THEN
(i need you so much closer)

"I love you."

Killian is cold when she says it for the first time. His fingers icy when she slips her hand into his, the metal of his hook covered in a thin sheen of frost, both their breath puffing misty white into the air before them.

She doesn't know how long he's been standing out at the docks, but winter is approaching with force by now. It rained earlier, and then snowed, and everything has that sharp, crisp smell of cold, undercut by the lingering salt of brine that she has come to associate with him.

He spends a lot of time standing here, staring out at the water as though it holds something he needs–

and sometimes he wakes in the night with a start, grasping at the sheets and the side of the bed like he thinks he is about to fall–

and he has admitted, between sleepy morning kisses and burnt pancakes and cinnamon-laced cocoa that he sleeps better on the water, with the rock of waves under him–

and she knows, even as he makes every effort not to talk about it, that the absence of the Jolly Roger cuts deeper than he ever shows.

It is the first time she has said it, and when he turns to look at her she can see the empty expanse of the bay reflected in his eyes, and his lips – red and chapped from the cold – quirk into a half-smile.

It is the first time she has said it because even after their kiss and everything that happened after it still felt like such a huge step – like then it would all become real, and once it became real there was the potential for it to break, to end, for everything to go horribly wrong – but now he's out here on the docks again, and it feels right, and it feels like maybe the words will fill the emptiness in his eyes, or even, somehow, the conspicuous lack of tall masts and billowing sails out on the water.

"I know," he replies, squeezing her hand, and she smiles back at him, and huddles closer into his side as the wind creeps under the collar of her jacket, sending a chill down her back.

They were okay, back then.

.

NOW

.

A cold shiver runs through Emma as she pulls open the door of Granny's diner, the instant warmth of the heated interior engulfing her like an embrace.

It's cold outside – stupidly cold. And yeah, it's winter, but the weather had been mild up until a few hours ago when it abruptly began to snow, the temperature deteriorating since then until now, at barely five o'clock, it's almost dark as night, black clouds rolling in and freezing rains sweeping the streets.

She's glad to get in from the cold.

She is somewhat less glad when her eyes fall on Killian, sitting in a booth halfway across the room, and she freezes where she stands.

Let's stay friends is a lie. It is the biggest damn lie ever told.

He glances up, makes eye contact, and gives her a smile of greeting. She smiles back, and it's funny because the motion still feels awkward, almost forced, but at the same time routine. They have been smiling at each other across rooms for a month now and it never fails to make that same, dull ache spread through her stomach. Something almost like fear or nerves, something that makes her unsure quite what to do with her hands.

It can never be the same again.

"Emma!" David shouts, and the moment is broken as she turns towards her family, sitting at another table nearby. Henry grins and waves at her, mouth full, while Mary Margaret smiles from where she is nursing baby Neal, arms tucked around him lovingly.

Emma waves back at them, moving over to the counter to order her food. She can't quite help the way her eyes drift back across the room. Her family at one table, Killian at another. Not ignoring each other – nothing even closeto that, because as she watches David leans back in his chair to call something across to the pirate, and Henry looks up, listening in on their conversation.

But the fact still remains that Killian is sitting over there – Tinker Bell on one side of him, Jefferson opposite (and that had been a surprise, turns out they knew each other "back in the day", whatever that means) – and he's wearing clothes that she doesn't recognise.

It had taken her two weeks to convince him to get rid of the pirate leathers, mostly because it was getting far too cold for him to be going out with half his chest on display (a problem that would have been easily solved by his just doing up some buttons for once, but apparently the mere concept affronted him) – that had been an experience.

Now he's got a scarf wrapped around his neck that she certainly didn't buy him, his hair slightly messed up and flattened from where he must have been wearing a beanie against the brisk chill outdoors – and it's that, more than anything, that gets to her for some reason. The thought of him going out and doing something as mundane as buying clothes without her.

It's stupid.

It's just, it was one of the first things they did together – and she still remembers every detail of it, the way he looked in the twenty different shirts she made him try on. The drama surrounding the skinny jeans.

The way he laughed, head thrown back, teeth flashing, sheerly happy for one of the first times she'd ever seen him, hands tangled in her hair when he kissed her in the changing rooms of the store, the way she giggled against his lips –

"It's killing me," Ruby says grimly as she slides a plate across the counter.

"What?" Emma replies, half-distracted, and Ruby gives a put-upon sigh, leaning forward on her elbows, gaze trained in Killian's direction.

"The two of you."

"What about us?" Emma asks, a little sharply as she straightens up, and Ruby raises an eyebrow.

"Really, Emma? He's right there. Go talk to him, fix things."

Fix things. A wry smile twitches at her mouth. It's somehow funny and sad at the same time. Not that simple.

"There's nothing to fix," she replies firmly. She reaches for her plate, but Ruby's still holding onto it, leaning forward again with an intense, almost pleading look.

"Emma-"

"I mean it," Emma repeats, "There's nothing to fix. We were together, it didn't work out, maybe I wasn't ready, maybe he wasn't – it's fine. We're both fine. We're still friends, it's all cool."

"Is it?" Ruby questions.

"Yes," Emma says, and Ruby just shakes her head as she lets the plate go, hard enough that a bit of sauce spills over the edge.

Emma bites her lip as she moves to sit down next to David. Irritation at Ruby rises up vaguely, but she can't quite bring herself to be properly angry – she knows the other woman is confused, more than anything else. It's nothing new.

Everyone had been confused. Ruby, Granny, David, Mary Margaret. Even Regina.

And Emma.

And Killian.

She can't help looking back over at him, though, and he's looking back – doesn't quite glance away fast enough – he's not smiling, this time. He looks tired the way she felt tired in Neverland, in the moments when they were just on the brink of getting Henry back but not quite there, the way she felt tired the first time her parents stared at her with vacant eyes after they fell into the past. Tired like he just wants to go home–

(and she's seen herself in the mirror, she looks tired too) –

David has noticed them staring at each other; Jefferson too, and they both open their mouths like they're about to say something when suddenly the door to the diner is flung open with enough force that it rebounds off the wall.

Emma spins around, hand going to her gun, but it's Regina who stumbles in. She looks semi-pissed off but mostly just worried. Her hair is wet, flakes of snow settled on the shoulders of her coat, and she is shaking like a leaf. Shivering, Emma realises, and a quick glance out of the window reveals that the snow is coming down heavy now, swirling about in flurries in the wind, the sky pitch black.

"We have a problem," Regina says grimly, striding towards Emma's table and slamming her hands down on it.

The diner has gone silent, all attention trained on the Queen. Killian and the others have risen and moved up towards Emma's table. She is suddenly acutely aware of his presence, standing just behind her, but keeps her attention trained on Regina.

"What is it, what's going on?"

"We have a big problem," Regina repeats, and points out the window. "It's Elsa."

.

THEN

.

"Emma? Calm down, it's fine."

"It's not fine," and she's trembling, still trying to register exactly what just happened. She can't keep her eyes off Marian and Robin, the way they are embracing each other, Roland between them – and she can't feel bad about it, shouldn't feel bad, not when a child has his mother again, not when a husband has his wife back – but the way Regina looked.

"It's not fine," she repeats, and turns to Killian. He grasps her by the arm, his grip warm and firm, his eyes intense where they stare into hers. A steady, reassuring presence. "It's not fine. I need to go talk to her."

"Lass," he says then, and she tries to pull away but he doesn't let her. "Emma, you're the last person she probably wants to see right now, believe me."

"We can't just leave her-"

"Send Henry," Killian says, and his voice calms and settles something in Emma. She begins to think rationally.

Henry is already halfway out of his seat, glancing at Emma expectantly, and she gives him a small nod. David and Mary Margaret look like they want to come over and talk to her, but she doesn't quite think she can deal with that right now, and turns away, arms wrapped around herself. They don't follow her.

Killian does. His arm is still around her back, and he leads her over to a seat and wordlessly passes her his ever present flask of rum.

She scoffs out a laugh. "Your solution to every problem?"

"You should know by now that it works." There's a smile in his voice, and his hand rubs soothing circles on her back. Slowly she feels herself begin to relax. The alcohol may or may not also have something to do with that.

She lets out a heavy sigh, thuds her head forward onto the table. "I've made a fine mess of things."

"You haven't," he says, "Don't ever be sorry for saving a life."

"You told me not to. You warned me."

"I was wrong. I mean it, I was wrong."

There's a moment of silence, her head still lowered, huffing out breaths against her folded arms, when she feels a light pressure on the back of her head as he places a kiss against her hair. It's hesitant, and he pulls back instantly when she doesn't react, so she sits up. Smile at him and laces her fingers in his. Lets him lean forward and kiss her again, on the forehead this time.

"It's fine," he repeats, and this time she almost believes him.

It is fine, as it turns out, or close to it, and the consequences of her decision play out amongst firsts.

Marian is not all they brought back. There is Elsa. Elsa who stumbles into town, shivering and terrified, unable to remember anything except for her name, uncontrollable blasts of ice shooting from her fingertips. Regina is the one who runs into her first, manages to knock her out and bring her in, and that is what gives Emma the idea.

Because Regina was the one who taught her to use magic, and she could see the pride in the others' eyes when she finally managed to control it. Regina needs purpose now, more than anything – and Emma knows that from experience – and by convincing her into the role of mentor for the young girl who has apparently been trapped in a pot for the last however-many years, it gives her something to do. Something to strive towards.

It's not easy – Elsa spends half her time hysterical and the other half closed off in a way that makes Emma's heart ache – she didn't want her powers at first either – but they work through it, and while Regina is far from okay, between Elsa and Henry she doesn't slip back into old habits, and she even starts to smile again.

Emma smiles a lot lately.

Everything is easy with Killian. The casual touches – a pat on the shoulder, his arm around her waist or her head resting on his shoulder – come as naturally as though she's been doing them her whole life. Everything is simple, comfortable.

Some things take time. The first I love you, the first time they make love, but it doesn't feel like a waiting game. It feels like everything has fallen into place and this is what she has always been waiting for.

The first morning after, she wakes up disoriented. It's horribly brisk out in this season but she's warm because there's a body pressed against her back, an arm tucked tight around her, and when she rolls over and sees him lying there it all comes flooding back and she just feels blissful.

He's still asleep, all the lines of stress and exhaustion and the 300 years in Neverland that seem to constantly bear down on him smoothed away, and she traces a hand across his face, over the scar high on his cheek, and can't quite believe that this is hers. Hers, and for once something that she doesn't need to grasp on tightly and be afraid that someone is going to snatch it away from her.

(Tallahassee, a voice whispers somewhere in the back of her mind, and it makes her smile.)

There are a lot of firsts purely due to the fact that Killian is new to this world. Stupid, little things like first ice cream and first movie night, and every one of them Emma tucks away in her mind, building new memories, real memories this time.

Their first snowball fight, which takes place out in the park in the centre of town, with Regina and Henry and a cluster of Storybrooke's children and their parents. Elsa is there, too, under Regina's supervision experimenting with her powers, snow being much safer than ice (and they are strong powers, Emma notices, filing this away for later contemplation, because Elsa can do so much and control it so little and much as she likes and pities the girl, there is the potential there for danger).

Regina is laughing for once, furiously pelting Henry from behind a fort of snow blocks and ignoring his gasped out cries that using magic to deflect the snowballs is cheating.

That's when Robin walks past, Marian too, as Roland notices the game and shouts that he wants to join in, running towards the fray before his parents can stop him.

Emma sees the moment that Regina notices them and freezes up. A snowball hits the Queen in the side of the head, courtesy of Henry, but she barely flinches, her gaze fixed on Robin, who in turn stares back like a stunned mullet.

Emma's heart aches. She doesn't know what's going on there – doesn't know Robin half well enough to pry into his business – but she can see the pain in Regina's eyes and the way a wall shutters down the same way Emma has always had walls up – even against David and Mary Margaret, even when they were trying their hardest but she still couldn't quite help but remember the pain of each and every foster home.

It isn't until she sees the same thing on someone else's face that she realises just how thoroughly gone hers are.

"Swan?" Killian asks in her ear, softly, and follows her gaze. She hears him draw a short breath. "Damn."

"It sucks. I wish I could do something about it but it's not my place to interfere. And I... I can't wish Marian dead, not after seeing what happened."

"Never thought I'd be one to feel sorry for the Evil Queen, but there you have it," Killian murmurs. "You're right, though, love, about Marian."

They stand there watching a moment longer. Roland is running about screaming and dodging the (rather more gently thrown) snowballs of the others, Regina observing with a wistful look.

Then there's suddenly cold snow sliding down Emma's back, under her thick jacket, and she screeches and jumps, spinning around, flailing wildly to get it out as Killian breaks down in a fit of laughter.

"You bas-" she remembers the presence of the kids and quickly censors herself. "uh, bad... pirate!"

"Gods," Killian wheezes, still doubled over laughing as Emma shivers and shakes and slaps at her parka trying to dislodge the snow. "Your face!"

"I'm going to get you for that. Henry, get him for that!" she hollers, and suddenly there is an entire hoard of little children chasing after Killian as the smile drops off his face and he starts running. Emma jogs after him and throws a few half-hearted snowballs before leaving the kids to it and turning back to Regina. Robin and Marian have moved on, following Roland across the park, and Regina is standing nearby with Elsa, who knows little of the Robin situation and is lingering awkwardly, seeming unsure what to do or say.

"You okay?" Emma asks, bluntly, and Regina meets her eyes and nods.

For whatever reason – maybe because she's been in the spirit of goodwill lately, maybe because prolonged exposure to Mary Margaret has damaged not only her cynicism but her brain to mouth filter – she finds herself stupidly, stupidly blurting out, "Love – romantic love – isn't everything, you know."

Regina raises an eyebrow coolly and Emma immediately regrets saying anything.

"That is a lovely platitude, Miss Swan," she says – and to Emma's relief, she doesn't sound annoyed. Just tired. "But it's a little rich coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She should know better than to get defensive, she knows, but Regina has a way of getting under her skin, even now.

Regina just rolls her eyes. "The whole town can see it. You're in honeymoon phase with your dear pirate." There's no malice in the worlds, just that same mocking exasperation. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Emma repeats. Something is off about the way Regina says it, like there are dark clouds on the horizon – and she hates that, hates it, hates the feeling of dread it stirs up in her stomach before she can stop it, because this should be it, this should be the happy ending we deserve, haven't we been through enough pain?

"All I'm saying," Regina says, "Is that Robin and I are not the only ones who have ghosts that can come back to haunt us."

It's the fact that she sounds serious – grave – almost concerned that sets Emma on edge, makes her bite her lip even as Regina beckons to Elsa and wanders off. And then she gets angry, grits her teeth, clenches her fists, thinks no, wills nothing to happen.

Ghosts?

They both have history, she knows that. But that's all it is. History. Despite the whole entanglement of Neal and Milah and everything else that has happened, she and Killian have made it work – made it start over.

No, she thinks again, determined.

And when Killian jogs back over to her, breathless, absolutely drenched with half-frozen flecks of snow clinging to his clothes, cheeks red from the cold and grinning like a maniac, Regina's warning is flooded from her mind because this is perfect, this is them now, and she's never been more certain of something – someone – in her life.

.

And then he wakes in the night coughing and gasping and dreaming of drowning and all she can do is press her lips to his again and again the way she did the first time –

.

And then she wakes in the night with tears streaming down her cheeks and the memory of Snow White engulfed in flames burned into her memory and all he can do is wrap his arms around her and pull her close the way he did back then –

.

"I'm damaged goods," he tells her one day, after something happens – she isn't sure what, only that he encounters someone in Storybrooke who he knows from back then and it isn't pretty but there's nothing she can do about it.

It's the way he says it that breaks her heart – perfectly serious, and a bit sad, and solemn as though he thinks she actually cares. It makes her fold her arms instead of reaching out to him.

"Shut up, if you are then I am."

He looks offended at the very thought. "You're not."

"Then you're not."

.

(Except they both are, and it shouldn't matter.)

.

(Except it does, in the end.)

.

NOW

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Emma presses a hand against the glass of the window. It's frosted over with fog, even on the inside, and the street lights outside are doing pitifully little against the sudden dark clouds that have descended over Storybrooke, cloaking everything in night. Snow is already beginning to pile up against the walls of the diner.

"You're saying Elsa caused this?" she demands, turning back to Regina.

Regina nods. She has a hot cup of tea in front of her, a towel wrapped around her shoulders.

"We weren't even doing anything," she explains. "Just sitting. Talking, as usual. And then I don't know what happened – it was like she zoned out for a moment. Her eyes went completely unfocused; I couldn't get her to hear anything I was saying. Like she was in a trance. And when she jerked out of it – she remembered."

Emma frowns. They hadn't been able to find out exactly where Elsa had come from, or how she ended up in Rumplestiltskin's vault – the man himself being of absolutely no help – and with her having no memories herself, they had long since given up.

"And then she freaked out," Regina continues. "Started panicking and shouting about how 'everything was her fault', whatever that means. She got so agitated she started a snowstorm right there in my living room; I couldn't stop her. And then she ran out – ran off towards the forest – except the storm got bigger as she went. It's covered the whole town. I spent a few hours searching for her but she's vanished completely."

"We're sure this is her?" David asks, glancing outside again. "It is the middle of winter."

Regina snorts, loudly. "Really, Charming? Step outside and tell me if you've ever seen a natural winter this damn cold."

It's true; despite the heating in the diner even Emma is starting to feel a chill.

"Besides," Regina continues, "I tried using my magic to calm it down a bit. Didn't work. This is Elsa, alright. We need to find her before it gets worse. She could freeze the entire town at this rate. People are already holing in indoors."

"That doesn't sound like a half bad idea," Jefferson grumbles. Emma glances at him and finds him casting worried glances at the door. She suddenly realises that Grace is not there with them in the diner, and snaps into action.

"Regina's right, we need to find her. In the mean time we need to send out an announcement, get everyone indoors. Set up some sort of system to provide people with food and blankets in case they get snowed in. Mary Margaret, you need to get Neal home – Henry too. We should check in on the hospital as well."

Mary Margaret nods, already rising and wrapping a shawl around herself and the baby. David moves to help her as everyone else starts collectively flooding out of the diner, Jefferson practically knocking over chairs in his haste.

Regina rises, draining the last of the tea and vigorously towel drying her hair.

"She can't have gotten too far," she says. "There's only so much woodland for her to hide in. We'll set up a search grid then split up. Call in everyone we can – Ruby, the dwarves."

Emma nods. "We'll meet up at the loft. I'll grab some maps from the station."

They're bustling into action when Emma feels the tap on her shoulder. She turns around to see Tinker Bell – and beside her, Killian. The sight of him standing so close makes her heart start slamming in her chest – and she chides herself. Stupid. Stupid. Tells herself it's just because he startled her.

"I can help," Tinker Bell says, earnestly, "With my magic back I won't feel the cold as much. I'll go fetch the other fairies. Even if we can't track down Elsa we can help deliver supplies to anyone who winds up snowed in."

"Great. Thanks Tink," Emma says. The fairy smiles and moves off. She presses Emma's arm as she passes, and then glances over her shoulder at Killian. Emma bites her lip, tries not to read into the motion.

"Hey," Killian says, quietly, and she looks up at him.

That awkward nervousness wells up again, and she has no idea why – it's not like they haven't had conversations with each other since they broke up. And there's something almost amusing about the fact that it's been three months since they were together and one month since they weren't and it's only now, in the middle of a raging crisis, when she can't seem to find anything to say.

"Hi," she replies, finally, "You okay to help?"

"Of course," he says, "Anything. Better to nip this in the bud before it gets any worse. And with the amount of hunting around in these woods we've done over the last few months, I dare say it shouldn't be too hard."

"Yeah, well, touch wood," she mutters, tapping the back of a chair as they head for the door, and he scoffs out a little laugh, ducking his head. She glances at him, unable to stop her lips twitching into something that's almost a smile.

The wave of nostalgia that hits her almost bowls her over.

When they step outside the cold is like a smack in the face; Emma actually gasps, her face tingling and burning at the sudden rush of freezing air. She zips her jacket all the way up until it covers her chin, fumbles to tug her gloves out of her pocket and put them on. Beside her she feels Killian shudder through a full-body shiver.

"Regina wasn't joking," he murmurs.

"Elsa is powerful," Emma says grimly. "Really powerful."

"Not as powerful as the Saviour," Killian replies, with a little sidelong glance in her direction. She stiffens, unsure how to react to the compliment. "Remember, lo- lass, we're not fighting her. We're just trying to find her. Bring her home."

Emma nods, but the word he cut off is hanging in the air between them, and there's an uncomfortable silence in which he fidgets a lot and makes a passing attempt to pull his scarf up over his mouth with one hand.

"That's nice," she says awkwardly, "That's a nice scarf."

"What? Oh. Yes. Courtesy of Jefferson."

She should probably not be as relieved as she is that it's from Jefferson and not from Tinker Bell.

She should probably not be thinking about just why she might be so relieved.

They walk to the gate together, and stop at the road, and she swallows all the words that are suddenly rising up at the back of her throat, choking her, clamouring to come out at once no matter how much she wants them to stay in.

"Need a lift to the apartment?" she asks instead. "It's pretty cold to walk."

He shakes his head. "It's out of your way. I'll be fine."

"Okay."

And there's another moment of silence, and she feels like one or both of them should say something.

Neither of them do, not until Emma gives an awkward sort of wave and starts to move off down the street.

"Swan!" he calls out then, and she turns, glances over her shoulder.

He's standing here, by the gate, hand shoved deep into his pocket, shoulders hunched against the cold. Hair slightly dishevelled from the wind, looking lost and a little forlorn but still with that damnable smile on his face. The one that he's never stopped having, even in the last month. The smile that says he believes in her more than anything else, that's he's confident in her ability to save them all.

"We're not fighting her," he repeats, "She's not the enemy. This isn't another Wicked Witch. That's all over."

It isn't until he's said it that she realises it's exactly what she needs to hear. She hadn't even registered the anxiety that was starting to well up over the possibility – between Regina and Cora and Pan and Zelena there hadn't been time to think, to breathe, her whole family in danger and now that there's Neal they're more vulnerable than ever –

But he's right. Elsa's not a threat, not deliberately anyway.

They just need to help her.

Like he said. They just need to bring her home.

"I know," she replies, and half-smiles back, and he gives an awkward sort of wave with his hand still jammed in his jacket pocket, and turns and walks off down the road. Her smile fades as she watches him leave.

She's had a lot of people walk away from her over the years, but even now–

even after seeing it happen a dozen times over the last month–

His still hurts the most.