Work Text:
Killian had gotten so used to waking up next to Emma that it always felt weird when he didn't- especially when it was two A.M., and she'd been right there when he fell asleep, and now she wasn't.
At first, he suspected maybe she'd gone to the bathroom or to get a drink of water or something like that- but then he saw her, sitting at the foot of the bed, seeming a touch unwell.
"Is something wrong, love?" he whispered.
She turned around, a bit startled.
"I didn't realize you were still up."
"Love, it's two in the morning," he said, "have you been awake this whole time?"
"I guess," Emma said.
"What's wrong, love?"
"Nothing," she shook her head.
He knew her better than to believe that.
"What's wrong?" he repeated.
"Nothing important." Emma said, quickly.
"Emma," he said, hoping his soft tone could soften whatever armor she'd been crafting, "if you're up thinking about it at two in the morning, it must be important. What's wrong?"
She sighed, and glanced back at him for a moment- and in that moment he nodded to her, like you'd nod to an injured animal to ask it to trust you, to tell her, "Go on. Let me help you."
"It still feels like a fairy tale," she said.
Rather than try and read into that statement, he simply asked for clarification.
"What does?"
"All of it," she said, in a whispered breath like an angry laugh, "you, Henry, my parents, our home- our happy beginning."
"Aye," Killian nodded, knowing she still hadn't hit the point of her problem.
"And the problem with a fairytale is the story always ends, the book closes, and you're back to being whoever it was you were escaping from."
"Emma," Killian crawled out from under the covers and over to the foot of the bed so he could sit next to her, "what we have here is real, and it's not going away."
"I know," Emma shook her head, "and I'm trying so hard to believe that."
"What's stopping you?"
She shrugged. "Myself. For someone whose job is happy endings, I'm pretty good at destroying my own."
"What's that supposed to mean, love?" Killian asked, trying to sound reassuring and not like that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard.
"I…." she shook her head.
"You don't need to push me away, love."
"That's just the thing- that's what I do," she shook her head, "I push people away- people I love."
And she tacked on, on top of it all, so softly he almost didn't hear it: "and that's why I'll always be an orphan."
"Emma, love," he said, carefully but desperately turning her face to his, "where did you get such a ridiculous idea?"
She pushed away physically this time, shaking her head and turning away from him.
"I'm glad you don't remember," she said, almost smiling.
"Remember what?"
"It's nothing."
"It's not," he insisted, his voice raising above a whisper for the first time that night, "talk to me."
Her eyes almost seemed the blue ones for all the tears they held back as she looked up at him. He wanted to help her, wanted to dry the tears she was afraid to cry, wanted to clean up the mess she was afraid to spill, and wanted to make everything right for her. That's all he ever wanted for Emma, to be that for her, to be the one she could turn to no matter what she was facing- to be the one who made her burdens lighter.
"The conversation at Regina's," Emma took a deep breath, "back when we were Dark Ones."
He'd tried so hard to purge those awful memories, choosing to dwell on their happy moments instead of ones like that, those moments where they didn't trust each other, where they closed themselves off to each other, where they argued with each other….
"That moment when I told her she'd always be an orphan," He recalled, "her pain now is my fault."
He didn't know what to say now. All he knew how to do was throw his arms around her, pull her close to him, hold her as tight as he could and choke out an "I'm sorry."
So, that's what he did.
"It wasn't you," Emma said, "it was the darkness. I've tried not to mention it, because I know you'd never…."
Though he couldn't see her face (which was buried in his embrace,) he could tell by the way her voice trailed off that she was crying, and he quickly let go of his right arms' grip around her, so he could catch the tears as they rolled down her cheek.
He knew his apology was nowhere near sufficient, but he still didn't know what to say- what could his words do to make up for such loveless atrocities?
"I'm sorry," Emma said, "I shouldn't've brought it up. I shouldn't've mentioned it."
"Nonsense," he said, taking her hand in his and pulling it close to his chest, "I never want you to think that a problem you have is too big or too small to share with me. Understand?"
She nodded. He sighed, unsure what words would tumble out after his breath.
"I love that you're my anchor, Emma," he said, "a ship would be lost without her anchor, and I'd be lost without you. I love everything you've ever done for me. Do you know what else I love about you?"
"What?"
"Call me a bit of a narcissist, but I love that you're my mirror. When I see you, I see a lot of myself. I see someone who never gives up, someone who risks their life for those they love, someone who does everything they can to be a hero, no matter what mistakes they've made.
"And when I first met you, I saw what you were," he continued, "and what I was- a lost boy, a lone wolf- an orphan. And when I said those angry dark words I wish I could take back, words I never should've said- I was talking to myself too."
He'd never seen a perfect blend of confusion and understanding quite like the one he saw on her face now.
"We did push people away, love. We did hide from the people who cared about us. That's why we should still be orphans. But that's not what we are anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because we turn to the people we love. We've set aside our armor and chosen something new."
"What's that?"
"Trust."
Still holding her hand close to his heart, he instead brought it to his lips and kissed it.
"Emma Swan, you will never be an orphan again. That's not who you are anymore. You're the Savior. You're my True Love, my happy beginning and ending and everything in between. You're a mother and a daughter and a hero and the most perfect wife a man could ever ask for."
"Some days I have trouble believing that," Emma shook her head, "but I believe in you."
With the hand that he wasn't holding, Emma reached up and stroked his face, her cold hand warming against his cheek. "So if you can believe in me, I can believe in me too," she said.
"I'm glad to hear it, love."
"And you're not an orphan anymore either, Killian Jones," Emma said. She kissed his hand, then pulled it close to her heart, "You're my family. You're my best friend. You're my true love. My hero."
"Aye," He nestled his head against her forehead, gently, then whispered "I love you."
"I love you too," she whispered back, "thank you."
"Anytime, love," he said, "now, let's get back to bed."
They both let go of each other, only so they could crawl back across to the other side of the bed. As soon as they were both under the covers, Emma slid into his arms, wrapping her own arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest.
"Goodnight, my love," he said, craning his neck forward so he could kiss her forehead.
"Goodnight, Killian." She replied, sounding sleepy but satisfied.
And with that, Killian fell asleep the only way that felt natural anymore- with Emma in his arms.