A little drabble that turned into a bit of a longer drabble. Semi-based on spoilers for next week's episode. All I know is that I'm excited for whatever True Love quest our precious cupcakes are going to embark on!

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Firebird

…

It's funny what memories your mind gives you when you're standing on the precipice of disaster. Everything could fall apart or fall together, their entire world balanced on the edge of a knife as it slowly crumbles around them and the rapid firing of synapses in her brain serves up a tiny morsel of a memory from a time she'd thought she'd long forgotten.

She doesn't really remember where she picked up the duck from, a fluffy stuffed toy, bright yellow like the sunshine she used to draw on paper, like the car she would one day own. It might have been a gift, it might have been a prize; for all she knows, it might have been someone else's toy that she lifted from a passing child's bag. But it became hers; the thing that she would take everywhere, that she would tuck under her arm from home to home, the neck of it becoming floppy after years of being carried around, the stuffing having shifted around in her hold.

And then, one day, she'd been playing with one of the other foster kids at one of the homes, when the duck had been scooped up by the family's own baby, the young child barely even able to crawl, just swiping it up on her way from one end of the living room to the other. And it was funny, because Emma had probably grown out of having a stuffed animal tucked under her arm, she'd probably have put the duck down at some point soon and not picked it up again, more than content to continue playing tea parties with the other girl in this house.

But as soon as this little child had taken her duck, she'd felt an overwhelming emotion rise up in her. Complete unbidden rage at having something of hers taken. She'd thrown an absolute tantrum over it, tears streaming down her face as she had stomped and shouted until her foster father had grabbed her by the arm, dragged her upstairs and locked her in the closet until she calmed down. She'd pounded her fists on the door, screaming until her throat was sore, her hands bruised and her thin body exhausted.

In the morning, she'd been taken back to the group home, the car ride silent for the most part, her little black garbage bag of belongings sitting next to her on the seat, noticeably devoid of her sunshine duck. Her foster father had turned around in his seat once, fixing her with a disturbingly frightening glare as he told her that sometimes in life, you just have to accept what you are given. Nothing more, nothing less. Just accept it.

He'd painted a picture of a happiness she was slowly beginning to understand that she would never have. He told her that she would be faced with decisions in life, that when those decisions arose, sometimes, she would have to be the bigger person. And then he'd given her away and she had just accepted it.

And that's how most things became in her life; from a shitty upbringing, to a broken heart, giving up her child, a whole string of crappy jobs and crappy people and loneliness and one night stands trying to feel something…

And then came the day with a cupcake, a little blue star candle on the top, the flame yellow, like sunshine.

Something had changed within her that night. Henry had knocked on her door and she'd felt this unbelievable tug in her heart, towards him. Unconditional love overflowing like warmth into her very being. And she'd been able to accept a lot in her life, sure, but losing this child again, letting him slip through her grasp; that was not even remotely on the table. She'd clung to him as he'd clung to her, refusing to accept that their lives weren't always meant to be this, that they weren't always meant to be together – a family.

He'd been taken from her, his small body so pale against the harsh white of the hospital and the clean silver of all the connections and machines keeping him alive. But she had refused to accept it, believing in something impossible to save him and then continuing to stay by his side. He's been the one, again and again, to show her exactly how to reach out and take what you need from your life. He's always been stronger than her.

She smiles softly at the thought.

"You thinking of Henry?" comes a question through the haze of memories of ducks and her son and sunshine.

Her eyes glance up to the blue of his, nodding slightly, "How'd you know?"

His hand runs down her arm to curl around her fingers, tangling them together as he brings them up to his lips. "You have your 'Henry look' on," he mumbles against her skin.

It sends shivers through her, the light scratch of his scruff, the damp heat of his breath, the tingling itch of wanting to reach out and forget where they are, just for a moment. He turns her hand, palm up, and settles a series of light kisses against her wrist, encouraging her to feel his face with her fingertips. Her breath hitches as she lets herself run the pads of her fingers under his chin, the simple touch almost undoing her.

For a while she's been able to block out exactly where they are. But he's making her face it. He's making her accept it and, god, she doesn't want to.

Abandoning the tender kisses designed to set her alight, he cups her jaw instead, forehead resting against hers, "Darling, it's the only way."

But she refuses. It can't be, it can't be, because if it is, then this was all for nothing and she has to say goodbye again and it's not fucking fair. Not when she loves him this much, not when he loves her just the same. Not when they're only at the beginning. She wants too much with him, the house, the family, the white picket fence with Netflix and a ship in the harbour.

And he can't die, because he already did and it broke her. It's broken her every single time, a part of her own soul leaving with him. Emma Swan has never belonged to another person, she has been very clever about crafting her life around always relying on herself. Until Henry and until Hook. And, god, if they don't own her completely, then maybe she's already sacrificed herself to the Underworld for a reason.

He pulls back a little and she fights it, clinging first to his hand and then to his hook as he pulls his limb from her grip. "Emma," he warns, "You have a way out. You have your family, your friends. You will be okay."

Hades has agreed to erase their names in return for their help. But Killian's name is a little more permanent. He'd arrived by death and in that state he shall stay; sort of a sick twist on Newton's first law. "I'll come back for you," she promises, tears already spilling down her cheeks as she looks up at him, trying to commit every little detail to memory and then admonishing herself for that thought – don't accept it, you can't accept it.

He's shaking his head and she thinks that maybe he's changed his mind, maybe he's not accepting it either. But then he says, "You have to move on," and her heart shatters.

It physically hurts to look at him and see how broken he is, how much he wants to follow but can't.

Her whole body is shaking with sobs as she gives him her side of the argument, a weak voice escaping her, "I don't know how to say goodbye."

"You have to, darling," he says, leaning in close again, kisses brushing against her temple as he cradles her head in his palm, "You're my unfinished business, Emma. Please don't leave me to rot in this realm. Allow me to move on. Please, my love, be happy."

Her heart feels as though it's going to beat straight out of her chest, her entire body trembling with the weight of the burden she carries. Her hand rests against the place where his own heart should be beating, and she wishes more than anything that her original plan could have worked, that she could have come down here and given him half of her own heart. It wholly belongs to him anyway.

"I know you need me to accept this as the end, that you need me to walk away and let you go," she looks up, meeting his blue eyes, seeing the conflict in them, "But I need you to know that I can't. I won't."

He watches her carefully, not saying anything for a long moment, just taking her in. Then, stepping in close to her, he says, "You know, I have known you were my true love, from the moment you kissed me and my mind was clouded with revenge no longer."

Emma smiles slightly, thinking back to Neverland. She'd like to think she knew back then too.

"But when I kissed you in New York and when I kissed you as the Dark One, the curses never broke. And I thought there was something wrong with us. Something wrong with me." He cups her cheek, thumb swiping at the mess of tears under her eyes, causing her to bite at her lip to stop any more falling. "There's not though, because we could get in here today, where only true love may enter. And I understand how hard it is to let that go because I'm letting it go as well, but time is passing by and you need to leave…"

"Wait," she says, cutting him off, her mind piecing together a puzzle. "How did Zelena say Hades was going to get out of here?"

Killian frowns, "True love's kiss to restart his…" and it's like he understands halfway through the sentence because his eyes widen and his voice evens out, "heart again. Emma, it can't be that simple."

But she's already got her fingers wrapped around his lapels and they're colliding in the most graceful way, lips meeting as though they were always made for each other. She feels his hand in her hair, holding her steady, but she feels anything but stable right now, volatile and trembling with the power inside of her.

She always feels the tingling of magic under her skin with Killian's lips on hers, but right in this moment, it's almost too much. He runs his tongue along the seam of her lips and it sparks like pinpricks under her skin, bursts like sunshine behind her eyelids as it radiates out into the world around them. She feels the rush of adrenalin, the burning need to cling to him tighter, to push her body into his and simply exist with him.

And then, just as suddenly as it begins, it's just them, just this woman, who loves this man beyond words, with their bodies perfectly balanced together, lingering sparks of magic shooting through their veins as she moans into his hold and his hook digs in at her hip.

Her fingers unfurl from his shirt, sliding down his chest and coming to rest over the steady beat of his heart. With a shout, she pulls away, eyes darting to her hand as she allows it to press harder against the rhythmic beat. Her mouth hangs open and she looks up at him looking down at her with wonder in his eyes. "Swan," he breathes.

She nods, tears springing to her eyes once more, "Yeah?"

He runs his hand down her arm to grasp at her own. They're still on this quest, this damn mission to help Hades and to help themselves, but it feels easier now, it feels possible. Killian squeezes at Emma's fingers and tugs her in the direction they need to keep running. His voice is determined as he turns around to ensure that she's following, "Let's get out of here."

Because, there is no chance in hell that they are accepting this fate.

…

Thoughts?