warmth

"Emma, just so you know, you can change your mind."

Emma shakes her head desperately, her body wracking with sobs. "I can't-"She chokes out. "I can't be a mother." Her voice breaks on the last syllable and she clings tighter to the hospital bed, knuckles turning white. The baby-her son-in the doctor's arms is wailing loudly and Emma wants nothing more than to hold him, at least once, to comfort him, but she can't.

She knows that if she holds him, she won't be able to give him up.

The doctor and nurse talk quietly for a few minutes and then the nurse takes the baby and walks out of the infirmary. Emma raises her head then, silent tears running down her cheeks. She knows this is it, that that was her last chance, that she's never going to see her baby again.

It's for the best, she knows. He'll be better off without her.

Slumping back against the bed, Emma raises a hand to cover her face as she shakes uncontrollably, the doctor's attempts to console her in vain.

Oh God, it hurts.

Emma awakens with a gasp, tears stinging her eyes and her breaths coming in harsh, irregular pants. She sits up-looks around the room wildly for a minute and relaxes slightly when she sees Henry fast asleep in his bed.

She's dreamt of that day many times, of course. The memory haunted her for a decade, and continued to haunt her even after Henry found her and brought her back to Storybrooke. But it's the first time she's had that dream since her memories came back.

It's honestly quite confusing. There are two sets of memories in her brain; one mixture of anguish and joy, of loneliness for ten years until she found her family, until she became a mother and found out that she was an honest to goodness fairy tale princess. And then there's the other, that's just pure happiness; memories of never giving Henry up, of raising him as her own, of a happy, peaceful life free from monsters and villains and magic and the like.

Emma gets out of bed and shudders a little at the cold, pulling a robe over her pajamas. At this point, though, it's hard to tell whether the cold she's feeling is from the onslaught of traumatic memories or from the weather.

It's probably the former.

She pads over to Henry's bed and brushes her fingers lightly over his forehead, exhaling softly.

He's no longer just hers. Regina is every much his mother as Emma is, not to mention his grandparents and pretty much everyone in the town who loves him so dearly. Call her selfish, but Emma can't help but feel bitter at this, bitter that there isn't at least one thing she can keep all for herself. She's the Savior; she's expected to bring back everyone's happy endings, to save them from whatever crisis has befallen the town. She'll soon have to share her parents with her sibling, when they're born. And now, Henry.

Henry sighs in his sleep, turning over and Emma quickly withdraws, not wanting to wake him.

She doesn't want to go back to sleep. Perhaps it's cowardly of her, but she doesn't want to face whatever nightmares or bad memories that are lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce, the moment she's vulnerable. She'd rather be sleep deprived.

Another shiver wracks through Emma's body and she pulls the robe tighter and leaves the room.

The lounge in the inn is not empty.

Standing in the doorway, Emma almost curses, and then holds herself back. It could be worse, she reasons. It could be Granny herself, or her parents, or god forbid; one of the dwarves. But it's just Killian, and Emma knows he won't judge her for being awake at this time and running from her nightmares. She knows he'll understand.

(She wonders when she started depending so much on his uncanny ability to understand her.)

Killian is sitting at the window when she arrives, his back turned to her. A little surprised that he already hasn't noticed her presence, considering the fact that he's possibly even more vigilant than she is; Emma clears her throat.

He starts in surprise and automatically reaches for the sword at his side. Emma then notices that he's not wearing his greatcoat; not even his vest, but a simple long sleeved shirt and his leather pants. Without the signature pirate garb, he looks startlingly younger and less guarded.

"Swan," He calms down slightly when he sees her. Emma gives him a weak, sheepish smile and moves over to sit beside him.

"Hey," She says quietly. "Can't sleep?"

"Aye, love," Killian murmurs, his eyes scanning her face. Emma resists the urge to fidget under his gaze. "You as well?"

"Yeah," Emma says, wrapping her arms around herself. God, why is it so cold? "Nightmares."

"Ah," He says knowingly and for a moment Emma is hesitant to look at him, not wanting to see the pity that must surely be there in his eyes; but when she does, all she sees is empathy in his face.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Killian asks gently and Emma stiffens momentarily, the urge to run rising within her; but she quells it.

"In Neverland, Pan told me something," Emma begins finally. Killian looks confused but doesn't interrupt. "He said that-that Henry would never forgive me for giving him up," Her voice cracks as she speaks the words and she trembles again. "Do you-do you think that's true?"

She hates how vulnerable and broken she sounds, she doesn't want to look weak; not in front of anybody and especially not in front of him. But at the same time, there is a strange sense of relief from sharing her insecurities, because she knows that he can sympathize.

"My father abandoned me," Killian says suddenly and Emma looks up at him sharply, not all that surprised, because she's seen the familiar lost look in his eyes that she knows all too well, but a little taken aback that he's actually opening up to her. "He abandoned my brother and me on a pirate ship and sold us into slavery for a boat."

Emma hisses in shock, her eyes widening. "Shit, Killian, that's terrible, I'm so-"

But he cuts in before she can finish. "See, he abandoned us to save his own skin. Because his life was worth more to him than the lives of his children. I never forgave him for it," Killian speaks the words flatly, but Emma can sense the pain behind them. "You, though, Swan-you gave up your boy because you wanted him to have his best chance. You gave him up because you loved him. And he knows that. He forgives you for it and he has never hated you; because there's nothing to be angry about."

Emma stares at him for a moment. She can't understand how he does it, how he can read her like an open book and soothe her fears so easily. She feels almost guilty for it-like she's simply taking and taking and not giving anything in return.

"Killian, I-"Emma doesn't know what to say, how to properly express her gratitude. "Thank you," She finally says simply.

He smiles at her, a soft upturning of his lips. "You're welcome, Swan."

"I dreamt about the day I gave Henry up," Emma admits. "And all those insecurities just came rushing back and you-you helped." She blushes lightly, feeling strangely shy.

"How come you couldn't sleep?" She asks quickly, desperate to distract herself.

"Same as you," Killian shrugs lightly but his face is tense. "Nightmares."

"Wanna talk about it?" Emma offers hesitantly. He looks at her and she almost reels from the anguish in his eyes. He looks almost afraid, at the mere reminder of his dream.

"It was you," He says, so softly that Emma almost misses it. "The Wicked Witch had your heart, and she crushed it to dust," His voice shakes and Emma's eyes widen but she says nothing. "I just-"He struggles a little. "I can't lose you, Emma."

He sounds so broken and tormented; Emma doesn't hesitate twice before she cautiously slips her arm over his shoulders and pulls him closer. Killian stiffens in her hold and looks at her in confusion. "Swan-"

"Shh." She lays her head on his shoulder and takes his hand and presses it to her chest, so he can feel the beat of her heart.

"I'm alive," Emma whispers. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Jones."

Killian says nothing, but she can feel him press a kiss to her hair. Again, Emma feels the urge to run, to disentangle herself from him and leave, but she can't. She's broken, but so is he, and she can't leave him like this.

(She doesn't want to.)

(But she's so, so afraid.)

The cold is gone. Emma feels overwhelming warmth build in her chest, chasing away the darkness and the nightmares and the confusion. Her grip on him tightens a little, and her heart pounds fast underneath his touch,

She's not sure what this is, what they are; all she knows at the moment is that they need each other.

Emma can feel her eyelids beginning to droop. Feeling safe, warm and content, she allows sleep to take her.

(And when she wakes in the early hours of the morning, there's a crick in her neck from sleeping upright and general stiffness in the rest of her body; but Killian is there, fast asleep, gentle breaths fanning against her cheek and his hand entwined with hers and Emma finds that she honestly doesn't care.

She knows that she has to leave Storybrooke once all of this is over.

But being here, with him, bathed in his warmth, it's becoming increasingly harder to convince herself to.)