save Killian and herself, she has noticed a softness in Robin’s expression when he asks about Regina, the way that Roland and Henry played together at the palace, and even the way that Regina speaks his name sounds all too familiar (especially to a woman finally using the first name of the man that she cares for - ).

“The advice you gave me earlier,” Emma says slowly.  “That was related to how you feel now, not how you felt about Daniel.”

Regina nods.

“Have you said anything to him?” Emma asks, voice barely a whisper. 

The look on Regina’s face is absolute sadness, absolute despair “I’m a villain, Emma,” she tells her.  “I don’t deserve a happy ending.”

Before Emma can protest, Regina wraps her arms around herself and looks towards the woods.  “I’m going to walk the perimeter,” she tells Emma.  “I’ll be back shortly.”  She covers her head with a hood and starts off, and Emma lets her go.

She turns and walks back towards the welcoming circle of warmth, her mind a blur of thoughts but one manages to rise above the din: the notion of true love makes everyone go a little crazy here.

Emma doesn’t believe in true love, even if she is the product of it.  Love to her is something completely different than one glance across a room or following pixie dust.  It is commitment, it is trust, it is faith, it is giving just as much as you receive.

It is the precipice she is dancing around the edge of every time she is with Killian.

When she returns to the fire, Robin seems alarmed.

“Where is Regina?” he asks, and Emma looks back towards where she left the other woman.

“She wanted to go for a walk,” Emma tells him, not adding that the queen had most certainly wanted to be alone, because she knows Robin isn’t going to listen to her anyway (and he doesn’t – he’s standing and striding off to where Emma has indicated before she has a chance to finish her thoughts).

Let Regina sort out her own issues; Emma has enough issues of her own that she’s got a subscription.

She notices that Killian is watching her with wary eyes, so she smiles and comes to join him at the far edges of the fire, where there is relative privacy.

“Hey,” she says, sitting down next to him.  The frown that he has worn all day is still on his face.

“Is everything all right, Swan?” he asks, and nods her head.

“Yeah – Regina wanted to talk to me.” She glances over at him.  “Maybe we should take first watch together?”

“I would like that, Swan,” he tells her.  “After all, I believe you owe me a tale of your own.”

“Maybe I do.”

Maybe she owes him them more than just a tale.

Once the others drift off to find their sleeping arrangements for the night, she asks Killian just want he wants to hear about.

“Well,” he says, brushing his hand against his forehead, “I’m rather curious about what’s kept you quiet all day.”

“Regina said something to me before we left.”  Emma pulls her knees towards her chest, wrapping her arms around them.  “That’s preoccupied me for most of the day.  Sorry I wasn’t my normal chatty self.”

Killian laughs.  “Actually, that’s quite a relief - and here I thought you were considering all that I told you earlier.”

Emma frowns, trying to remember and then – “You thought I wasn’t talking because of what you told me about yourself?”

Killian looks sheepish.  “You can hardly blame me when the lady went so quiet after our chat.”

She shakes her head.  “No, no, nothing about that.  I told you, I like you in all of your incarnations.”

The comment, made flippantly, seems to do something to him because he looks away but she can still see the small smile on his lips.   It makes her remember that despite all of the flirtatious banter and innuendos, he’s just as vulnerable when it comes to her as she is when it comes to him.

Suddenly she is full of a restless energy that she needs to get out, so she stands.  “I still owe you a story, right?” she asks.

He nods.  When he comes to stand beside her, she has to physically restrain her hands from reaching for him.  She turns to survey the camp, study the trees.

“I’m a mess,” she starts.  “I’m supposed to be a princess but I’ll always be that lost girl.  I don’t believe in any of the things that people believe in here, like true love.  But I do believe in other things, like trust and faith and honesty.  And, I can count on one hand the number of people I have in my life that I trust,” she tells him.  He raises an eyebrow.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” he asks, and she smiles at hearing her own words repeated back to her.

“No, it’s not.  And I can reduce that number further when I think about the people that really know me – really get me, constantly have faith in me, and never lie to me.”

The look that Killian gives her is one that burns through her body, ignites her soul, and makes her realize that this is easily the most fearsome thing she’s ever done, but she’s not finished yet.  There are words she can’t say – not right now, because she’s not ready – but there are things she can say to ease both of their troubled hearts.

“I don’t know how I feel about you most days,” Emma says, “and that’s because I feel too much, all at once, when it comes to you.  There is one thing that I do know, and that is the faith you have in me makes me want to be better than I am, and I am so grateful that you are my pirate, and my captain, and my friend, and – “

He closes the distance between them and kisses her, cradling her head with his hand while his lips brush against hers softly.  She responds instantly, realizing how desperately she’s wanted this.  Her body is shaking as her arms reach out to press him closer.  They are both desperate, she realizes, as her lips move hurriedly against his.   It is a desperation born of waiting and lingering and when he pulls away, she sighs.

“Damn,” she whispers against his lips.  “I need to give speeches more often.”

“That you do, Swan,” he tells her, brushing his nose against hers.  “You certainly have a way with words, and while I would love to continue our discussion…we are on watch.”

She laughs, stealing a final brief kiss.  “Ever the valiant captain,” she tells him as he lets her go.  His eyes are hooded, his breathing uneven, and he runs his hand through his hair.

“Your captain,” he reminds her with a smile.

“Good.”

 

Chapter Text

5.

The monkeys strike at dawn.

They come out of nowhere, scattering the party throughout the camp.  There is shouting and yelling and she loses track of Killian, who tries to get her to safety behind a boulder before drawing his sword.   Emma is grateful that there are individuals who actually have skills with bows and arrows and swords here because despite being the Savior, she is not skilled in any sort of combat save self-defense and she is sorely lacking her can of pepper spray right now.

She presses her back to the boulder for just a moment, catching her breath, before being pulled back into the fray.   After all, she has magic, and Regina seems hell-bent on getting Emma to use it.

She grabs Emma by the hand, and commands her, “Remember why you’re here and who you’re trying to save!” before releasing a fireball towards a flying monkey headed towards them.

Emma’s mind immediately goes to Henry, playing in the snow in the castle courtyard, and she knows Regina’s mind goes there as well, but there are others edging themselves into her vision – her parents, and Killian.

Killian.

She can remember, clearly, the feeling of his lips against hers just a few short hours ago.  She can remember the way that he smiled and the absolute despair on his face when she slammed the door on him in New York, just a few short weeks ago.

It is enough.

Oh, it is more than enough.

The combined force of their magic launches the largest fireball that Emma has ever seen towards the flying monkeys (which, by the way, are way more gruesome than she expected them to be but she can’t be blamed when her only reference point for flying monkeys is a Judy Garland film).  They shriek but retreat, and soon the clearing is empty save for Emma and her companions and the lingering smell of something horrible she guesses to be burnt monkey.

When Regina lets go of her hand, Emma spins around, looking for Killian. He’s on the far side of their camp, wiping his sword clean, and before she knows it, she is headed towards him, her eyes focused only on him and his movements.  He looks up, and notices her.

“Can’t bear to have me out of your sight, Swan?” he teases as she approaches, and she slows down her walk so it seems she’s less desperate to see him than she really is (she is probably fooling no one, least of all him, but she’s never been one for grand romantic gestures).

“You know me – I’m possessive of what’s mine,” she tells him as she crosses her arms across her chest, trying to be nonchalant.  She feels like it takes more effort than usual to be so relaxed in his presence when the thought of him proved to be the final catalyst for that epic display of magic.

“Oh, I can see that,” Killian says, voice low as he stands too close and not close enough all at once. 

“Do you have a problem with that?” Emma asks, eyes flicking between his lips (where he is being obscene with his tongue, damn the man) and his eyes.  He winks at her.

“On the contrary, princess, I can’t think of anything I’d like more than being possessed by you.”

And oh, if she doesn’t think of their kiss last night and her blood runs hot like fire.

There is a cough behind them and Emma turns, feeling her cheeks burn but whether it’s from the embarrassment of being overheard or the flirtation itself, she’s not quite sure.  Regina stands near them, hands on her hips, rolling her eyes.

 “I hate to interrupt this reunion,” Regina says, “but we need to leave now.”

“And go where?” Emma asks, glancing back at Killian before following Regina towards the horses, which seem to be not as plentiful as they were before.  There appears to be a reason for that, as Robin runs up with Mulan on his heels.

“The Witch’s little demons scared off half of the horses,” Robin calls out.  “We’ll have to double up.”

“We need to head west, to the rendezvous point,” Regina tells them.  “Emma, ride with Hook.”

“Who are we rendezvousing with, Regina?” Emma asks, confused.  These new orders are not making sense and that makes Emma feel very uneasy.    “I thought we were heading west to a portal.” 

“We have a source on the inside.”  Regina grabs the reins of a nearby horse and hands them to Killian, who wraps them around his hook.   “Someone who will get the two of you into Oz.”

Emma narrows her eyes.  This is the first she’s heard of this.  “And who is it we’re meeting?”

Regina glances at the skies, as if scanning for more danger, and then back at Emma.  “Now is not the time to discuss this.”

“And is there going to be a time?” Emma presses, frustrated at the lack of answers.  It occurs to her in that moment, that there is much Regina hasn’t told them about the plan – or, at least, hasn’t told Emma, and it infuriates her.  It’s that moment when she begins to realize how little she really knew before getting involved in this quest.  Granted, there was no way for her not to be involved, not when she was brought back to this realm for this reason, not when she actually seemed to know about Oz.  But, Emma realizes, no one has discussed strategy with her, or told her about this man on the inside, or even really explained what the portal would be like, except that Killian would be going with her. 

She’s angry, not just at Regina but at herself, for allowing herself to be distracted by everything else in the Enchanted Forest (including the man standing beside her) and she feels that anger bubble up in her belly and come spilling out of her mouth as she asks, “Just what haven’t you told us, Regina?”

Regina looks at her and says, “Nothing you need to know right now.”  She turns to walk away and it is Killian who prevents Emma from following after her and demanding answers.

“Emma, love,” he says, blocking her path.  “She’s right – we need to move. They could be coming back and in greater numbers”

“We need to know what’s going on – “Emma says, trying to move past him but he holds his hand up so that she stops, and even if she wanted to fake left and run past him, it’s total chaos with people mounting horses and she just –

She runs her hand through her hair, frustrated, and takes a breath, eyes meeting Killian’s who looks at her with that reassuring look he always has just for her.

“We need to get to the portal,” Killian tells her.  “We also need to make sure that the Savior remains unscathed.”

“What if Regina’s been lying to us?” Emma wants to know the answer to that question sooner rather than later, as the uneasiness feeling that she’s in over her head starts to settle in her bones.

“Emma,” he says, cupping her face with his hand, “we’ve already come this far trusting her.  What else can we do?”

“Did you know?” she asks, voice tense.  He shakes his head and rubs his thumb against her cheekbone, which does much to calm her active thoughts.  He takes a step forward, closes the distance, and rests his forehead against her own.

“I know no more than you,” he tells her, voice tight with emotions and with promises spoken in earnest. “I volunteered to go because I am yours, Emma Swan, and I will follow you to hell and back.”

Their breaths mingle in the cool morning air, and she takes a moment to just be here, with him, to feel her heartbeats slow down and the uneasiness lift (just barely) from her shoulders.  His very presence seems to be the antidote for whatever anger and anxiety she’s been feeling, and she smiles.

“Thank you.  I don’t think I’ll ever deserve you,” she tells him, because the man before her is just as flawed as she is but better than her in ways too numerous to count.

Killian steps back and when he looks at her again he looks worried, and she cannot tell if it’s from their contact or her words.   He turns away before she can say anything to him.

He looks at the horse, then back at Emma.  “I’d much prefer for you to ride in front of me, so that I can protect you, but that would make things difficult.  You’ll have to sit behind me, if you don’t mind.”

He looks nervous, so Emma smiles.  “We’ll be all right,” she tells him, but that seems to do little to assuage his fears.

He helps her onto the horse so that she is behind him, and as she wraps her arms around his waist and settles in, it hits her suddenly that protecting her might not what he was worried about.  This situation is far too intimate even for those who share stories and food and trust, for two people bristling with physical attraction and even as she rests her thumb against his belt-buckle she can feel way he takes a breath – sharp, shallow, gasping – and she knows that feeling all too well.

“You all right, Swan?” he asks, and she muffles between his shoulder blades.

“Cozy,” she says, sliding her hips forward more, feeling heat gather between her legs.   

Killian turns his head and looks at her.  “Aye, that it is,” he tells her with a wink, shifting in the saddle so their hips are even closer together. 

Emma takes a moment to appreciate how well they seem to fit together before they start moving.

She wraps herself tighter around him, clinging to him as they start to ride, picking up speed as they go.   She closes her eyes against the wind that whips up around them.  She is surprisingly comfortable in such a vulnerable position, but she knows that she is safe, here, with him.

…

The rendezvous point is apparently an abandoned tower in the middle of nowhere.

Okay, not abandoned – there is one inhabitant, and of course it’s freaking Rapunzel.

“Really?” Emma whispers to Killian, who shrugs because this is his world that just happens to be inhabited by fairy tale characters, himself included.  He helps her off the horse and, in the process, if his hand trails along her hip, and if she clutches his shoulders, well, that’s what it takes to dismount, right? It doesn’t help the vibrating that’s been humming through her veins the entire ride here, which she blames on their close proximity and on every spoken word between them that ring in her ears with their sincerity and, of course, on last night’s kiss.    It’s like kissing him has opened the floodgate and every single bit of want that she has related to Killian has come pouring out, flooding her veins and pooling between her thighs.

It’s distracting, to say the least, but when Emma glances over at Killian (whose cheeks seem unusually pink) she smirks, knowing that she’s not alone in how she feels.

They climb Rapunzel’s long dark hair (because really, how would they not?) and Emma is not at all surprised (okay, maybe just a little) when she realizes the tower itself is much bigger than it looks.  Rapunzel takes them down a flight of stairs to a room with multiple doors.

“Not all of them work,” she apologizes to Emma, “but the one to Oz does.” 

“We’re early,” Regina says, removing her cloak. “We’ll have to wait – they’re not expecting us to be here yet.”

“And we can’t go meet them?” Emma asks, even though she knows the answer.  

“I would advise getting some rest, since we don’t know when we’ll get it again,” Robin tells them, clapping his hand on Killian’s shoulder.  “I’ll show you where the kitchens are, if Rapunzel won’t mind with the bedding – “

“Not at all,” Rapunzel says with a smile, and Emma is one-hundred percent certain that her smile has less to do with helping and more to do with the man who asked.  When the others slowly leave the room, Emma stays behind, indicating with a look to Killian that she wants to talk to Regina for a moment (she is grateful he can read her so easily, because he merely nods his head and follows the others out). 

Regina stays in the portal room, walking slowly from door to door.  Emma waits until she’s sure the others are gone, and then speaks.

“Did you talk to him?” she asks, and Regina glances up before looking away.  She rests against the wall between an ornate door with stained glass and one that is plain dark wood, arms crossed over her chest, before looking back up at Emma.

“Of course I didn’t,” Regina replies.  “What would I have said?”

“He seemed pretty upset that you were off wandering last night –“

“I can take care of myself,” Regina snaps before closing her eyes tightly.  She pinches the bridge of her nose.  “I’m sorry.  I know you’re only trying to help me.  I’m just – out of practice with friendly advice.”

“I’m not offended,” Emma tells her.  “I just realized a lot about seizing the moment lately, and I don’t want you to not seize yours.”

Regina laughs, a bitter laugh that Emma recognizes all too well, and before she can heap more self-deprecation to the pile she’s created, Emma cuts in.  “I know you think you don’t deserve happiness, but I don’t think you’re a villain.”

The look on Regina’s face is absolutely indescribable and unnerving, and it makes Emma incredibly sad to think that this woman, who raised Henry to be the loving and kind child that he is, would think so little of herself in return.  Everyone’s done evil things, but Regina’s attempts at repentance are pretty honorable, in Emma’s book (and even if they can’t cancel out the countless horrors she’s left in her wake, she’s at least trying).

Emma shoves her hands into her coat pockets, shrugs her shoulders.  “You gave me some advice, so let me give you some back.  Talk to him, Regina.  I don’t think you’re the only one who feels something.”

Emma turns to leave the room when she hears Regina’s voice.

“Thank you.”

Emma turns back and smiles at the other woman.  “Of course.”

“And Emma…” Regina starts, pushing off the wall, “…if anyone should ask where I am, you could tell them that I’m waiting here.”

Emma nods.  “Sure, Regina.”

Killian is waiting for her at the end of the hallway, and as they walk down the stairs he asks, “Everything all right with the Queen?”

Emma nods.  “Maybe?  I guess it’s up to her.”

Killian does not question her cryptic answer, simply leads the way to a room where Rapunzel is handing out blankets to the assembled party.  Robin approaches Emma.

“Is Regina waiting by the portal?” he asks, and Emma nods, only slightly surprised that Robin already knows what Regina will do (but only slightly, because true love and all…).  He shakes his head, a faint smile on his lips.  “Stubborn woman,” he mutters before handing Emma a pillow and blanket. 

Regina’s situation – being too frightened to pursue love – is not the situation that Emma finds herself in because despite all that has happened, Killian cares for her unconditionally, and perhaps in spite of all her flaws.  Emma’s pretty sure that, somehow, Regina has managed to capture Robin’s heart the same way that Killian has captured hers, and that the man sees the good in Regina after all.   As she pulls the pillow close to her chest she glances over at Killian, who looks at her like he always does – with hope.  Once again, she remembers all that has transpired over the past two days which have pushed her, literally, into his arms, and she doesn’t regret a moment of it.   Time is too precious to be frightened.

Killian smiles at her, moves closer, and Emma feels the blood rush through her veins again.  There is so much tension between them but she feels bold and sure of herself, so she calls out to him.

“Hey - I know that you’re old-fashioned, but if this is the last good night’s sleep we’re going to get, I’d sleep better near you.”

He nods, bringing his hand up to rub against his lip as if to buy him time before responding.  He turns, dropping his hand and beckoning her to follow him.

Everyone has gathered in the great hall (this tower is actually really quite impressive) and so he leads them down a hallway, glancing into rooms until he founds one that he thinks appropriate.  It is a small room– a pantry, with a door and bare shelves which Emma assumes is because there is more than one of them in this ridiculous place.   There is a small window on the wall between the shelves, and they arrange their bedding below that window.  Killian makes sure that the door is ajar; probably more for proprieties sake than any reason he could give about being ready in the event their ally arrives.  The decision relaxes Emma just slightly, because while she admits that she’s been thinking constantly about the fun that he promised so long ago in Neverland, well…

It’s been a very long time since she’s allowed herself to be completely vulnerable with another person and even though she cares about him, really cares, this is not the time or place.

He settles in first, takes off his hook and places it on one of the shelves within easy reach.   Then, with a wary grin, he extends his arms and she can’t help but slip into his embrace, resting her cheek against his chest and settling herself into the warmth of him.

He adjusts the blankets so that they cover Emma, and she lays her arm across him, causing him to stiffen slightly with the contact but soon he begins to trace patterns on the exposed skin of her hand with his fingers.  The touch of skin to skin is a distraction, and the humming in her veins grows just a shade louder.

“This is nice,” she tells him, because it is nice – it’s the nicest thing she’s had in a long time, kiss excluded.  She may be navigating completely unfamiliar waters right now, but she’s got him to guide her and that makes all of the difference.

“Aye, that it is,” he says.  She does not glance up at him to know that this means something to him – something just as big for him as it is for her.  “I never did stop thinking of you, just as I said I would.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Emma tells him.  “You do have a unique ability to maintain focus for the long haul.”

Killian laughs, the sound reverberating against her cheek where it rests on his chest, and pulls her closer with his now hook-less arm.  “I guess I do.  It helps when I have a goal in mind.”

“And what exactly was that goal?”  Emma asks, sinking deeper into the feel of him.  The humming grows with each of her exhales.

“I think you know what that was,” he says.   He sighs.  “I’m sorry to have –“

“Stop apologizing for New York,” she tells him.  “I’m happy that you pulled me out of that fake life.  I’d rather be here with you.”

“Even if we are facing the unknown?” he asks.  Emma twists to look up and smile at him.

“Especially when we are having the unknown.   We make a good team.”

“Aye, that we do,” he tells her.  His face changes, and he looks down at their joined hands then back at Emma.

“You were wrong, when you spoke earlier.  You deserve everything, Emma,” he tells her.  “You deserve far more than me, to say the least.”

Emma sits up.  “That’s not true at all,” she tells him.  “You are better than you give yourself credit for.”

“I am a man who was obsessed with revenge for far too long,” Killian replies.  “You are the only thing that stopped that.”

Maybe it’s his words, maybe it’s his earnestness, maybe it’s the humming (it’s definitely the humming) but Emma adjusts her position so that she’s sitting astride his lap, which causes him to inhale sharply at the new points of contact.  “Yeah, well you’re the first person to believe unconditionally in me in a really long time, so I think we’re even in the ‘making each other better’ category.”

 “Your son believes in you,” he says, arms moving forward to come around her, hand tracing the contour of her hip as he pulls her just a bit closer.  Their hips are flush against each other, and she leans forward, resting her hands against his shoulders.  

Emma snorts.  “He’s a kid, they usually think the best of their parents,” she tells him, sliding her hands across the plane of his back, tangling her fingers in his hair.  He smiles at the contact.

“From the mouths of babes,” he cautions her.  “You really are quite brilliant, Emma Swan.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she says before lowering her lips to his (she is not surprised at their ability to go from zero to makeout in such a short time period). He surges up to meet her, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her towards him, carding his fingers into the hair and cradling her head in his hand.  She slides her fingers in the hair at the nap of his neck and changes the angle of the kiss, pressing forward until their bodies are so close together she’s not sure where he ends and she begins.

“This is wrong,” she says, breaking away and allowing him to kiss the skin under her jaw.  “We need to be on high alert for whoever it is Regina is waiting for – “ she gasps as he bites her earlobe, sucks the spot beneath her ear, causing her to shift her hips against his.

“Need to pass the time somehow,” he responds before catching her lips in a kiss again.  His tongue darts out to meet hers and her hands come up to tangle in his hair before she has to physically make herself stop.

It may be the hardest thing she’s ever done.

Emma puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes back.  He nips her chin gently as she does so, and she wants nothing more than to lean back in, see where this goes, but there are loud noises and the sounds of movement in the other room (the others moving tables, no doubt, as they settle down for the night) and risks are not something she’s willing to take, not anymore.

“You are the worst,” she whispers, smiling down at him and he grins back, wide and happy.

“You know you live for it,” he tells her and she sighs, shaking her head because yes, this – what exists between them – is very much something that she lives for without any regrets.

“I meant it about wanting to be near you in a strictly sleeping sense,” she tells him, shifting so that she’s sitting beside him again, distance clearly between them.  “I just rest easier when I know you’re around, like back in Neverland.”

Killian nods, but does not say anything.  He does lean over and stroke her face with his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.   There is a nervousness to his action that she takes to be related to his admission that he doesn’t find himself worthy of her (which is a total joke).  She smiles at him, and he smiles back before settling into his own bedding.

“Sleep well, Swan,” he says, teasing lilt in his voice.  She rolls her eyes, reaches out her hand for his.  He takes it, and squeezes it lightly.

“You too, Jones,” she responds.

…

She is woken by Killian, who shakes her shoulder.

“She’s here,” he says as Emma blinks the sleep away from her eyes.  “She’s waiting in the portal room.”

She follows Killian to the room, where Regina and Robin are already in deep conversation with a young woman wearing jeans, boots caked with red mud, and a bomber jacket.  Her brown hair is braided back from her face and Emma raises her eyebrows at this new arrival.

“I thought we were meeting with someone from Oz,” she says to Regina.

“You are,” the woman says, “Well, mostly.  I’m not from there, but I might as well be.  The locals call me the Good Witch, but you can call me Dorothy Gale.”

Chapter Text

 

Emma says the first thing that comes to mind: “You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Dorothy shakes her head.  “Nope - I was pulled out of Kansas by the Wicked Witch,” she clarifies.   

Emma spins, looks to Regina.  “I thought Wicked Witch hadn’t been to my world –“

“You heard what you wanted to hear,” Regina says with a shrug.  Dorothy narrows her eyes.

“Wait – just what did you tell her, Regina?” she asks but before Regina can open her mouth to answer, there is a commotion outside.   Robin rushes to the doorway, bow at the ready, drawing an arrow from his quiver.

“The monkeys are back,” he calls over his shoulder before sprinting out to the hall.  Killian puts his hand on the pommel of his sword, eyes going from Robin to Emma and back again.  Emma feels adrenaline surge through her veins as she readies for a  fight.

Dorothy’s eyes go wide.  “What monkeys?  Is she here?”

“I haven’t gotten to that yet,” Regina tells her, but Dorothy isn’t listening.

“With the monkeys comes the curse – we need to go now,” Dorothy commands, grabbing Emma’s hand and pulling her towards the bright green doorway.  In the distance, Emma hears a sound like a freight train and thinks tornado before reaching out her other hand towards Killian. 

“He’s coming with me,” she tells Dorothy merely nods as she throws open the door.  Killian’s hand closes around Emma’s as Dorothy draws them closer to the portal.  Emma spares a glance at him, and he looks really concerned but he still squeezes her hand to reassure her (even in the midst of everything going on, he will always put her first and it makes her heart do ridiculous things inside of her chest).

“Just go, now!” Dorothy tells Emma before shoving her through the portal.

And she falls.

And lands on a hardwood floor.

And then is pinned beneath a heavy leather-clad body.

“While this is how I’d love to spend the evening, princess,” Killian’s voice says, his mouth close to her ear, “I think it would be bad form in light of our current predicament.”

“You don’t say,” Emma says. 

Killian stands, pulling her up with him.   She allows him to hold her, and he does, hook-hand drawing her close to him, other hand cradling the top of her head.  At first Emma assumes he’s merely being protective but then she notices his head is close to her (too close, really) and realizes, suddenly, that the room’s ceiling is actually quite low and he is stooping.

The portal is still active, green light casting shadows in the small room, and first comes Dorothy and then, oddly enough, Regina, who throws a spell over her shoulder before she falls to the ground (it disappears behind them, presumably through the portal).  The door slams closed behind them and Regina scrambles to her feet.  She lunges for the door, pulling at the handle.

“We need to go back,” she tells Dorothy, repeatedly slamming her palm against the door.  “Have Rapunzel open it back up.”

“You know as well as I do that all magic comes with a price.”  Dorothy brushes dirt off her jeans.  “And in Oz, that means a full day before we can use the portal again.”

“What happened?” Emma asks. “Regina wasn’t supposed to come through.”

This isn’t right.  Something happened.  Emma’s mind goes to Henry and her parents, Robin and Mulan and the Merry Men.  Her stomach drops and she clutches at Killian’s vest. 

Regina is about to make a smart-ass comment before Dorothy stops her with just a look.  “Long story short, the Wicked Witch has just picked up the Enchanted Forest and re-deposited it in our realm,” Dorothy tells her. 

“So is everyone back in Storybrooke now?” Emma asks.  Killian moves his hand down own from her head to her back and he rubs his thumb between her shoulder blades.  It is oddly soothing.

Dorothy nods.  “It was her plan all along, so now we’re just a bit screwed.   The Wizard expected that much.”

“Wizard?” Killian asks, and Emma groans.

“Of course,” she says. “And the Cowardly lion and the Scarecrow and the Tin-Man – “

Dorothy snorts.  “He doesn’t take took kindly to any of those nicknames, so if I were you I’d avoid them at all costs.”

Emma sighs and looks upward, at the small ceiling, and over to the chair by the fire that looks awfully small, and then at the little coats and hats hung on a peg by the wall.  There are high-pitched voices outside the door and Emma steps away from Killian, runs her hand through her hair. 

“Munchkins,” she says.  “Because we’re in Oz.”   Emma looks at Dorothy.  “All right, take us down the yellow brick road to meet the wizard, because I’d like to get home to my son.”

If Dorothy is surprised Emma knows any of this, she doesn’t show it.  She heads towards the door, ducking as she exits.

“Well then,” Regina says, brushing past Emma and heading towards the door.   “I guess we’re off to see the wizard.” 

Emma shrugs, and follows them, Killian behind her. 

Dorothy takes them to the yellow brick road, which is a faint yellow that speaks of wear and tear. 

“It’s not that far to the Emerald City,” she tells them.  “Just make sure to not stray from the path.  The poppies are particularly violent this year.”

Killian stays at her side, though he does ask her about the poppies as they pass.

“Opiates,” Emma tells him.  “Walking through the poppy field will make us fall asleep and falling asleep will not get us any closer to stopping the witch or getting our family back.”

Emma doesn’t notice the slip at first, but Killian makes a peculiar noise in the back of his throat and then she realizes.  Not her family or her friends, but theirs.   She’s not sure at which point she just began to lump Killian in with her family but she doesn’t take it back nor does she regret it.  Whatever he is to her, it’s more than a just a friend.

“You’ve never told me, love, if this land was one of the ones in your fairy tales,” Killian says softly and she glances over to see him looking away from her, out into the woods beyond them.

“Sortof? I mean, it was a book that they made into a movie, and then a musical – several musicals, actually, and –“ she call tell that she’s lost him by the way that he looks at her.  Emma laughs.

“It’s a children’s story,” she confirms.  “With flying monkeys and a wicked witch and a wizard.”

“And Dorothy, I take it?” he nods in the direction of their leader. 

“Yeah,” Emma says.  “And she’s the one that defeats the Wicked Witch, not me.”

“That would be easier said than done if she was just a witch,” Dorothy calls from the front.  “But now is not the time and place to discuss this.”

Emma raises her eyebrows to Killian, who merely shrugs.    His hand is on the hilt of his sword and so she reaches for his hook, takes it in her hand.  He looks down at where her fingers wrap around the curved appendage and she draws near, bumps her shoulder into him.

“In the movie,” she tells him, “Dorothy has these companions and they link arms and start to skip down the road…”

“As much as I’d like to have you in my arms, Swan, I am not about to skip,” he tells her, and Emma laughs.  She nudges his shoulder again, and watches his smile mirror her own.

“Whenever we get to this Emerald City, I think I’ll make it my first priority to get the two of you a room,” Regina tells them, an irritated look on her face. 

Emma shakes it off, links her arm with Killian’s; if they get attacked right now, they might be at a disadvantage but the warmth of his body next to hers makes her forget for a moment that her son is in a different realm, and that she needs to get back to it sooner rather than later.

Almost forget, at least.

And what it does make her think of makes her wonder if Regina’s threat is also a promise.

…

The Emerald City is a masterpiece – skyscrapers of glowing green rising into the clear blue sky, and Emma’s breath catches in her throat just for a moment.  She falters, and Killian stops with her.

“Everything all right, love?” he asks.  Emma nods.

“When I was a kid, I used to love this movie – the one about Oz,” Emma tells him.  “It was always on TV and sometimes I wished I was Dorothy, being able to click my ruby slippers and find my way home.”

Killian is silent as they continue down the road towards the city gates, which open for Dorothy easily.  The city itself is hushed and still, devoid of the life that Emma remembers from the movie version but it shouldn’t surprise her that everything is very different in reality than it is in fantasy (granted, she never thought that this would be her reality but beggars cannot be choosers).

At the center of the city is a tall building which Dorothy refers to as the Citadel, where the Wizard resides.  She promises food once they arrive, and the party trudges onwards  The walk to the Emerald City itself was a few hours and Emma is bone-weary and worried, thinking about Henry and her parents now tossed back to her world and at the mercy of this witch bitch.

The Citadel is deserted when they enter and Dorothy leads them to a room.  Emma keeps looking for a screen, or something for the Wizard to appear from, but there is nothing – just a munchkin servant who soon brings them sandwiches and tea.

Emma sits on a narrow sofa next to Killian, and as the warm beverage works its restorative powers and they wait for the Wizard, Dorothy tells them what they need to know.

“The Wicked Witch was once the Black Fairy – one of the fairies of your ream, the oldest and the most powerful.  She had a wand she used to do powerful magic – so powerful that she wasn’t always granting wishes or doing good.  The other fairies became wary of her, and with their full support, the blue fairy took her wand and her power and banished her from your world into this one,” Dorothy says.

Regina huffs.  “Of course she would.”

Dorothy rolls her eyes and continues.  “When the Dark Curse was cast, it didn’t just affect the Enchanted Forest, or my world – our world,” she says, glancing at Emma.  “It was so powerful that it fractured all of the realms, creating cracks in the fabric that separates all the worlds.  Those cracks grew over time, and when the curse was broken – “

“The cracks grew bigger,” Emma confirms.  Dorothy nods.

“And the Black Fairy saw how magic returned to our world and she wanted it.  I mean, think of it – a world as technologically advanced as ours with magic in it?  With her wand there?  She would be unstoppable.”

The thought makes Emma’s blood run cold and she glances over at Killian, who looks equally uneasy.  The fact that the witch is there, now, with her wand, makes Emma anxious.  Dorothy better hurry up this tale so they can meet this freaking Wizard.

“So when the Dark Curse was re-cast and everyone returned to the Enchanted Forest,” Dorothy continues, “her wand returned as well, but the cracks in the fabric widened again – just enough for her to slip through and reclaim what was hers. Or, rather, she sent her monkeys to do it.”

“And how do you know all of this?” Killian asks. 

“Because she told me,” Dorothy says.  “She thought that I had something in my possession because she saw an image of me with it when she looked through the crack.”

“Ruby slippers?” Emma asks.  Dorothy nods.

“They’re a powerful talisman, hidden in our world – they can amplify any power if used correctly.”

Emma is confused.  “So wait, how did you get them?”

Dorothy shrugs.  “Someone thought no one would come to the middle of Kansas looking for fancy shoes, I guess? I can’t tell you.  I thought they were some crappy things my grandmother bought at Target for my birthday.  All I know is that as soon as I had them in my possession, they were gone again.”  She sighs.  “Look, I grew up in our world.  I remember watching ‘The Wizard of Oz’ more times than I can count and now, being here is a little surreal.  I have no idea why my grandma had the shoes – all I know is that I’m the one that got sucked up by a tornado.”

“So the torndaos – “

“Just because she was stripped of fairy magic doesn’t mean she was completely without anything,” Regina points out.  “Even Tinkerbelle got her wings back by believing in herself.”

“And Oz operates differently than the Enchanted Forest.  It’s positioned between the Enchanted Forest and our world, with its own hierarchy of fairies and magic and technology,” Dorothy adds.

 “So the witch brought you here to get this talisman…”Emma starts.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have it and I became significantly less useful.  And that’s where the Wizard comes in.”

Emma buries her head in her hands, mind spinning.  There are elements to this story she knows she’s not being told, things that she doesn’t understand – the power of the wand, the ruby slippers being in Kansas, why Dorothy was sent through the portal to find Regina, why Emma was brought back.   Her head hurts, she feels gross, portal crossing and marching up the yellow brick road has exhausted her, and she still doesn’t have a good answer nor have they met the Wizard.

“What does the Wizard have to do with this?” Emma asks, her tone exactly as curt as she needs it to be.

“Oh, everything, dearie,” a voice behind her says, and Regina groans.

“Of course you’re involved,” she says, and Emma turns slowly to find Mr. Gold – or perhaps she should call him the Wizard? – walking towards them, dressed in dark emerald green and leaning heavily on his cane.  He has aged since she last saw him on the streets of Storybrooke, and even though Killian tenses at her side, she puts a hand on his arm to steady his movements.  She is, surprisingly, not surprised – of course Rumplestiltskin survived.  Of course he is in Oz.

Of freaking course.

“We watched you die,” Emma tells him.  “How did you get here?”

“Why, through the cracks, Miss Swan,” he tells her with a tight smile.

Of freaking course.

“You better explain everything,” Regina says.

He does.

He settles into a nearby chair, and starts by explaining how the Dark One can’t really kill himself and how the power of the curse sent him here, using vague explanations that irritate Emma because it all seems to sketchy to be true.  He mentions his old rivalry with the Black Fairy (but like always, does not elaborate), his saving Dorothy (cryptic at best), how he’s been here before and acquired a fair amount of unpleasant nicknames in the process (he bristles at Scarecrow).

“So how does this have anything to do with Storybooke?” Emma asks.  “Why did she send them all back there? She has her wand, she has the cracks – “

Gold picks up on the teacups from its place on the tea tray.  He touches it gently with his finger, and small cracks appear on the surface, fine like spiderwebs.

“The cracks grow bigger with time and every curse that is cast,” he says, placing it back down on the cart.  He reaches for the teapot, and pours the streaming brew into the cup.

It shatters.

“The Wicked Witch just isn’t out to get power, Miss Swan,” he says.  “She’s out for vengeance – for the fairies who cast her out, for the people of this land who refused to accept her as their ruler, for the people in the land without magic for having what she can only dream of – even if it means taking innocents with her.”

“So what good am I, then?” Emma asks.

Gold looks at her.

“After all this time, Miss Swan, do you really doubt your purpose?” he asks.

“Maybe I do,” she tells him.  “Why am I here?”

“Because the only way to beat powerful magic is to have even more powerful magic.”  He glances over at Regina. “If we combined all of our powers, and used the ruby slippers to amplify them…we might be able to beat her.”

“Always the optimist,” Killian mutters under his breath.

“My power is iffy at best.  How can I help?” Emma asks.

“Because we’ll draw on the surest power of all,” Gold says with a smile.  “True love.”

Chapter Text

True love.

Emma’s heart leaps to her throat then crashes down to her stomach, leaving her feeling dizzy and nauseous.  She puts the teacup down quickly, afraid of the way that her hands now shake violently at Gold’s words.

“I don’t believe in true love,” Emma insists, and Gold laughs.

“Of course you don’t, dearie,” he says, “because the product of true love couldn’t possibly believe it in herself.”

There’s something about the acidity of his tone, the way that he seems to gloat in the face of her stubbornness, that raises her hackles.  Her heart races.

“True love doesn’t exist in my world,” Emma tells him, and Gold merely fixes her with a steady gaze.

“The world you grew up in is neither the same world you belong to nor the world in which you found love.” 

Emma’s eyes grow wide.  Her instincts kick in and unfortunately, her instincts in this case are very much flight as opposed to fight.

She pushes her way through the double-doors of this lounge, moves quickly down the long hallway until she reaches the end where a large floor-to-ceiling window overlooks the city.  She presses her hands against the cool glass.  It is night, yet the city glows violent green and as bright as if it were mid-day.

She does not like being cornered.  She is trapped by the constraints of being the Savior yet wanting her own life free and independent of obligation to not only her family but to others she knows and countless more she doesn’t (Emma Swan is not a princess, regardless of her parents and their pedigree). Adrenaline still courses through her veins and she feels goosebumps on her forearms. She fists her hands against the glass.

Emma knows the words that Gold wants to her to say and she wants to say them too – her mouth forms them easily yet they falter at the tip of her tongue.  She could push them out and they would be the truth, she knows.   It’s always been the truth, for longer than she’s dared admit and she knows that she’s scared.  Admitting it makes it real, so very real, more real than his kisses and more real than the feel of him under her fingertips.  Saying the words makes her vulnerable and Emma hates being vulnerable.

But saying the words could save her son, and her family.

But saying the words would mean he could hurt her.

“Emma.”

She flinches at her name but realizes that it’s not Gold or Killian.  It’s Regina.

Emma has never been more grateful for the Queen’s presence than now.

Emma turns to face the other woman, who looks at her with what Emma knows to be an expression similar to her own: fear and vulnerability.

“He knows about Robin,” Regina says, voice quiet and tense.  “I know he knows, or else he would have been satisfied with my answer about Henry.”

“Asshole,” Emma responds, more than angry at what has obviously transpired since she fled the room.  She leans against the wall beside the window.  “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”  Regina looks down at her hands and Emma sees the truth of the queen in this moment of vulnerability.  Love is like an exposed nerve, and if it can terrify the Savior, of course it can terrify the Queen: she is just as scared as Emma in what comes from admitting the truth. “I want to save Henry, but…”

“Maybe that’s where the magic comes from – when we say it, it becomes real,” Emma says. “And when something becomes real, then it can disappoint you and hurt you and do all sorts of horrible things to you.”

“Do you really think that Hook will disappoint you? Hurt you?” Regina asks.  “Because I don’t think I’ve seen anyone love someone as much as he loves you, Emma.”  She sounds sincere, but it is too much to bear.

Emma sighs, closes her eyes, Regina’s words ringing in her ears.  “And that’s what’s so scary,” she says.  “I don’t deserve it.  I’ve never done anything to deserve it.  I’m just a lost girl.”

“Now you’re sounding like me,” Regina says, and Emma squeezes her eyes shut to push back the tears.  She can hear the hitch in Regina’s voice when she speaks.  “I have been loved, more than I’ll ever deserve, but I can tell you that you are loved -  by Hook, and your parents and Henry, and always should have been and I took that from you, Emma – I took that from you in some sort of bitter – “

Regina can’t finish her words because she’s turning away from Emma. 

Emma opens her eyes to see Regina’s hand coming to cover her mouth.  She reaches towards her just as the other woman’s shoulders rise and a sob breaks through her like a wave,  echoing in the largeness of the hall and crashing against the window, and Emma thinks that it’s just unfair.  She knows that Regina has done horrible things, and she knows that there’s no amount of restitution that can make up for all of the wrong that she’s done but she’s trying - really is trying. 

The woman in front of her is not the woman whose apple tree Emma cut down any more than she is that girl wielding a chainsaw, and Emma know she’s got two people to thank for that: Henry, and Killian.  Her true loves.  The knowledge of that makes her braver than she’s ever been.

“No,” she says, grabbing Regina’s upper arm, “We’ve both made mistakes.”

“No, Emma, what I’ve done far supersedes anything you’ve done.”  Regina brushes the tears from her eyes.  “So I’m not sure what it means when I say that I love him, Emma.  I just know that I do, and that I don’t deserve it, and I don’t expect anything in return but…”

Emma smiles, squeezes her shoulder.  “Maybe this is our redemption, then.  Maybe what we feel is what will get us home, and save them.”

Regina barks out a laugh.  “They won’t see it that way.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Emma says. 

They walk back to the room, where Gold is now drinking tea by a small window, Dorothy is staring at her boots, and Killian is exactly where they left him.  Emma can tell by the rigid set of his spine, and the way that he does not glance at her, that he is trying very hard to look nonchalant but failing miserably at it (she can’t blame him, all this talk of who her true love is).  There is only one person who she has traveled worlds with – four, at present count – and she can feel anxiety building in her core as she considers having this discussion in front of Dorothy and Gold, who turns away from the window as if he knows she is thinking about him, and fixes her with a smile that frightens her.

Emma swallows, takes a deep breath.  If admitting the truth will get her back to Henry, then what harm is there in being honest?

It is almost physically impossible to look at Killian, and she remembers having to talk to Neal in the Echo Cave, having to tell him how she wished he were dead.  This is ten times worse, because hate is so much easier to express than what she feels right now.

She can be brave, and if she is brave, then maybe Regina will be too. 

“I don’t believe in true love, or love at first sight, or anything like that because I’ve seen too much pain to expect that people can live happily ever after,” Emma tells him.  He glances up, surprised, and jumps to his feet.  He does not approach her but lingers some distance away, and she clenches and unclenches her hands at her sides to resist the urge to reach for him and steady herself.

Killian shakes his head. “Emma, we can find some other way – “

“This is my way – and this is what I should have already told you, but I’m scared to say it because trust doesn’t come easy to me.  You know that.  But - I know that I trust you.”  She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and when she opens them he’s still there, looking at her with an expression of fear and expectation and – hope.  He’s definitely hopefully, even in the midst of all of this.

Emma takes another deep breath.  “I’m your, just as much as you are mine.  I know that you’re the only person who always listens to me, and the best friend I have and the one that I can’t lose.  And,” Emma takes a deep breath, recalling words that he’s said before in completely different circumstances, “I know you’re where I keep my heart.”

Killian’s face changes from the wary look of someone facing their execution and waiting for a last minute reprieve to that of someone being released from their sentence (and Emma has seen that look often enough).  He smiles, slow and wide, like he can’t believe the words that are leaving her lips are actually meant for his ears.

“It’s a burden I’ll willingly carry, Swan,” he tells her.

“Good,” she says.  There are tears in the corners of her eyes and she can’t help but smile.  “I’m glad to hear that.”

He takes a step forward at the same time she does, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.  It’s gentler than it should be and so incredibly perfect that she starts crying, tears slipping into the kiss.  Killian pulls back, pushes her hair behind her ear.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks, concern in his eyes.  He rests his forehead against hers and the intimacy of the act makes her draw a deep, shaky breath. Emma smiles.

“Nothing, sorry, I’m just…” Emma responds, trailing off.  She kisses him again because that’s all she wants to do right now.  She wants to enjoy this, enjoy the way that their bodies curve into each other and fit together like puzzle pieces, wants to feel every shuddering breath he takes as the kiss deepens into something more.

“Miss Swan.”

Gold’s voice cuts through the daze of her happiness, and Emma pulls back reluctantly.  Killian’s arms are wrapped around her and she leans her head against his shoulder.  Telling him everything has made her feel warm and fuzzy, like good wine or good sex (oh god, Regina did promise a room…).

“I think we should manage just fine,” Gold tells him.  “We need to head to the Witch’s castle.  That’s where she cast the spell to get to the land without magic.”

“That’s a day’s walk,” Dorothy objects.  Gold brushes past her and Regina, and opens the doors.

“I’ve arranged other transportation,” Gold tells him.  “Follow me.”

Killian slips his hand into Emma’s.  He squeezes it, and she squeezes back, and when he brings it to his lips and brushes them against her knuckes, Emma feels restless, full of energy and momentum and she wants to pull him down for another kiss but she doesn’t.

Regina clears her throat, and Killian tells her, “Idle threats, your highness.”

“If you two can keep your hands off each other until we get back to Storybrooke, I swear I will give you the keys to my house and let you turn it into a sex den if it means we get back to Henry sooner.”

“And Robin?” Killian asks, and Regina blushes and then becomes agitated.  “As for the house – is that a promise, your majesty?” Killian asks, winking at Emma, and Regina rolls her eyes.

“Keep it in your pants, pirate,” she says, and Emma laughs as they leave the room and head towards whatever mysterious transportation device Gold has. 

Everything is suddenly lighter right now – the thought of getting home to Henry seems more certain, even as they follow Gold and realize what he has is a hot-air balloon.

Predictable.

Even as they fly to the Witch’s castle, Killian never stops touching her- his hook pressed against the small of her back, his hand in hers, steadying her with each jostle of the balloon’s basket – and for someone who doesn’t like touching, who shies away from it, Emma wonders if this could become a habit, to lean into his touch, to encourage it.

It’s definitely not one she intends to break.

…

The Witch’s castle is a mess, overrun with monkeys that Gold dispatches easily with a wave of his hand.  Their charred remains make the castle smell of charred meat and wet dog.  It makes Emma ill but they solider on, finding the portal in a room upstairs. 

“The portal has grown from the crack, and has been aided by the wand,” Gold tells him.  “We’ll go through that way.”

“And the slippers?” Dorothy asks.

“We’ll use them to channel magic and create a self-destruct button, closing the portal between here and the land without magic. If we can get her back here, the slippers should trap her here.”

“You’ll plug the leaks,” Killian says.  Gold nods.

“That’s why we’ll need so much power – it’s not easy to patch up all the holes in all the realms,” Regina says.  “And true love…”

“Let’s do this,” Emma says, stepping forward.  “Let’s go back to Storybrooke.”

Gold reaches into his frockcoat and pulls out the slippers (apparently it’s a magic coat, because Emma had no idea he was carrying the slippers with him).  He places them on the ground in front of the portal, and extends his hands towards Emma and Regina.

“Think happy thoughts, dearies,” he cautions them.  Emma glances at Regina, and smiles.

“Let’s go home to our men,” she says, then glances at Killian.  “With our men.”

Killian smiles, and Emma feels it in her gut – magic, churning and boiling over, ready to pour out of her in waves.  She closes her eyes, and gives in.

It happens in an instant – she taps into her magic, feels it grow, feels it overwhelm her, and then it’s done.  The slipper glow at their feet and that glow creeps out over them and that is when they move.

“To the portal,” Gold tells them, and Dorothy plunges through, Regina following.  Emma grabs Killian’s hand and they both jump through.

And land on a marble floor.

“My office,” Regina says.  “The bitch came through to my office?”

“You can take that up with her later, Regina,” Emma says.  “Let’s go find her and –“

Oh, no, of course she’ll find them first.

Emma is thrown back against the wall, as is Killian.  Regina tries to stand but the Witch – wearing all black and heels, with a ridiculous hat (this one is a fashionista, apparently) – traps her against the wall as well.   Dorothy she lifts up into the air and throws across the room, so that only Gold stands.

“Nice to see you, Wizard,” the witch sneers.  She glances back into the glowing crack that they all came through.  “Is that for me?”

“Oh it very much is, dearie,” Gold stays, raising his hand to cast magic but the witch is too quick – she throws him back towards the crack with a flick of her wand, and that is when Emma reacts.  They’ve come too far to have this psycho defeat them, she’s gross and other than seeing Henry and her parents again, she just wants thirty minutes alone with Killian and she will take it in whatever form she gets it right now.

She pushes off the wall, feels the power within her grow as she thinks about exactly how she’d like to spend those thirty minutes, just as Regina shouts, “Emma, no, the ru –“

There’s a bright light, and a loud explosion, and Emma is thrown back by the force of it all.

She finds herself in Killian’s arms, blinking, covered in grime and dirt and whatever else but his smile is the sun and he’s brushing her hair away from her face with a look of utter relief.”

“You’re okay,” he tells her, smiling at her and she smiles back.  She reaches her hand up to brush against his face and he leans into her touch.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she says, as he helps her to her feet.  “What happened?”

She looks around the room to see that the portal is gone, along with the witch and with Gold. Dorothy is crouched down on the other side of the room over a body –

“Regina!” Emma cries out, scrambling to her feet.  

Chapter Text

 

“Is she breathing?” Emma asks, falling to her knees beside Regina’s unconscious form.  Dorothy nods her head frantically, a worried look on her face.

“Barely – it’s pretty shallow,” she says.  “We need to get to her a hospital.”

Emma looks back over her shoulder at Killian, who seems to know what to do immediately (that’s how we work, Emma thinks, and it makes her heart swell in the midst of everything).  He lifts Regina up effortlessly and Dorothy holds the door open for him as Emma takes a final, lingering look at where the portal was and where both Gold and the Wicked Witch disappeared.  There is a deep, unsettled feeling that is seeping through her bones when she realizes that instead of making things better, things are now much, much worse. 

She draws a shuddering breath and turns towards the door, rushing to catch up with Dorothy and Killian.

Emma is only slightly surprised to find that all of Storybrooke has assembled outside the town hall (and of course there’s David out in front, surrounded by the dwarves and Ruby and Granny and Belle).  There is a slight commotion when Killian emerges with Regina in his arms.  Emma pushes through the double doors just as Robin appears from the crowd, dressed in contemporary clothes, heading towards them.

“What happened?” he asks, frantically, and Dorothy tells him, “it’s the Witch, she’s got the wizard and – “

“Hospital,” Emma interrupts.  “Someone tell me Whale’s at the hospital and everything is up and running.”  Panic bubbles up inside of her at the thought of not having a hospital – of not helping Regina after all they’ve been through.

“Of course they are,” David says.  “I’ll get my truck.”

Emma nods as her father dashes off, and takes that moment to look at Robin, whose look of pain is so intense and heartbreaking that Emma’s heart catches in her throat.  He stretches out his arms and takes Regina from Killian, cradling her in his arms as the crowd parts.  There is a sob building inside of her when she remembers all of the frantic declarations that Regina made about how she didn’t deserve a happy ending, and how she loved – loves – Robin regardless of his own personal feelings, and it takes all of her will-power to prevent Regina’s confession from spilling out of her lips.   If ever a time for love…

Instead, Emma presses her lips together tightly.  Now is not the time to break down.   She avoids looking at Killian, because one glance at him will start a parallel chain of thoughts and she just –

Emma takes a deep breath.   She turns towards the crowd, surprised to find Neal there.   Her eyes fix on him and she takes a few steps forward.     

“Please tell me that Henry and Roland are with Mary-Margaret,” she asks, sounding harsher than she means to, but he nods.

“She’s got them back at the loft,” he tells her and Emma lets out a sigh of relief – the last thing she wants is for Henry to see Regina in that state.

“I need to get to the hospital with Regina and I need you to go and stay with the boys and keep them safe,” she tells him.  “I don’t know if any of us are safe, but I need them to be safe.”   Neal nods again, understanding her meaning, and she is so grateful for his presence in Henry’s life.  They might not have the happy ending that Henry so desperately wants for them, but at least he has a father who loves him.  He reaches for her hand and she grabs it and squeezes.

“Take care of yourself, Emma,” he tells her as he lets go and turns away, moving through the crowd back towards the loft.

Emma can feel the eyes of the residents of Storybrooke on her but she can’t think right now, everything is happening too quickly.  She’s traveled between three realms today and it’s at that moment, when they all turn to her,  that she sees David’s truck pull around the corner.   She knows Robin will take Regina to the hospital, knows that David will see to it that they get there safe, and that it’s all in Whale’s hands after that.  It doesn’t make her feel any better, but it’s out of her hands.

She’s the Savior, and being the Savior means putting the needs of others over her own.

There is movement to her left and Killian is here, at her side.  Even though he’s not touching her she can feel him surrounding her – a protective shield against the onslaught of panic that hovers over the people of Storybrooke.    She glances at him, and he nods. 

She can do this.

Right now, she needs to calm the frantic masses huddled outside city hall while simultaneously telling them to remain on high alert.  Just because the Witch vanished and took Gold with her doesn’t mean they won’t be back (or that the people of Storybrooke won’t be ready for them).

“What time is it?” Emma asks Granny, who tells her it’s four in the afternoon.

“Town meeting at City Hall in two hours,” she announces loudly.  “Archie, can you – “

“Sure thing, Emma,” he responds.  Emma nods, and glances at Dorothy and Killian.   She wants nothing more to reach for him, to have him hold her and tell her it’s okay, but now is not the time and place for public displays of affection (even if her arms ache for him, even if she craves his touch as reassurance that everything will be okay).

“Let’s get to the hospital.”

…

When they arrive, Regina is being examined by Whale while Robin paces in the lobby.  David seems to be doing his best to keep the other man calm (which apparently is not that great because it’s not working), so he is relieved with Killian arrives and approaches Robin.  The two men speak in hushed tones while David reaches for Emma and pulls her into a hug.

“We were worried when the tornado didn’t return you like it did us,” David tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.  “Robin said you were on your way to Oz, but – “

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, allowing herself to be held for a moment. It feels good.   “You know me – I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, I know that,” David admits, “but I was relieved to know that Hook was still with you as well.”

“Yeah.”  It occurs to Emma that she’ll need to tell her parents about everything that’s happened since she left the castle just a few short days before and what’s been growing for much longer, but this is not the time or place.  Instead she just turns to Dorothy.

“Dorothy Gale, meet my father, Prince Charming,” she says with a wry smile (she appreciates the way that Dorothy’s eyes go wide, the way that the other woman looks as if she’ll curtsey or something).   Whale joins them before Emma has to stop her from attempting anything embarrassing.

The status update is as follows: nothing is wrong with Regina’s vital organs, nor is there any internal bleeding.   It is nothing but a head injury and yet she is not waking up (that is very concerning). 

“Could it be magic?” Emma asks.  “The backlash of a spell?”

Whale shrugs.  “It could be, but I don’t know what to do in that case.”

“We could call Blue, see if the fairies can figure out what’s going on,” David offers. 

Emma nods.  “Do that, and quick.”

In the meantime, Robin takes up a vigil beside Regina’s bed, and Emma issues enough threats to prevent any of the nurses or doctors from removing him.   He stares at her, and then at his hands, fingers flexing as if they wanted to reach out and hold Regina’s limp hand, to be reassured of her presence. 

“Hey,” Emma says softly, “she’s tough.  She’ll be okay.”

Robin nods, face grave.  “I’m sure she will be, but that doesn’t make the wait any easier.”

Emma turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway.   If she was Regina, would she want someone to tell her deepest secrets?  Emma knows how Regina hides her heart beneath layers of sass and verbal barbs, but considering they’re all fairy tale characters to begin with, and considering precedent in this town…

“She’ll kill me later for saying this, but I think she’s pretty fond of you,” Emma says.  Robin looks up.

“I’m pretty fond of her as well,” he replies.

As Emma leaves the room she crashes into her mother, who pulls her into a fierce hug with little preamble and with lots of panic and anxiety. Mary-Margaret squeezes Emma tightly, but she can hardly blame the other woman (Henry is going to be such a whiny baby she finally sees him again). 

“Is Henry okay?” she asks Mary-Margaret.  Her mother nods.

“Neal and Belle are with him and Roland – what happened to Regina? David didn’t tell me any details – “

Emma takes a deep breath, wondering just how many times she’ll have to repeat the story today alone.  She spots Killian in the periphery, and he merely shrugs and leans against the wall.  His mere presence makes her feel instantly better, and she smiles meekly at him before turning back to her mother.

“It was the Wicked Witch,” Emma says, crossing her arms over her chest.    She looks down at the floor for a moment, trying to compose herself before the onslaught of questions that will inevitably come because her mother is as stubborn as Emma is and will want some sort of explanation now.   She feels exhaustion fall like a heavy jacket around her shoulders.

Emma wants nothing more than a hot shower and a change of clothes, but she doesn’t think that’s going to happen at all any time soon because she stupidly agreed to meet with the whole of Storybrooke in – she checks the  clock in the hallway – a little under an hour.   She needs to confer with Dorothy and Killian to make sure that whatever story they tell is on the same spage, and she’s already feeling the jump between realms with every small step she takes (her limbs ache and her brain feels foggy, and when was the last time she slept?).

“Can you keep Henry and Roland at the loft?” Emma asks, interrupting whatever Mary-Margaret was just saying and causing her to frown.

“Do you think the Witch will come after them?” she asks.  Emma shakes her head.  From the corner of her eye she sees Dorothy and David approach.

“I don’t think so, but I don’t know where the witch is,” Emma admits.  “And I don’t think Robin’s going to leave Regina’s bedside, and it would be better for Roland to be with Henry.”

“Of course,” Mary-Margaret responds.  She glances beyond Emma and through the glass window to where Regina sleeps, and Robin waits.  “That’s a new development.”

“Is it really?” Emma asks, but she realizes immediately that Regina hides so much of herself from everyone that admitting anything to Emma was a rare occurrence.  “I guess – well, she told me, so I didn’t find it so odd – “

“You talked with Regina about her love life?” David asks, surprised, and it occurs to Emma that it’s not just Regina’s love life that was discussed, but that it was her own, with Killian, and quite openly in front of Gold and Dorothy and –

“Did you talk to the Blue Fairy?” she asks David.  He nods.

“She’s bringing Tinkerbelle and they’ll be here soon,” he tells him.  Dorothy shoots her a look that reads ‘Tinkerbelle too?’ and Emma just raises her eyebrows and nods.

“So what now?” Mary-Margaret asks.  

Emma needs a minute.  Or ten.  Maybe thirty, if anyone’s asking. 

“This is Dorothy Gale.  Dorothy, this is my mom, Snow White.  Dorothy will fill you in on what happened in Oz.  I need to use the restroom,” Emma tells her parents, not looking to catch Dorothy’s expression this time around.

She brushes past them and heads for the ladies room but once she turns the corner, she spots an empty exam room across the hall.  She ducks into it and closes the door.  When the lock ‘clicks’ in the empty room, Emma rests her head against the door and exhales.

The conversation with her parents about Regina has made Emma realize that she will soon have to have a similar conversation with her own parents about Killian, and his place in her life. She will also have to explain everything, including Killian and especially Regina, to Henry.  She will have to tell Neal – and Belle – that Gold has been found but once against lost. Questions will be asked about her magic, and the portal and Oz, and she doesn’t know how she will answer any of them and if it actually matters.   

Her next breath comes out as a sob, and she quickly covers her mouth with her hands.  She is so tired, from the magic and the journey, and she wants nothing more than just to sleep for a week but she can’t because she doesn’t know where the witch is and how they’ll stop her.  She doesn’t know if Regina will be okay.   She doesn’t know anything anymore, and she’s so tired and running purely on adrenaline, she wants to fall into bed and she wants to do it with Killian at her side because she being parted from him is like a physical ache after all they’ve been through  (like her parents would allow that in the loft, fornicating with a pirate and oh god, she’s got to tell them everything about him and how she loves him and - )

The sob escapes.  It’s chased by another, and another, until she is on the floor, arms wrapped around herself as if to hold herself together.  Her body shudders with the intensity of her sobs and she doesn’t even pretend she’s the Savior anymore, just a lost little girl.

There is a knock on the door, followed by Killian’s voice: “Emma, is everything all right?”

She fumbles for the doorknob over her shoulder, disengaging the lock and opening it slightly, allowing him access.   He enters, sees her on the floor, and is immediately at her side.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, crouching down beside her.  His hand hovers over her and she can tell that he wants to help her and so she wipes her tears from her face and pushes back her hair. 

Just seeing Killian makes things marginally better, and she wonders if this is what love is, and why she didn’t see it earlier when it came to him.   Not only is every moment better with him there, but every agony and ounce of sadness suddenly easier to carry because (stubborn man that he is) he’ll refuse to let her struggle alone.  He is the only person she can show weakness in front of, and that’s because he makes her stronger.   

“Where do I start?” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth at her words, and he stands up, extends his hand.

“Let’s get you off the floor at least, love,” he says.  She takes his hand and allows him to pull her up.  Killian wraps his arms around her and rests his forehead against hers for a moment, and being in his arms is the ultimate balm for her soul.  She has missed this in the scant minutes and hours they’ve been back from Oz.  She exhales shakily.

“Here.”  He walks her backwards to the examining table and she eases up onto it.  He stands between her legs and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, allows his hand to come up and cradle her face.  She leans into his warmth.

“Perhaps you should start with whatever is bothering you the most,” he tells her.  She nods her head, hand resting on his hip, sliding beneath the layer of his jacket and resting against the vest.

“Regina is hurt, and we don’t know where the Witch or Gold are.”

“Aye, that is true, but we could always suggest to poor Robin that True Love’s kiss might work,” Killian offers.  Emma raises her eyebrow – it’s a good suggestions, but –

“How did you know?” she asks.  “Did Robin – “

“You weren’t the only one having deep conversations about love, lass,” he tells her.  “Does that surprise you?”

“No, no – I just…I’m glad that he feels the same way,” she says.  “We can tell him.  I already sort of hinted that maybe Regina feels something for him.”

Killian smiles, and she kisses the palm of his hand that still rests against her cheek. “And what else, love? You’re not crying over Regina.”

Damn perceptive of him.  “The Witch.  And Gold.”

Killian nods.  His hand moves to cradle the back of her neck, thumb rubbing the space behind her ear.  “We’ll have to let the citizens know, but there’s not much else we can do.”

“There’s Neal to tell, and Belle,” she points out.  “And I’m not looking forward to that.”

Killian sighs.  “I won’t let you do that alone,” he tells her.  “Whatever you need from me, I will be by your side.”

“And you,” Emma says finally.  “My parents don’t know, and neither does Henry, and I don’t know how to inform my parents that I really want you to take up residency in my bed.”

Her words seem to surprise him, because his eyebrows do shoot upwards and he pokes the corner of his mouth with his tongue. “Well, Regina did offer us the use of her house –“

“She’s unconscious –“

“I would wager that she will be upset about many different things when she wakes, the least of which us holding her to a promise she made – “

“That could have been a threat.”

“It very well could have been, but we don’t know for sure, do we?” he flashes a cheeky grin and Emma breaks into a smile.  She is grateful for the way that he makes everything so easy even when it seems too overwhelming a moment before.  

“You’re horrible,” she tells him, wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling him closer.  She presses a chaste kiss against his lips and he responds, soft and gentle (which Emma thinks might be good, since they are in a hospital exam room).  He pulls away and presses another kiss to her forehead.

“When I came in, the fairies were still on their way,” he informs her. “Perhaps we should confer with them?”

Emma nods her head.  “That sounds like a plan.”  She pushes him backwards so that she can slide off the table, but grabs his hand as they head out the door.  He looks at her, confused.

“I’m too tired to care what they think,” she tells him, which is the truth.  He nods, and then squeezes her hand reassuringly.

Tinkerbelle is beside Regina’s bed when they return up, with Blue talking to David and Mary-Margaret.  Dorothy is nowhere to be seen. David barely looks at their joined hands twice before saying, “they don’t know what’s wrong with Regina,” but Mary-Margaret stares in a way that makes Emma only grip Killian’s hand tighter.

“Is she getting worse?” Emma asks.  Blue shakes her head.

“No, she seems to be holding stable, but it’s no curse we’ve ever seen.”

“She was knocked out by the Wicked Witch,” Emma says, trying to be helpful.  “We crossed over through a portal from Oz, with help from Gold.”

“He’s alive?” David asks.  Emma nods. 

Mary-Margaret cuts in.  “When did this happen?” she asks, gesturing at Emma and Killian’s joined hands.

“Halfway between your castle and here,” Killian informs them, trying to seem nonchalant, and Emma shakes her head.

“Long before that.  You sent him to get me for a reason, even if it wasn’t the reason you thought it was.”  Emma glances over at Killian with a small smile.  “Here’s the thing – I love him, and he loves me, and that love brought me back to you.  But whatever we did to get back may have hurt Regina in the process.”

“No, this is dark magic,” Blue protests.  “But if she had a true love…”

“Give her a few hours,” Emma says, glancing at Robin through the window.  “She may have a true love after all.”  She looks back at the fairy and her parents. “We have to tell the people of Storybrooke about what happened in Oz, and the Witch.  We have to warn them.”

They nod, and wait, as if expecting Emma to say something else.   She doesn’t know what to say – her declaration of love for Killian came completely unexpectedly (she thought she could ease them into it) and even though her father doesn’t seem at all surprised, it’s her mother who reaches out towards both of them and pulls them towards her in an embrace.

“I’m glad you made it home,” she says, “both of you.”

The hug apparently surprises Killian enough that he lets go of her hand, only to be swept up in a handshake and embrace by David.  Emma smiles at her mother before she catches a glimpse at the clock on the wall.  In the distance she sees Dorothy walking up the hallway, opening a bag of Cheez-Its.

“We’ve got to get over to city hall,” she tells them, looking at Dorothy.  “You ready to share your side of the story?”

“If it gets me back to Kansas, then yes,” Dorothy says.  “Thank for the dollar, Prince Charming,” she adds, offering the bag of Cheez-Its to David, who politely refuses.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, or what needs to be done, but we’ll tell our story,” Emma says to her parents.  “We’ll do our best to keep Storybrooke safe.”

“I know you will, sweetheart.”  Mary-Margaret smiles at both Killian and Emma.  “That’s what heroes do.”

As they walk over to the city hall, Emma wraps her arm around Killian as Dorothy asks questions about Gold to both Mary-Margaret and David (“wait, so he’s really the guy that spins straw into gold?”).   She rests her head against his shoulder and he wraps his arm around her, pulling her closer.

“You were amazing, Emma,” he tells her, and she shrugs.

“I didn’t save anyone,” she protests.  “Regina’s not okay, and Gold and the Witch are unaccounted for.  If anything, I made things worse.”

“Now, who’s to say you did?” Killian asks.  “You may have united Regina with her true love, and you certainly can’t be blame for whatever dark magic has a hold on her at the moment.  And regardless of how you think you did, I think you were marvelous.”

“You’re biased,” Emma teases, “and obviously struck dumb by love…“

“Perhaps it will be you who is struck dumb when we arrive at Regina’s tonight,” he says, lips hovering close to her ear.  She groans both at the ridiculous words that are exiting his mouth and the way that his breath against her neck makes her shiver.

“That was just wrong on so many levels,” she says, but she doesn’t move away.  She just burrow deeper into his arms, protecting herself from the harsh winter winds in his embrace.  They will talk to the people of Storybrooke, then she will hug Henry until he begs her to stop.  She’ll have to talk to Neal, and to Belle.   They will plan for the next battle, whenever that might be.   They will be ready.

And in the meantime…well, despite his horrible earnestness and ridiculous behavior, Emma would really like to see just exactly what her pirate has in store for her (after all, didn’t he promise her fun?).