Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You know what to do, honey." 

Her mother nods encouragingly so Emma nods back, thinking that if she mirrors Mary Margaret then she'd be able to reflect the hope that shines brightly in her mother's warm, green orbs as well.

She closes her eyes and utters the three little (but really, they’re not-so-little) magical words quietly by his ear, praying that that is exactly what is needed to wake him up. 

She accompanies it with a kiss that warms her to the depths of her toes and wills that same warmth to transfer to him. 

She pulls away after what seems like an eternity (but could have only been a few seconds in reality) and waits with baited breath and a hand to her stomach. 

She learns quickly that she will have to wait a long time because Killian remains motionless and she realizes that, like all things in her life, it is not enough. 

She is not enough. 

~oOo~  

They bring him to the hospital immediately after he is struck and Whale spends the next 24 hours trying to decipher what is wrong with him while she spends it in various degrees of waiting. 

Emma sits. 

Emma paces.

Emma asks questions and aggravates the nurses. 

Emma even throws up a couple of times. 

But she does not sleep nor eat nor cry. 

Most definitely, she does not cry. 

Crying would mean she has lost hope and faint as it is, it’s still there. 

Perhaps Whale actually figured out what was wrong with him and is patching Killian up now. 

So she hopes. 

~oOo~  

Her parents take turns throughout the night trying to get her to eat or rest. 

“I can’t.” 

“Emma,” her father starts tiredly but with much concern. “He wouldn’t want you to be this way, not for him.” Briefly, she wonders how he knows that; when it is that her father and her boyfriend became so close but she shakes that thought away because now is not the time to have hysterical thoughts. 

She knows she’s being difficult but she really just can’t, “Not until I know he’s okay.”

She expects her mother to protest but is surprised when she tugs David’s arm and says, “Okay then.” 

“But Mary Margaret–” 

Her father looks at her mother and they do that thing where they have a conversation with their eyes and she gathers they understand when her father’s shoulders slump over in defeat and he sighs. 

“Okay,” he nods. “Okay.” 

So he presses a kiss to her head as her mother gathers her in her arms and they leave because Neal needs attending to and because Emma is tired and just wants to be alone. 

When Whale comes out, his face is drawn in grim lines. 

And she knows. 

“There are glass fragments in his heart Emma and we can’t get them out. It’s been done in a way where movement of any shard would affect any of the major arteries and result in… immediate death. Physically, he is unharmed. But his health continues to deteriorate so we’ve put him on life support, which was difficult enough given that it seems, he is actually turning into ice.” Whale sighs, something regretful and sad that makes Emma want to punch him because he’s giving up, she can see it, but at the same time makes her want to crawl into a hole, curl up and never come out because no way does she want to face the world if it means having to face it without him. 

She does neither. 

“I’m sorry, but we’ve done all that we could.” 

So Emma nods. Emma thanks him. Emma stands and Emma leaves. 

And still. 

She does not cry. 

~oOo~  

The first day she and her parents had gone to the library for research, Killian had been in the hospital for two days and Belle thought it might be a good idea to learn of the Snow Queen’s origin. 

(Elsa had wanted to stay but Emma insisted she not trouble herself, she has already helped her so much crisis-wise and friendship-wise and she needed to go home, you have a kingdom to run though Elsa promised to send word should she come across anything that could help them) 

Emma nods her compliance, even if she thinks it a useless pursuit and that it might be more sensible to go to Regina’s vault first. The truth is that they have nowhere else to start so, okay, why the hell not? 

She half listens to the beginning of the story, exposition never really her favorite part of any tale but she knows it is necessary. 

The story is complicated – something about the devil and a mirror breaking, its pieces reaching people’s eyes and making them see only what is bad and ugly in everything. At this point, they quickly conclude that a variation of the shard must have struck Killian, courtesy of the Snow Queen. 

Then the story moves on to two children named Kai and Gerda who fall in love, until Kai is targeted by the Snow Queen and he falls into the curse, becoming cruel towards Gerda and the people he cares about. He goes on in this fashion until Kai is lured away by the Snow Queen and taken to her palace in a place called Lapland. Then there’s something about red shoes and a river, a sorceress and a garden, a robber girl and reindeers, a Lapp woman and a Finn woman and she is so lost but she’s not surprised cause she’s also not trying. She honestly could not care less, that is until Gerda discovers Kai in the Snow Queen’s palace. 

Emma cuts Belle off, mid narration. 

“How does she break it then, the curse? How does she break it?” 

Mary Margaret looks like she wants to scold Emma for interrupting but Belle shakes her head and gives Emma a sympathizing look. 

“She…” She pauses, then takes a deep breath as if she is psyching herself up, and looks Emma in the eye. “She gives him a kiss.” 

And see, some part of Emma had known it would lead to that. When you live in a town occupied by fairy tales and your parents are literally Snow White and Prince Charming, it’s hard to imagine any other way to break a curse. 

But this isn’t a fairy tale. They aren’t in the Enchanted Forest. They’re in the Land Without Magic, where things are never as simple as that. 

She rolls her eyes and mutters, “Right, of course she does,” as she places one hand to her stomach and the other to her head to rub at her temples. 

She suddenly feels like throwing up. 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret approaches her to, no doubt, offer her comfort but she flinches away from her touch. 

“And we already tried that, it didn’t work.” 

“The story isn’t over though!” Belle holds out the book containing the Snow Queen’s history. “There’s more–” 

“No,” she replies as turns to leave. 

“I’ve heard enough.” 

~oOo~ 

Mary Margaret reminds her daily to believe. 

Emma ignores her most of the time because she doesn't need words, she needs actions and she will believe if she actually finds a lead, or even an inkling, as to how to wake him. 

But today is an especially grueling day (after a week now) of vigorous research with Belle, David and even Regina in the library and still they have no results… no explanation as to how to break the curse the Snow Bitch had inflicted on Killian. That is why it is here, under the cover of the same blanket they (they being Elsa, her father and Killian) had wrapped her in that first night they met the young queen and the scent of her mother's floral-scented perfume mixed with her baby brother's sweet smell, the one inherent in all newborns, that she succumbs to the words she so usually scorns. 

"In what?" She asks. 

"In him, Emma, because when has he ever let you down?" 

She leans her head against her mother's shoulder, glad for the support but missing the feel of a different set of shoulders – broader, leaner, leather clad shoulders, specifically – all the same. 

"Since when did you become such a fan of Hook?" She means for it to come out lightly, jokingly. Instead it comes out hoarse and fragile. 

"Since I realized how integral he was to my daughter's happiness."

Emma doesn't say anything but she doesn't deny her either. 

Partly because she doesn't know how to respond. 

Mostly because it's true. 

"You have to believe in yourself too, you know." 

She snorts. "Easier said than done." 

Mary Margaret wraps her arms around her and lets out a little laugh. "Oh honey, you're a Charming. Giving up is not in your blood, even if you tried. Stubbornness and determination on the other hand…" Emma lets out a little laugh as well because if there are two traits to define her family, it would be those. "Be patient," her mother continues and a pang goes through her when she remembers a time she had said the same thing to Killian and she vows that if – no, when – he wakes up, the waiting will end. "You're not alone and we'll find a way. We always do."

Emma swallows the lump in her throat, nearly gives in to the pressure building behind her eyes and ignores the voice in her head that whispers lie. Instead she burrows her head into her mother’s neck and hugs her tight, feeling very much like she is one and not one and thirty and pretending for a moment that she is a child again, wrapped in her mother’s arms after having a bad dream.

Because for tonight, her situation is just that – a bad dream. And tomorrow, when she wakes up and heads to Granny’s, he will be there with a tantalizing smirk and a sarcastic quip as he readies himself to face the latest danger, with her. 

“And Emma?”

“Hmm?” 

“Believe in your love.” 

Emma lets out a shuddering breath. 

“Okay,” she murmurs, and ignores the voice in her head that whispers doubts because she means it. She means to believe. 

And I will, she thinks, I do. 

If only for tonight. 

Emma sighs and brings a hand up to rub at her temples. 

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” her mom slightly pulls away from their embrace to look at her face. “You’ve been throwing up in the bathroom a lot these past few days. Are you coming down with something?”

Emma swallows the lump in her throat and forces, what she hopes, is a convincing smile. “No,” she replies with a shake of her head but her mom just gives her a skeptical look and Emma caves. Sort of. “Yes? Well, I’m… just… really stressed, I guess.” And once she starts, she can’t seem to stop herself, anything to convince her mom that she’s okay and not about to break apart at the seams. “I might actually be coming down with something? I mean, the Snow Queen might be gone but the town’s still covered in bits of snow so, maybe I am coming down with a cold or… something,” she finishes lamely. 

Mary Margaret’s eyes scan her face in a way that makes Emma want to slam her walls back up because they’re too perceptive, too knowing, too… utterly motherly that she isn’t used to it. But before she can even place her feet on the ground and sprint (metaphorically, at least) (or you know, not), whatever her mother finds in her face must satisfy her because then her lips are stretched into a discerning smile. 

“Right, of course. You should get some rest then.” She strokes her cheek, “You’ll be okay you know? Just, remember what I said.” 

No, she thinks. I won’t be okay, not if he doesn’t survive. 

But for tonight, she’ll fool herself into believing she will be because she needs to, if she wants to face another day without him.

So yes, she’ll be okay. 

Just for tonight. 

~oOo~ 

It’s funny cause he wasn’t even supposed to be there. 

The Snow Queen had planned to enact a curse that would turn everyone against each other. She would then use it to create an army and rule the realms. To enact a curse of that caliber, she had needed Emma and Elsa’s powers and for the past month had terrorized the town in order to capture them, trapping them in Storybrooke with her ice wall and drowning them in a perpetual winter.

But Regina, Emma and Elsa had finally found a way to neutralize her powers and use them against her. They trapped her in her own castle and used her immobilization to trap her into the urn once more. 

But it’s hilarious. Really, it is, because in all the hustle and bustle, the excitement of finally, finally having a plan of action and being so close to the end, they– 

They forgot the urn. 

And just like that, their meticulous plan had gone to absolute dust. 

(Who were they even kidding, thinking a plan of theirs would carry out without a hitch?)

Their time was running out, the Snow Queen was already wriggling against her restraints and the immobilization spell was growing weaker with every second gone by and wasted. Just as Regina screamed that they ought to “just kill her and get it over with!” Killian had arrived, her father and mother close behind him, with the urn in his hand. 

“Swan!” He shouts and everyone turns to him as he tosses the urn to her. 

Emma catches the gaudy object, immediately opens it and points it towards the Snow Queen. 

They expect the bitch to scream or fight as she gets sucked into her new prison. But all she gives them is a smirk. 

It should have alarmed Emma, she knows that now, but at the time she was too preoccupied with handling the urn and making sure the Frost Bitch actually went in to give her expression much notice. 

It is only when the urn is safely closed and everyone is either smiling at her (Regina, however reluctantly), hugging her (Elsa and Mary Margaret) or cheering for her (David) that she realizes that the one voice she is most eager to hear is absent.

All the blood drains from her face faster than any blizzard the Snow Queen could have conjured when she can finally make it out, albeit, brokenly. 

“Emma,” he whimpers before he falls to his knees. 

She scrambles towards him and manages to cradle him in her arms just before he falls entirely to the ground. 

“Killian?” She cries. “Killian? What happened?” She cups his face but withdraws abruptly when she realizes it is cold as ice. 

The rest of the group gathers around them and she vaguely recognizes her father’s frantic tone as he mutters heatedly, “Nothing struck him so I thought he was trailing behind me when Emma trapped the Snow Queen–” 

The Snow Queen. 

And that’s when she registers what that smirk means. 

The smirk was a last hurrah, the final damage she could inflict on Emma before she was to be subjected to her prison.  

The immobilization spell must have weaned enough for her arms to be set free and that’s when she struck him, Killian, who was directly in her line of sight. 

Killian’s voice breaks through her thoughts. 

“Emma, I–” 

But the rest of the sentence is drowned out by his cold sigh. His eyes turn from a calm cerulean to a literal icy blue, nearly gray, color before they close altogether and just like that, he fades away. 

But her mother emerges to her line of sight, like the sun after an especially rainy day. 

"You know what to do, honey." 

She does but when it doesn’t work, she feels like she could fade away too. 

~oOo~  

Emma decides that today, after ten days of fruitless endeavors in the library, is the day they begin looking for answers in Regina’s vault. 

But then you know things have truly taken a turn for the worst when the Evil Queen, reformed though she is but a week-ish ago was mad at you for essentially ruining her love life by bringing her hoodlum boyfriend’s dead wife back from the past alive, has taken to offering words of comfort and a – admittedly, incredibly awkward – pat on the back to you.

“Have faith, Ms. Swan. Not even True Love’s kiss can solve everything.” 

Regina’s eyes glaze over in a way that makes Emma think that she must be contemplating her situation with Marian and Robin Hood and how… maybe not happy, but relieved Regina must have been when Robin kissed Marian and it didn’t work. Then Emma reads the sadness and longing, however brief it flashes, behind her eyes and her heart – for the first time since Killian had fallen into this curse – cries for someone other than herself. 

They are both suffering the result of a failed kiss. 

Both without their loves. 

Both so lost and sad. 

“What a pair we make, huh?” Emma says to her, quietly, bitterly. 

And cocooned in Regina’s vault, where magic runs strong and heavy, she thinks some more. 

If True Love, the most powerful magic of all, and she, the product of True Love, can’t break Killian’s curse… 

Then what can? 

~oOo~  

“Promise me something.”

“Aye, love?”  

“Don’t do anything stupid tomorrow.”  

He chuckles. “Well, I don’t think I can promise that–” 

“I’m serious, Killian.” She sits up then and he is momentarily distracted when the blankets pool at her waist to reveal her glorious breasts but she tugs the covers around her and it prompts him to look at her face.  

“The Snow Queen… we both know what she’s capable of. She won’t stop till she gets what she wants and she wants me, to help her with her fucked up plan to rule the world or whatever. She’s smart and she knows how to hurt me.”  

Emma’s head is bowed, her hair a curtain to shield her face so Killian cups her cheek in an effort to get her eyes to meet his. 

“I won’t let her,” he declares vehemently. 

She covers his hand with her own and gives him a watery smile. “I know. Don’t think I didn’t notice you agreeing way too easily to stay behind. You’re planning to follow us, aren’t you?” Emma narrows her eyes at his sheepish expression.

“Emma,” he starts with a sigh, a grim frown upon his lips. “You have to understand, I can’t just sit down and twiddle my thumbs while you battle it out with the Snow Queen. I can help you, if you let me. Don’t you trust me?”  

“First of all, I won’t be alone! Regina and Elsa will be with me. And second, that’s what you think this is about, that I don’t trust you?” 

“You’re willing to go into that lair without reinforcements after all and I think that you don’t trust my ability to protect you so. Is that not what it’s about?” 

“Of course I trust you!” She exclaims, her eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears.  

Frustrated, he replies, “Then why won’t you let me help you?”  

“Because everyone I’ve ever been with is dead!” 

Taken aback, understanding dawns on Killian and the furrow burrowed between his brows smoothens and the urge to kiss her takes over him. But before he can act on it, she continues.  

“Neal and Graham… even Walsh. I lost everyone.” She gulps. “I–I can’t lose you too.”

“Well love, you don’t have to worry about me,” and here his lips tip upwards slightly, prompting her to do the same.  

“One thing I’m good at,” he continues earnestly, his eyes boring straight into hers, “is surviving.”  

Relief washes over Emma and Killian can no longer deny himself as he cups the back of her head and their lips come crashing together.  

The kiss is reckless and passionate and seemingly never ending but Emma slows it down, presses tiny pecks against his lips then rests her forehead against his.  

“Promise me, Killian. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” she mumbles frantically against his lips.  

She knows he is a man of honor and so she knows he will not make promises he cannot keep so when he says nothing, simply captures her lips in another desperate kiss, she closes her eyes and gives in to the heat between them.  

His left arm encircles her waist and pulls him to lay with her. Their kiss breaks and Emma props herself on her elbows and takes the time to trace his features with her eyes, her hands. She traces his brows, the slope of his nose, the rise of his cheekbones and finally, his lips. She breathes him in, his scent, his warmth and something bubbles within her, coating the tip of her tongue.  

“I…” she starts, and he quirks that damn eyebrow like he knows what she’s going to say and she’s going to say it, but the fear creeps in. The lingering doubt that he doesn’t feel the same even when she can see it shining in his eyes. But the demons play shadows across her mind so she loses her nerve and instead, kisses the corner of his mouth quite innocently despite the press of their naked bodies against each other. 

“I’m a survivor too,” she whispers before she pulls him atop her to wrap her legs around his hips, dig her heels into his ass and guide him to where she is aching and wet.  

He groans and Emma allows herself to fall into his warmth, to fall for this and lose herself in him because this has always been easy for them. If she can’t say the words, she’ll show him. She’ll brand it in her kisses and in her touches and in her moans. 

This isn’t the first time they make love, but she’ll make damn sure it isn’t the last so that when she says the words, it is with utmost confidence and fearlessness.  

Yes, she is a survivor and she will live for the chance to tell him.  

If only she had made him promise not to follow her instead. 

~oOo~  

“You haven’t visited him.” 

Emma exits the bathroom and its noisy pipes to her son’s disapproving gaze. 

“What?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Killian, mom.” He says, like it should have been obvious. 

(And given the circumstances, perhaps it should have been) 

“You haven’t visited Killian. Why?” 

Emma closes the door to the bathroom, further silencing the racket emanating from the piping every time anyone pulls the flush then walks to the sofa to take a seat and based on Henry’s impatient sigh, she is doing all this with agonizing slowness. 

He follows but doesn’t sit next to her, opting to stand in front of her and finally, she meets his (critical) eyes and replies, “Well I have been sorta busy trying to find a way to, oh, I don’t know… save him?” 

“That’s a crap excuse.” 

“Henry!” 

“You’re avoiding him and you know it!” 

She splutters. “I’m not… I’m not avoiding him. I’ve just been like, really busy–” 

“We live in Storybrooke, mom–--basically Fairytale Ville. You’re not exactly living in the capital of crime here,” Henry says, with (another) roll of his eyes. “And ever since you vanquished the Snow Queen, there’s been nothing but celebrations all around town so I know that’s not the reason you haven’t gone to see him.” 

“Ok, fine. But also,ever since the Snow Queen the hospital’s been flooded with patients and volunteers so I don’t wanna add to the stress and lack of space over there–” 

“Riiiiight, cause staying in a room, out of everyone’s way, would be such a hassle for the hospital staff. Uh huh, sure.” 

“Well,” she says with a blush. “I’m buried in paperwork at the station Henry, paperwork doesn’t sort itself out–” 

“I know for a fact that Belle and Elsa sorted those files out after you used it. Try again.” 

“I, I–” 

“You are avoiding him, mom and I wanna know why. What’s going on with you? Since when did you suddenly stop caring for him?” 

“I didn’t!” 

“Really? Cause from where I’m standing it seems as if you just gave up on him. You don’t visit him, you don’t call the hospital to check up on him. Grandma and Grandpa go at least thrice a week, Belle goes in to bring him flowers once in a while and Regina comes in a couple times a week even if it is just to check on any changes on his condition or for like, research or something. Then you shrug me off every time I ask if you wanna come with me. You’re the only one who hasn’t gone to him, mom. You! You’re the most important person in his life, you’re his true love–” 

“BUT I’M NOT!” 

At Emma’s outburst, Henry startles and stares at her with his mouth agog. 

“What?” 

She suddenly feels as if she is on the verge of a panic attack–--her breathing shallow, her palms sweaty and her vision blurring. But, she has spent the entire time since Killian’s incident trying so hard not to burst apart at the seams that she isn’t about to start now. It’s a close thing but perhaps, talking about it with Henry will ease her burden. 

Plus, she could burst at the seams or have the ground swallow her up at this very moment and even then she’s pretty sure that wouldn’t stop Henry from having this conversation with her. He always was good at getting her to open up, just as good as, well, Killian. 

Emma sighs and places her head in her hands. 

“It didn’t work, Henry. I kissed him, poured what felt like every fiber of my being into that kiss that even my magic called to him, willed him to wake up but it didn’t. work. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.” 

She feels a hand on her shoulder and raises her head to see that Henry has sat beside her, a look of intense determination on his face as he takes a deep breath. 

“Do you love him?” 

Her heart is pounding, the answer clear but the words seemingly stuck in her throat. She stammers, “I–” 

She supposes it is clear to Henry cause then he is smiling at her. “Then you are enough.” He takes her hands in his own. “You need to go to him and you need to kiss him again.” 

She gulps. “I can’t.” 

“Yes, you can.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Why?”

“Why are you pushing this?” She exclaims as she stands with her hands on her hips and begins to pace. “Why is this so important to you?” 

“Because I know it’s important to you.” Henry stands too. “Just tell me why you won’t see him mom, and I can help you! Let me help you.” 

So Emma stops pacing and turns to face her son. “I just…” she takes a deep breath and raises her head to the ceiling to quell the tears that threaten to overcome her face. She will not lose it now, not when she’s held on for so long. “If I see him, then it’ll just be too real.” 

Henry looks at her confusedly. “What will be too real?” 

“The prospect of him not waking up.” Her bottom lip trembles with the effort of holding in her tears so she bites it briefly, before continuing. “It’s been a month and we’re not any closer to solving… whatever it is that hit Killian because that’s just it, we don’t know anything about it other than the fact that it’s freezing him from the inside. You say I need to kiss him again, but Henry, if I were really his true love then shouldn’t one be enough? And even if I’m not,” she gulps here because the thought cuts something deep and awful within her, “I’m the product of true love, my magic should have revived him, but it didn’t.” 

She sighs and gives him a watery smile. “Despite all that though, I haven’t given up hope. But if I go there… if I see him on that hospital bed, cursed and unmoving all because I couldn’t do my job as the Savior,” (the word tastes bitter in her tongue) “then I’m scared what little hope I have left in me, will just be gone. Not seeing him helps me hold on to that glimmer of hope and I can’t, Henry. I can’t give up on him. I won’t.” 

She wants to tell Henry that she loves Killian and that she doesn’t care that she isn’t Killian’s true love, she just wants him healthy and happy and here and home but it doesn’t feel right that anyone else should know of her feelings besides him first so she holds her tongue. 

Henry smiles at her though, all bright and dimples, that she figures he can read it on her face anyway. The smile gets buried in her shoulder when he closes the space between them and engulfs her in a warm hug. 

“He needs you mom, now more than ever. Who knows, your presence might even help him feel better.” 

“Dead men don’t feel anything, Henry.” 

“He’s not dead yet, mom.” 

Henry quirks an unamused eyebrow at her, so Killian-like she would laugh if she didn’t feel such despair. “You say that seeing him might make you lose hope… whose to say the opposite won’t happen? The way I see it now, you need him just as much. Maybe seeing him just might let that hope in you grow brighter.” 

Emma pulls away just a bit to get a look at his face and the faith she sees glowing in his eyes, that faith in her, still manages to knock the breath from her lungs. “You really believe that?” 

Henry rolls his eyes, (a third time! He’s definitely her kid) “I’ve got the heart of the Truest Believer, mom. You really need me to answer that?” 

It’s Emma’s turn to roll her eyes, though her lips quirk upwards in a slight smile. 

“Besides, we’re the Charming-Swan-Mills family.” This earns him an amused snort from Emma, Henry merely smirks as he continues. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about us it’s that we’re not into letting things go easily. In other words, we don’t like to give up.” 

“You sound like Mary Margaret,” she says, recalling the similar conversation she had with her mother 

He grins. “I guess it just runs in the family.” 

Silence falls upon them as the smiles fade from their faces and solemnness once again replaces the previously light atmosphere. 

“You need to see him, mom.” 

She breathes in sharply. “But… but what do I do when I get there?”

“I don’t know,” he replies with a shake of his head. “But I know you’ll figure it out.”

He pulls entirely from her embrace to grab her coat, which lays draped across the back of the couch.

“Now,” he holds it out to her after retrieving it and Emma, as she steps into her coat, marvels at the boy before her who isn’t really a boy, not after all he’s been through and all he’s just said. “Go.”

“When did you get so wise?” Emma lets out a laugh as she throws the familiar words at him once more.

“Does it matter? Just,” Henry huffs exasperatedly but gives her a knowing and encouraging nod anyway. 

“Get outta here.”

She’s out the door before he even finishes the sentence.

Chapter Text

So…maybe, when Emma told Henry that the hospital was flooded with patients, doctors, nurses and volunteers, it was a slight (complete) exaggeration because Emma makes it through the halls relatively easily and without interruption. 

Henry’s words ringing in her ears propel her towards Killian faster. But now though, as she stands before his room with his curtains drawn for privacy and blocking him from her view, the fear comes crawling back into her veins and she remains rooted to her spot by the door. 

She stands there for five whole minutes and just as she thinks of turning around and going home, never mind that she has to brave Henry’s disappointed face, her phone vibrates in her pocket, signaling the arrival of a new text.

She isn’t surprised by who messages her.

I know what you’re thinking, but just remember what I said, texts Henry. 

You can do it :) :) :) :)quickly follows after that, a thumbs up emoticon accompanying the myriad of smiley faces. 

Emma rolls her eyes but there’s a smile on her face that belies her annoyance, that kid of hers is too damn perceptive for his own good.

Yeah, yeah she replies. Thanks kid. I love you. 

Love you too.  

Her courage somewhat renewed, Emma finally brings herself to turn the knob on the door. 

Her knees nearly buckle at the sight that greets her.

It’s Killian but it’s also not because this Killian is pale, his hair a stark white and skin nearly ice (even icier than she last saw him, how is that possible?) and were it not for the instruments that monitor his heartbeat and the tube attached to his mouth she would think him dead. 

He’s not dead yet, mom. 

Once again, Henry’s words echo in her ears and it is with his voice, clear and firm in her head, that she finds the strength to take the few steps for her to reach his bedside. 

She debates whether to touch him or not, but ultimately decides on taking the seat situated directly by his bedside. 

Then she just stares. 

Having him in front of her after days and weeks of not seeing him, she is suddenly greedy in her efforts to drink him in. Her eyes roam the length of his body, from the tips of his blanket-covered toes to the swirling patterns that highlight the veins running down his arms to the shadows that line the hollows beneath his eyes to his stark white hair jutting sharply and unnaturally upwards on his pillow. 

She notices, with slight hysterical glee, that his scruff remains untouched, a perpetual 5 o’clock shadow on his face. She longs to run her fingers along the coarse hair that lines his jaw but she is so, so afraid that she might break him that she sits on her hands in an effort to quell that impulse. 

“What am I supposed to do?” she whispers. “I’m here, Killian. So please, tell me what to do?” 

This is stupid, she thinks, I’m stupid, because it’s not like he is in any position to reply. He probably can’t even hear her so asking him questions in the state that he’s in is definitely a fruitless endeavor. 

But Killian has always had the answers before she could even voice them and talking to him like this, she finds, helps her. This isn’t her Killian, but she knows he’s in there somewhere, can feel that part of him that always connected the two of them calling within her and rekindling the embers of hope she thought were just about extinguished. 

The overwhelming need to touch him engulfs her once more and she can no longer hold back. She wants to crawl into the bed and bury herself into his side where she knows she will fit perfectly, but she doesn’t want to disturb the wires that (feebly) sustain him so she settles for sitting on the space beside his left arm. 

The bed is small and she’s hardly on it so, with a deep breath, she takes his stump between her hands and scoots into the newly freed space beside his hip. 

Emma whimpers cause while he is not frigid (thank god) he’s so cold. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised, Whale had said he was turning to ice. But he was always a furnace and what with the town still in a sort-of winter, she misses his warmth. 

She tells him as much.

“I miss you,” she whispers vehemently. “I miss you so much.” She cradles his stump between her palms and brings it to her lips to press a kiss there before placing it against her face. “And I’m so sorry Killian because I did this to you. Everyone I’ve ever been with is dead, remember? I should have pushed you away harder, should have made you promise not to follow me… but maybe, maybe this is your fault too.” 

She sighs at him exasperatedly, but there is fondness there too. 

“You once told me that you would win my heart, without any trickery. Well guess what?” She smiles. “You won it, Killian. You brought my walls down and now it’s yours. I think it’s always been yours and that’s why it’s taken me so long to let you in because the last time I gave my heart to someone, they let me down.” 

She places his arm on her lap then leans forwards to cup his cheeks in her hands. 

“But you didn’t. You came back. You always come back.” She caresses his face. “So I need you to do it again, Killian, because I need to tell you something and I can’t say it when you’re like this.” 

Tears spring unbidden to her eyes but instead of repressing them – like she’s always done the past month each time the urge to cry overcomes her – this time she lets them pool at her eyes. 

“So please, Killian. Come home and come back to me.” 

The shutters of the window in his room facing the hall are shut but the window facing the outside is open. The sun has just about set and the room is flooded with an orange glow. The light hits Killian’s skin and he almost looks like he was before – before perpetual winters and ice towns and Snow Queens – like he was warm. 

But when her hands travel from his cheeks to his neck to clutch at his hospital gown, he is still nothing more than human-sized frost. 

She lays her head on the space between his neck and his shoulder, closes her eyes and she gives in. She gives in to the lump at her throat and to the pressure behind her eyes and after a month, her teardrops slide down the slope of his neck and finally, finally– 

Emma cries. 

And once she starts, it is impossible for her to stop after a month of swallowing the pain and bottling up her frustrations. 

“Please, baby,” she sobs, “please, please, please come back to me.” 

She cries and she bawls until her voice is hoarse and her eyes are so swollen they appear bee-stung. Her hands are cramping and her neck and back are aching from staying in such an awkward position for so long, legs dangling over the bed and upper body draped across Killian’s, but she can’t bring herself to move. 

She doesn’t know how long she stays locked in that position though from the grumbling she feels underneath her cheek, long enough that she’s begun to hallucinate hearing Killian’s groan or feeling his fingers in her hair. 

The arm laying on her lap and moving up and down her outer thigh suddenly feels all too real. She can hear a wheezing sound from above her and in a flash she is sitting because Killian, Killian– 

She removes the tube that covers his mouth and throws it to the side. Then he is gulping and grasping at the fresh air entering his lungs cause he’s alive and he is breathing and the ice cold blue that tinted his skin is slowly turning into warm, tan flesh and his chest is heaving and there’s a blush on his cheeks and, and– 

“Killian,” she gasps. “Oh my god, Killian!”

His eyes open and they aren’t the frosty blue of last time but piercing, mischievous, ocean blue and the sight is enough to set her tears flowing again. 

“You’re ok,” she cries, “You’re ok.” 

“Emma,” he whispers, voice gravelly from disuse. “Emma.” 

He reaches for her at the same time she does for him and then they are kissing, something raw and hungry and desperate and all-consuming that they don’t notice when a burst of light erupts from them both. 

Emma is still sobbing when she pulls away, not wanting to but needing to if she doesn’t want to pass out. She looks at him and runs her hands along his face, his neck, his chest and his arms, anything to ensure that this isn’t an illusion, that it’s not all in her head. 

“H-How?” 

He shakes his head in wonder and confusion but at this point, she doesn’t care either. After being frozen for so long, the smile he gives her is positively blinding and never has she been more thankful to see the upward curve of his eyebrow, or for the opportunity to trace the smug grin on his mouth. 

His limbs feel heavy, but he finds the strength to tuck an errant curl behind her ear and caress the dimple in her chin. She smiles back, radiant and shining, and she wonders how she ever survived a month without this. 

Their moment is cut short, however, when Whale and a team of his nurses burst through the door. 

“Emma, I need you to step away.” Whale tells her cautiously. 

“No,” is her immediate response as she shakes her head vigorously. 

Whale sighs. “He may look fine but I still need to check his vitals and his motor functions, make sure everything is as it should be.” 

“No, I’m not leaving him. You can check him whileI stay, right here.” 

“You know that I can’t very well do that with you draped across him. Look, I just–” 

“Emma,” there’s a tugging on her hand and her gaze is drawn from Whale to Killian, who turns out to be the source of it. 

“What…?” 

He’s smiling. It’s soft and regretful and his eyes are yearning but there’s an understanding there too, understanding that this is something that needs to be done, if only to eliminate any more concerns about his welfare. 

She suddenly remembers all the times her parents would talk without actually talking – when they’d give each other that look and just know, with perfect clarity, what the other was saying. 

She also remembers how annoyed she would feel each time they did it because it should have been an impossible thing, unless they somehow both had mind reading powers and that couldn’t be further from the truth cause then they’d know what it is she would be thinking, which, admittedly – isn’t always pretty. 

She’s recalling it now because… she gets it. 

She gets it because she’s looking at Killian now and she can tell what it is he’s saying to her – that he doesn’t want her to go but they both need that assurance that he’s entirely okay.  

She gets that it’s an ability two people can garner from completely knowing the other person, dark side and all. 

So she smiles back – that same, soft and regretful one mirroring his – and kisses his forehead. She faces Whale and sternly says, “Five minutes,” before leaving the room. 

She takes the moment alone to check her phone and it is flooded with text messages from various town members, which okay... odd, but she pays no mind to it and goes straight to Mary Margaret’s number. 

“Emma?” 

“He’s awake mom. He’s awake.” 

“We know.” 

“Wha–how?” 

“We’re coming over. We’ll explain then.” 

She’s about to hang up when her mother speaks once more. 

“And Emma? I knew you could do it.” 

They must have been driving at way past the speed limit because they arrive in the hospital at half the time it usually takes to get to there. 

The first person that bursts through the door is Henry, who runs to their side while exclaiming, “You did it, you did it! I knew you could do it!”

He’s hugging her but before she can say anything more on the matter, he’s hugging Killian, too. 

“Whoa! Easy, lad. I’ve just recovered from a near-death experience.” 

After being given some water, Killian’s voice has resumed a bit of its former cadence so Emma rolls her eyes. “Oh please, Whale says you’re perfectly fine." She turns to her parents. "He still needs to rest up but, a little exercise and some gradual food intake then he’ll be out of here in a few days.” 

Mary Margaret and David move further into the room, smiles so bright it could light up the room. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Mary Margaret says as she squeezes his hand. David comes to him next once Mary Margaret moves to hug Emma and tells him with a small clap to his shoulder, “It’s good to have you back.”

Emma resumes her place by Killian’s hip while Henry takes the chair at Killian’s bedside and her parents take the window seat. 

“It was the kiss, wasn’t it? You kissed him?” Henry asks eagerly. 

“Yeah… I guess.” Her brows furrow. “By the way, how could you possibly know that? You figured it out before I even called you!” 

The three of them eye her confusedly in return. 

It is Henry who speaks up. “Well, true love’s kiss breaks any curse. When you guys kissed, the ice covering the whole town melted.” 

Emma’s mouth drops and she turns to Killian. “But I kissed you when you first got struck. Why… why now? What’s so special about this kiss?” 

“I think I can help with that.”

Everyone’s head turns to the door where Belle stands.

“I hope I’m not interrupting, but I had a feeling you would want some answers.” 

“Hello Belle.” Killian greets from his bed with a fond look that makes Emma wonder and she makes a mental note to ask him about it later. 

“Killian, it’s good to finally see you awake again.” She says with a grin. 

“Thank you, love.”

“So,” begins Emma, “you said you had an explanation?” 

“Right,” From her purse, Belle pulls out that same, old, dusty tome where the Snow Queen’s story lies and flips through it till she finds the page she is looking for. 

She shows it to Killian and Emma as Henry and her parents spring forward to see what it is Belle is showing them. 

On the yellowed page is a picture of a blonde, little girl leaning over a dark-haired boy seated on an iced floor, the little girl weeping over the boy and his skin shining where her tears touch it. 

“See, it wasn’t just the kiss. The little girl,” Belle points at her on the paper for Killian’s sake, “Gerda, was trying to save him, his name is Kai.” Her finger moves from Gerda to Kai. “Now we all agreed that Killian was inflicted by the same thing Kai was but in the story, Kai’s curse was more severe. Not only did he have shards in his heart, he had glass in his eyes too. Now it says here that Gerda was able to save him with the power of her love. Her kiss caused Kai to weep the shards out of his eyes but it wasn’t enough. The glass only dislodged from his eyes because he cried them out. It was Gerda’s tears that melted the shards in his heart.” 

Silence befalls the room and Emma’s eyes well with tears once more, just as she thought she had cried her all. 

“All this time,” she whispers sadly, “I’ve been trying so hard not to cry cause I didn’t want to wallow and all this time, I’ve been avoiding you cause I was scared…” 

“Oh Emma,” Killian catches the tear hanging from her jaw before cupping her cheek. Emma leans into his touch, unable to stem the flow of her tears but tired of holding back too, not after learning that it could have ended things much, much sooner. 

“Okay,” her mother squeaks. “I think that we have overstayed our welcome. We should all head home.” 

Belle closes the book abruptly but not without throwing them both a joyous grin. “Yeah, I should be going.” 

Emma lifts her head quickly and begins wiping her face of her tears. “Wait, no–” 

“Except you, honey,” Mary Margaret says. 

“Your Majesty, you’ve only just arrived–” Killian attempts to sit up but Mary Margaret’s hand on his shoulder halts him. Emma too makes to stand but her mother places her other hand atop hers. 

“Stay.” 

Mary Margaret squeezes Killian’s shoulder. “I really am happy you’re awake, Killian.”

She hugs Emma. “Take as long as you need,” she whispers in her ear and a breath of relief leaves Emma, thankful for her mother’s understanding. 

“I’ll see you soon, Hook… Killian.” Charming says next before kissing Emma’s forehead. “And I’ll see you at home, kiddo.” He tells Emma even though he knows she isn’t coming home that night, but Emma wraps her arms around him with a laugh. 

“Sure, dad.” 

Killian places a hand on his chest. “No later than 12, Dave, you have my word.”

Charming guffaws and rolls his eyes but he claps Killian on the shoulder once more before saying, suddenly quite solemnly, “It’s good to have you back.” 

“Aye, good to be back.” 

They exchange nods before he takes Mary Margaret’s hand. 

“We’ll meet you in the car, Henry.” David calls over his shoulder as he and Mary Margaret leave the room. “Need a ride, Belle?” 

“Oh, if you please.”

Belle says her goodbyes to them and they thank her profusely for her help. 

Henry remains and he gives them both a long hug. 

“I told you mom, I told you you’d know what to do once you saw him.” 

“I know, kid. You were right,” she says as she ruffles his hair. “Thank you, for believing in me.” 

Henry smiles, “Always, mom.” 

“Besides,” he turns to Killian. “I figured you’ve slept long enough, Captain. I needed my sailing partner back.” 

Killian laughs heartily. “Too right you are, lad. And thank you, for giving your mother the push she needed.” 

“Hey! I would have come… eventually.” 

They both raise an eyebrow at her, so in sync that she’s momentarily blindsided by the similarity and it causes her to concede. 

“Fine. Maybe I did need the push.” 

“Mom.” 

“Okay, I did need the push. Are you happy?” 

“I know,” Henry grins. “And, I am.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling too and she moves to hug him again. 

“Thank you,” she whispers sincerely. Henry merely squeezes her tighter and turns his head to face Killian, still in Emma’s arms. 

“I’m glad it’s you, Killian.”

And it’s five words, but to Killian it means the world because it sounds like acceptance. It sounds like pride. It sounds like love and he doesn’t think he can melt any further after the result of True Love’s Kiss but Henry’s words light a fire within him he thought had long died with, if he’s being honest with himself, Bae. 

There’s a lump in his throat but he manages to get the words, “Thank you” out and he figures Henry understands just how much he means them when he nods. 

He’s always been a perceptive lad, just like his mother. 

Henry leaves them with a cheery wave and a knowing grin, shutting the door behind him and finally, finally. 

They’re alone. 

“Hey,” she whispers. 

“Hey.” 

It’s nightfall now and the darkness has suddenly made her feel small. 

They don’t say much after that, both processing what they’ve just learned. 

But the shock of it gets to Emma and soon enough she is breaking their self-imposed silence. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She says while rubbing his chest because she can’t look him in the eye. 

“You’re sorry? I can’t imagine what for.” 

His tone is confused but light and she doesn’t understand how that is when she’s the reason he is where he is and the reason it’s taken all this time for his recovery. He should be furious at her or disappointed at least! 

“I’m sorry I took so long.” 

“Swan,” he tips her chin up to meet his eyes. “Don’t you see that I don’t care how long it took? What’s important is that you got here, and you got here. That’s all that matters to me.” 

“But I wasted so much time!” 

"Perhaps…" he concedes because she's a stubborn lass and won't be convinced otherwise. "But neither of us can do much about that which is why we shouldn't waste anymore of it by worrying about things we cannot change." 

“Aren’t you angry with me?” She screeches at him as she steps away from the bed. “Cause you should be! I almost got you killed!” 

“No, you didn’t. I chose to be there because getting the urn to you was the right thing to do.” Killian manages to sit upright, wanting to see her better. “Why are you–” 

It hits him then, why she’s purposely aggravating him, why she wants him to lash out at her. 

“I don’t blame you, Emma. And I most certainly am not angry with you, how could I be? When you’ve run yourself to the ground trying to help me.” 

Emma does a sharp intake of breath and wraps her arms around herself, her head hung as shame over her actions threatens to overtake her. 

“How could you possibly know that?” She murmurs. 

“Because I could hear, everything.”

At that revelation, her head shoots up to where he is. “What?” 

“That’s right,” he smirks. “I heard how much you vexed the nurses each time they would step out to inform you of my condition, what with your incessant questioning and badgering during my surgery cause they’d be talking about it inside the operating room.” He shoots her an amused look that prompts her to hide a sheepish grin. “I heard about how you’d only catch a couple hours of sleep each night since my curse because your mother and father would discuss it during their visits, ‘twas the only time they would willingly part from you.” At this, she frowns. Making a mental note to apologize to her parents for the worry she had caused them. “I heard how frustrated you’d been because Belle would lament her concern for you, and of her sadness that she couldn’t do much more to help you." She deduces that this is the reason for the fond look he had thrown the brunette and she finds herself grateful towards her for all that she's done for the pair of them. "I heard about how you would practically live in Regina’s vault looking for a solution because she’d complain of your presence there and blame it on me each time she’d arrive to assess my condition, though I could tell the lack of progress bothered her just as much. And I heard of your faith and your hope, because I felt it every time Henry spoke of your efforts to save me.” 

She gulps. “So… so before I kissed you, you–” 

His grin is smug and lopsided but he bites his lip to contain it lest he raise her ire. “I was listening to every word. For someone who claims to be inept with words, you seem to have crafted that whole speech with utmost propensity and entire fluidity.” 

“Oh my god.” Her face flames with embarrassment and she covers it with both hands. 

“Though I see that that proclivity seems to have fled you now.” 

“I will punch you in the face, I swear to god.” 

“Your violence only serves to intensify my fondness for you, my heart.”

They have a laugh because he’s so ridiculous. But the smile slips from her face at his next words. 

“So perhaps you did not come to me, but it’s alright. You came at just the precise time. And oh my darling, I felt your presence anyway. In the people whose lives you’ve affected and… right here.” 

He points to his heart and she’s crying again and she wants to blame it on hormones but she knows it’s him, it’s always him, scaling her walls and seeing her for the entirety of her being – insecurities, doubts and all. 

“Now get over here,” (he grins and he moves till there is enough space, albeit barely, for two bodies to occupy the bed) “because your True Love has gone long enough without you, wouldn’t you agree?” 

She’s crying but she’s laughing too because of course he saw right through her, of course he knows how to calm down her fears and she’s missed that, the quiet in her head, the peace in her heart that she can’t always manage to find on her own. 

But, she figures, that’s what True Loves are for. 

“Yeah,” she replies, “too long.” 

She slides into bed, under the covers and settles herself on to his side where she fits as perfectly as she remembers. 

He wraps his arm around her, his stump rubbing circles on her waist and there’s an ease that’s thrumming all over her body, an ease that hasn’t been there since the curse hit him, and she finally feels like she’s where she belongs. 

Like she’s home. 

“Hey,” his nose nudges her forehead and she tilts her head up to his face. He’s a blur but it’s okay, she’s greedy and she’s gone too long without the sight of him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Before you kissed me, you said you had something to tell me? That… that you couldn’t say it while I was… in the state I was in. What is it? There’s nothing wrong is there?”

She’s quick to smooth the furrow between his brows by nestling further into his side. 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just…” 

She snuggles a little too deep into his side and she finds the spot that always sends him into a fit of giggles. 

“Just what?” He manages to breathe out in between bouts of laughter. She stills her wandering hand. 

“I’m in love with you, but I don’t think you’re ready to hear it.” 

He lets out another bark of laughter because they’ve just shared True Love’s Kiss, essentially the most obvious declaration of love there is, but of course, his Swan always did like to do things on her own terms.

“No matter love, your secret’s safe with me.” 

He kisses the top of her head, before laying his own atop hers. 

“Are you sure that’s it?” 

Emma entwines their fingers and lays it across her own stomach where their little bean grows. 

She isn’t positive, she has yet to take a test and make an appointment with Whale but she’s missed her period twice now, which doesn’t happen, ever and she’s been down this road before. 

Deep down, she knows. 

But she wants to be sure, and she wants to tell him when she can look at his face and see it glow with utter excitement and happiness because she’s certain it’s something he would want, excel at even… fatherhood. 

Family. 

“We have time,” she says, smiling against his skin. 

He figures it’s not a bad thing, not if she’s humming contentedly against his neck and running her leg up and down the length of his own, so he’s happy to wait till she’s ready to say whatever it is. 

He’s a patient man after all. 

“We’d be good not to waste it,” she props herself on her elbow so that she can nudge her nose onto his. “So… shut up and kiss me, Jones.” 

“As the lady wishes.” 

Then he’s surging forward and capturing her lips with his own.

And everything was right.