Once Upon a Time - We're a Long Way From There (Killian/Emma, Canon Divergence) 5/12
Title: We're a Long Way From There 5/12
Author:
batgurl88
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Killian/Emma, Regina/Robin (background), Belle/Gold (background), David/Snow White (background)
Summary: Killian pays the ultimate price for Emma's actions as the Dark One - his life. Now, she and the others must overcome the scars of Camelot to save him, while Killian searches for an escape from the Underworld.
Canon-divergent AU of S5.
A/N: Posting really early this time, as this week is looking to be an absolute nightmare. Thank you to everyone who has read and left feedback on this fic - it really helps me to feel less like I'm posting into the void.
And thank you, as always, to love-with-you-i-have-everything for the beta!
Chapter Four
Davy Jones' entrance was every bit as dramatic the second time around, his ship bursting through the surface of the water amidst a giant whirlpool, a brilliant flash of green blinding everyone on the dock.
They'd cleared the smaller boats out of the way to make room for the ship, Jones' crew casting ropes down to tie off opposite the Jolly Roger at the pier. The Flying Dutchman looked even more massive in Storybrooke's harbour, dwarfing the small fishing boats and dinghies that now occupied the far side of the docks.
The gangplank had dropped the moment the vessel was tied off, though none of the crew had made any move to exit. Instead, the ship sat there, waiting, in a clear demand for its passengers to make their way aboard.
Emma stared up at the large vessel uneasily. She re-settled the gold chest in her arms for the dozenth time, wincing as a particularly ornate ruby scraped her forearm. She couldn't see him from this angle, but she could feel Davy Jones' eyes on her all the same.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Stop it, she admonished, feeling silly. There was no reason to be worried - she'd held up her end of the deal. They'd earned their passage to the Underworld fair and square, and all without having to agree to a place on Jones' crew. Everything would be fine.
Assuming he holds up his end of the deal, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind, sudden uncertainty giving her pause. Once they were onboard, there were no guarantees he would keep his word. Her eyes drifted to the others, occupied with saying their goodbyes. They were all risking their lives, but what if she was wrong to trust Jones? What was to stop him from going back on his promise as soon as they were out at sea, trapped aboard his ship?
You could always make him to keep his word.
Emma stopped cold, her magic roaring beneath her skin. Blood pulsed in her ears, the sound of it not quite loud enough to drown out the faint beating of the heart through the thick walls of the chest. It could work, the voice whispered. The others wouldn't even have to know. If she held Jones' heart, he couldn't betray them - betray her. She'd be in complete control.
'What are you waiting for, Dark One? You know what you have to do.'
Merida's accusing face flashed across her memory, disturbing her train of thought. She'd been so afraid beneath her anger, her bright blue eyes widening fearfully as she'd realized her fate was no longer own.
She'd had control, then, too.
It was ironic, in a way. As furious as Emma had been with Regina for using the dagger to command her, she'd then done the same thing without a second thought. It'd been so addictive, so empowering to know that she held all the cards, that she could see what she wanted and take it as her own. The Darkness had been only too quick to encourage her, assuring her that with its help, she could have anything she desired.
After all, no one could hurt her if she was the one pulling the strings.
No, Emma swore, the memories leaving her cold. She couldn't do to that again, no matter how tempting it was. She was done doing things the easy way.
The very idea of it now filled her with shame, her cheeks burning as she stared at the chest without seeing it. Merida had returned to Camelot before she'd worked up the courage to apologize, the guilt of her actions weighing heavily on her heart.
Emma's mind wandered to Killian and the way he had pleaded with the others to give her a choice, certain that she would make the right one. What would he think of her, if he knew the truth of what she'd felt? Would he be disgusted to know some small part of her had enjoyed having all of that power in her hands?
She suspected she already knew the answer, her insides twisting painfully. It was bad enough she'd been the Dark One - the thing Killian hated most in all the world. But he had made his thoughts about those who sought to control others pretty clear.
It wasn't until more than a month into their relationship that he'd finally begun to share pieces of his childhood with her, confiding his feelings of powerlessness at not being free to direct his own fate. It was a helplessness he'd experienced too often in his long life. More than once, she'd sat up with him in the dark after nightmares tore him from his sleep, listening as he whispered, voice hoarse, about struggling desperately against Rumpelstiltskin's commands. She knew firsthand how weak and hopeless he'd felt, watching someone else use his body as their own.
Despite all of that, he'd repeatedly fought for her right to make her own decisions, still convinced she could be better, even when he'd found her mere seconds away from crushing Merida's heart. He'd put his trust in her, encouraging the others to let her choose the right path on her own.
And how did I repay that trust? she thought bitterly.
Barely five weeks had passed before she'd shoved her hand into Violet's chest, ripping away the last shreds of light within her. Violet had trusted her, too. She'd followed Emma willingly at the mere promise of a way to help Henry, never realizing the danger she was in until it was too late. Even now, with everyone else's memories restored, Violet had no recollection of the incident, simply because Emma had willed it so.
She'd used a little girl as a puppet for her own selfish ends, just as surely as Gold had used Hook.
Maybe he'd been right to doubt her. Was she really all that different from the other people who'd hurt him?
She shook her head, pushing the thought aside. What had happened between them in Camelot didn't matter - all that mattered was setting things right.
She made her way toward the gangplank, the chest heavy in her arms.
A small crowd had gathered at the docks to see them off, most of them huddled a fair distance from the ship. Regina and Robin stood close to one another, too wrapped up in their farewells to pay her any mind. She found herself slowing as she passed, jealousy churning her stomach as she watched them out of the corner of her eye.
Robin reached for Regina's hands, worry creasing his forehead.
"I wish I could go with you."
Regina's reply was uncharacteristically soft, her face free of the hard lines Emma was used to seeing. "As much as I'd love you to come, you were right," she said, swaying toward him slightly. "With Emma and I gone, and Rumpelstiltskin useless, the town is going to be low on heavy-hitters. I don't want to trust the safety of Storybrooke to a bunch of dwarves, especially with my sister still here. Nor am I sure I'd trust your... companions to babysit a toddler for however long we'll be gone."
"...Besides, this is my debt to repay," she said, her discomfort obvious even from a distance. "Hook may not be my favourite person in the world, but if it weren't for him, Henry would be the one trapped in the Underworld."
Robin nodded, moving his hand to her cheek. "Still, the Underworld will be dangerous - even for you. Promise you'll be careful?"
She smiled, leaning into his touch. "I promise. We'll be back before you know it."
"You'd better be," he replied, quirking his lips. "Or I'll be scouring the realms for more missing organs to bargain with Davy Jones for."
Emma turned away as they kissed, feeling strangely numb. She didn't want to begrudge them their happiness, but the display felt like a harsh reminder of everything she'd lost, her heart aching at their casual affection with one another. She shifted the gold chest into the crook of her left arm, her other hand reaching for Killian's ring.
Around her, the others were finishing up their goodbyes, her mother accepting a heartfelt hug from Granny. Even Belle and Gold were having what looked to be a cordial - if somewhat uncomfortable - farewell. Everyone kept their distance from Emma, subtly parting around her as she crossed the dock.
She sped up as she reached the gangplank, having no desire to remain in a crowd of people who were so obviously uneasy around her. The sooner they left, the better.
The crew of the Flying Dutchman parted for her as well as she boarded, though it seemed to be a result of deeply-ingrained submission rather than any fear on their part. Their eyes remained firmly on their various tasks, two young men in dirty, ragged shirts scrubbing the blackened floorboards so furiously that she wondered how they hadn't worn a hole in the wood. She guessed Davy Jones wasn't a big fan of slacking off.
Her eyes drifted to the man in question, finding his dark gaze staring back at her from the helm of the ship.
She climbed the steps to the quarterdeck, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the way he tracked her every move.
"Ye've brought what we bargained for?" he asked, his eyes glued to the treasure in her arms. She tightened her grip.
"It's here," she replied evenly. "I've held up my end, but you're not getting it unless I have your word that you'll follow through."
His eyes narrowed slightly, his broad shoulders rolling back in a move obviously intended to make himself appear larger. She stood her ground, returning his glare.
"All right," he said, his gravelly voice carrying across the deck. "Hand over the heart, and I swear I'll take ye and yers safely to the Underworld and back. But once ye get to the Underworld, yer on yer own, lassie. I'll not cross Hades for the likes of ye."
She studied him for a moment longer, her earlier uncertainty resurfacing, but she knew it was as good a promise as she was likely to get. Wordlessly, she handed him the chest.
He grabbed it with greedy hands, his actions turning almost reverent a moment later. Without a sound, he laid the chest on the stern, unlatching it with steady fingers to reveal the charred heart inside.
The look in his eyes was indiscernible as he lifted the still-beating organ, staring at it briefly before eagerly shoving it against his ribcage.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he opened them, there was a spark there that had been missing before. She was uncomfortably reminded of Killian's face after she'd returned his heart, the fire returning to his gaze so vividly she couldn't believe it'd taken her so long to realize something was wrong.
She gave him a moment to savour it, figuring even undead pirate captains deserved that much, but her patience quickly ran out.
"How long until you can get us there?"
He shut the chest with far less care than he'd opened it, casting her a dismissive glance out of the corner of his eye.
"We'll reach the Underworld in a few days."
"Days?" Emma looked at him sharply. "Can't one of your portals get us there faster?"
Jones gave a deep, harsh laugh. "Portals can only be opened between realms that are alive. The Underworld is a whole different beast. If ye want to get there, ye have to go through the door - the barrier between the land of the living and the land of the dead."
"And where is that?" she asked.
"It moves around," he said, looking out at the sea. "It wouldn't do for its location to be known, after all." He snorted at her derisively. "Too many foolish people trying to get their loved ones back. Hades is the cautious sort."
"But you can find it?"
He fingered a heavy black compass at his belt. "Aye, I can find it."
She quashed a surge of bitter disappointment that threatened to take hold. How many more delays would there be? Killian had been trapped in the Underworld for more than three weeks already, all alone and enduring who knew what. Every second they wasted felt like a further betrayal.
Jones took the helm, signaling a clear end to the conversation. Reluctantly, she descended to the lower deck, finding a place to wait near the railing. The crew was working steadily around her, completely ignoring her presence as they prepared to set sail.
She ran her hand gingerly along the decaying wood of the ship's rail, longing for the smoothly-sanded familiarity of the Jolly Roger. Her shoulders were tight as she turned her attention to the gangplank, the others finally beginning to board.
Her dad held his hand out to her mom as she stepped down onto the deck, their weapons and packs in tow. Henry followed behind them, the practice sword David had bought him for his last birthday strapped to his waist. She and Regina had both protested the gift at the time, but she knew how seriously he'd been taking his lessons. She also couldn't deny he'd be better off having a way to defend himself where they were going.
Henry seemed intent on taking in as much of the ship as he could, his head swiveling in every direction as he watched the crew prepare to cast off. His eyes skittered in her direction only briefly before darting away, a hard look passing over his face. A moment later, he'd made his way to the furthest edge of the lower deck, engrossed in conversation with her parents.
She swallowed, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"Not as much fun from the other side, is it?"
She turned, startled. Regina stood just behind her, her attention focused on a point over Emma's shoulder. Emma followed her gaze back to Henry.
She stiffened, her walls slamming up. Of course. They hadn't talked directly about Camelot since the curse had broken, but she should've expected Regina to get around to gloating eventually. "You must be loving this," she said rigidly.
"As a matter of fact, I'm not," Regina countered. She moved closer, her focus still on Henry. "Contrary to what you may think, I don't enjoy seeing my son heartbroken. Nor do I enjoy seeing my... friend in pain," she said, stumbling over the word as though it was foreign to her.
Her words pacified Emma slightly, the tension slowly dissipating from her shoulders. She looked back at her family, the empty feeling in her gut intensifying. They looked so complete, laughing and smiling at one another, as though it were any other day in Storybrooke.
She could feel Regina's eyes on her, and she struggled to keep her emotions off her face.
"It's not going to be like this forever, you know," Regina said. "Henry's mad right now, but he still loves you. They all do. You just have to give it time."
She huffed, disbelieving. "Since when are you the one giving out the hope speeches?"
Regina's mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "Since I know what it's like to give into your dark impulses and regret the impact it has on the people you love. I know what it's like to let people down."
Emma inhaled sharply, her throat going dry. Her parents were saying something to Belle now, who'd boarded with little fanfare, her hands wrapped around the straps of her knapsack. "I wasn't the only one."
"You're right," Regina allowed diplomatically. "We all screwed up in Camelot - myself included. But playing the blame game won't get us anywhere."
"I'm really not in the mood for a pep talk, Regina," said Emma, crossing her arms. The crew were raising the gangplank, their captain signaling that they'd be setting sail soon.
"Well, that's too bad," she replied, sounding more than a little smug. "I've had to listen to my share of speeches from you and your family over the years. Now it's your turn."
Emma rolled her eyes.
"So, this is payback?" she asked peevishly.
"No, not payback," Regina corrected. "As sanctimonious as those speeches were, I needed to hear them, whether I was willing to admit it at the time or not." She spread her hands, a slightly sarcastic smile on her face. "Consider this me repaying the favour."
"Yeah, well, don't take this the wrong way, but being the Evil Queen isn't really the same thing."
"That's where you're wrong," said Regina. "I may not have been a Dark One, but I have been where you are - wanting to make things better, but not knowing how. If you want my advice..." she trailed off, turning her head toward Emma. "Don't try and force it. You can't fix everything at once, and being impatient about it won't get you anywhere. I certainly made that mistake more than once."
She watched her parents and son talking, Henry pointing out various features of the ship with poorly-concealed excitement, remembering how eagerly he'd recounted the details of his first real sailing trip with Killian. He'd been so proud of himself, Killian assuring him he had the makings of a fine sailor.
Emma shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans, hating how alone the scene made her feel. When had she started letting that get to her?
Before she'd come to Storybrooke, Emma had known better than to rely on others. She'd learned her lesson after too many disappointments, too many promises of home and acceptance yanked away just when she'd begun to believe it could be hers. She'd trained herself not to be bothered by birthdays alone or quiet nights by herself, but Storybrooke had changed all of that. Her family had changed it. Killian had changed it.
She'd let them in against her better judgement, slowly lowering her walls for them bit by bit as she'd allowed herself believe that maybe things would be different this time. Maybe she could be enough.
She'd let herself believe that she was special - that she could be all of the things they told her she was. A hero. A Saviour. Someone who belonged, who made things better.
But in the end, she'd only made things worse. And the moment they'd realized she wasn't the hero they'd wanted, suddenly she hadn't been enough anymore.
Maybe I never was, she thought sourly.
She shivered, the biting sea air going right through her. It'd been a long time since she'd felt so lonely in Storybrooke, but she'd been on her own before and she could do it again.
"It doesn't matter," she said, half to herself. "I don't have time to worry about any of that stuff. All that matters is rescuing Hook."
Regina frowned, decidedly uncomfortable.
"Look," she said hesitantly, "All pessimism aside, you do know there's a chance this won't work, right?"
Emma turned to look out at the water, her face blank.
"It'll work."
The look Regina cast her was far too pitying for her liking.
"I know you feel guilty for what happened to Hook, but-"
"But what?" she interrupted sarcastically. "It's not my fault? I'm not to blame for his death?" Even now, the word seemed to stick in her throat, choking her.
Regina paused, considering. "Okay, it is your fault," she allowed. "You did a stupid thing and he paid the price for it. I certainly know how that feels. And I get that you want to make it better - that you think this quest will fix everything. But you also need to prepare yourself for if it doesn't."
A cool breeze whipped across Emma's face, blowing her hair into her eyes. She wanted to ignore Regina's words, but they cut deeper than she would've liked. What if they didn't succeed? What if she had to go on without Killian, without-
No. She couldn't let herself think about it. One way or another, she was going to fix what she'd broken.
"I need to do this," she said softly, willing her to understand. "I can't give up on him."
Regina nodded somberly. "I get it. He was the same way about you."
Emma glanced at her, Regina raising a well-manicured eyebrow.
"Are you that surprised? The whole time you were the Dark One, he wouldn't stop going on about how we couldn't give up on you. He refused to take no for an answer." She tilted her head. "Say what you will about Hook, but when he sets his mind to something, he's very determined."
Emma's eyes softened at the description. It was true - Killian was almost single-mindedly determined about the things that mattered to him. Anyone who spent two centuries on a quest for revenge would have to have some serious dedication, after all. It made sense that he would apply that same determination to the task she'd set before him - removing the Darkness from her.
The task that got him killed, her brain ruthlessly reminded her.
"Maybe he shouldn't have been," she murmured.
Regina's eyebrow rose even further, taking on a judgmental edge. "Do you think he didn't know what he was getting into? Hook has been chasing the Dark One for centuries - he knew it'd be dangerous. But that didn't stop him from insisting we do everything we could to help you."
Her lips quirked. "Hook and I will probably never be close - there's far too much history between us for that - but I saw what he was like when you were the Dark One. That man would have gladly walked into Hell and back if it meant helping you."
She knew the words were meant as a comfort, but the empty feeling in the pit of Emma's stomach only worsened as she listened, remembering the sickened expression that had crossed Killian's face after her attack on Arthur and his men.
'I loved you.'
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. Any hope she'd had that the memory spell would put things right between them had been ripped away with those three words. Maybe he'd had faith in her to start, but she'd squandered it, taking it for granted that he would always return to her side no matter how poorly she betrayed his trust.
Regina seemed to realize that she was done talking. She gave an awkward attempt at a reassuring smile, her discomfort with the action evident as she left to join the others.
Emma leaned heavily against the rail, feeling splinters bite into her forearms. Behind her, she was vaguely aware of Davy Jones shouting orders to his crew as the ship began to push off from the dock.
She stared out at the water, plagued by the memory of her final moments with Killian at the pond. Had it been faith in his eyes that night as he'd pleaded with her, or was it fear? Disgust at what she'd become? The images were twisted in her mind, warped by the haze of the Darkness.
She toyed with the ring at her neck, wondering whether Killian would be angry with her for taking it. It had felt right at the time - keeping a piece of him with her, a reminder of what she was fighting for - but she wondered now if it had been selfish, as well. To take something precious of Killian's because she thought it might bring her comfort. To believe she had any right to lay claim to it, after everything she'd done.
She dropped the ring, the heavy metal knocking against her sternum. Regina was right about one thing - focusing on blame wouldn't get her anywhere. She couldn't undo what had happened, but she could do what she could to fix things.
One way or another, she'd make things right.
His guard wasn't much for conversation.
Not that Killian minded - he wasn't much in the mood for talk himself. He felt as though he'd been assaulted by a non-stop barrage of threats and surprises from the moment he'd broken into Zelena's cell, hurled from one stunning revelation to the next with hardly a moment to breathe in between. The sudden ringing silence that followed Hades' departure and his dismissal from the judges' chambers left him feeling off-kilter, and with far too much time to get lost in his own thoughts.
Being dead wasn't at all what he'd expected. Centuries of life had given him plenty of time to ruminate on the subject - at times, with a tad more longing than perhaps was healthy. In his more self-indulgent moods, he'd imagined being reunited with those he'd lost - a fate he'd dreaded and ached for in equal measure. In his darker moments, he foresaw an eternity of endless torture and anguish - the only end truly befitting of a villain.
But in all of his contemplation of the afterlife, he had never expected to find it so... lonely. Despite Hades' assurances that all souls journeyed to the Underworld when their time was up, he'd yet to come across any but himself.
It was nothing like his experience of dying in Isaac's storybook. One moment, he'd been alive and fighting, a childish sort of pride filling him at the thought of standing up to the Evil Queen to protect the beautiful maiden he'd met. The next moment, he'd been waking up in the loft, as though no time had passed in between.
He'd wondered after if that nothingness was what real death would be like. The thought had left him cold, the knowledge that he would never see those he cared for again disturbing him far more than he cared to admit. But perhaps it had only been that way because Isaac's story hadn't yet ended when he'd passed. If Emma and Henry had failed in their quest, who was to say he wouldn't have found his way down here all the same.
The Underworld wasn't quite what he'd expected either.
His guard had led him down several nondescript tunnels, each one as plain as the last aside, nothing but dark stone and ashy gravel littering the ground. He made a mental note to mention the lack of distinguishing features to Hades, if he ever saw him again. For a god who so obviously prided himself on the upkeep of the Underworld, he clearly hadn't put much imagination into decorating.
Of course, if all went well, it would be a good long time before he saw Hades again. He doubted the god would be as welcoming the second time around, but it would be worth it if it meant his escape was successful.
He lowered his gaze, kicking a small stone out of his path. He knew he should be concentrating on making said escape a reality, but the judges' words continued to echo in his ears. Having his entire life - every action he'd ever undertaken - laid out in such a cold and precise manner had unnerved him more than he'd expected. Hades hadn't been lying about the methodical nature of the judging, but he hadn't been fully prepared for the experience of having his life weighed and balanced in such an emotionless way, as though his entire existence had been nothing more than a scribble on a page.
Four hundred and fifty years. More than four centuries before he could hope to be reunited with Emma, if he stayed. The thought rocked him back on his heels, but not as much as the knowledge that his original punishment would have been much longer, judging by how far the scale had been tipped.
'A few years of good deeds doesn't erase centuries of bad ones.'
A heavy weight settled in his stomach. He'd known in his heart that he had many actions to atone for, but being surrounded by heroes for so long in Storybrooke had made him forget the harsh truth of who he was. He'd allowed himself to be swayed by their optimism, by their belief that people could change, and in so doing, he'd deluded himself in believing that things could be different. That he could someday be one of them.
He suppressed a sneer at the thought. He knew better - villains didn't get happy endings. He'd been fooling himself, thinking that he could ever really change who he was. That there would ever be a time when his past would be anything other than a constant weight around his neck. Even now, he wondered what defense he would have given, had the judges allowed him to speak. What defense could there be for centuries of evil deeds?
Killian shook his head, cursing his self-pity for distracting him from his task. Emma had many more good deeds in her column than he did, but being the Dark One would take its toll. How long until the bad deeds outweighed the good for her as well?
He'd come by his punishment fairly after a lifetime of darkness, but Emma had not. He refused to allow the same fate to befall her.
He'd made her a promise and he intended to keep it.
He raised his eyes, surreptitiously observing his guard, whose attention was squarely focused on the path ahead of them. He had to wonder about the intelligence of those in Hades' employ that the creature hadn't so much as glanced back in his direction the entire time they'd been walking.
True, there hadn't exactly been a wealth of opportunities for escape thus far, but it wouldn't hurt for the guard to at least entertain the suspicion that he might be planning to make a run for it. He was vividly reminded of the black guards at Regina's castle, barely a brain between them for all that they seemed to be in endless supply.
Never curse the stupidity of others when you can use it to your advantage.
Of course, making his escape would still require a fair bit of stealth, negligent guard or not. And there was still the fact that he had no exit plan to speak of.
Well, are you a pirate, or aren't you? he scoffed inwardly. Centuries of misdeeds may have earned him his fate, but they had also given him plenty of experience at escaping tight spots.
He kept his steps even so as not to give his plan away, eyeing an upcoming divergence in the tunnel that appeared to veer off from their current path. He still had no idea what manner of beast his guard was, but with any luck its bowed legs would be as slow as they looked.
The fork in the path was fast approaching, and he braced himself, preparing to run.
Death would have to wait for another day.
Emma inhaled deeply, the refreshing sea breeze a welcome change from the dank air below deck.
The Flying Dutchman had surfaced somewhere near the land of Andelasia, according to its captain, the waterside kingdom watching over them as they sailed past from a distance.
She'd been disappointed to learn that locating the doorway to the land of the dead was a complicated process that could involve several portals between realms, punctuated by long periods at sea. Jones apparently hadn't been kidding when he said Hades was cautious about intruders. As frustrated as she was by the delay, she was grateful for the opportunity to stretch her legs.
She walked the length of the deck, avoiding the boards that looked most at risk of crumbling beneath her feet. She was doing her best to enjoy the sun while it lasted - something told her the Underworld would be short on blue skies and sunshine - but it still felt strange being aboard a pirate ship without Hook.
Her attention caught on a young sailor on his hands and knees, his chapped hands scrubbing a dirty brush back and forth across the deck. A matted, blond ponytail hung over one shoulder, the hair occasionally getting caught in the brush, though he never paused his actions for even a second, an air of hopeless determination to his movements. He kept his focus squarely on his task, a defeated hunch to his shoulders that screamed of someone conditioned to being treated like nothing. Her eyes softened as she watched him, thinking back on the stories Killian had shared of his childhood.
The sailor seemed oblivious to her presence, flinching a little any time someone got too close. Her mind conjured an image of a younger Killian in a similar state, resigned to being pushed around and ignored. Used to having no one in the world who cared about him, apart from his brother.
The thought made her insides twist, and she turned away, spotting Belle perched on a barrel nearby. Her nose was buried deep in a black leather book, its cover bearing the words The Underworld: Myth or Legend. She considered leaving before she was noticed, but Belle looked up and met her eyes with a smile, setting her book down in a clear invitation.
She pasted an awkward smile on her face in return, making her way over. She wracked her brain for something to say, painfully aware that their last one-on-one conversation had consisted of her threatening the other woman's life. Her eyes dropped briefly to the book that now lay on top of the barrel, Belle stiffening unexpectedly as she followed her gaze.
"I only brought a few books with me," she defended. "I wasn't sure what all we would need, but I knew having too many to carry would only slow us down."
Emma blinked at her tone, having apparently struck a nerve without realizing it. Great. Nothing like ticking off the one person who wasn't treating her like she had the plague.
She nodded vaguely, unsure how else to respond, distant laughter drawing her attention. She turned, spotting Regina, Mary Margaret, and Henry on the far side of the deck, the latter pointing out something on land nearby.
"They'll come around, you know."
Emma glanced back, embarrassed to have been caught staring. She shook her head, feigning ignorance.
"Who?"
The corners of Belle's mouth tilted upward softly.
"Your family," she said, blatantly ignoring Emma's attempt at deflection. "It may take some work, but they'll forgive you eventually."
This was so not the conversation she wanted to be having right now. Hope speeches were one thing coming from Regina, but she and Belle hardly even knew each other. Then, there was the added bonus that that she'd terrorized the woman and repeatedly threatened to kill her if her husband didn't do what she wanted him to. Emma shoved her hands into her pockets, wiping her emotions off her face.
"Yeah, I guess," she said, eager to drop the subject. She frowned, a niggling thought re-occurring to her. "Shouldn't you be pissed at me, too?"
It was a question that had been bothering her ever since Belle had showed up at her parents' loft with an armful of books, eager to help. She'd kidnapped her and her husband, sending Merida to hunt her down in her efforts to force Gold to act, but Belle had blown past it all like it was nothing, even going so far so to offer her condolences. How was it possible that she was okay with what had happened when the rest of Storybrooke so clearly wasn't?
Belle's expression softened. "I know it wasn't you. Not really. Rumple's told me what he was like in the months after he first became the Dark One - how it played with his mind, warped his ability to tell right from wrong. It doesn't excuse the things he did - particularly once he had better control over the Darkness - but I think the context is important. I know you regret what you did, and that you'd undo it if you could. That's enough for me."
Emma raised her eyebrows, taken aback. Her actions as the Dark One had been hanging over her head like a particularly determined storm cloud since the second the curse broke, tainting her every interaction and never giving her a moment's peace. After all of her agonizing over what she'd done, the idea that anyone would forgive her so easily, that they could go so far as to consider giving her the benefit of the doubt, was completely foreign to her. Something remarkably like relief washed over her, followed swiftly by guilt.
"Well... For what it's worth, I'm still sorry," she said awkwardly, her cheeks heating as she remembered the naked fear on Belle's face when Merida had aimed an arrow at her chest. Maybe Belle believed the Darkness was to blame, but she was the one who'd given into it.
Belle nodded. "I know. Thank you for saying it."
Despite her best efforts, Emma's eyes slid back to her family across the deck. How was it that Belle could find it within herself to forgive her when they couldn't?
"Don't be too hard on them," Belle said, following her gaze. "I think it's easier for me - I've seen better than anyone what being the Dark One does to a person. They'll get there eventually - they just have to sort through it all first."
"Yeah? Was it that easy for you and Gold?"
She winced, wishing she could take the words back as Belle ducked her head, her hands twisting in her lap.
Way to go, she berated herself, remembering the pair's stiff farewell at the docks. Alienate the first person to talk to you normally by bringing up their marriage problems.
"Sorry," she blurted out. "That's none of my business."
Belle gave a weak smile. "No, it's- it's fine."
She looked back up at Emma, her eyes a touch sadder than before. "It's different with Rumple and me. It wasn't just the things he did - it was that he kept choosing the power over me, even when there was another way. There's a lot of broken trust between us, and I'm not sure we'll be able to rebuild it."
Emma shifted uncomfortably, wondering suddenly whether she was the first person Belle had been able to confide this in. "I'm sorry," she offered again feebly, at a loss for what else to say. She was hardly a relationship expert, herself.
"It's okay," Belle dismissed. "We've got a lot of work to do, but I still want to believe that things can be better between us. I'll always love him, but he needs to learn who he is without magic, and I-" she faltered, her smile a tad more tremulous. "I need to learn who I am without him."
"Is that why you wanted to come along?" she asked, taking a seat on the barrel next to her. She'd been wondering what would motivate someone more used to research than to rescue missions to volunteer for a trip like this. A rocky marriage was as good a reason as any, she guessed.
Belle shrugged, leaning forward to brace her hands against the edge of the barrel. "In part," she admitted. "The truth is, I'm here for the same reason as you - to help Killian. He worked for so long to find his happy ending. I think he should get a chance to experience it."
Whatever answer she'd been expecting, that hadn't been it. She knew that the two of them had been spending more time together, but she'd figured it had been more a result of mutually-aligned goals than anything else. It had been less than two years since Hook had tried to kill Belle, after all, and while Emma knew he regretted it deeply, she hadn't really expected her to have moved past it enough to concern herself with ensuring his happiness.
Some of her surprise must have shown on her face, Belle giving a rueful laugh.
"I know it seems like there should still be a lot of bad blood between us, but we've actually gotten to know each other a lot better over the last few months, between the fairies, and Camelot, and everything that happened after. I think he needed a friend to talk to, someone who'd been where he was. And, well," she gave a lopsided smile, "I needed one, too."
A heavy weight settled itself in Emma's stomach. She knew Belle hadn't meant anything by it, but the painful reminder of how much strain Killian had been under because of her stung all the same.
Memories of the weeks following Camelot began to resurface, of the way his face had grown gaunter and more lined with worry each time she'd seen him. She'd known the situation was getting to him, but at the time it had been less important than fulfilling her plan. Everything had been.
Emma studied the decaying floorboards of the deck, lost in thought. A part of her wanted to know if Belle could ever forgive Gold for what he'd done, but she knew she had no right to ask. A larger part of her wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.
Belle smiled reassuringly, mistaking her silence for grief instead of guilt.
"He was really worried about you, you know," she said. "He'd be so proud of you for breaking the curse. And I'm sure he misses you, too."
Does he really? she wondered. Or was he glad to be away from her, after everything she'd done? Would he come back to Storybrooke only to leave again, too angry to stay in the same town as her?
Her eyes stung, her heart lurching painfully in her chest. If he did leave, she'd let him, she swore, even though the very thought of it made her sick inside. He deserved to have that choice, the one she'd wanted to take from him - from all of them.
She turned her attention back to Belle, grateful Killian had had at least one person to talk to. On some level, she'd always suspected he still felt like something of an outsider in Storybrooke, but it was only in analyzing his actions in the weeks following Camelot that she'd come to realize how small the circle of people he trusted really was.
Before the curse, she had always been the person he went to first, the one he'd relied on and gravitated towards. With her gone, the others had still had each other to rely on. But instead of sticking close to them, Killian had kept his distance, filling his days with research and solitude. She was ashamed it had taken her so long to recognize his loneliness for what it was.
She pushed the unhelpful thought away, meeting Belle's concerned eyes.
"I'm glad you decided to come," she said, sidestepping her last comment. "Something tells me we'll need all the help we can get."
"Well, I'll admit, I also came along for the adventure," said Belle, gracefully moving them away from heavier topics, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. "I always believed I'd be spending more of my life doing the things I'd read about, but things haven't really worked out the way I thought they would. I want to start changing that."
Emma hummed absently, remembering the silent standoff between Gold and Belle at the diner. It occurred to her suddenly that she'd hardly ever seen Belle without Gold when he was still the Dark One, save those rare occasions when he'd been away from Storybrooke.
Now, she had the air of a woman starting her life over, finding her independence after years of focusing on the man she loved. She wondered again if she and Gold would work things out in the end, or whether Belle would decide she'd had enough of putting her own wants and needs second.
Her thoughts turned to Killian, always standing by her side, ready to follow her lead no matter what it cost him. Emma's stomach churned, the comparison making her uneasy.
It's not the same thing, she assured herself, her fingers toying anxiously with the heavy ring hanging from her neck. She leaned back against the ship's rail, staring at the landmass they were passing without really seeing it.
It was a bit ironic, she thought numbly, that all her time as the Dark One hadn't made her a better liar.
He was lost.
It burned his pride to admit it, but he had been wandering for ages and he had no bloody clue where he was.
He'd spent years sharpening his navigational skills, until he was able to steer his way through even the darkest and most confusing locales. He had many talents honed from his time as a pirate intent on finding the things that others didn't want found, and one of them was an uncanny ability to find his bearings in any realm. But the Underworld, it seemed, was something else altogether.
He'd tried everything he could think of to retrace his steps, every trick he knew for locating an exit, but there were no breezes he could follow, no sliver of light that would suggest escape was nearby. There were few, if any, features to distinguish one cavern from the next, but he couldn't shake the suspicion that he was wandering further into the Underworld's depths, rather than out of them.
He and Milah had once broken into a palace where the corridors and staircases changed destination with some frequency, a clever enchantment intended to protect the Sultan's riches from thieves such as themselves. Men had been known to wander within its walls for weeks without finding their way free, let alone happening upon the treasure they sought.
At the time, he and Milah had had a bit of stolen magic on their side - a gem that could help them predict the chaos of the moving corridors and identify the path to the gold they'd been hunting for. Now, he had nothing to guide him - no gems, or locator spells, or even a magic compass to help him on his way. He was well and truly on his own.
His thoughts returned, as the often did, to Emma, wishing he had some way of knowing how she fared. It was impossible to guess how much time had passed since he'd arrived, but surely the battle had ended by now. Had Emma succeeded in her quest, taking Merlin's power for herself? Or had the others managed to hold her off?
He felt a sudden stab of fear for Belle, already missing before his death. He should have asked after her fate when he'd had the chance, but surely Hades would have mentioned if she were down here as well? He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea that Emma might have actually hurt her, but he wished he had some assurance.
The uncertainty made him nauseous, discouragement slowing his steps. For all he knew, he was already too late. How much time had he wasted already, wandering aimlessly through the afterlife? Some bloody great pirate he'd turned out to be, defeated by a tunnel.
At least Emma's family was still with her, her friends. She had others to carry on the fight against the Darkness without him, but Killian couldn't help feeling as though he'd abandoned her. He'd let her down, just like every man she'd cared about before him - leaving her when she'd needed him the most.
His restored memories continued to plague him, the pictures that filled in the gaps between the Emma he'd known and the Emma she'd become haunting his every step. He'd been prepared for the heartache they had brought - there was no other emotion that could more strongly accompany watching the woman he loved succumb to a demon inside her head. But the shame of his own actions had caught him off-guard.
They'd all let Merlin fan their fears of the Dark One, let him turn their heads with talk of prophecy. He'd listened quietly as the others had debated, argued, fought, questioned - his mind overwrought with the memory of Emma standing over Arthur like a vengeful demon, of the way she'd revelled in her power.
It had reminded him more of the Crocodile than he'd wanted to admit.
In that instant, he'd allowed himself to doubt - even for a moment. Not that she was strong enough, or good enough, to defeat the Darkness, but that there was any point in even trying. Perhaps no one could conquer the Darkness, in the end.
For centuries, he'd suppressed the memory of a small, frail, soft-spoken Rumpelstiltskin clambering aboard his ship to meekly ask for his wife's safe return. At the time, his weakness had disgusted Killian, his impression of the man already coloured by Milah's stories of his cowardice. It had meant nothing to him to send the man on his way, humiliating him in front of his crew for good measure, for any man who truly loved a woman would have stood and fought for her.
He had drowned out the small voice inside him - the one that sounded too much like Liam, even after all of these years - that said there was no honour in bullying a man who was smaller and weaker than him. That just because Killian had more power than the spinner didn't give him the right to abuse it - to taunt him with it.
The next time he'd seen Rumpelstiltskin's face, the tables had turned. This time, it was the Dark One who'd held all the power, and he had delighted in exploiting it just as thoroughly as Killian once had. There'd been no hint of remorse in those beady eyes as he'd used his magic to toy with him, vanishing before Killian's rusty sword could land even a glancing blow. He'd been positively gleeful as he'd torn Milah's heart from her chest, crushing it in spite of Killian's protests.
He'd found power at long last, and he loved it.
Ever since Emma had taken hold of the dagger, he'd found himself wondering about the difference between those two men: Rumpelstiltskin and the Dark One. For too long, he'd let himself forget the first one in the wake of the second, convinced himself that they were always one in the same. But the more he thought on it - the more he remembered the stories Baelfire had confided of the time before the dagger - the more he knew things were not that simple.
Rumpelstiltskin the spinner was not a perfect man, but he had loved his son, and he'd tried to do his best for his family, in his own flawed way. But becoming the Dark One had done more than bring his worst qualities to the surface. The Darkness had preyed on his thirst for power, his desire to be the strongest, to fight for what he wanted and win. It had found all of his weak points and hammered at them until he'd cracked, until he'd become almost unrecognizable as the man he'd been before.
His boots scuffed along the gravel as he walked, the noise echoing off the cavernous walls. The path was narrowing ahead of him, and his eyes widened as he found himself standing on the edge of an overhang, staring out into the darkness at a veritable maze of pathways and bridges. They seemed to go on forever, stretching in every direction from above and below him, connecting a labyrinth of tunnels that littered the walls of the cave.
He'd once travelled to a land that hosted a breed of particularly deadly black beetles, the creatures nearly as large as his fist. The locals had warned him to stay clear of the wide-open spaces outside of the village, where the beetles' tunneling had made the ground unsteady, but he'd ignored their advice, consumed as he was at the time with his quest for a particularly rare lamp that he believed would help him defeat the Dark One.
With one wrong step, he'd found the ground beneath his feet giving way, sending him plummeting into a massive cavern of twisting paths and tunnels. Every surface had been crawling with the insects, their shiny black shells glimmering in the dim light of the hole he'd made overhead. It had taken some very ingenious maneuvering on his part to escape the subterranean dwelling unscathed. He still woke some nights scratching at his skin, the sensation of hundreds of beetles crawling over him tormenting him even centuries later.
The cavern before him was uncomfortably reminiscent of the beetle colony he'd unwittingly stepped on all those years ago, the paths reaching out in every conceivable direction. He squinted in the dim light, taking note of the large black rectangles that seemed to line both sides of the tunnels.
He shook off the despair that threatened to take hold, refusing to let the enormity of his task deter him. He inched his way along the overhang, hugging the wall in the places where the path narrowed more than was comfortable, relief flooding him as he saw it beginning to widen once more. His brief bout of optimism dimmed as he realized that the path had widened only to split into three, each trail venturing off into a separate tunnel.
Up close, he could see that the black rectangles he'd spotted inside the tunnels below were actually doors - simple black slabs with no handles, each one virtually identical to the others. There was no telling where they led, or how many there even were.
His heart plummeted into his stomach. Gods, was he to search them all?
How long he stood at the crossroads, he couldn't say. Picking the wrong path could land him right back in Hades' grasp, or perhaps lead him so deep inside the Underworld that he had no chance of resurfacing. He was painfully aware of the fact that every moment he hesitated was another moment Emma was left fighting without him.
He clenched his fist, longing for some sign - a smell, a light, a breeze - anything that would give him a clue as to which path was the correct one, but the three tunnels remained indistinguishable.
Footsteps crunching through the gravel behind him startled him from his musings. He went rigid. Had his incompetent guard finally caught up with him? Or was it Hades, alerted to his absence? Either way, he could not afford to wait and find out.
He veered into the tunnel on his left, moving as quickly and quietly as he could. He paused a good fifty yards inside the tunnel, cursing silently as the sound of footsteps continued to resonate behind him. He glanced around, his gaze settling on one of the black doors.
Bloody hell.
With a grimace, he moved to open it, his fingers and hook scraping against the stone as he struggled to pry it free. The door was heavy, but it mercifully opened without a sound, revealing only darkness. He eyed the abyss with no small amount of trepidation, but the echo of the footsteps growing nearer made the decision for him. With a half-though prayer, he darted inside, pulling the slab closed behind him.
He waited, his forehead leaning against the back of the door, but there was no shout of alarm, no quickening footfalls through the tunnel. In fact, it was as if all sound itself had ceased aside from his own heavy breaths.
He had no idea how long he stood there in the darkness, except, he soon realized, he wasn't in darkness at all. The space around him had been growing steadily lighter as he'd been standing there, brighter than any light he'd seen since entering the Underworld. A cool breeze tickled the back of his neck. A familiar chirping noise was growing louder as well, one that sounded almost like... birds?
Puzzled, he turned and found himself standing in the middle of the woods, sunlight streaming down through the breaks in the trees. A canopy of green lay in every direction, pierced only by a well-trodden road to his left that looked to have seen better days.
He frowned, taking a few steps, his boots sinking a bit in the damp dirt of the forest. Had he actually found his way out of the Underworld? Or was this merely a different part of it? Either way, he found it a welcome change from the dank caves he'd seen so far, though there was something strangely familiar about the forest that he could not quite put his finger on.
Cautiously, he wandered toward the path, wishing he had more than his hook to defend himself, but the place seemed rather deserted. There were no sounds aside from the wind rustling the leaves, and the few birds that saw fit to nest in the trees. It felt as though he were the only person around for miles, the woods projecting a strange sort of loneliness.
He reached the road, his boots scuffing the hard-packed dirt as he glanced down either direction. It almost reminded him of the Enchanted Forest, though something was off about it, like a memory niggling at the back of his mind.
"Hook?"
He turned, the familiar voice startling him after so long in silence. He found himself staring at a man clothed in a dirty, well-worn tunic, his arms laden with firewood and a week's worth of stubble on his cheeks. Killian's breath caught, hardly daring to believe his own eyes.
"Neal."
Not sure when the next chapter will be up, but I'll do my best. Thanks for reading!
Author:
batgurl88
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Killian/Emma, Regina/Robin (background), Belle/Gold (background), David/Snow White (background)
Summary: Killian pays the ultimate price for Emma's actions as the Dark One - his life. Now, she and the others must overcome the scars of Camelot to save him, while Killian searches for an escape from the Underworld.
Canon-divergent AU of S5.
A/N: Posting really early this time, as this week is looking to be an absolute nightmare. Thank you to everyone who has read and left feedback on this fic - it really helps me to feel less like I'm posting into the void.
And thank you, as always, to love-with-you-i-have-everything for the beta!
Chapter Four
Davy Jones' entrance was every bit as dramatic the second time around, his ship bursting through the surface of the water amidst a giant whirlpool, a brilliant flash of green blinding everyone on the dock.
They'd cleared the smaller boats out of the way to make room for the ship, Jones' crew casting ropes down to tie off opposite the Jolly Roger at the pier. The Flying Dutchman looked even more massive in Storybrooke's harbour, dwarfing the small fishing boats and dinghies that now occupied the far side of the docks.
The gangplank had dropped the moment the vessel was tied off, though none of the crew had made any move to exit. Instead, the ship sat there, waiting, in a clear demand for its passengers to make their way aboard.
Emma stared up at the large vessel uneasily. She re-settled the gold chest in her arms for the dozenth time, wincing as a particularly ornate ruby scraped her forearm. She couldn't see him from this angle, but she could feel Davy Jones' eyes on her all the same.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Stop it, she admonished, feeling silly. There was no reason to be worried - she'd held up her end of the deal. They'd earned their passage to the Underworld fair and square, and all without having to agree to a place on Jones' crew. Everything would be fine.
Assuming he holds up his end of the deal, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind, sudden uncertainty giving her pause. Once they were onboard, there were no guarantees he would keep his word. Her eyes drifted to the others, occupied with saying their goodbyes. They were all risking their lives, but what if she was wrong to trust Jones? What was to stop him from going back on his promise as soon as they were out at sea, trapped aboard his ship?
You could always make him to keep his word.
Emma stopped cold, her magic roaring beneath her skin. Blood pulsed in her ears, the sound of it not quite loud enough to drown out the faint beating of the heart through the thick walls of the chest. It could work, the voice whispered. The others wouldn't even have to know. If she held Jones' heart, he couldn't betray them - betray her. She'd be in complete control.
'What are you waiting for, Dark One? You know what you have to do.'
Merida's accusing face flashed across her memory, disturbing her train of thought. She'd been so afraid beneath her anger, her bright blue eyes widening fearfully as she'd realized her fate was no longer own.
She'd had control, then, too.
It was ironic, in a way. As furious as Emma had been with Regina for using the dagger to command her, she'd then done the same thing without a second thought. It'd been so addictive, so empowering to know that she held all the cards, that she could see what she wanted and take it as her own. The Darkness had been only too quick to encourage her, assuring her that with its help, she could have anything she desired.
After all, no one could hurt her if she was the one pulling the strings.
No, Emma swore, the memories leaving her cold. She couldn't do to that again, no matter how tempting it was. She was done doing things the easy way.
The very idea of it now filled her with shame, her cheeks burning as she stared at the chest without seeing it. Merida had returned to Camelot before she'd worked up the courage to apologize, the guilt of her actions weighing heavily on her heart.
Emma's mind wandered to Killian and the way he had pleaded with the others to give her a choice, certain that she would make the right one. What would he think of her, if he knew the truth of what she'd felt? Would he be disgusted to know some small part of her had enjoyed having all of that power in her hands?
She suspected she already knew the answer, her insides twisting painfully. It was bad enough she'd been the Dark One - the thing Killian hated most in all the world. But he had made his thoughts about those who sought to control others pretty clear.
It wasn't until more than a month into their relationship that he'd finally begun to share pieces of his childhood with her, confiding his feelings of powerlessness at not being free to direct his own fate. It was a helplessness he'd experienced too often in his long life. More than once, she'd sat up with him in the dark after nightmares tore him from his sleep, listening as he whispered, voice hoarse, about struggling desperately against Rumpelstiltskin's commands. She knew firsthand how weak and hopeless he'd felt, watching someone else use his body as their own.
Despite all of that, he'd repeatedly fought for her right to make her own decisions, still convinced she could be better, even when he'd found her mere seconds away from crushing Merida's heart. He'd put his trust in her, encouraging the others to let her choose the right path on her own.
And how did I repay that trust? she thought bitterly.
Barely five weeks had passed before she'd shoved her hand into Violet's chest, ripping away the last shreds of light within her. Violet had trusted her, too. She'd followed Emma willingly at the mere promise of a way to help Henry, never realizing the danger she was in until it was too late. Even now, with everyone else's memories restored, Violet had no recollection of the incident, simply because Emma had willed it so.
She'd used a little girl as a puppet for her own selfish ends, just as surely as Gold had used Hook.
Maybe he'd been right to doubt her. Was she really all that different from the other people who'd hurt him?
She shook her head, pushing the thought aside. What had happened between them in Camelot didn't matter - all that mattered was setting things right.
She made her way toward the gangplank, the chest heavy in her arms.
A small crowd had gathered at the docks to see them off, most of them huddled a fair distance from the ship. Regina and Robin stood close to one another, too wrapped up in their farewells to pay her any mind. She found herself slowing as she passed, jealousy churning her stomach as she watched them out of the corner of her eye.
Robin reached for Regina's hands, worry creasing his forehead.
"I wish I could go with you."
Regina's reply was uncharacteristically soft, her face free of the hard lines Emma was used to seeing. "As much as I'd love you to come, you were right," she said, swaying toward him slightly. "With Emma and I gone, and Rumpelstiltskin useless, the town is going to be low on heavy-hitters. I don't want to trust the safety of Storybrooke to a bunch of dwarves, especially with my sister still here. Nor am I sure I'd trust your... companions to babysit a toddler for however long we'll be gone."
"...Besides, this is my debt to repay," she said, her discomfort obvious even from a distance. "Hook may not be my favourite person in the world, but if it weren't for him, Henry would be the one trapped in the Underworld."
Robin nodded, moving his hand to her cheek. "Still, the Underworld will be dangerous - even for you. Promise you'll be careful?"
She smiled, leaning into his touch. "I promise. We'll be back before you know it."
"You'd better be," he replied, quirking his lips. "Or I'll be scouring the realms for more missing organs to bargain with Davy Jones for."
Emma turned away as they kissed, feeling strangely numb. She didn't want to begrudge them their happiness, but the display felt like a harsh reminder of everything she'd lost, her heart aching at their casual affection with one another. She shifted the gold chest into the crook of her left arm, her other hand reaching for Killian's ring.
Around her, the others were finishing up their goodbyes, her mother accepting a heartfelt hug from Granny. Even Belle and Gold were having what looked to be a cordial - if somewhat uncomfortable - farewell. Everyone kept their distance from Emma, subtly parting around her as she crossed the dock.
She sped up as she reached the gangplank, having no desire to remain in a crowd of people who were so obviously uneasy around her. The sooner they left, the better.
The crew of the Flying Dutchman parted for her as well as she boarded, though it seemed to be a result of deeply-ingrained submission rather than any fear on their part. Their eyes remained firmly on their various tasks, two young men in dirty, ragged shirts scrubbing the blackened floorboards so furiously that she wondered how they hadn't worn a hole in the wood. She guessed Davy Jones wasn't a big fan of slacking off.
Her eyes drifted to the man in question, finding his dark gaze staring back at her from the helm of the ship.
She climbed the steps to the quarterdeck, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the way he tracked her every move.
"Ye've brought what we bargained for?" he asked, his eyes glued to the treasure in her arms. She tightened her grip.
"It's here," she replied evenly. "I've held up my end, but you're not getting it unless I have your word that you'll follow through."
His eyes narrowed slightly, his broad shoulders rolling back in a move obviously intended to make himself appear larger. She stood her ground, returning his glare.
"All right," he said, his gravelly voice carrying across the deck. "Hand over the heart, and I swear I'll take ye and yers safely to the Underworld and back. But once ye get to the Underworld, yer on yer own, lassie. I'll not cross Hades for the likes of ye."
She studied him for a moment longer, her earlier uncertainty resurfacing, but she knew it was as good a promise as she was likely to get. Wordlessly, she handed him the chest.
He grabbed it with greedy hands, his actions turning almost reverent a moment later. Without a sound, he laid the chest on the stern, unlatching it with steady fingers to reveal the charred heart inside.
The look in his eyes was indiscernible as he lifted the still-beating organ, staring at it briefly before eagerly shoving it against his ribcage.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he opened them, there was a spark there that had been missing before. She was uncomfortably reminded of Killian's face after she'd returned his heart, the fire returning to his gaze so vividly she couldn't believe it'd taken her so long to realize something was wrong.
She gave him a moment to savour it, figuring even undead pirate captains deserved that much, but her patience quickly ran out.
"How long until you can get us there?"
He shut the chest with far less care than he'd opened it, casting her a dismissive glance out of the corner of his eye.
"We'll reach the Underworld in a few days."
"Days?" Emma looked at him sharply. "Can't one of your portals get us there faster?"
Jones gave a deep, harsh laugh. "Portals can only be opened between realms that are alive. The Underworld is a whole different beast. If ye want to get there, ye have to go through the door - the barrier between the land of the living and the land of the dead."
"And where is that?" she asked.
"It moves around," he said, looking out at the sea. "It wouldn't do for its location to be known, after all." He snorted at her derisively. "Too many foolish people trying to get their loved ones back. Hades is the cautious sort."
"But you can find it?"
He fingered a heavy black compass at his belt. "Aye, I can find it."
She quashed a surge of bitter disappointment that threatened to take hold. How many more delays would there be? Killian had been trapped in the Underworld for more than three weeks already, all alone and enduring who knew what. Every second they wasted felt like a further betrayal.
Jones took the helm, signaling a clear end to the conversation. Reluctantly, she descended to the lower deck, finding a place to wait near the railing. The crew was working steadily around her, completely ignoring her presence as they prepared to set sail.
She ran her hand gingerly along the decaying wood of the ship's rail, longing for the smoothly-sanded familiarity of the Jolly Roger. Her shoulders were tight as she turned her attention to the gangplank, the others finally beginning to board.
Her dad held his hand out to her mom as she stepped down onto the deck, their weapons and packs in tow. Henry followed behind them, the practice sword David had bought him for his last birthday strapped to his waist. She and Regina had both protested the gift at the time, but she knew how seriously he'd been taking his lessons. She also couldn't deny he'd be better off having a way to defend himself where they were going.
Henry seemed intent on taking in as much of the ship as he could, his head swiveling in every direction as he watched the crew prepare to cast off. His eyes skittered in her direction only briefly before darting away, a hard look passing over his face. A moment later, he'd made his way to the furthest edge of the lower deck, engrossed in conversation with her parents.
She swallowed, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"Not as much fun from the other side, is it?"
She turned, startled. Regina stood just behind her, her attention focused on a point over Emma's shoulder. Emma followed her gaze back to Henry.
She stiffened, her walls slamming up. Of course. They hadn't talked directly about Camelot since the curse had broken, but she should've expected Regina to get around to gloating eventually. "You must be loving this," she said rigidly.
"As a matter of fact, I'm not," Regina countered. She moved closer, her focus still on Henry. "Contrary to what you may think, I don't enjoy seeing my son heartbroken. Nor do I enjoy seeing my... friend in pain," she said, stumbling over the word as though it was foreign to her.
Her words pacified Emma slightly, the tension slowly dissipating from her shoulders. She looked back at her family, the empty feeling in her gut intensifying. They looked so complete, laughing and smiling at one another, as though it were any other day in Storybrooke.
She could feel Regina's eyes on her, and she struggled to keep her emotions off her face.
"It's not going to be like this forever, you know," Regina said. "Henry's mad right now, but he still loves you. They all do. You just have to give it time."
She huffed, disbelieving. "Since when are you the one giving out the hope speeches?"
Regina's mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "Since I know what it's like to give into your dark impulses and regret the impact it has on the people you love. I know what it's like to let people down."
Emma inhaled sharply, her throat going dry. Her parents were saying something to Belle now, who'd boarded with little fanfare, her hands wrapped around the straps of her knapsack. "I wasn't the only one."
"You're right," Regina allowed diplomatically. "We all screwed up in Camelot - myself included. But playing the blame game won't get us anywhere."
"I'm really not in the mood for a pep talk, Regina," said Emma, crossing her arms. The crew were raising the gangplank, their captain signaling that they'd be setting sail soon.
"Well, that's too bad," she replied, sounding more than a little smug. "I've had to listen to my share of speeches from you and your family over the years. Now it's your turn."
Emma rolled her eyes.
"So, this is payback?" she asked peevishly.
"No, not payback," Regina corrected. "As sanctimonious as those speeches were, I needed to hear them, whether I was willing to admit it at the time or not." She spread her hands, a slightly sarcastic smile on her face. "Consider this me repaying the favour."
"Yeah, well, don't take this the wrong way, but being the Evil Queen isn't really the same thing."
"That's where you're wrong," said Regina. "I may not have been a Dark One, but I have been where you are - wanting to make things better, but not knowing how. If you want my advice..." she trailed off, turning her head toward Emma. "Don't try and force it. You can't fix everything at once, and being impatient about it won't get you anywhere. I certainly made that mistake more than once."
She watched her parents and son talking, Henry pointing out various features of the ship with poorly-concealed excitement, remembering how eagerly he'd recounted the details of his first real sailing trip with Killian. He'd been so proud of himself, Killian assuring him he had the makings of a fine sailor.
Emma shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans, hating how alone the scene made her feel. When had she started letting that get to her?
Before she'd come to Storybrooke, Emma had known better than to rely on others. She'd learned her lesson after too many disappointments, too many promises of home and acceptance yanked away just when she'd begun to believe it could be hers. She'd trained herself not to be bothered by birthdays alone or quiet nights by herself, but Storybrooke had changed all of that. Her family had changed it. Killian had changed it.
She'd let them in against her better judgement, slowly lowering her walls for them bit by bit as she'd allowed herself believe that maybe things would be different this time. Maybe she could be enough.
She'd let herself believe that she was special - that she could be all of the things they told her she was. A hero. A Saviour. Someone who belonged, who made things better.
But in the end, she'd only made things worse. And the moment they'd realized she wasn't the hero they'd wanted, suddenly she hadn't been enough anymore.
Maybe I never was, she thought sourly.
She shivered, the biting sea air going right through her. It'd been a long time since she'd felt so lonely in Storybrooke, but she'd been on her own before and she could do it again.
"It doesn't matter," she said, half to herself. "I don't have time to worry about any of that stuff. All that matters is rescuing Hook."
Regina frowned, decidedly uncomfortable.
"Look," she said hesitantly, "All pessimism aside, you do know there's a chance this won't work, right?"
Emma turned to look out at the water, her face blank.
"It'll work."
The look Regina cast her was far too pitying for her liking.
"I know you feel guilty for what happened to Hook, but-"
"But what?" she interrupted sarcastically. "It's not my fault? I'm not to blame for his death?" Even now, the word seemed to stick in her throat, choking her.
Regina paused, considering. "Okay, it is your fault," she allowed. "You did a stupid thing and he paid the price for it. I certainly know how that feels. And I get that you want to make it better - that you think this quest will fix everything. But you also need to prepare yourself for if it doesn't."
A cool breeze whipped across Emma's face, blowing her hair into her eyes. She wanted to ignore Regina's words, but they cut deeper than she would've liked. What if they didn't succeed? What if she had to go on without Killian, without-
No. She couldn't let herself think about it. One way or another, she was going to fix what she'd broken.
"I need to do this," she said softly, willing her to understand. "I can't give up on him."
Regina nodded somberly. "I get it. He was the same way about you."
Emma glanced at her, Regina raising a well-manicured eyebrow.
"Are you that surprised? The whole time you were the Dark One, he wouldn't stop going on about how we couldn't give up on you. He refused to take no for an answer." She tilted her head. "Say what you will about Hook, but when he sets his mind to something, he's very determined."
Emma's eyes softened at the description. It was true - Killian was almost single-mindedly determined about the things that mattered to him. Anyone who spent two centuries on a quest for revenge would have to have some serious dedication, after all. It made sense that he would apply that same determination to the task she'd set before him - removing the Darkness from her.
The task that got him killed, her brain ruthlessly reminded her.
"Maybe he shouldn't have been," she murmured.
Regina's eyebrow rose even further, taking on a judgmental edge. "Do you think he didn't know what he was getting into? Hook has been chasing the Dark One for centuries - he knew it'd be dangerous. But that didn't stop him from insisting we do everything we could to help you."
Her lips quirked. "Hook and I will probably never be close - there's far too much history between us for that - but I saw what he was like when you were the Dark One. That man would have gladly walked into Hell and back if it meant helping you."
She knew the words were meant as a comfort, but the empty feeling in the pit of Emma's stomach only worsened as she listened, remembering the sickened expression that had crossed Killian's face after her attack on Arthur and his men.
'I loved you.'
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. Any hope she'd had that the memory spell would put things right between them had been ripped away with those three words. Maybe he'd had faith in her to start, but she'd squandered it, taking it for granted that he would always return to her side no matter how poorly she betrayed his trust.
Regina seemed to realize that she was done talking. She gave an awkward attempt at a reassuring smile, her discomfort with the action evident as she left to join the others.
Emma leaned heavily against the rail, feeling splinters bite into her forearms. Behind her, she was vaguely aware of Davy Jones shouting orders to his crew as the ship began to push off from the dock.
She stared out at the water, plagued by the memory of her final moments with Killian at the pond. Had it been faith in his eyes that night as he'd pleaded with her, or was it fear? Disgust at what she'd become? The images were twisted in her mind, warped by the haze of the Darkness.
She toyed with the ring at her neck, wondering whether Killian would be angry with her for taking it. It had felt right at the time - keeping a piece of him with her, a reminder of what she was fighting for - but she wondered now if it had been selfish, as well. To take something precious of Killian's because she thought it might bring her comfort. To believe she had any right to lay claim to it, after everything she'd done.
She dropped the ring, the heavy metal knocking against her sternum. Regina was right about one thing - focusing on blame wouldn't get her anywhere. She couldn't undo what had happened, but she could do what she could to fix things.
One way or another, she'd make things right.
His guard wasn't much for conversation.
Not that Killian minded - he wasn't much in the mood for talk himself. He felt as though he'd been assaulted by a non-stop barrage of threats and surprises from the moment he'd broken into Zelena's cell, hurled from one stunning revelation to the next with hardly a moment to breathe in between. The sudden ringing silence that followed Hades' departure and his dismissal from the judges' chambers left him feeling off-kilter, and with far too much time to get lost in his own thoughts.
Being dead wasn't at all what he'd expected. Centuries of life had given him plenty of time to ruminate on the subject - at times, with a tad more longing than perhaps was healthy. In his more self-indulgent moods, he'd imagined being reunited with those he'd lost - a fate he'd dreaded and ached for in equal measure. In his darker moments, he foresaw an eternity of endless torture and anguish - the only end truly befitting of a villain.
But in all of his contemplation of the afterlife, he had never expected to find it so... lonely. Despite Hades' assurances that all souls journeyed to the Underworld when their time was up, he'd yet to come across any but himself.
It was nothing like his experience of dying in Isaac's storybook. One moment, he'd been alive and fighting, a childish sort of pride filling him at the thought of standing up to the Evil Queen to protect the beautiful maiden he'd met. The next moment, he'd been waking up in the loft, as though no time had passed in between.
He'd wondered after if that nothingness was what real death would be like. The thought had left him cold, the knowledge that he would never see those he cared for again disturbing him far more than he cared to admit. But perhaps it had only been that way because Isaac's story hadn't yet ended when he'd passed. If Emma and Henry had failed in their quest, who was to say he wouldn't have found his way down here all the same.
The Underworld wasn't quite what he'd expected either.
His guard had led him down several nondescript tunnels, each one as plain as the last aside, nothing but dark stone and ashy gravel littering the ground. He made a mental note to mention the lack of distinguishing features to Hades, if he ever saw him again. For a god who so obviously prided himself on the upkeep of the Underworld, he clearly hadn't put much imagination into decorating.
Of course, if all went well, it would be a good long time before he saw Hades again. He doubted the god would be as welcoming the second time around, but it would be worth it if it meant his escape was successful.
He lowered his gaze, kicking a small stone out of his path. He knew he should be concentrating on making said escape a reality, but the judges' words continued to echo in his ears. Having his entire life - every action he'd ever undertaken - laid out in such a cold and precise manner had unnerved him more than he'd expected. Hades hadn't been lying about the methodical nature of the judging, but he hadn't been fully prepared for the experience of having his life weighed and balanced in such an emotionless way, as though his entire existence had been nothing more than a scribble on a page.
Four hundred and fifty years. More than four centuries before he could hope to be reunited with Emma, if he stayed. The thought rocked him back on his heels, but not as much as the knowledge that his original punishment would have been much longer, judging by how far the scale had been tipped.
'A few years of good deeds doesn't erase centuries of bad ones.'
A heavy weight settled in his stomach. He'd known in his heart that he had many actions to atone for, but being surrounded by heroes for so long in Storybrooke had made him forget the harsh truth of who he was. He'd allowed himself to be swayed by their optimism, by their belief that people could change, and in so doing, he'd deluded himself in believing that things could be different. That he could someday be one of them.
He suppressed a sneer at the thought. He knew better - villains didn't get happy endings. He'd been fooling himself, thinking that he could ever really change who he was. That there would ever be a time when his past would be anything other than a constant weight around his neck. Even now, he wondered what defense he would have given, had the judges allowed him to speak. What defense could there be for centuries of evil deeds?
Killian shook his head, cursing his self-pity for distracting him from his task. Emma had many more good deeds in her column than he did, but being the Dark One would take its toll. How long until the bad deeds outweighed the good for her as well?
He'd come by his punishment fairly after a lifetime of darkness, but Emma had not. He refused to allow the same fate to befall her.
He'd made her a promise and he intended to keep it.
He raised his eyes, surreptitiously observing his guard, whose attention was squarely focused on the path ahead of them. He had to wonder about the intelligence of those in Hades' employ that the creature hadn't so much as glanced back in his direction the entire time they'd been walking.
True, there hadn't exactly been a wealth of opportunities for escape thus far, but it wouldn't hurt for the guard to at least entertain the suspicion that he might be planning to make a run for it. He was vividly reminded of the black guards at Regina's castle, barely a brain between them for all that they seemed to be in endless supply.
Never curse the stupidity of others when you can use it to your advantage.
Of course, making his escape would still require a fair bit of stealth, negligent guard or not. And there was still the fact that he had no exit plan to speak of.
Well, are you a pirate, or aren't you? he scoffed inwardly. Centuries of misdeeds may have earned him his fate, but they had also given him plenty of experience at escaping tight spots.
He kept his steps even so as not to give his plan away, eyeing an upcoming divergence in the tunnel that appeared to veer off from their current path. He still had no idea what manner of beast his guard was, but with any luck its bowed legs would be as slow as they looked.
The fork in the path was fast approaching, and he braced himself, preparing to run.
Death would have to wait for another day.
Emma inhaled deeply, the refreshing sea breeze a welcome change from the dank air below deck.
The Flying Dutchman had surfaced somewhere near the land of Andelasia, according to its captain, the waterside kingdom watching over them as they sailed past from a distance.
She'd been disappointed to learn that locating the doorway to the land of the dead was a complicated process that could involve several portals between realms, punctuated by long periods at sea. Jones apparently hadn't been kidding when he said Hades was cautious about intruders. As frustrated as she was by the delay, she was grateful for the opportunity to stretch her legs.
She walked the length of the deck, avoiding the boards that looked most at risk of crumbling beneath her feet. She was doing her best to enjoy the sun while it lasted - something told her the Underworld would be short on blue skies and sunshine - but it still felt strange being aboard a pirate ship without Hook.
Her attention caught on a young sailor on his hands and knees, his chapped hands scrubbing a dirty brush back and forth across the deck. A matted, blond ponytail hung over one shoulder, the hair occasionally getting caught in the brush, though he never paused his actions for even a second, an air of hopeless determination to his movements. He kept his focus squarely on his task, a defeated hunch to his shoulders that screamed of someone conditioned to being treated like nothing. Her eyes softened as she watched him, thinking back on the stories Killian had shared of his childhood.
The sailor seemed oblivious to her presence, flinching a little any time someone got too close. Her mind conjured an image of a younger Killian in a similar state, resigned to being pushed around and ignored. Used to having no one in the world who cared about him, apart from his brother.
The thought made her insides twist, and she turned away, spotting Belle perched on a barrel nearby. Her nose was buried deep in a black leather book, its cover bearing the words The Underworld: Myth or Legend. She considered leaving before she was noticed, but Belle looked up and met her eyes with a smile, setting her book down in a clear invitation.
She pasted an awkward smile on her face in return, making her way over. She wracked her brain for something to say, painfully aware that their last one-on-one conversation had consisted of her threatening the other woman's life. Her eyes dropped briefly to the book that now lay on top of the barrel, Belle stiffening unexpectedly as she followed her gaze.
"I only brought a few books with me," she defended. "I wasn't sure what all we would need, but I knew having too many to carry would only slow us down."
Emma blinked at her tone, having apparently struck a nerve without realizing it. Great. Nothing like ticking off the one person who wasn't treating her like she had the plague.
She nodded vaguely, unsure how else to respond, distant laughter drawing her attention. She turned, spotting Regina, Mary Margaret, and Henry on the far side of the deck, the latter pointing out something on land nearby.
"They'll come around, you know."
Emma glanced back, embarrassed to have been caught staring. She shook her head, feigning ignorance.
"Who?"
The corners of Belle's mouth tilted upward softly.
"Your family," she said, blatantly ignoring Emma's attempt at deflection. "It may take some work, but they'll forgive you eventually."
This was so not the conversation she wanted to be having right now. Hope speeches were one thing coming from Regina, but she and Belle hardly even knew each other. Then, there was the added bonus that that she'd terrorized the woman and repeatedly threatened to kill her if her husband didn't do what she wanted him to. Emma shoved her hands into her pockets, wiping her emotions off her face.
"Yeah, I guess," she said, eager to drop the subject. She frowned, a niggling thought re-occurring to her. "Shouldn't you be pissed at me, too?"
It was a question that had been bothering her ever since Belle had showed up at her parents' loft with an armful of books, eager to help. She'd kidnapped her and her husband, sending Merida to hunt her down in her efforts to force Gold to act, but Belle had blown past it all like it was nothing, even going so far so to offer her condolences. How was it possible that she was okay with what had happened when the rest of Storybrooke so clearly wasn't?
Belle's expression softened. "I know it wasn't you. Not really. Rumple's told me what he was like in the months after he first became the Dark One - how it played with his mind, warped his ability to tell right from wrong. It doesn't excuse the things he did - particularly once he had better control over the Darkness - but I think the context is important. I know you regret what you did, and that you'd undo it if you could. That's enough for me."
Emma raised her eyebrows, taken aback. Her actions as the Dark One had been hanging over her head like a particularly determined storm cloud since the second the curse broke, tainting her every interaction and never giving her a moment's peace. After all of her agonizing over what she'd done, the idea that anyone would forgive her so easily, that they could go so far as to consider giving her the benefit of the doubt, was completely foreign to her. Something remarkably like relief washed over her, followed swiftly by guilt.
"Well... For what it's worth, I'm still sorry," she said awkwardly, her cheeks heating as she remembered the naked fear on Belle's face when Merida had aimed an arrow at her chest. Maybe Belle believed the Darkness was to blame, but she was the one who'd given into it.
Belle nodded. "I know. Thank you for saying it."
Despite her best efforts, Emma's eyes slid back to her family across the deck. How was it that Belle could find it within herself to forgive her when they couldn't?
"Don't be too hard on them," Belle said, following her gaze. "I think it's easier for me - I've seen better than anyone what being the Dark One does to a person. They'll get there eventually - they just have to sort through it all first."
"Yeah? Was it that easy for you and Gold?"
She winced, wishing she could take the words back as Belle ducked her head, her hands twisting in her lap.
Way to go, she berated herself, remembering the pair's stiff farewell at the docks. Alienate the first person to talk to you normally by bringing up their marriage problems.
"Sorry," she blurted out. "That's none of my business."
Belle gave a weak smile. "No, it's- it's fine."
She looked back up at Emma, her eyes a touch sadder than before. "It's different with Rumple and me. It wasn't just the things he did - it was that he kept choosing the power over me, even when there was another way. There's a lot of broken trust between us, and I'm not sure we'll be able to rebuild it."
Emma shifted uncomfortably, wondering suddenly whether she was the first person Belle had been able to confide this in. "I'm sorry," she offered again feebly, at a loss for what else to say. She was hardly a relationship expert, herself.
"It's okay," Belle dismissed. "We've got a lot of work to do, but I still want to believe that things can be better between us. I'll always love him, but he needs to learn who he is without magic, and I-" she faltered, her smile a tad more tremulous. "I need to learn who I am without him."
"Is that why you wanted to come along?" she asked, taking a seat on the barrel next to her. She'd been wondering what would motivate someone more used to research than to rescue missions to volunteer for a trip like this. A rocky marriage was as good a reason as any, she guessed.
Belle shrugged, leaning forward to brace her hands against the edge of the barrel. "In part," she admitted. "The truth is, I'm here for the same reason as you - to help Killian. He worked for so long to find his happy ending. I think he should get a chance to experience it."
Whatever answer she'd been expecting, that hadn't been it. She knew that the two of them had been spending more time together, but she'd figured it had been more a result of mutually-aligned goals than anything else. It had been less than two years since Hook had tried to kill Belle, after all, and while Emma knew he regretted it deeply, she hadn't really expected her to have moved past it enough to concern herself with ensuring his happiness.
Some of her surprise must have shown on her face, Belle giving a rueful laugh.
"I know it seems like there should still be a lot of bad blood between us, but we've actually gotten to know each other a lot better over the last few months, between the fairies, and Camelot, and everything that happened after. I think he needed a friend to talk to, someone who'd been where he was. And, well," she gave a lopsided smile, "I needed one, too."
A heavy weight settled itself in Emma's stomach. She knew Belle hadn't meant anything by it, but the painful reminder of how much strain Killian had been under because of her stung all the same.
Memories of the weeks following Camelot began to resurface, of the way his face had grown gaunter and more lined with worry each time she'd seen him. She'd known the situation was getting to him, but at the time it had been less important than fulfilling her plan. Everything had been.
Emma studied the decaying floorboards of the deck, lost in thought. A part of her wanted to know if Belle could ever forgive Gold for what he'd done, but she knew she had no right to ask. A larger part of her wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.
Belle smiled reassuringly, mistaking her silence for grief instead of guilt.
"He was really worried about you, you know," she said. "He'd be so proud of you for breaking the curse. And I'm sure he misses you, too."
Does he really? she wondered. Or was he glad to be away from her, after everything she'd done? Would he come back to Storybrooke only to leave again, too angry to stay in the same town as her?
Her eyes stung, her heart lurching painfully in her chest. If he did leave, she'd let him, she swore, even though the very thought of it made her sick inside. He deserved to have that choice, the one she'd wanted to take from him - from all of them.
She turned her attention back to Belle, grateful Killian had had at least one person to talk to. On some level, she'd always suspected he still felt like something of an outsider in Storybrooke, but it was only in analyzing his actions in the weeks following Camelot that she'd come to realize how small the circle of people he trusted really was.
Before the curse, she had always been the person he went to first, the one he'd relied on and gravitated towards. With her gone, the others had still had each other to rely on. But instead of sticking close to them, Killian had kept his distance, filling his days with research and solitude. She was ashamed it had taken her so long to recognize his loneliness for what it was.
She pushed the unhelpful thought away, meeting Belle's concerned eyes.
"I'm glad you decided to come," she said, sidestepping her last comment. "Something tells me we'll need all the help we can get."
"Well, I'll admit, I also came along for the adventure," said Belle, gracefully moving them away from heavier topics, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. "I always believed I'd be spending more of my life doing the things I'd read about, but things haven't really worked out the way I thought they would. I want to start changing that."
Emma hummed absently, remembering the silent standoff between Gold and Belle at the diner. It occurred to her suddenly that she'd hardly ever seen Belle without Gold when he was still the Dark One, save those rare occasions when he'd been away from Storybrooke.
Now, she had the air of a woman starting her life over, finding her independence after years of focusing on the man she loved. She wondered again if she and Gold would work things out in the end, or whether Belle would decide she'd had enough of putting her own wants and needs second.
Her thoughts turned to Killian, always standing by her side, ready to follow her lead no matter what it cost him. Emma's stomach churned, the comparison making her uneasy.
It's not the same thing, she assured herself, her fingers toying anxiously with the heavy ring hanging from her neck. She leaned back against the ship's rail, staring at the landmass they were passing without really seeing it.
It was a bit ironic, she thought numbly, that all her time as the Dark One hadn't made her a better liar.
He was lost.
It burned his pride to admit it, but he had been wandering for ages and he had no bloody clue where he was.
He'd spent years sharpening his navigational skills, until he was able to steer his way through even the darkest and most confusing locales. He had many talents honed from his time as a pirate intent on finding the things that others didn't want found, and one of them was an uncanny ability to find his bearings in any realm. But the Underworld, it seemed, was something else altogether.
He'd tried everything he could think of to retrace his steps, every trick he knew for locating an exit, but there were no breezes he could follow, no sliver of light that would suggest escape was nearby. There were few, if any, features to distinguish one cavern from the next, but he couldn't shake the suspicion that he was wandering further into the Underworld's depths, rather than out of them.
He and Milah had once broken into a palace where the corridors and staircases changed destination with some frequency, a clever enchantment intended to protect the Sultan's riches from thieves such as themselves. Men had been known to wander within its walls for weeks without finding their way free, let alone happening upon the treasure they sought.
At the time, he and Milah had had a bit of stolen magic on their side - a gem that could help them predict the chaos of the moving corridors and identify the path to the gold they'd been hunting for. Now, he had nothing to guide him - no gems, or locator spells, or even a magic compass to help him on his way. He was well and truly on his own.
His thoughts returned, as the often did, to Emma, wishing he had some way of knowing how she fared. It was impossible to guess how much time had passed since he'd arrived, but surely the battle had ended by now. Had Emma succeeded in her quest, taking Merlin's power for herself? Or had the others managed to hold her off?
He felt a sudden stab of fear for Belle, already missing before his death. He should have asked after her fate when he'd had the chance, but surely Hades would have mentioned if she were down here as well? He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea that Emma might have actually hurt her, but he wished he had some assurance.
The uncertainty made him nauseous, discouragement slowing his steps. For all he knew, he was already too late. How much time had he wasted already, wandering aimlessly through the afterlife? Some bloody great pirate he'd turned out to be, defeated by a tunnel.
At least Emma's family was still with her, her friends. She had others to carry on the fight against the Darkness without him, but Killian couldn't help feeling as though he'd abandoned her. He'd let her down, just like every man she'd cared about before him - leaving her when she'd needed him the most.
His restored memories continued to plague him, the pictures that filled in the gaps between the Emma he'd known and the Emma she'd become haunting his every step. He'd been prepared for the heartache they had brought - there was no other emotion that could more strongly accompany watching the woman he loved succumb to a demon inside her head. But the shame of his own actions had caught him off-guard.
They'd all let Merlin fan their fears of the Dark One, let him turn their heads with talk of prophecy. He'd listened quietly as the others had debated, argued, fought, questioned - his mind overwrought with the memory of Emma standing over Arthur like a vengeful demon, of the way she'd revelled in her power.
It had reminded him more of the Crocodile than he'd wanted to admit.
In that instant, he'd allowed himself to doubt - even for a moment. Not that she was strong enough, or good enough, to defeat the Darkness, but that there was any point in even trying. Perhaps no one could conquer the Darkness, in the end.
For centuries, he'd suppressed the memory of a small, frail, soft-spoken Rumpelstiltskin clambering aboard his ship to meekly ask for his wife's safe return. At the time, his weakness had disgusted Killian, his impression of the man already coloured by Milah's stories of his cowardice. It had meant nothing to him to send the man on his way, humiliating him in front of his crew for good measure, for any man who truly loved a woman would have stood and fought for her.
He had drowned out the small voice inside him - the one that sounded too much like Liam, even after all of these years - that said there was no honour in bullying a man who was smaller and weaker than him. That just because Killian had more power than the spinner didn't give him the right to abuse it - to taunt him with it.
The next time he'd seen Rumpelstiltskin's face, the tables had turned. This time, it was the Dark One who'd held all the power, and he had delighted in exploiting it just as thoroughly as Killian once had. There'd been no hint of remorse in those beady eyes as he'd used his magic to toy with him, vanishing before Killian's rusty sword could land even a glancing blow. He'd been positively gleeful as he'd torn Milah's heart from her chest, crushing it in spite of Killian's protests.
He'd found power at long last, and he loved it.
Ever since Emma had taken hold of the dagger, he'd found himself wondering about the difference between those two men: Rumpelstiltskin and the Dark One. For too long, he'd let himself forget the first one in the wake of the second, convinced himself that they were always one in the same. But the more he thought on it - the more he remembered the stories Baelfire had confided of the time before the dagger - the more he knew things were not that simple.
Rumpelstiltskin the spinner was not a perfect man, but he had loved his son, and he'd tried to do his best for his family, in his own flawed way. But becoming the Dark One had done more than bring his worst qualities to the surface. The Darkness had preyed on his thirst for power, his desire to be the strongest, to fight for what he wanted and win. It had found all of his weak points and hammered at them until he'd cracked, until he'd become almost unrecognizable as the man he'd been before.
His boots scuffed along the gravel as he walked, the noise echoing off the cavernous walls. The path was narrowing ahead of him, and his eyes widened as he found himself standing on the edge of an overhang, staring out into the darkness at a veritable maze of pathways and bridges. They seemed to go on forever, stretching in every direction from above and below him, connecting a labyrinth of tunnels that littered the walls of the cave.
He'd once travelled to a land that hosted a breed of particularly deadly black beetles, the creatures nearly as large as his fist. The locals had warned him to stay clear of the wide-open spaces outside of the village, where the beetles' tunneling had made the ground unsteady, but he'd ignored their advice, consumed as he was at the time with his quest for a particularly rare lamp that he believed would help him defeat the Dark One.
With one wrong step, he'd found the ground beneath his feet giving way, sending him plummeting into a massive cavern of twisting paths and tunnels. Every surface had been crawling with the insects, their shiny black shells glimmering in the dim light of the hole he'd made overhead. It had taken some very ingenious maneuvering on his part to escape the subterranean dwelling unscathed. He still woke some nights scratching at his skin, the sensation of hundreds of beetles crawling over him tormenting him even centuries later.
The cavern before him was uncomfortably reminiscent of the beetle colony he'd unwittingly stepped on all those years ago, the paths reaching out in every conceivable direction. He squinted in the dim light, taking note of the large black rectangles that seemed to line both sides of the tunnels.
He shook off the despair that threatened to take hold, refusing to let the enormity of his task deter him. He inched his way along the overhang, hugging the wall in the places where the path narrowed more than was comfortable, relief flooding him as he saw it beginning to widen once more. His brief bout of optimism dimmed as he realized that the path had widened only to split into three, each trail venturing off into a separate tunnel.
Up close, he could see that the black rectangles he'd spotted inside the tunnels below were actually doors - simple black slabs with no handles, each one virtually identical to the others. There was no telling where they led, or how many there even were.
His heart plummeted into his stomach. Gods, was he to search them all?
How long he stood at the crossroads, he couldn't say. Picking the wrong path could land him right back in Hades' grasp, or perhaps lead him so deep inside the Underworld that he had no chance of resurfacing. He was painfully aware of the fact that every moment he hesitated was another moment Emma was left fighting without him.
He clenched his fist, longing for some sign - a smell, a light, a breeze - anything that would give him a clue as to which path was the correct one, but the three tunnels remained indistinguishable.
Footsteps crunching through the gravel behind him startled him from his musings. He went rigid. Had his incompetent guard finally caught up with him? Or was it Hades, alerted to his absence? Either way, he could not afford to wait and find out.
He veered into the tunnel on his left, moving as quickly and quietly as he could. He paused a good fifty yards inside the tunnel, cursing silently as the sound of footsteps continued to resonate behind him. He glanced around, his gaze settling on one of the black doors.
Bloody hell.
With a grimace, he moved to open it, his fingers and hook scraping against the stone as he struggled to pry it free. The door was heavy, but it mercifully opened without a sound, revealing only darkness. He eyed the abyss with no small amount of trepidation, but the echo of the footsteps growing nearer made the decision for him. With a half-though prayer, he darted inside, pulling the slab closed behind him.
He waited, his forehead leaning against the back of the door, but there was no shout of alarm, no quickening footfalls through the tunnel. In fact, it was as if all sound itself had ceased aside from his own heavy breaths.
He had no idea how long he stood there in the darkness, except, he soon realized, he wasn't in darkness at all. The space around him had been growing steadily lighter as he'd been standing there, brighter than any light he'd seen since entering the Underworld. A cool breeze tickled the back of his neck. A familiar chirping noise was growing louder as well, one that sounded almost like... birds?
Puzzled, he turned and found himself standing in the middle of the woods, sunlight streaming down through the breaks in the trees. A canopy of green lay in every direction, pierced only by a well-trodden road to his left that looked to have seen better days.
He frowned, taking a few steps, his boots sinking a bit in the damp dirt of the forest. Had he actually found his way out of the Underworld? Or was this merely a different part of it? Either way, he found it a welcome change from the dank caves he'd seen so far, though there was something strangely familiar about the forest that he could not quite put his finger on.
Cautiously, he wandered toward the path, wishing he had more than his hook to defend himself, but the place seemed rather deserted. There were no sounds aside from the wind rustling the leaves, and the few birds that saw fit to nest in the trees. It felt as though he were the only person around for miles, the woods projecting a strange sort of loneliness.
He reached the road, his boots scuffing the hard-packed dirt as he glanced down either direction. It almost reminded him of the Enchanted Forest, though something was off about it, like a memory niggling at the back of his mind.
"Hook?"
He turned, the familiar voice startling him after so long in silence. He found himself staring at a man clothed in a dirty, well-worn tunic, his arms laden with firewood and a week's worth of stubble on his cheeks. Killian's breath caught, hardly daring to believe his own eyes.
"Neal."
Not sure when the next chapter will be up, but I'll do my best. Thanks for reading!