Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Killian Jones collapsed, there was no one there to see him fall. He had taken the Jolly Roger on his own out to sea to stretch her legs and was going about his business on deck when suddenly, everything stopped. When he next opened his eyes, he was lying prone behind the helm. His head was throbbing, but he attributed that to hitting it off the deck and hastily dismissed it. When the haze finally lifted and he pulled himself up to his feet, one glance at the sky told him he’d not been out for too long. A glance at his phone confirmed that, as well as the presence of two unread text messages.

He squinted at the screen and pressed his hand to his throbbing temple. The first text was from Emma. ‘Granny’s for dinner? I’m too tired to cook and I know you’ll be home late. Let me know what you want. Love you.’ He was about to text her back when he remembered there was another message. This one was from Henry. ‘I’m sorry about today, Killian, maybe we can do it another time,’ was what it read. Killian shook his head and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Despite his prior disappointment at the fact, he was now genuinely relieved that Henry wasn’t there on the ship with him as he really did not want to give the lad a fright. He had invited Emma’s son to go sailing with him, but Henry had made up a flimsy yet polite excuse not to. Killian understood, even though his stepson’s continuous rejection pained him, and even Emma’s sad lopsided smile and her comforting hand on his arm were doing little to ease that pain. He imagined that it must not have been easy for Henry to lose his father so young, having barely known him, and only a couple of years later, to lose his other mother’s partner – his other father figure – under similarly tragic circumstances. Killian was all he had left and Henry had learned to protect his heart. Emma and Killian had been married for two years now and the boy was nothing if not polite and accepting of the former pirate, but to openly regard him as anything remotely resembling a father figure was simply not withing the realm of possibilities just yet.

‘Not to worry, lad, see you at dinner,’ he quickly typed back. He would never hold anything against Henry, he knew that much. Even if the feelings were not reciprocated, he loved him as he would his own son and, considering he and Emma had been trying to conceive with a child of their own these past two years with no success, he had all but sadly resigned himself to the fact that Henry was his one and only chance at fatherhood and he would be damned if he did anything to spoil that. He had accidentally called the lad ‘son’ once before; a slip of the tongue that never repeated itself, especially after the way Henry’s fork froze on the way to his mouth and he had avoided looking Kilian in the eye for the remainder of their dinner and then left to spend the night at Regina’s. No, Henry meant too much to him; their relationship was too fragile still, and he was – above all else – a patient man. No longer immortal with Neverland’s magic, perhaps, but patient nonetheless.

Taking another deep breath, Killian typed a reply to Emma and steered the Jolly Roger back to port. Although his brief loss of consciousness puzzled him, he had no intention of mentioning anything about it to his wife. And if she were to ask about the bruise already forming on his head, he would say he had bumped it while sorting out the rigging. Whatever it was, there was no need to worry anyone.

He almost forgot about it as he moved on with his life, and what a life it was. Killian Jones was not a man who even contemplated the idea of happiness lightly and yet, he could not call what he was anything else. It had been roughly two years since the last major villain attack in Storybrooke and, except for the odd bar fight or a drunken dwarf, there was very little happening in the small town to keep its sheriff and deputy firmly on their toes. Even his no-longer-arch-nemesis Rumpelstiltskin decided on one final act of kindness before he and his little family returned to the Enchanted Forest and had given him his hand back, no strings attached this time. The married couple’s life was filled with sailing trips, family dinners, late nights in by the fire and quiet evenings out by the water. When not with Emma, when the boy was receptive, Killian spent his time with Henry, teaching him how to sword fight (“Every pirate worth his salt has to be able to handle a sword, Swan.” “Just don’t let my dad hear you say that, Killian.”), or how to sail the Jolly Roger (“The old girl needs someone worthy to look after her when I’m old.”), and the odd twinkle he would catch in the boy’s eye when he wasn’t too guarded always made him go home with a smile and a light heart. There was nothing to it. He was, very much so, exceedingly happy. But he should have known… he, of all people, should have known why even contemplating the idea of happiness was a dangerous thing. After all, when one crashed from such height, one almost wished to have never risen at all.

----------------------------

It started gradually. A niggling ache here and there, brief pains that would come and go, usually just under his ribs, just over his stomach. He had brushed them off as indigestion more times than he could count before he realised he could not brush them off any longer. That day, he finally went to the pharmacy and made that grinning dwarf swear on pain of death not to tell anyone he was there to purchase pain relief medication. But the pain relief would only go so far, especially when, months after the first one, he experienced two more blackout episodes in as many weeks. For the first one, thankfully, he was alone once more, but for the second, he came very close to having to confess to Emma. He had come to on their couch, with the book he had been reading long abandoned on the floor, and was already formulating an excuse in his head when he realised she’d come home from work to find him like that. Fortunately for him, she saved him the trouble by mentioning in passing how she had found him asleep and had left him to it as he must have been tired after a nightshift. If only, Killian had thought to himself, but her words made him acknowledge another truth: he had been feeling unusually tired lately. For the first time, the traitorous tendrils of concern started creeping into his heart.

Then the nausea came and the appetite went. He did not know if these things were connected, but they came nonetheless and with a vengeance. Even Henry noticed, and that was saying something.

“You know, mum’s cooking isn’t that terrible,” the boy quipped one evening, barely glancing over his phone.

Killian’s head shot up. That was another thing… he used to be so focused and now he was constantly drifting off. “Come again?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “The dinner, Killian. You barely touched it. What’s going on?”

He swallowed, that same pain settling just under his heart again and he fought the urge to bring his hand up to rub at the spot. “Nothing, lad. I suppose I’ve not much of an appetite today after all.”

Henry quirked his eyebrow at him, in a way that reminded him of himself so much that it nearly triggered a different type of pain altogether. “Sure,” he breathed and returned to his phone.

Killian almost thought he got away with it when Henry spoke again. “Don’t lie to her, Killian. We’ve been through this. She’s worried.”

He wondered briefly whether the lad meant to say ‘we’ instead of ‘she’, but opted not to go down that road. “What do you mean?”

“She thinks something’s wrong with you and you’re hiding it from her.”

“There’s nothing wrong, Henry.” Surely as long as he had no proof to the contrary, it was not a lie?

“Right.” His stepson looked back down at his phone. This time the conversation was well and truly over.

But the world wasn’t quite finished with him that day and when Killian’s vision suddenly blurred and his steps faltered on the stairs on his way to the bedroom, it was his wife’s hand on his bicep that kept him from tumbling back down. He looked up slowly, both due to his still hazy vision, but also because he wanted to prolong the inevitable as much as possible until it was time to face the music. When their eyes finally locked though, he saw nothing but love and concern in hers. That, and one more thing, the very thing that had kept him from telling her the truth all these months: fear.

Without waiting for her to speak, he resigned, “I’ll talk to Whale tomorrow, love. I promise.”

“Good,” was all she said.

She was by his side once more when he emptied whatever little food his stomach contained into the toilet bowl in the middle of the night.

Chapter Text

Killian wasn’t sure what to make of how quickly Whale got back to him. It almost felt as though one day he was in the hospital, allowing the doctor and his wretched minions to poke and prod and question him (on rather private matters) for ‘necessary tests’ and the next… well, the next came the phone call. Whale needed to see him. Immediately. And he suggested he brought Emma.

Like hell he was bringing her. As much as both Killian and Emma had learned to open up and rely on each other over the years, the notion of dragging his wife along to hear whatever revelations the doctor had in store for him made him physically sick. On the other hand, he knew he would not hear the end of it, if he didn’t bring her. But then again, it would give him more time to come up with the right words to break it to her so not to worry her too much… He was quite certain that whatever Whale had to tell him was not good. And so he decided against it and went alone; a decision he selfishly and bitterly regretted some hours later, when he was sitting in the doctor’s office, trying his hardest to make some lick of sense out of all the strange words and terms Whale was using. All the while, there was but one thought repeatedly and persistently pounding in his already aching head: he was going to die. Not today, not this week, not this month and probably not this year, but unless a miracle happened… Killian shook his head and closed his eyes.

“Captain?” Whale prodded gently, with only a hint of his usual impatience. He had come a long way since the days of Frankenstein, but although his bedside manner had improved substantially, the old ‘him’ was still lurking somewhere beneath the surface. “Are you with me?”

Killian nodded weakly. His head was exploding and his abdomen hurt again. He was silently wondering if Whale could offer him something stronger than what he could get over the counter from the dwarf, whatever his name was. “Aye...” He swallowed. “How long?”

“How long?”

“How long do I have?” he clarified reluctantly. Who would have thought that after being alive for several lifetimes and cheating death at least twice, Captain Hook would well and truly fear it. Only he had so much to lose now… He blinked fast to dry out his eyes. He would not allow himself to follow that train of thought.

“The truth is, I don’t know,” Whale sighed. “It appears we didn’t catch it too late, but bearing in mind how long you’ve been alive, it’s hard to tell. It could be months, could be years. But one thing is certain, your liver is now just about as useful at doing its job as this paperweight,” he glanced at the object in question on the desk in front of him. “You told me you first started experiencing symptoms- “

“Some months ago,” Killing interrupted tersely. “I didn’t know what they bloody were.”

“I gathered as much. Otherwise, you’d have been here sooner. But you being, well, you…”

Killian fixed him with a glare.

“Nevertheless,” the doctor sighed again and sat up straight in his chair. “Judging by what you’ve told me, your deterioration has been quite significant in the past few months. It’s hard to tell how fast the disease will progress, but I’ll say it again, in simple terms, your liver is dying. Your only chance is a transplant and frankly, these are not easy to come by. If you don’t get a transplant…”

The pirate nodded and looked down into his lap. “I’ll die.”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Whale confirmed. “Look,” he pulled out his prescription pad. “I’m going to give you something stronger for the pain, also some medication that you’ll need to take daily as instructed. It might slow down the disease. But I wouldn’t stray too far, if I were you.”

Killian’s head shot up at that, ready to protest.

“To put it simply, you are not going to get better, not with this liver. Ever. You may have good days, but you are only going to get worse. It is entirely possible that you’ll end up here sooner than you think for a day or two and it is dead certain – no pun intended - that you will eventually end up here for good.”

The pirate nodded resignedly. “What can I do?”

“Well, dumping that flask and switching to water is as good a start as any,” Whale stared smugly at Killian’s chest where the flask rested in his breast pocket. “That’s what probably got you into this mess in the first place.” At the pirate’s piercing glare, he cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “I apologise. Unprofessional. But lose the rum. Eat healthy. And take it easy wherever you can. I know Emma taught you to drive, but I wouldn’t get behind the wheel anymore, if I were you. And cut back on work too, including that boat of yours.”

“Ship,” Killian seethed.

“Whatever. Stay home as much as possible and try not to find yourself on your own too often, in case something happens.”

“I don’t need a babysitter and Emma has better things to do,” the pirate muttered under his breath before he could help himself.

“Actually,” the doctor meaningfully fixed him with his steely blue stare, “if she likes having you around for a little while longer, no, she really doesn’t. I suggest you curb that chivalrous streak and tell her immediately. Pretty soon, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Killian averted his gaze and nodded, more to himself than to the doctor.

--------------------------

And Whale was right. He was not getting better. Try as he might to keep whatever he could from Emma, even he had to admit defeat after a few more months ticked by. But he could do one thing for her, and for Henry, and that was to remain strong and positive. He had made a promise that day he had first walked out of Whale’s office: neither would ever see him shed a tear nor lose hope. He would despair in private a hundred times over, he would go down into his grave with a bloody grin on his face, if that’s what it took, but they would never see him lose hope. He kept true to that promise for as long as he could and, for a time, it worked.

When he first broke the news to Emma, she cried in his arms, even as he held her and did not. Then he had to watch Henry stare at him in silence when they shared everything with him, slowly rise from the couch and tell them he was going to stay over at Regina’s for a few nights. He wanted nothing more than to hug the lad and comfort him and he still did not shed a tear. When Snow cried and David’s eyes rimmed red, he gave them his best reassuring smile.

Regina suggested magic, but they realised very quickly that magic would simply not do. It was not a scrape or a bruise, not even a broken bone or torn tissue that could be mended with a spell, no matter how complex. It was a severely damaged vital organ that was no longer able to function properly and who knew how long it would be before it gave in completely. Magic was not an option. No spell could fix this.

The next option was suggested by Emma, which was, for whoever was willing, to get tested for a match. After all, Whale did say that even a partial liver from a healthy donor would probably do the trick, or in the very least, buy more time. They all did immediately. He later found out that even Henry insisted on being tested, even though both his mothers told him that he was too young to even consider a donation, but it was all futile. No one came up compatible. Whale had put him on the list, whatever that meant. Later Killian discovered that what it meant was that his only option was to wait for some unfortunate soul that would be a match to die somewhere in this world without magic and if he was ‘lucky enough’ to be ‘high enough’ on said list, he might just get his or her organ. That morbid thought alone filled him with despair.

And so, after a while, even his last shred of resolute hope evaporated. He still did his best to maintain a somewhat convincing façade, but he no longer hoped. What stunned him the most, however, was not the lack of hope, but the lack of anger. He was resigned to his fate. He had cheated death far too many times already and with this blow, he finally came to terms with the fact that a happy ending was simply not on the cards for him. Or perhaps, and he desperately clung to that notion, even as he was getting weaker and sicker as the disease ravaged his body, he had already found his happy ending and was living it. It may have to be cut shorter than he had expected, but Killian Jones would not change his life for any other.

-----------------------

Months ticked by, although not as many as he would like. Whale had been correct in his prediction; brief stints in hospital started creeping up on him when he least expected. He hated the hospital and, following each one, vowed to do everything he could not to have to go back, but inside, he knew his time was running out. He barely ate anymore and that, combined with the almost constant nausea, had sent his weight plummeting. Moving around and completing basic tasks was becoming more and more difficult too, due to fatigue as well as general weakness. He noticed his skin gaining a sickly yellowish tint; something else Whale had said would happen. It had come and gone at first, but then became more and more frequent. But still, he tried. He was a survivor, after all; he’d always prided himself on that. Even though he no longer believed he would survive this in the long term, he was still determined to survive for as long as possible, so long as it had Emma shedding a few less tears over him when she thought he wasn’t looking, so long as it put one more rare smile on her face.

She was wearing herself thin though, and he could tell. Despite his best efforts, he knew he was doing a dreadfully poor job at fooling his wife. And Emma being Emma, she barely left his side anyway, persistently seeing him through the worst of it. She was there almost all the time, reading to him when he was too tired and sick to get out of bed, making him different foods in the futile hope he might be able to eat them, sitting with him on the bathroom floor for hours when he couldn’t keep his head out of the toilet and holding him when the pain would become too much even for Whale’s meds. She neglected her life to such extent that her father had abandoned his farm and taken over the role of Sheriff almost entirely.

A few months after his first visit to Whale, he finally conceded that perhaps having someone nearby as much as possible was not such a foolish notion after all. His body had already betrayed him one too many times by that point. And so, before he realised what was happening, Mary Margaret had drawn up a rota and Killian found himself in the company of one Charming or another more often than he had ever before. Strangely enough, even Regina volunteered for ‘pirate babysitting duty’ as she so aptly called it, and the two found themselves surprisingly at ease in each other’s company. Turned out they had quite a lot to talk about, main of which was Henry.

As for the boy in question, his relationship with Killian appeared to have gone downhill in the last few months. While he was seeing the Charmings and Regina more and more often, he was seeing Henry less and less. Naturally, he had tried to keep up with their favourite pastimes for as long as he could, but gradually, the day came when manning the Jolly Roger became a nearly insurmountable task and soon after, he found he could barely lift his sword, let alone swing it. But it wasn’t just that. The movie nights were becoming fewer and further in between, and even the odd chat they used to have became non-existent. Henry was avoiding him, there was no other way to describe it, but every time he faced that fact, a tiny piece of Killian’s heart broke.

Chapter Text

Killian was taken by surprise when one evening, when he was sitting alone reading in the kitchen, Henry suddenly walked through the door. He had gotten so used to the teenager being conveniently ‘late’ for family dinners these days that he was no longer even expecting him. Henry, for his part, stopped in the doorway, briefly staring at his stepfather as though he did not expect to see him either, before quickly scanning the room, as if to see whether anyone else was home. Killian’s heart clenched when he realised that, at that moment, Henry very much reminded him of a deer caught in headlights and he almost anticipated the boy to bolt from the house any minute, anything not to be left alone in his company.

Finally admitting defeat, Henry met his stepfather’s eyes. “How are you, Killian?”

The former pirate quirked a brow, but soon schooled his features into something resembling an easy smile. “I’m doing well enough, lad, how are you?”

“All right,” Henry nodded, averting his gaze momentarily. While the man in front of him was trying to appear casual, he was seeing something else entirely. It had been a while since he looked – really looked – at Killian Jones and what he found before him made his heart sink into his stomach. Henry saw the clothes that hung too loose on his far too slender frame, the pale yellowish tint to his skin, the clenched jaw and barely perceptible grimace betraying the pain he was trying to hide. Henry swallowed hard and met Killian’s gaze again. “Where’s mum?” he asked, his voice much more confident this time.

“She’s run out to the shop, she’ll be back in a moment. How was school today?” Killian figured that if Henry started an actual conversation, he might as well seize the moment and continue it, even if it was avoiding the elephant in the room.

“Fine,” followed the boy’s reply, but that word alone was enough to let Killian know he wasn’t getting any further information out of his stepson, so he attempted to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Will you, ah,” he hesitated, “will you be joining us for dinner today?”

The teenager was silent for a moment, seemingly considering the invitation. “When is dinner?” he finally inquired, as if that was the only thing standing between him staying or going.

“Probably in an hour or two.”

Henry nodded.

Killian put his book down and stood up, with a bit too much of a visible effort for his liking, his knuckles going white as he propped himself up against the countertop. Henry didn’t miss that and something unreadable flashed in his eyes.

“Would you like me to make you something to eat now, if you’re hungry?” his stepfather asked carefully, as though afraid to push him. But he was too late. Whatever openness that had been in Henry before had completely vanished sometime in the past few seconds.

“No, thank you,” he declined.

“Are you sure? I-“

“Killian, I’m nearly seventeen, I can make my own bloody food,” the teenager snapped and Killian’s eyes shot up.

“Language, Henry,” he warned calmly, but Henry was way past any such warnings.

“I’m not your kid, Killian,” he delivered the first blow, whether he meant to or not. “You are not my father,” followed the second. “I don’t need you to feed me and I certainly don’t need you to discipline me. Just because you and mum haven’t managed a kid of your own, does not mean I need you.” Third.

Killian swallowed hard, his knuckles, now pale white, gripping the cold marble for an entirely different reason. There was so much he wanted to say, not least of which was that he never meant to replace Henry’s father, while at the same time, there was nothing he yearned for more. But while the boy’s words were cruel, Killian could see the pain and self-preservation that spat them out and he could also recognise the truth in them. He and Emma would never have a child of their own. She had insisted they froze his sperm – one could do that in this realm, apparently – before he became too ill and Whale put him on the stronger medication, presumably to try later, but deep down, he knew there would be no later. Not for him. Henry was his only chance and he simply did not measure up to the task.

A sigh from his stepson drew his attention back to the boy’s face. The previous anger faded from his features and, if he tried hard enough, the former pirate could almost discern regret in his eyes. Almost. “I can’t do this anymore, Killian,” Henry spoke quietly, as though he was admitting his darkest secret. “I’m going to stay with my other mum from now on. I can’t live here anymore.”

Killian’s heart stilled in his chest. Of all the things he expected Henry to say, this was not one of them. His mouth suddenly felt dry as he asked, “Why?”

“You know why,” Henry muttered. With that said, he turned around and walked out of the house.

Killian slowly lowered himself back onto the barstool and cradled his head in his hands. His mind was reeling with what had just transpired between himself and Henry and, for the life of him, he could not figure out what to tell Emma and how to explain it to her when she came home. Each and every notion of self-loathing he had been lugging around these past nearly three centuries reared their ugly heads all at once. Perhaps it was for the best Emma had never conceived his child, and not just because he would probably leave the poor mite fatherless. Perhaps fate had deemed him rightly unfit to be a father after all.

-------------------------

“Hi!”

His head jerked up at her cheerful greeting a little too forcefully, causing his vision to swim for a moment. He looked at her, only to find her grinning happily as she pecked a kiss on the corner of his mouth and placed the groceries bag down on the counter. She was so carefree and relaxed; he did not have the heart… He instinctively forced a smile on his face.

“I ran into Henry outside.”

His heart skipped a beat.

“He said he’s going to stay with Regina for a bit, so it’s just the two of us for dinner again,” she continued casually as she unpacked her shopping.

He swallowed hard. “Are you ok with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she frowned momentarily before returning to her task. “It’s been over two weeks since he stayed over at Regina’s, I think some time together will be good for them.”

He hummed as a load slipped off his chest. Henry hadn’t said a thing. Although the rational part of Killian knew full well that it was her lad who was in the wrong, the irrational – that currently dominated his subconscious – still saw himself as the villain of that particular story and the last thing he wanted was to cause his wife pain by telling her that he was the reason her son now refused to stay in her house.

Emma made dinner quickly and they proceeded to eat in comfortable silence, occasionally peppered with her attempts at small talk, which he reciprocated with smiles and nods, but very few actual words. His mind simply wasn’t in it.

“You aren’t hungry again?” she asked softly, glancing at his plate with a tinge of sadness, only for Killian to just realize that he had barely touched his food this entire time. “You’re not feeling well?” she asked.

“I’m fine, love,” he assured her with the best smile he could muster and made a point of placing a large forkful into his mouth. It tasted like ash and he was fighting the urge to throw it up for all he was worth, but he managed to chew it down and follow up with another one. “Besides, it appears you’re eating enough for the both of us,” he deflected with a smirk at her almost empty plate.

He knew it worked when she latched on with mock offence. “You did not just call me fat, Killian!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it love, you are gorgeous.”

He smiled to himself when he noticed the apples of her cheeks tint pink. At least he’d done one thing right.

----------------------------

“I must hand it to you, lad, you’re going to impressive lengths to avoid me.”

Henry’s breath caught in his throat and he all but jumped out of his skin with a start. It was well after two in the morning and the plan was to sneak into the house unnoticed, collect whatever belongings he needed and disappear just as stealthily. What he did not expect was for his stepfather to be seemingly waiting for him. The former pirate was sitting alone on the couch, the pale moonlight shining through the window just barely illuminating his hunched silhouette in the otherwise completely dark room. “Does your mother know you’re running around the streets at this time of night?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “I’m nearly seventeen, Killian.”

“Indeed, you are,” Killian muttered, as though that rationale was supposed to stand with the former Evil Queen.

Henry sighed heavily, defeatedly. “No, she doesn’t know I’m here, but I need to collect some of my stuff, and some of it I actually need for school today.”

Killian nodded and a tense, heavy silence descended on the two of them with the former pirate sitting quietly with his head in his hands and the boy fidgeting on his feet.

Finally, Henry spoke. “Killian, I’m sorry about what I said yesterday,” he blurted. “It was… I had no right. I’m sorry.”

His stepfather lifted his head slowly and regarded him for a long moment. “Thank you, Henry,” he said simply.

Henry nodded, visibly relieved to get it off his chest. “Why are you sitting here alone in the middle of the night?”

The corner of Killian’s mouth lifted slightly in a self-depreciating smile. “I fear I don’t sleep too well these days, lad. Which is rather unhelpful, considering I am tired beyond measure. This is your home, Henry. Regardless of whatever is going on between you and I, you must never feel as though you should sneak in here at some ungodly hour of the morning. You must know that.”

“I do,” the teenager nodded subtly, then glanced in the direction of upstairs. “Is mum asleep?” He lowered his voice.

“I recon she is.”

“Did you tell her? You know, about… about last night?”

“No,” his stepfather answered without hesitation. “She has no business knowing what went on between us.” Although Killian spoke the words without looking at Henry, he could all but feel the relief radiating from his stepson.

“Thanks,” the boy said meekly and Killian nodded in acknowledgement.

“Listen, lad… seeing as you’re wide awake, may I perhaps have another few minutes of your time?” He looked up. “I won’t take long, I promise. Have a seat,” he motioned with his head to the couch beside him.

Henry hesitated for a moment, glancing between the empty space on the couch and the door, but ultimately walked up to his stepfather and rigidly sat down.

“In the past few hours, you have mentioned your age to me twice,” Killian began, and Henry was abruptly taken aback by the sheer fatigue and weakness in his voice. “And so I’m going to talk to you now as I would to a man, no longer a boy. Because you’re right, Henry. A man is what you are.” He looked up pointedly, but gently. “You were right in what you said. Uncalled for as it may have been, it was the truth. You owe me nothing, Henry. I am not your father. I wished so much that-“ He inhaled a deep breath and shook his head. “But it matters not. I am not your father, but I care for you deeply, dear boy, more than you know. I never wanted to put you through all this. In fact, if I could change one thing, it would probably be it. I understand why you have to-“ Killian suddenly squeezed his eyes shut and his breath hitched as he doubled over and pressed his hand to his abdomen, bunching his tee shirt in a tight fist. His breathing came in short shallow gasps as he was trying to ride out the burst of agony with as much dignity as possible.

“Killian…” Henry gulped, his eyes two terrified saucers. He hesitantly reached for his stepfather, but pulled his hand back in the last second and subconsciously drew further away from him.

At last, Killian held up one trembling hand palm up, indicating his pain was subsiding, before he took another moment to collect himself. “Forgive me, Henry,” he managed, breathing heavily. “I’m not… the truth is… I’m not doing well. In fact, that would be an understatement, which is why… which is why, I cannot allow you to move to Regina’s.”

Henry frowned at that, but said nothing.

“I’m going to the hospital tomorrow and, this time, I don’t think I’ll be coming back,” Killian spoke calmly, with quiet acceptance.

“You hate the hospital…” Henry whispered in disbelief and confusion.

Killian chuckled. “Be it as it may, I can no longer stay here, not when I now know that my presence here does more harm than good.” The boy opened his mouth to object, but Killian stopped him and carried on. “It isn’t just you, Henry. Your mother doesn’t deserve this either and I… I’m getting worse. That infuriating doctor has been trying to get his claws into me for weeks now and I believe that perhaps he’s right after all. I am better off there than here.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Henry said quietly, almost imploringly, unable to accept the terrifying finality of what his stepfather was really saying.

“No, lad, I do. And that is precisely why you cannot leave. I don’t know how long I have left in this world, Henry, but I wager not too long, and before you know it, your mother will need you more than ever. You will have to step up and be the man that both she and Regina raised you to be. You cannot abandon her now.” He paused, as though contemplating the best way to proceed. “So this is what you’re going to do. You’ll stay over at Regina’s for a couple of days so that Emma doesn’t get suspicious regarding your abrupt change of mind and then you’ll come home. And you’ll be there for your mother because the Gods know, I no longer can. Do we understand each other?” He looked up at the boy next to him, his gaze once again gentle, but firm.

“Yes, sir,” Henry said quietly, his voice quivering subtly.

Killian smiled at him and placed one hand on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Henry, for what it’s worth. You’re a good lad. Now, off you go, get what you need and straight back to Regina’s. Knowing your mother, she’s wide awake and worried sick and you’ve got school today.”

Henry nodded numbly as he stood up and turned out of the room into the comforting darkness of the staircase leading up to the first floor. When he was well out of sight or earshot in the privacy of his own room, he leaned back against the closed door with a sigh, and finally, for the first time, allowed a tear to fall.

Chapter Text

There was nobody there to see him off. The house was deathly silent; in perfect harmony with his heavily troubled mind and increasingly frail body. His wife knew nothing of what he had planned; he knew the mere idea would inevitably cause her pain, as well as that she would try and do everything in her power to dissuade him. He couldn’t have that, not anymore. Try as he might to hide it, it was becoming harder and harder to move, to walk, to think, to draw breath… to stop hurting those he loved with his mere existence. He would have to face her later; after the deed is done, when she would have no choice but to consent. The lad was not there either, even though he knew what was happening. Killian understood, tried not to judge, tried not to let this another heartbreak weigh heavily upon the rest in his chest. When he spoke to Henry the other night, he knew it would probably be the last time he would see his stepson; he had done his best to end their relationship on a positive note, to convey his pride and love for the boy he was not permitted to call ‘son’ through words other than the ones he yearned to use. He hoped Henry heard. He hoped he would remember.

Killian drew in a deep, laborious breath as he allowed his eyes to rest longingly upon every detail of his surroundings, his heart clenched in a pain utterly separate from his condition. A part of him wanted to commit every aspect of his home to memory, while another persisted it would perhaps be far less agonising to allow time to take its course and forget… not that he had much of it left, anyway. That was, after all, why he had finally scraped up the courage for what he was doing today. This house was no longer his home; it would cease to be so the moment he walked through those doors. The dreams and hopes buried within its walls were no longer his life; they ceased to be so the moment he had finally realised this was one battle he would not win.

He had one final step to take in his journey and, if the difficulty in which he descended those stairs for the final time was any indication, it led him somewhere far from here.

“Do you need a hand?” David asked gently, teetering the fine line between invasive and kind, interrupting his thoughts and making him realise that he was still gripping the banister with one hand with almost bruising force.

David. Emma’s father. His father-in-law. His best friend. His brother. He wished he could spare him the heartache of this moment, but there was no one else he could trust with it, and he was sadly too far gone physically to carry the burden himself.

Killian faintly shook his head as he finally let go, immediately feeling his legs struggle under his own weight, but forcing the discomfort to the very back of his mind. “I will manage. Could you take the bag, please?” he gestured at the packed duffel bag at the foot of the stairs and David picked it up easily, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked.

No. “Yes.”

---------------------------

Killian was not sure whether it was the physical or mental pain and exhaustion that was causing him to drag his feet as he trailed slowly behind the nurse as she led himself and David through the hospital corridors towards what was essentially to be his new home. The thought alone left a bitter taste in his mouth and he was struggling to reconcile that notion with the promise he had made months previously, that he would do everything he could to not resign himself to the hospital. The irony that he was presently confining himself to it out of his own free will was not lost on him either.

“This will be your room, Captain,” the nurse opened the door and ushered the two men inside, while herself remaining just outside.

Killian inwardly rolled his eyes at her obvious attempt to interact with him as little as possible as he replied with a nod and a “Thank you,” He was used to it by now; his reputation still preceded him in some circles and, while most people no longer minded who he once used to be and some didn’t know, there was no shortage of those, especially older ones who had come from the Enchanted Forest with the first or second curse, who would rather give him a wide berth at the first opportunity. He did not take it personally. He knew the nurse meant no harm. Fear, after all, was quite the all-consuming emotion.

“Dr Whale said he would be over in a few minutes, so if you would- If you would like to settle in and get changed in the meantime... Your Highness,” she offered David a respectful nod and scurried away.

The prince grimaced as he shook his head. “Killian, I’m sorry-“

But the former pirate simply waved it off and took the duffel bag from his friend’s hand with a small wince to retrieve a change of clothes. As soon as he found what he was looking for, he headed into the ensuite bathroom.

“Need help?” David inquired, a bit awkwardly, given the cloud that suddenly descended upon the room.

“I can still dress myself, Dave,” Killian muttered, however without malice, before closing the door behind him.

David nodded and didn’t push. Despite his best intentions, he knew his son-in-law and best friend to be a proud man who had survived for centuries without relying on anyone at all other than himself, be it by choice or necessity. Either way, he understood perfectly well just how difficult the physical consequences of Killian’s condition were for him and how determined he was to push through his limitations. Desperate to busy himself some other way, he was about to start unpacking the rest of the bag, when an unmistakable crash from the bathroom nearly caused him to jump. He was frantically knocking on the door before his brain could even catch up with his feet.

“Killian? Open the door!” Recognising the futility of the act, he still attempted to open the locked door himself before a muffled curse from inside caused him to release a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Leave me be, David,” Killian’s voice sounded steady enough, albeit somewhat weaker than before.

“Open the door,” David insisted regardless. “If you don’t, I’m getting someone to open it right now.”

“Bloody hell, just give me a bloody moment and hold the cavalry!”

David gritted his teeth and stepped away from the door. “You have one minute.”

He heard no reply, but to his palpable relief, the door unlocked with thirty-seven seconds to spare, not that he was counting, and his son-in-law emerged from the small room, clad in a pair of low hanging tracksuit bottoms and a dark grey tee-shirt that may have fit him once, but was now hanging loose off his slender frame. His face was a shade paler than when he had gone in, with one of his hands splayed over his lower chest and David fought every fibre of his being not to come over and help when Killian stopped after a couple of steps and braced himself against the wall with his free hand, taking a few measured breaths.

“Are you okay?”

Killian nodded and pushed himself off the wall, making the rest of the way towards the bed and sitting down with a barely audible groan, all the while avoiding all eye contact. “I slipped. I’m fine.”

“You don’t-“

“Bloody hell, David, I slipped!” he barked out, then, slightly more calmly added, “My pain medication ran out a couple of days ago and I just had a flare up. That’s all. Nothing to worry about. All right?”

“How could it run out? Why didn’t you say anyt-“

“It’s all right,” he breathed, lying down in bed and David made a mental note of the fact he still had not released his chest, only draped the other arm over his eyes. “They’ll hook me up to whatever concoction they have in those little tubes of theirs and in no time, I’ll be as good as new. This is not my first time.”

That statement alone caused the prince to cringe inwardly as though it physically wounded him, stressing out the bleak reality Killian had seemingly already resigned himself to. He was wrecking his head for something else to say when Killian’s phone abruptly shattered the heavy silence in the room. To his surprise and no small amount of concern, the former pirate did not so much as budge to attempt to answer it and the phone continued to ring for a short while until it finally stopped. Still, the man on the bed did not move.

A few more seconds ticked by and David’s own phone rang. Unsurprisingly, it was Emma.

With a resigned groan, he picked up. “Hi, Emma.” He did not miss Killian stiffen slightly when he must have realised it was his wife trying to reach him.

“Dad, is Killian with you?” she inquired demandingly, not wasting a moment. “I tried his phone, he’s not answering.” When he hesitated and exchanged a glance with her husband, who by now had finally lifted his arm off his eyes and reluctantly met his gaze, she pushed once more, “Dad, I could use an answer right now!”

David exhaled heavily. “He’s right here, Emma.” Another breath. “We’re at the hospital.”

There was a beat of silence and David just about convinced himself she was either about to yell at him or worse, teleport into the room, but instead, the last thing he expected followed. “Can he talk?” came her soft voice from the other end of the line and David nearly bulked at the stoic sadness in it.

Killian slightly shook his head at his enquiring gaze, but David appeared to ignore him when he all but shoved the phone into his hand.

“Swan.”

“Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, love,” he squeezed his eyes momentarily over the blatant lie he knew she would sense.

“Then why are you in hospital? I know you have nothing routine scheduled.”

He drew in a stuttering breath and took a moment to ponder over his next words before confessing, “I checked myself in, Emma.”

Another moment of silence lingered before her voice sounded again and he could immediately tell she was on the verge of tears and his own heart shattered in his chest. “Why?”

“I no longer have a choice, Swan. It’s gone too far… I can’t put it off any longer, you and I both know it. You and Henry deserve better than-“

“Killian, no, please,” she pleaded softly, and he knew she was crying now. “We can do this, I can look after you at home, I can help you, we can make it work, please don’t-“

“Love, you have been. You’ve been nothing short of brilliant,” he hoped she could hear the small, sad smile in his voice; hoped against hope she would let the honest yet empty flattery distract her…

“I can do more, we can do better,” she continued to protest vehemently, completely disregarding his efforts. They both recognised it was not him checking into the hospital that was the issue, but rather what it meant.

“Emma-“

“Don’t do this-“

“Emma, listen-“

“You don’t have to-“

“Emma-“

“Killian, I can come over now and-“

“Swan!” his raised voice prompted a grimace to fleet across his face as he momentarily closed his eyes, but at least it stopped her rambling. “Love, there is no other way,” he continued calmly. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m coming over.”

“Please, don’t. Don’t come, stay in work, go about your day. I’m fine, I swear to you. Your father is here, if I need anything, as well as an entire hospital full of nurses and doctors. I will still be here in the evening after your shift and, if you really want to, you can come by then. Please.”

“Okay,” she reluctantly agreed after some deliberation.

“Thank you. I’m handing the phone back to your father now.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too, Swan. Goodbye, love.” Without looking at the other man, he handed the phone over to David and threw his arm back over his eyes.

“She hung up,” his father-in-law said simply, after bringing the phone up to his ear, and pocketed it.

Killian did not bother with a reply.

“Charming,” Whale’s casual greeting rang through the room as the doctor strode inside, brimming with his usual self-importance and followed by a different nurse, a younger one that appeared to be much more confident than the last. “Didn’t expect to see you here of all people.”

“Always a pleasure, Victor,” the prince retorted in kind and sank onto the only chair in the room, just as Killian sat up in bed.

“I thought you and I have reached an understanding in regard to short sleeved tee shirts, Jones,” the doctor observed pointedly, “or would you prefer a hospital gown instead for the duration of your stay?”

“Cut the empty threats, Whale,” Killian dismissed him half-heartedly. “You know I don’t wear short sleeves and I’m not wearing a bloody hospital gown either.”

“It’s all right, Dr Whale,” the young nurse piped up, as she easily rolled the loose sleeve up over Killian’s thin arm to expose the inside of his elbow. “I can reach the vein easily enough, it’s not a problem.”

Killian couldn’t help a small frown as he glanced at the nurse, who merely flashed him an apologetic smile before starting to expertly prepare his arm for the IV cannula. He tried to remember whether he had seen her before, but ultimately decided she must be new.

“Thank you, Judy,” Whale relented and, with a slight roll of his eyes, sat down next to his patient and retrieved his stethoscope to check his heart and lungs, while the nurse continued to work on the IV.

“Dammit, Killian,” followed only a few moments later in a somewhat uncharacteristic show of genuine concern on the doctor’s part as he yanked the stethoscope away from the former pirate’s back. “How long has this been going on?”

“It’s fine…”

Ignoring him completely, Whale picked up the oxygen nasal tube from its rack and handed it to Killian. “Put it on.”

“I don’t need to-“

“If I run a blood oxygen levels test on you now, I guarantee you, you will not pass with flying colours!”

“All done here, doctor,” the young nurse announced cheerily, successfully melting the tension between the two men as she gently let go of Killian’s arm and stood up to leave, flashing him one final smile. “I will see you later, Captain Jones, have a nice day.”

When she was gone, Whale looked back at Killian, his eyes losing none of their previous severity. “May I remind you that you came to me for help. It is my job to keep you alive, quite literally for as long as possible, and may I also remind you that it’ll make my job that much harder if you can’t damn well breathe!” he hissed.

“I’m breathing just fine.”

“Like hell! Put it on,” he placed the oxygen tube into Killian’s hands without further discussion, his steely gaze unwavering.

Finally, Killian conceded and, however reluctantly, secured the oxygen cannula under his nose and over his ears. He inhaled a stuttering breath as he lay back down and closed his eyes, a clear indication that he was done talking.

“Much obliged,” Whale grumbled. “When you’re sure that you can again make do without it, feel free to remove it.”

“Gladly,” Killian muttered under his breath, eyes still closed even as Whale exchanged a civil nod with David and left the room.

Neither man spoke for the longest time, or so much as looked in each other’s direction, until David found the lingering silence simply too heavy to bear. Regardless, whatever he may or may not have had in mind to say to his son-in-law died on his lips when he finally ventured a glance at the man in question.

Killian had not moved from his position on the bed. His legs, casually crossed at the ankles, stood in sharp contrast to the arm that once again rested over his eyes and the hand that, once again, absentmindedly rubbed his chest, just under his ribcage. Nevertheless, his jaw was slack and it almost seemed as though his face appeared to be slightly more relaxed than before. With a touch of relief and a healthy dose of alarm, David pondered just how strong the pain relievers that Whale had Killian on were to start working so fast. He glanced over to the covers, crumpled at the foot of the bed, and briefly wondered whether Killian had kicked them off on purpose or simply did not have it in him to reach for them. With a decisive sigh, he rose from his chair and walked over to the bed, gently pulling the covers over the former pirate, just past his abdomen.

“Thank you,” Killian whispered after a moment, his voice completely devoid of the strength or animosity that had coloured it so distinctly just minutes earlier. In fact, it was devoid of practically everything.

David let out another sigh and carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, patting Killian’s knee once as he did. “I didn’t know you had trouble breathing.”

Killian dropped the arm that was over his face to his side and focused on his friend. “I don’t make a habit of advertising my shortcomings,” he replied gruffly.

“Killian…”

“It comes and goes. At this stage, it is nothing I cannot manage. No need to fret over it, mate.” He purposefully chose to omit the part where Whale had warned him it would only get worse with time, preferring not to stare in the face of an inevitable future until it made itself present.

David nodded silently to himself. “Don’t antagonise him, Hook. I dislike him as much as the next person, but he is a good doctor and he is trying to help you. Just wear the damn short-sleeved tee shirt and be done with it.”

“Not a fan of those, I’m afraid,” came the nonchalant reply. “If that’s all the same to you, I would much rather hold on to whatever control I still possess over my own life, miniscule as it may be.”

David shook his head, deciding then and there not to press on. His mind just was not in it and, although he recognised that deep down his friend was probably itching for a fight, just to vent his frustration if nothing else, David had no such intentions. The last thing he wanted was to make this situation even worse for Killian than it already was. “Would you like me to unpack your bag for you?”

“No need,” followed the simple reply. “I just need a small bit of rest and I will take care of everything myself. Thank you.”

David nodded, the feeling of utter uselessness an unbearable weight on his chest.

“There is a photograph in the bag,” Killian’s voice drew him out of his thoughts, filling David with a ridiculously overblown sense of purpose. “If you don’t mind, can you please leave it here,” he slightly tilted his head towards the bedside table. “There is also a brown envelope. May I have it, please?”

With a nod, David quickly fished out the two items in question, doing his best to school his features when he caught glimpse of the smiling faces of his daughter and grandson grinning at him from the photograph, as he gently placed the frame by his friend’s bed, facing him.

Killian glanced at it only briefly, with an emotion David could not quite place fleeting in his eyes and a tick of his jaw, and turned his attention to the brown envelope. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and took it from his father-in-law’s hands without a word of explanation. As the latter continued staring at him inquisitively, Killian retrieved what appeared to be a small neatly folded bundle of papers and a pen. Opening on one of the pages, he handed it back to David, together with the pen. “Sign here, please,” he instructed simply, but although his voice was tame, it was leaving no room for debate.

“What is this?” David inquired and was about to leaf through the other pages to find out, but Killian snatched them away and pointedly returned to the page in question.

“I need two favours from you, mate. This is one of them. You are not signing your life away, nor am I trying to trap you in any way, I assure you. I should like to think you know me better than that by now. I need you to trust me,” he levelled his eyes pointedly at the prince, until the latter relented and with a slight shake of his head, quickly scribbled his signature in the allocated spot.

Wordlessly, Killian took the pages off David and carefully returned them into the envelope, sealing it and handing it back to his father-in-law. “You can open it when the time is right,” he simply said.

Icy cold sensation he could not explain licked down his spine as he clasped the envelope in his hands. He didn’t know how he managed to keep his voice steady when he finally asked, “And when will that be?”

Killian averted his gaze for a moment, his jaw twitching. “When I am no longer here to do it for you.”

The answer didn’t surprise David nearly as much as he wished it had. “Killian, don’t-“

“David,” the former pirate’s voice rang the strongest and most self-assured it had all day, when he abruptly commanded his father-in-law’s and best friend’s full attention. His voice was softer, almost regretful when he spoke again. “There is still much I’ve to learn about this world, but I believe one thing is quite similar to ours: in order for this,” he gestured at the envelope, “to be valid, it must bear a witness’ and an executor’s signature. I’m sorry it must be you, but there is no one else I could trust. Emma… She is my wife and, therefore ineligible. And even if she were not… this particular subject is not one that we can discuss without consequences and I think we can both agree that she has already cried far more tears over me than I am worth, so best not add any more, if I can help it.”

David visibly swallowed whatever he wanted to say and instead cast his eyes down to the envelope in his hand, suddenly unable to meet his friend’s gaze head on. He understood very well why Emma preferred not to discuss the subject of Killian’s death, even though the practical elements of it had to be discussed regardless of her wishes. Unfortunately, Killian’s admission inevitably brought to light something else entirely; something David had spent months ignoring himself: that he too did not know how to cope with the prospective death of a man he would have once run through with his own sword without a second thought and now considered both a son and a brother.

“Emma may not wish to dwell on it, but the reality is that we have no choice. I have a good bit of money, sourced from my old life and kindly converted into this world’s currency, courtesy of Her Majesty. I am a pirate, mate; old habits and all that.” Killian flashed a small mischievous smile that nevertheless failed to penetrate the haze surrounding his father-in-law. “It is rather simple, really. I will have no need of it. It is all divided between Emma, Henry and your little lad.”

At that, David’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “No, Killian, I can’t-“ he started protesting, but was instantly cut short.

“Alas, mate, I’m afraid you just signed your consent,” Killian smirked again, nodding at the envelope. “A bit late for that now.”

“This isn’t right,” he mumbled, looking down again.

“David. Look at me.” The sudden urgency and firmness in Killian’s voice caught him completely off guard, making him raise his eyes back to the other man. More than anything, he wished he could avert his gaze for the simple reason that looking at Killian at that particular moment was simply seeing too much. “I know hope is your bloody family motto, and I tried to adhere to it, mate, I truly did, for as long as I possibly could, and I swear to you, I have been and always will be holding on with everything I’ve got, but it does not mean I am blind. A miracle is just that, Dave. With the absence of one, I am not walking out of here alive. What will you have me do with all that? Gods know I no longer need that stash for a rainy day. The least I can do is pass it on to those I love. Emma and I were not blessed with a child of our own, but we have Henry, and regardless of how the lad sees me, I wish to take care of him, even after I am gone, and with your permission, I wish to do the same for Emma’s brother.”

“Thank you… Killian,” was all that David found in himself to say, striving to keep his own heartbreak locked in the lump in his throat and the burning behind his eyes. He swallowed hard and blinked a few times to clear his vision. “What else?” he asked then, his voice hoarse and flat to his ears.

“Pardon?”

“You asked for two favours. What else?”

Killian nodded absentmindedly and lay back down with a small wince and a breath of relief that David would have missed if he but tore his eyes off his friend for one second. Neither did he miss the way Killian’s hand drifted back to his chest seemingly completely unaware.

“I need you to invite Emma to dinner tonight,” he spoke finally, and David found the request so unexpected he actually frowned, but then Killian went on, “I know your daughter. She will be here as soon as her shift is finished, possibly beforehand. I need you to give her a reason to leave my side. She should not be here, not today. I need you to find a way to distract her from today’s events. I need you to- I need you to make her forget, even for a moment. Please.”

David nodded. “What if she refuses?”

The former pirate smiled sadly. “She will. But she’ll come. She’ll come because Henry will be there too, and Regina and Neal. And she will be reluctant to be a part of that, but soon enough she will let go of her sadness in favour of Henry’s smile and Neal’s laugh and your wife’s insatiable mothering and she will allow her family to comfort her when she needs them most. She may be my wife, but she is also a loving mother, a devoted sister and a dutiful daughter. You organise a family dinner and she will come.”

“A family dinner,” David echoed emptily, and Killian immediately caught on to his own poor choice of words. “Without you.”

“Aye.”

They stared at each other for the longest moment that was shattered abruptly when Dr Whale walked purposefully into the room with a chart in his hand.

“You’re still here, I see,” he arched a brow at David. “I’m afraid-“

“Just leaving,” Killian supplied before the prince could even process the words or the doctor finish his sentence. “We are done here,” he added softly, not unkindly. “Thank you, mate.”

David nodded distractedly as he stood up, clasping the brown envelope in his hand. He then reached his other hand to clasp Killian’s, trying to convey in that gesture, that one gaze, everything he could not say there and then.

And Killian understood.

Chapter Text

The road to hell was paved with good intentions, as Killian Jones found out after he had checked himself into the hospital for what he knew would be the final time.

Without Killian to take care of, Emma immersed herself in her job. The sheriff’s office was far from busy, but she was desperately trying to fill her days as much as possible, even with the most mundane of tasks, anything to take her mind off her husband or the prospect of coming home to a house without him. She asked her father to stay on as deputy and not because she required help solving Storybrook’s non-existent crimes, but simply to have his comforting presence when she needed it most. Around Henry or Killian, she did not allow herself to succumb to despair, they had enough on their plate as it were. In her father’s arms, however, she could break down and cry without reservation. He would hold her, stroke her hair and whisper empty comforts in her ear. And although she knew that in the end of the day, she would have to, once again, come home to a house without her husband and with a son who was losing his only father figure (even if he would never admit it), while she was in David’s arms, she knew precious moments of peace.

Her relationship with her mother, however, was not quite the same. While her father simply comforted and listened, deep down, he recognised the same truth she did; that her husband was dying and nothing short of a miracle could help him. Her mother, on the other hand, refused to disengage from her perpetual hope even for one moment, even when that was precisely what Emma needed. Snow firmly believed that Killian would be alright, even as month after month fleeted by unnoticed and the damaged organ had poisoned his body to such extent that he transformed into an almost unrecognisable shadow of the man he had once been. The more time went by, the less Emma could deal with the constant onslaught of positivity, especially after she'd come back from a yet another visit to the hospital only to be faced with a healthy dose of the reality of her husband’s condition. Consequently, when she needed to take her frustration out on something, her mother became the go-to punching bag.

Henry had kept his promise and after a very brief stay with Regina, returned home to Emma, but his presence did little to brighten her days. The more he retreated into himself, the further he pulled away from Emma. The two co-existed in the overly large house that had once held the dream of a family home and now was full of ghosts and constant reminders of everything that had gone wrong in their lives. In their mutual attempts to take care of each other, they were neglecting themselves and their own grief and, while Emma was at least visiting Killian as regularly as she could, Henry did not visit him at all. His mother, afraid to hurt him, did not push him and, after a while, even stopped asking him whether he wanted to tag along.

Alone in his hospital room, Killian slowly withered away. Although he saw Emma quite often at first and at times, the other members of their family as well, he no longer felt the need, nor possessed the strength, to pretend he was doing better than he was. Perhaps it was the sense of finality that haunted his hospital admission that did it, perhaps it was the natural progression of his condition, he long since stopped caring, but in the few months since his admission, he had deteriorated faster than he had in all the months prior to it put together.

He was no longer merely thin; his body had lost so much fat and muscle mass that he often wondered if all that was left was bone. His yellowish skin dried and itched. His appetite disappeared almost entirely and when malnutrition and malabsorption quickly set in, Whale made the decision to feed him intravenously. At that point, Killian no longer cared how many tubes were dangling out of him, but unfortunately, it made little to no difference to the nausea he continued to suffer from. The more his dying liver kept releasing toxins into his body, the more it was damaging other organs and in his case, first and foremost were the lungs. He was finding it harder and harder to breathe until he had no choice but to resort to a nasal oxygen cannula and sometimes, when things got particularly bad, even a mask. Although he fought his overwhelming weakness, fatigue and muscle cramping in his legs and strove to remain mobile for as long as possible, his body gradually lost that battle and he often required the help of a cane for support when walking. Sometimes, he was too sick to move at all.

To make matters worse, out of the blue, Emma’s near daily appearances stopped and with her, the only bright spot in his melancholy existence faded away. She gradually visited less and less and their interaction became limited to their phones, with visits fewer and further between. At first, he could not understand why and was both hurt and afraid to ask, but then, especially as she never addressed the subject herself, his self-depreciation took over and he no longer cared why. He resigned himself to look forward to her visits, no matter how infrequent, and make the most of every moment. He simply did not have time to wallow in uncertainties or hold grudges; it was a luxury he no longer possessed. As far as Killian was concerned, he had already lost Henry, so for his irrational self-sabotaging mind, losing Emma too was only natural progression.

He had hoped he was doing the right thing by everyone he loved as well as himself, but somehow, life had other plans.

-------------------------

It was their fourth wedding anniversary when Emma appeared in the doorway to his room just as a nurse was drawing his blood for testing. His face betrayed his surprise at seeing her for the first time in six days, but – as though promptly reminding himself of what was truly important – the surprise quickly melted into a most brilliant smile. “Swan,” he breathed her name reverently like a prayer.

The nurse glanced at her briefly. “We are nearly done here, Mrs. Jones, then he’s all yours.”

“My blood must be such a precious commodity this lovely lady requires a bit of it almost every day,” Killian, feeling emboldened and lighter by his wife’s presence, quipped with a small grin, causing a slight tint to appear on the young woman’s cheeks. Emma herself shook her head with a private smile. Leave it to her husband to be able to flirt a woman into blushing even under the circumstances.

“Are you up for a stroll today? It’s very nice outside,” she asked hopefully.

She didn’t miss the nurse giving him a concerned glance or how his face fell for but a moment, as though he was trying to summon either courage or strength or both, but finally, he nodded with a smile. “I believe I am, love. Would you so kindly mind releasing me from my prison?” he held up his arms to the nurse, who proceeded to detach his IVs from the cannulas in his forearms.

“That’s us done, Captain,” she announced cheerfully when she was finished and stood up to leave. “I will see you later. Have a nice day, Mrs. Jones,” she nodded politely at Emma.

Killian stretched the stiff muscles in his back and shoulders and reached for his hoodie, while Emma went over to fetch his shoes. She couldn’t remember when she’d started helping him put them on because there was never one particular day when he had asked for her help, rather she had intuitively realised that bending over to do it himself was becoming more and more painful for him.

“Are you sure about this, Killian?” she asked carefully, offering him a way out even as she was tying his shoelaces. It would not be the first time he cancelled their outing, but he did appear to be in good spirits today.

He nodded. “Quite sure, love. We’ll just have to be a bit on the slow side, perhaps, that’s all. But I’m fine, Emma, I promise. It’ll do me good.”

Emma finished with his shoes and stood up. Taking him by the elbow, she in turn helped him to his feet, trying not to focus on the sharp feel of bone where flesh and lean muscle used to be. She held out his cane for him to lean on and took his elbow again for support as he proceeded to take carefully measured steps towards the door. Still, as though sensing her concern, he flashed her his most charming smile. “I’m fine, love,” he assured, and Emma fought against the tears welling in her eyes. “Let’s go. I heard it was a nice day outside.”

Their stroll was slow and strenuous, and she could tell from the odd wince and his somewhat laboured breathing that it was taking its toll on him, but the thought of leaving him cooped up in his room all day was not a reality she was ready to resign herself to just yet. Judging by how much more he was leaning on her support this time, however, Emma didn’t think there were all too many walks like these in their future and she knew Killian drew the line at using the wheelchair.

They did not speak much, simply took pleasure in each other’s company, but when they did, he always craftily steered the conversation away from himself. He wanted to hear about her, her family and her life. He wanted very much to hear about Henry and his life. He never once mentioned how long she’d been gone and there was no hint of reproach in his demeanour, even though she felt she most certainly deserved it. He only betrayed his sadness for one brief moment, when she asked him whether he was in touch with Henry and a fleeting shadow passed over his features when he simply said that her son texted him occasionally and that he replied when he could. He did not elaborate further.

Later that evening, she lay in his hospital bed by his side, with her head resting on his shoulder and his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, his fingers lightly ghosting patterns on her arm. She knew she would have to go home soon. In fact, visiting hours were probably long over already, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with him just yet.

“Killian,” she tilted her chin up to see his face. “Can I ask you something?”

He frowned down at her. “Anything, love.”

Her heart clenched at what she was about to say next, but she selfishly needed to hear his answer. “Do you ever think about the future? Our future?”

He closed his eyes momentarily and winced in a way that made her think she had physically wounded him. “No, Swan, I don’t,” he finally spoke, as the fingers of his free hand reached up to touch the oxygen cannula under his nose, as if to subconsciously emphasize why not. He absolutely loathed having to wear it in front of Emma, but after their walk, his battered lungs decided they had done their duty for the day and he was left with no other choice, if he wanted to breathe normally. “If it’s all the same to you, love, I would rather not think about the future, ours or any other. I’ve realised something in the last few months, Emma. There is little point for someone in my position to dwell on the can-bes and the might-bes. It all results in little other than heartache. There’s no room in my life anymore for the past or the future. The only time I’m interested in is now. Every morning I wake up to see another day is another ‘now’. Yesterday no longer matters and tomorrow may never come.”

Emma was silent for a long moment. There was, after all, nothing she could say to contradict his statement, but regardless, his answer broke her heart. She would not tell him that though.

“Forgive me, love,” he murmured and planted a kiss in her hair. “I wish I could give you the answer you desired, but at this stage, I rather prefer the truth. I try not to think about the future, Emma. It simply hurts too much.”

“I love you, Killian.” She placed a feathery kiss on his chest, savouring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her ear. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

---------------------------

“Emma?” Regina frowned in surprise when she opened the door to find her son’s birth mother on the other side in what must have been the middle of the night. “What are you doing here? If you’re looking for Henry, he should be in your house.”

“I know,” Emma nodded. “And I’m not. I just… I just came back from seeing Killian; I need to talk to someone.”

Regina’s eyebrows nearly jumped out of her forehead. “And out of the entire Charming softball team, you picked me?”

Emma smiled sadly at that. “Can I come in?” she motioned inside.

As if remembering her manners, the former Queen shook her head and stepped back. “Yes, of course. Sorry, come in. Can I…”

“Tea,” Emma murmured. “Just tea is fine. Thank you. I won’t be long, I promise, I just… I need to talk to someone.”

Regina nodded and headed into the kitchen, with Emma following close behind like a lost puppy, all the while wringing her hands in front of her.

“Sit down, Emma, you’re making me nervous,” Regina commanded gently as she placed the brewing teapot and cups on the table between them and sat down herself. “What can I do for you?”

The blonde looked at her with large red rimmed eyes. “What I’m going to tell you… You have to promise, Regina, you have to promise you won’t tell a soul. Not even Henry. No one.”

“Ok, now you’re scaring me.”

Emma nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “Regina, I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, the Mayor did not say a word, just stared at the other woman in shock. Deep down, however deep, Emma could not help but congratulate herself for rendering the Evil Queen speechless. But then Regina finally spoke… “You’re pregnant? By what, pray tell, the Holy Ghost?” When Emma just stared on, she shook her head. “Emma, I may have been out of practice for a very long time, but even I know what it takes to become pregnant and last I checked, your husband has been quite incapacitated in that department for quite some time now. Unless…” she scrutinised Emma momentarily before carefully completing her sentence, “there isn’t anyone else in the picture, is there?”

Emma bit hard on her lower lip as she shook her head, but even that didn’t stop the flow of tears. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she barely managed to get out through her sobs. “There is no one else, there won’t be anyone else.”

Regina’s eyes narrowed in confusion and then suddenly widened. “You used the sperm? The sperm you and Killian froze?”

Emma nodded, restlessly biting at her lip, futilely trying to keep more tears at bay.

“But I thought… I mean, I didn’t think… does he know?”

“Regina, I was desperate. There was a moment, some months ago, when I hit rock bottom and I just… it was all I could think of. So I went behind his back, I did everything outside of Storybrook, no one here knows anything. You’re the only one. We tried having a baby for so long, I didn’t even really think it would work!”

“So why tell me now?” the former Queen inquired with gentle curiosity.

“Because I can’t tell him!” Emma wept. “I wanted to, so much. Today was our anniversary and I wanted so much to tell him, but he said something… he said something that made me realise that if I told him, I would end up only hurting him more and make whatever little time he has left pure torture and I couldn’t do that. I can’t do that.” The other woman remained silent and so Emma continued, “You cannot tell anyone. Most of all, Henry or my parents, because he can never find out.”

Regina nodded in agreement. “I won’t. I promise, but Emma… they will find out, I mean,” she gestured at her stomach, “How far along are you?”

“Five months,” Emma murmured as she looked down at her seemingly flat abdomen. “It’s been… it’s been a really hard time and I’ve been having terrible morning sickness and not eating enough. And whatever I wear, I always make sure it hides it.”

Regina quirked a brow. “Well, just so you know, you didn’t fool Henry. He may not know you’re pregnant, but he certainly noticed you’re sick. He told me sometimes you’re so sick, you barely leave the house. With everything that’s going on with Killian, he’s worried, Emma, so you may want to come up with a plausible excuse.”

“I know. I mean, I will. I’ll tell him something.”

“And you might want to share that something with me so that I can back you up,” the former Queen pointed.

“Just don’t let Killian know,” Emma all but pleaded with her friend. “Please.”

“You don’t think there’ll come a day soon when baggy clothes will no longer do, Emma? Not to mention, it is his baby,” she hinted gently.

But Emma merely smiled sadly and brushed a rebellious tear from her cheek. “I don’t think that will be a problem, Regina. By the time baggy clothes no longer do… Killian will no longer be here.”

Chapter Text

“Henry?” Regina poked her head into her son’s room, urging him with a pointed tilt of her chin to remove his ear buds and put away his phone.

“Yes, mum.”

She sighed deeply and sat down on his bed, patting the empty space next to her invitingly. “I just came back from the hospital,” she informed him softly, noticing how rigid he immediately went. “Henry, you need to stop this and go see him.”

The teen refused to look at her and instead feigned the deepest fascination with his bedcover. “It’s not like I haven’t been in touch since he went in, mum,” her son argued lamely. “I’ve texted him.”

“And when was the last time he replied?” she urged.

Henry shrugged and checked his phone. “Two weeks ago,” he admitted shamefully.

She rolled her eyes. “Two weeks ago? You haven’t heard from Killian in two weeks and, in this entire time, it never occurred to you to find out if anything might have happened?”

“Except I know nothing happened, mum!” he replied defensively. “Grandpa and grandma and mum and you have been visiting him… I know he’s not,” he pursed his lips, unable to voice the next word. “I just figured maybe he didn’t want to talk to me. Hell knows, I deserve it.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, you most certainly do deserve it, young man.” Regina lifted his chin with her forefinger to look him sternly in the eye. “I thought I raised you better than that, Henry Mills. For the record,” she added a bit more gently, “he hasn’t been ignoring you and I’m pretty sure he’d give anything for a visit from you. He hasn’t been able to answer your texts because he’s too sick to answer them.”

Henry said nothing, simply continued studying the pattern on his bedspread.

“You need to see him, Henry.”

“Why?” he whispered.

“Because when he dies, and it looks more likely to be a matter of when rather than an if and it could happen very soon, you will never forgive yourself if you don’t at least say goodbye.”

The boy finally looked up and the Mayor recoiled at the utter despair in her son’s tearful gaze. “That’s just it, mum, I’ve already said goodbye. I’ve said goodbye to him once before, years ago, when he collapsed in Camelot. I said goodbye again after he’d defeated the Dark Ones and they loaded him onto the gurney and took him away, and then I had to say goodbye again when, despite everything, he didn’t come back from the Underworld with the rest of us. I watched him die more than once and this time… this time, I can’t do that again because… because there is no coming back from this. This isn’t magical, mum, this is the real world and when someone dies in the real world, there is no hope, there is no way to bring them back!”

“Oh, Henry…” His mother wrapped her arms around him, and he cried into her embrace just like he used to when he was a small child. He cried freely and unreservedly. He cried for a boy who had to grow up without a father and for a man who would never know what it felt like to be called one. He cried for everyone he had lost and for all the precious time he had wasted, clinging to those losses. And mostly, he cried for what he believed was now far too late to fix.

Eventually, Regina pulled away and looked him straight in the eye, holding his face firmly in her hands. He could clearly see that she, too, had been crying. “Listen to me, Henry. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love; I know more than you will ever know. I know that you lost Neal, and I know that you lost Robin. Both were father figures to you, but let’s face it, both paled in comparison to Killian. They could have been fathers to you potentially, yes, but he – whether you admit it or not – he actually is one. He loves you so much, Henry. I know you’re hurting, but if you feel for him a fraction of what he feels for you, you are going to put your feelings aside and go see him. If not for you, then for him. You have no idea how much it would mean to him. He’s not…” she scowled and shook her head. “He’s not in good shape, Henry, not at all. He’s gotten a lot worse since you saw him last. I don’t think you have a lot of time. I was not his biggest fan in the beginning, but I’ll be the first to admit that he has given you so much. Can you not give him something so little in return?”

Henry said nothing for a while, largely avoiding his mother’s probing gaze. He knew what the right thing to do was, but the fear of what he would find in that hospital room was all but paralyzing, chilling him to his very bones. And yet… someone once told him to be the man his mothers raised him to be. “It’s Jones,” he confessed quietly, tentatively, raising a pair of anxious and tearful brown eyes at his mother.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name. It’s Henry Jones now. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I… I asked Emma to legally change it a few months ago. I wanted… I wanted a piece of him with me.”

To his surprise, or perhaps not, Regina smiled sadly with a firm nod. “He deserves it, Henry. No one deserves it more than him.”

--------------------------------

The first thing Henry was met with was the noise. In the quiet dimness of the room, each hushed beep emanating from the machines sounded like a volcanic eruption to his ears. Rationally, he could see there were only a couple, but to him the sound was so deafening, it felt like there were dozens of them surrounding the bed. He briefly wondered how Killian could sleep with so much noise before wondering whether he could sleep at all. It was only when he stepped further into the room and saw the man lying in the bed, his gaunt face largely obscured by an oxygen mask, that the beeping of the machines was finally reduced to a mere background noise. Henry realised he would take any such noise gladly as long as it acted as a firm reminder his stepfather was still alive.

He wiped at his eyes, quietly pocketed his mother’s car keys and removed his jacket, draping it over the back of the only chair in the room. The only light shone from the lamp above Killian’s head, the one that had to be always on, in case of emergency, and it spread its pale white glow over the resting man, making his face appear just barely alive. Henry swallowed hard and looked around. The room was largely empty apart from the machines, an IV rack with several bags hanging off it, a chest of drawers and a wheelchair. There was also a walking cane, but it was pushed away to a corner so far Henry barely noticed it was there; a clear indication that, unlike the wheelchair, it was not much use anymore. On the bedside table, there was a small vase with fresh flowers and a framed photograph of himself and Emma. There were also a couple of books stacked in a neat pile, but the thin layer of dust on them suggested it had been a while since they’d been last picked up.

Henry lifted the photograph and smiled. He remembered that day. Killian took that picture of the two of them on the Jolly Roger on one of their sailing trips… he remembered how happy the former pirate had been, pointing the phone at the two of them, his smile so wide it all but took over his entire face. He felt another tear trickle unbidden down his cheek and roughly brushed it off with his palm as he placed the frame back where he’d found it.

Henry reached hesitantly for Killian’s hand that rested on his stomach and gently cradled his cold fingers in his own. At the touch, his stepfather’s eyes opened and after a few moments of obvious disorientation, focused on him. As though remembering himself, Killian pulled his hand out of Henry’s and the boy felt the loss keenly and instantaneously. Killian reached up to his face and, with a somewhat unsteady hand, removed the oxygen mask.

Henry steeled himself not to betray his anguish at the sight of Killian’s haggard appearance and instead focused on his brilliant blue eyes. Although now also tired and defeated, they still shone as brightly as ever.

“Henry…” Killian whispered raspingly, and the boy was unsure whether his name was a statement of fact or a question.

“I’m here,” he replied nevertheless, going for Killian’s hand again, and this time, his stepfather did not pull it back. “I’m so sorry. For everything, I’m so sorry,” he whimpered as more tears spilled unbidden out of his eyes.

Killian closed his eyes momentarily and when he reopened them, Henry could clearly see that they, too, were brimming with tears. “No apologies,” was all he said. “Thank you, Henry.”

The teenager nodded at that. “Will it be ok, if I… can I sit with you for a while?”

Killian inhaled a shallow breath that made his lungs wheeze painfully and briefly reapplied the oxygen mask to his face. “I’m afraid… I’m not much of a company tonight, lad,” he stated regretfully, staring up at the ceiling and away from his stepson.

But Henry shook his head. “You’re all the company I need.”

He could swear that he caught a glimpse of a lopsided smile before Killian strapped his mask back on and those piercing blue eyes drifted closed once more. He could swear somewhere in the midst of it all, he heard the word ‘son’.

This time though, he didn’t flinch, or freeze, only gently squeezed the hand he was holding.

Chapter Text

“Good afternoon, Captain Jones!” the cheery young nurse breezed into his room and pulled open the heavy curtains, making Killian squint at the bright sunshine radiating from the window. The fact that he had slept all the way into the afternoon puzzled him as he did not even remember the last time when he had a full night’s sleep. His body must have been well and truly drained. A request to draw the curtains close again was on the tip of his tongue, only for him to realise that, despite seeing her nearly every day for the last few months, he could not even remember the nurse’s name.

When she walked up to the bed and leaned over to retrieve his chart, he tried in vain to catch her name tag. “It’s Judy, Captain,” she reminded him kindly and at his somewhat embarrassed expression, quickly added, “Dr. Whale did mention episodes of confusion and disorientation are very common, I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Killian removed the oxygen mask from his face and placed it on the bedside table. “My apologies, lass.”

“If it is any consolation, you never forgot my name before,” she offered.

“Perhaps it would help if you stopped calling me Captain and used my name,” he teased. “I have been here for months now, you know.” Although he was trying to make light of the situation, there was still the unmistakable undertone of dejection in his voice.

She flashed him a small grin as she glanced at the patient monitor and quickly jotted some notes in his chart. “Things are looking much better today, Captain. How are you feeling?”

He attempted a deep breath, as though to check before giving her an answer, but although his lungs did not wheeze this time, his breath still came out shallow. Judy gave him a small frown, but he merely brushed off her concern with a casual wave of his hand and reluctantly secured the nasal oxygen tube around his ears. All in all, he did feel better compared to yesterday, but he was far from expecting any miracles. As he pulled himself upwards into a sitting position, his eyes fell on the empty chair by his bed and he scowled slightly, absentmindedly wondering why it was important.

“Your son stayed here all night, I think,” he heard Judy mention casually, filling the blanks in his train of thought.

“My so-“ he stuttered, “I-I don’t- I mean, I don’t have-“

“The young man that was here last night, Captain?” she suddenly appeared as confused as he was. “I haven’t seen him here before, but I assumed… I believe he told the other nurse his name was Henry?”

Killian’s heart leapt in his chest. Up until that moment, he genuinely believed Henry had never truly been there at all, that it was just another one of his dreams, a mere figment of his imagination.

“You do know that man, don’t you, Captain?” the nurse asked tentatively with a touch of concern.

Killian nodded, a bit uncertainly. “He’s my…” Son? He thought. Could he say that? But after last night, to simply dismiss the lad as ‘Emma’s son’ felt wrong somehow. “I know him,” he sighed, settling for just the confirmation.

Her face brightened again, but she didn’t appear wholly convinced. “Ok, then. Well, the nurses from the other shift said he was here almost all night, probably left straight for school in the morning. If he intends on doing that again, should I bring a more comfortable chair in? Some pillows and a blanket?”

He won’t come again, Killian mused dejectedly. In spite of Judy’s claim to the contrary, he still wasn’t quite certain Henry had ever been there at all.

A timely knock on the door drew both of their attentions and they turned to see none other than Henry standing in the doorway, his eyes nervously darting between Killian and his own shoes.

“Son,” Killian exhaled the word barely audibly before realising what he was saying and immediately berated himself for the slip. But when he dared to look back at Henry, the boy was still standing in the door, only the previous nervousness was almost gone, replaced with an uncertain smile.

“I’ll leave you to your visitor, Captain,” Judy grinned knowingly to herself and added, “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Jones,” to Henry in passing on her way out of the room.

Finally on their own, Henry let out a stuttering breath and fixed his gaze on his stepfather. “School finished and I thought… well, I was hoping I could… Can I stay? Can we talk? I mean if you don’t have any other plans. If you do, or you just don’t want me here, I understand-”

“Henry,” Killian interrupted the boy’s rambling. “I will never not want you here. But I didn’t expect… I admit, I never thought I’d see you again. Henry, I meant what I said last time we spoke at the house. You owe me nothing.”

The teenager shook his head sadly. “That wasn’t the last time. Last night... I came to apologise… for everything. Don’t you remember?”

Killian eyed him carefully for a long moment. “You have nothing to apologise for, lad.”

Henry smirked ruefully as he sat down in the very chair in which he’d spent the previous night, placing his school bag on the floor next to it. In his mind, his list of transgressions required in the very least an apology, but he could see he was not going to get very far on that notion. “How are you feeling?” he asked instead, for the first time acknowledging the three-letter-word on the tip of his tongue, but still lacking the courage to utter it.

Killian chuckled. “I’ve seen better days, Henry. Also had worse. I’m alright now, you needn’t worry.”

He was lying, it was clear as day, but pulling him up on it was no use. “You need to stop trying to protect me from the world, Killian,” Henry countered.

He had never imagined the sound of his name could deflate him to such extent. There had once been a time when he all but forgot what it sounded like, so used was he to his moniker, but then Swan invaded his miserable existence and finally, he was Killian again after centuries of neglect. But to Henry, as it turned out, he was Killian too… still.

“I spent all night trying to think of what I should say to you and kept coming up short. There’s so much I… You told me once to be the man my mothers raised me to be.”

Killian’s face contorted in a grimace and he flattened himself against the bed, his fisted hands pushing down on the mattress at his sides.

“W-what can I do?” Henry drew closer until he all but hovered over him. “Should I get Whale?”

Killian responded with a tense shake of his head. “It’ll pass, lad, don’t worry,” he managed as his body relaxed once more and then nodded, urging Henry to continue.

Uncertain at first, Henry glanced at the red call button, but Killian covered his hand with his own before he could press it. “It’s all right,” he insisted gently.

“They didn’t raise me alone,” Henry finally said.

He could not help the surge of hope at these words.

“I’m seventeen now. I was ten when we met. For almost half my life, since the moment you chose to turn your ship around and follow me to Neverland, you’ve been a constant in my world. I know you didn’t do it for me, Killian, or in the very least, there were other more complicated reasons that drove you to that decision, but it doesn’t matter, because since then, with the obvious exception of our year in New York, you hardly left mum’s and my side. And again, I’m not stupid, I knew you were in love with my mum long before you two finally got together, but you didn’t have to accept me as part of that package. You could have just been civil around me and pretty much ignored my existence, if you wanted to, but you chose not to.”

“It was my honour, Henry,” Killian spoke sincerely. “As well as my privilege.”

Was. The boy allowed a small sad smile at that admission. “I spoke to Regina yesterday and I realised something. She’s my mum, some would say even more so than Emma is, but she didn’t give birth to me. So what makes her my mum? She took care of me, raised me, comforted me when I needed and scolded me when I deserved it, spent time with me, helped me solve my problems, gave me advice, taught me skills… the list is endless. She’s my mum, in every way that matters. And that’s how I realised that she and Emma were not the only ones to take credit for the man I’m eventually going to become. There is one more person, Killian. You.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he managed dumbly.

Henry shook his head. “You don’t need to say anything. It’s my turn to say things now. Things that should have been said a long time ago. I wasted so much time, Killian…you kept giving me chance after chance after chance and I rejected most of them. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

The former pirate laughed bitterly at that. “You will find you don’t have the monopoly on mistakes here, my boy.” He inwardly flinched at his choice of words and glanced at Henry to gauge his reaction, but the boy’s expression immediately put him at ease. His face sobered and he pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long breath. “You remember that I killed my own father, aye?”

“I do. “

“You do,” he echoed, shame colouring his features as he briefly looked away. “There’s so much that I’ve done… for centuries, I destroyed everything and everyone I touched. While a part of me grieves that fact, part of me is glad and even relieved I never had the privilege of fathering a child of my own. I tried so hard to be worthy of you, Henry. And your mother, of course-“ the rest of the sentence caught in his throat when he abruptly blanched again and leaned back against the pillows with a shaky breath, his hand pressing against his stomach. He reopened his eyes after a beat and turned his gaze to Henry. “It’s all right,” he breathed, but the utter exhaustion in his voice alone betrayed him. He reached for the cup Judy had left earlier on his bedside table, but found his hand to be trembling too much and pulled it back, clenching it in a frustrated fist at his side.

Quick thinking, Henry poured some water in the cup and brought it up to Killian’s lips. His stepfather cast him a surprised glance, but then sat up straight and reached for the cup once more. Henry let him hold it, but kept his hand over his stepfather’s to subdue the tremors and tilted the cup over when necessary as he drank.

“You shouldn’t have to do that, Henry,” Killian mused apologetically when he was done and his stepson had put the cup away.

“I don’t have to,” followed the answer and Killian scrutinised him for a moment, then relented with a nod.

“Thank you.”

“Your father sold his own two boys into a lifetime of servitude and abuse so that he could avoid paying for his crimes.” Henry casually resumed their former conversation. “And then, years later, when for all he knew they were both dead, he tried to replace them. I’m not justifying what you did by any means, but hardly father of the year there, Killian. I know you drag around an array of regrets and I don’t even know half of what happened in your past, but to be honest, I don’t want or need to know. My mother is the Evil Queen, she killed people and ripped their hearts out for pleasure. What I do know is that, with me, you have always been caring, kind and fair. You forced healthy meals down my throat, you spent hours helping me with my homework, you taught me how to sail and how to fight, you always had time for me. I felt… I felt loved. I felt wanted. And that’s all that really matters. Whereas I… I know I didn’t make you feel any of it.”

“We’ve been through this, lad, you owe me nothing. I never expected anything in return.”

“Sure,” Henry chuckled. “You may not have expected it, but you wanted it. And you deserved it. And I knew it, and I did nothing.”

“Heed my advice, boy. Do not waste your life collecting regrets to take to the grave. When the end nears, they become far too heavy to carry. Whatever you think you wronged me, you have my forgiveness. I never meant to make you feel like you had to do anything.”

“And that’s what makes it so bad. To paraphrase my mum, you raised me better than that.” He paused, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I wasted so much time. I was so stubborn and scared, I guess, for so long… too long. And now I have no time. I know I’m probably too late-“

“Lad, no,” Killian grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. “You being here now, it means everything to me. I will be forever grateful to you for that, I promise. I ask for nothing more.”

Henry nodded to himself contemplatively for a moment before looking back up again. “How long is forever, dad?” he asked in a small voice, his eyes betraying fear of the answer and the possibility of rejection, however improbable.

Killian closed his eyes in defeat, simultaneously regretting his careless choice of words and relishing the one word he’d been yearning to hear for so long. “Come here, Henry,” he opened his arms hesitantly, but the boy didn’t hesitate and launched himself off his seat, tenderly embracing his father’s painfully thin frame. Finally, Killian pulled back a little, enough to look Henry in the eyes. “I love you, son. Whether I can give you an hour, or a day, or a week or a month, I will give it to you. It’s yours, if you want it. However long forever may be.”

Chapter Text

Dr Whale’s face when he saw Emma and Henry walking towards Killian’s room was everything but a bearer of good news. Emma’s own face fell instantly when their eyes met and her hope for a nice visit with her husband promptly evaporated. She had not seen Killian in a couple of days because her own sickness had been getting the better of her and she had spent most of her time either in the bathroom, or close enough for emergency. But that morning she appeared to have been given a break of sorts and, feeling significantly better, she decided to venture out to the hospital. Stranger still was the text she had received from her son when she’d messaged him to let him know: he wanted to come as well.

Emma was unsure as to the current state of the relationship between her son and husband. She had witnessed it deteriorate quite substantially since Killian had been taken ill and, as much as she knew she had to talk to Henry and push him in the right direction, instead she had been constantly wrecked with guilt when another day had gone by with her son ignoring his stepfather’s existence and she had done nothing about it. The truth was that, with everything else that was going on, she herself was just about holding it together by the skin of her teeth and simply did not know whether she had it in her to confront Henry, who she knew was deep down dealing with his own heartbreak. Still, with every day gone bringing them closer to Killian’s potential last, she knew she was not doing right by either of them. And so when Henry had offered to come to the hospital out of the blue – without even being asked – she had immediately agreed. Now, however, she almost wished she hadn’t. Emma could practically feel the teenager at her side freeze as he too noticed Dr Whale’s grim expression.

“Victor, what’s wrong?” she got straight to the point.

The doctor glanced at Henry, as though he too was briefly wondering whether the teen should be a part of it, then back at Emma. Unlike Emma, he knew about Henry’s recent visits, but today was an exception to those. “It’s not a good day, Emma,” he admitted honestly. “He’s in a very bad shape. I’m not sure,” he pointedly glanced at Henry again, “if a visit today is a good idea.”

Emma looked up at her son, briefly contemplating whether she should send him home, as she herself was going absolutely nowhere regardless of what Whale was going to tell her, but before she could say anything, Henry straightened up and fixed his gaze on the doctor. “What’s wrong with my father?” he demanded, completely oblivious to Whale’s quirked eyebrow or his mother’s jaw on the floor at his choice of words.

“Right,” Whale drawled, looking between mother and son again, trying to conceal his amusement at Emma’s expression, given the severity of the situation. “As I said, today is just not a good day. He woke up with a fever and elevated pain levels. We’re still trying to figure out where the infection is, but we reckon it’s internal and not something he had caught. Either way, we’re pumping him full of antibiotics, so that should help. Unfortunately, that’s not all. In simple terms, his abdomen has filled with fluid. It’s quite common in his condition and normally results in mild to moderate discomfort until it’s fixed, but with everything else, well, let’s just say he’s in a lot of pain at the moment.”

Emma’s mouth went dry and she closed her eyes momentarily. “How… how do you fix it?”

“Simply put, we have to drain it out,” Whale replied.

“Will it require surgery?” Henry inquired carefully.

The doctor shook his head and both teenager and his mother released a sigh of relief. “It’s a simple outpatient procedure. I could bring him into theatre, but I’m going to just do it in his room instead, not to jostle him around. I already gave him local anaesthetic, so I’m going to give it a few more minutes to kick in and do it then. He should feel much better once that’s done. The problem is, once it happens, it undoubtedly will continue happening again and again, so while I’ll fix it today, I’m almost certain it will recur within a week or two.”

“What can we do?”

“A transplant, Emma,” Whale stated the obvious. “His liver is too far gone. That is his only option. Always has been.”

“Can you ah… can you give him something stronger for the pain?” Henry suggested.

“It’s not a good idea. With the state of his liver the way it is, more pain medication might do more harm than good. His metabolism is severely damaged already and the liver might simply not be able to cope. I’d rather not up his meds unless it’s an emergency and this, regardless of what it looks like, is not.”

After a moment of taking it all in, Emma finally asked, “Can we see him?”

“It’s your decision. Oh, his lungs are not having a great day either, so make sure he keeps that mask on as much as possible. No need to put his body under more strain than is absolutely necessary. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

The two nodded in unison and headed towards Killian’s room.

--------------------------

Emma took a moment to compose herself before she finally reached for the door handle, but she still couldn’t stifle the involuntary gasp that escaped past her lips when she finally laid eyes on him. Henry remained still at her side and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, whispering, “It’s ok, mum,” into her ear as he did so and she had never been more grateful for not sending him home.

Killian was lying on his bed, nearly curled up in a foetal position, probably in a futile attempt to suppress the pain he was in. His back was to them, but they could still see his thin shoulders trembling ever so slightly. His covers were pulled up to just past his knees and, as they approached, they could distinctly see an odd swell in his abdomen that hadn’t been there previously, standing in sharp contrast with his hip bones practically jutting out of his loose tracksuit bottoms and the slender arm that was draped over it. His eyes were screwed shut and his other hand feebly rested on an oxygen mask that was strapped over his nose and mouth, his lips slightly parted and his lungs visibly and audibly labouring with every breath. He didn’t even budge at their arrival.

Emma sat down on the bed, careful not to touch his stomach, while Henry went to bring a chair around from the other side.

Killian’s breath hitched and his eyes opened just barely when his bed dipped under his wife’s weight. “Emma?” he mouthed her name inside the mask, seemingly having forgotten he had it on, before he realised his mistake and attempted to remove it, but Emma only gently pushed the mask back to where it was.

“Shh,” she instructed softly, brushing his sweat-caked hair away from his forehead, trying to not give too much thought to how hot it was.

Killian shook his head weakly, his eyes opening a tiny bit more as though he was practically forcing himself to muster all the strength he had. His expression changed from pained to one of near panic when he realised Henry was there too. Pushing Emma’s hand away with a force he should not have possessed, he inhaled as deep a breath as possible and removed the oxygen mask from his face. “You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, locking eyes with both of them. “Not now, not- not like this. Y-you shouldn’t be here.” Clearly unable to sustain his breathing past that point, he briefly closed his eyes in defeat and replaced the oxygen mask over his face, inhaling immediately.

His wife shook her head, mustering a smile to the best of her ability. “Yes, Killian, we should.”

Henry, who had been quiet until now, gently took his father’s hand that was holding the mask and clasped it in his own. “Can I do anything?” he asked softly, almost pleadingly, a note of helplessness finding its way into a question loaded with unwavering determination.

Killian sighed defeatedly and weakly shook his head, lowering his gaze away from his son’s, just as his jaw clenched and his other arm pressed into his abdomen as a stab of pain shot through it.

Emma blinked quickly, trying to keep her tears at bay, and opened her mouth to say something, just as Whale walked in, accompanied by a nurse carrying various items in several sterile bags. One glance at the doctor and she rose to her feet and stepped away from the bed to stand behind her son.

“All right,” Whale unceremoniously slipped on his gloves. “Let’s get this done, shall we? Killian, I need you to lie on your back, please.”

Killian gritted his teeth and carefully did as he was told, his hand still firmly in Henry’s.

“You might feel a small pinch as I insert the needle, but that should be it,” Whale spoke as he and the nurse continued their preparations. Killian nodded half-heartedly, turning his gaze away from his wife and son, even as the latter squeezed his hand in reassurance.

At the sight of the needle in question, Emma immediately looked away. She was not squeamish, or at least she had never considered herself as such, but the knowledge that that needle was going into her husband somehow made the whole thing that much more unbearable and she simply could not make herself watch, while Henry did his best to keep his eyes on his father’s face for the same reason. Killian winced slightly, but, to his family’s and doctor’s relief, gave no other sign of pain, indicating the anaesthetic had worked.

“All done,” Whale finally concluded after a short spell, standing up and pulling his gloves off. “I would not expect any significant improvement until everything has been drained. It should take a while, so I will be back to check on you within the hour. Try not to move and stay on your back.” He received no answer, but he wasn’t expecting one anyway, so he simply walked out of the room, with the nurse in tow.

When Emma looked back at Killian, she mercifully found that the nurse had pulled his covers up to his chest, completely concealing whatever had been done to his abdomen. The tube emerging from under the blanket and connected to a drainage container, however, did not go unnoticed and she shuddered involuntarily as she gingerly sat down on the edge of his bed on the opposite side to Henry and gently caressed the sides of her husband’s face, again brushing his hair to the side. She briefly wondered whether the calming gesture was made for him or herself.

His eyes remained stubbornly closed, whether from fever, pain, exhaustion or sheer mortification at having been so exposed before them, she could not tell.

Finally, she leaned down and placed a tender kiss on his burning brow. “I love you, Killian,” she murmured, just as a lone tear snuck from under his dark lashes and disappeared in his hairline. She realised that moment that her own eyes were welling and quickly wiped them with her other hand before he could notice.

“Dad,” Henry said softly, gently squeezing Killian’s hand with both of his. Two red-rimmed glassy blue eyes finally opened and slowly focused on him. Their gaze was brimming with devastation and regret, but the teenager was not swayed. “Would you like me to maybe read to you?” he asked hesitantly. “I have a book that… well, Regina used to read it to me when I was younger. Occasionally gruesome subject matter aside, the words still always somehow calmed me down, maybe that’s why I started rereading it. I have it here, should I read it to you?”

Killian stared at him for the longest moment before finally consenting with a weak nod of his chin, this time not tearing his eyes off his boy.

Henry’s face broke into a smile immediately, as did his mother’s, and he released one of his hands to reach into his backpack and fish out a small book. He opened it on one of the dog-eared pages and started reading.

“All that stirring of old instincts which at stated periods drives men out from the sounding cities to forest and plain to kill things by chemically propelled leaden pellets, the blood lust, the joy to kill, all this was Buck’s, only it was infinitely more intimate. He was ranging at the head of the pack, running the wild thing down, the living meat, to kill with his own teeth and wash his muzzle to the eyes in warm blood. There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive. This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame; it comes to the soldier, war-mad on a stricken field and refusing quarter; and it came to Buck, leading the pack, sounding the old wolf-cry, straining after the food that was alive and that fled swiftly before him through the moonlight. He was sounding the deeps of his nature, and of the parts of his nature that were deeper than he, going back into the womb of Time. He was mastered by the sheer surging of life, the tidal wave of being, the perfect joy of each separate muscle, joint, and sinew in that it was everything that was not death, that it was aglow and rampant, expressing itself in movement, flying exultantly under the stars and over the face of dead matter that did not move.”

Henry stopped reading and looked down at his father. His eyes were closed, his face more serene and unburdened than he had seen in a long time, his chest rising and falling evenly, irrespective of the slight wheeze of his lungs. He was asleep. He moved his eyes over to Emma, who merely met his gaze with a soft smile, mouthing ‘thank you’ as she did.

Henry imperceptibly shook his head and resumed his reading, slightly lowering his voice.

-------------------------------

Both Henry and Emma all but jumped out of their skin at the vibrating sound of his mobile phone. Killian did not stir and Henry wordlessly thanked the Gods he had remembered to put the phone on vibrate. They had been sitting in silence by his bedside for hours. Dr Whale had come and gone, having removed the drainage tube and patched Killian up without the latter even flinching in the process; Emma had long since taken over ‘The Call of the Wild’, now reading it to herself, while Henry had started on his homework, and all the while the former pirate had remained blessedly and peacefully asleep. When he glanced at the screen to see who the caller was, however, his face contorted into a grimace.

“Shit!” he hissed. “Shit, shit, shit!” Ignoring his mother’s questioning stare, he swiped the screen to answer and walked over to the window. “Hi…” he began tentatively, when the call connected, trying to keep his voice down as much as possible. “Before you say anything, please let me explain. I’m sorry. I forgot – No, no, it’s nothing like that, I swear! No, I really did forget, it slipped my mind, I’m so sorry, today was just a really crazy day. – I’m in the hospital. – No, it’s not me, I’m fine,” he inhaled a deep breath. “It’s my dad. – Yes, Killian, he… look, he’s very very sick, he’s not… I never told you because I just didn’t know… look, it doesn’t matter now. He’s very sick, terminally sick. Look, I’ll explain everything, I’ll tell you everything this time, I swear, if you just – No, no, it’s not a problem, tonight is fine, just like we planned. I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there. – Ok, ok, thanks. I’ll see you soon.” With a sigh, he pocketed his phone and looked over to meet his mother’s very inquisitive gaze.

“What’s her name?” Emma wasted no time whatsoever.

Henry held up his hand. “Seventeen, mom, not ten. Can I have the car keys?”

“Henry…”

“Mom, please. Look, I was supposed to meet someone half an hour ago. Can gramps take you home, or I can ask Regina, if you want, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind?”

With a sigh, Emma pulled the keys out of her purse and handed them to her son. “I hope you know the only reason you’re getting away with it so easily is that right now really isn’t the time for that conversation. You better be home at a reasonable hour.”

“I will,” Henry agreed gratefully and grabbed the keys. “Do you think the florist is still open?”

“Might be,” she shrugged. “Why?”

“Because dad always said you don’t apologise to a lady empty handed,” he fired back and ran out of the door.

Emma shook her head, a private grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her smile faltered, however, when she looked down into a half-lidded pair of crystal blue eyes. “Killian,” she breathed.

He closed his eyes momentarily and pulled the oxygen mask off his face. Emma attempted to stop him, but he brushed her off with a feeble wave of his other hand. “Emma,” he whispered gruffly, before bringing the mask back to his face and inhaling a deep breath of air.

She put on her best smile and grabbed his free hand. “How are you?”

“Better… I think. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Did I hear Henry?”

Emma nodded. “He just left. He ahm… I think he has a date.”

“Does he now,” Killian grinned softly to himself before applying the mask again momentarily. “I hope he remembers the flowers.”

His wife chuckled. “He remembered the flowers. Dad,” she very pointedly accentuated the last word.

Killian’s lips turned in a lopsided smile. “Aye, that… that’s rather new, Swan.”

“I can tell.” Then after a beat, “I’m very happy for you, Killian. You have no idea. And relieved. For both of you, actually.”

The lopsided smile faded away and he blinked several times, his eyes glazed as he looked away from her and towards the opposite wall. “I’ve no time, Emma,” he whispered longingly. “No time at all.”

“I know,” she replied simply. Her heart breaking and yet so impossibly full of happiness for him at the same time.

He sniffed and inhaled from the mask again. “Don’t misunderstand, I don’t- I don’t begrudge Henry, love, I… I’m so grateful. I truly am. I just wish… I wish I had more time to be his father.”

“I know, Killian,” Emma brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it gently, then used the back of her other hand to check his forehead. “Your temperature is down,” she observed with a sad smile of her own. “That’s good, at least.”

“Emma… you shouldn’t have brought him here. He shouldn’t… he shouldn’t see me like this. Neither should you, if I’m honest.”

She stared at him for what felt like an eternity before finally rolling her eyes at exasperation. “Killian… three things. One, to be fair, neither of us knew today would be like this when we came here, not that it would have changed anything, if we had. Two, he’s seventeen, I can hardly tell him what to do and what not to do anymore and three, judging by what I’ve seen today, believe me when I say that I would not have been able to remove him from your side even if I were to tie him up and drag him out of here.”

He inhaled from the mask again before levelling her gaze with his own unyielding one. “There are times when I wish you were just a tad less stubborn.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” she deadpanned.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, but his resolute stare suddenly crumpled into anguish. “I don’t want this, Emma… I don’t want you to see this, I can’t… I don’t want you to remember me like this,” his voice broke and he had to look away. “I need you to remember the good, only the good, because believe me, if you remember the good, you’re at peace and,” he swallowed hard, forcing the words out against his will, “and you can move on.”

“Move on,” she echoed in disbelief. ”Why would I-“

“When I’m gone,” he turned his teary eyes back to her with renewed resolve. “You have to promise me one thing, that you won’t lock that precious beautiful heart of yours away, Swan, not on my account. I swear to you, I won’t rest, if you do.”

“Why are you saying these things?” she asked in a small voice, her own tears slowly trailing down her cheeks. “Is it because I haven’t visited-“

“No, my love,” he shook his head. It wasn’t entirely a lie, after all. “You and Henry are my world and, as much as I relish your company, I am grateful for every day your life is not restricted by these wretched four walls. The selfless truth is that you should be anywhere but here. Alas, selfless, it appears, is something I am not.” He paused again to inhale more oxygen.

She whimpered, biting her lower lip as her head turned impatiently from side to side. “I’m going to save you. I swear, Killian, I’m going to save you. I don’t know how, but-“

He squeezed her hand gently and smiled, trying to convey all the love he was feeling for her in a single gaze. “It still amazes me, Emma… that after all this time, you still don’t know that you already have.”

Chapter Text

Henry became a semi-permanent fixture in Killian’s room. While his father insisted he prioritised Emma, Henry spent just enough time at home and the rest was spent in the hospital. He would normally appear soon after school would finish, stay for an hour, go home for a couple of hours and be back by nightfall, usually to spend the night, or at least most of the night. His mother would never notice anyway, as he assured Killian over and over again, as she turned in very early these days. The former pirate had no way of telling whether it was true as he himself had not seen his wife in several days. Regina’s visits became slightly less frequent too and, unlike their previously easy conversations, the atmosphere during her visits often turned to somewhat awkward and she would often cut her stay short. If Killian didn’t know any better, he would swear she was hiding something. The little prince came down with a bug and Snow followed suit, so he hadn’t been seeing much of the Charmings either. Before long, Henry largely became his most frequent visitor.

And Killian realised then that he truly must be a selfish man. He knew that the boy was trying his hardest to atone for what he had convinced himself was neglect, even though Killian had made it as clear as day that there was nothing to forgive. He morbidly also recognised that Henry was trying to use up every spare minute he had for the simple reason that neither of them knew when it would all end. He should encourage the boy to leave more often, but try as he might, he could not open his mouth to insist on that. In the strangest twist of fate, Henry became the only thing he had left; the only thing that kept him going, and, the way things were headed, he genuinely didn’t believe it would be for much longer.

“How is that maths coming along, Henry?” He inquired, glancing at the boy over the book he was reading. As his hands were quite steady today, he seized the moment to resume his reading while Henry was doing his homework, but his head was feeling heavier and his vision becoming blurrier as the day progressed to a point where he knew the reprieve was not going to last much longer. He had taken the opportunity to call Emma and sent her a text earlier on, but she had yet to respond to either.

Henry hummed something ineligible and remained hunched over his textbooks in his armchair, nibbling absentmindedly at the tip of his pencil.

His head reeled abruptly and Killian quickly put the book away. He was well accustomed to all the signs by now and could practically feel his blood pressure going up. “Do you need any more help?” he asked, hoping that diverting his attention to Henry might just help him stay in the now and stop him from focusing on the nausea that was beginning to creep in.

“I’m fine,” Henry muttered without looking up, but appeared to be everything but. “I’m trying to use what you told me earlier, I think it’s working. I need to do this on my own, dad. Not like you’ll be sitting next to me during the exam.”

Killian chuckled, but his smile morphed into a grimace at the stab of pain in his abdomen and he tried his best to swallow back the bile he felt pushing up his oesophagus. He glanced in Henry’s direction, and once he was reassured his head was still in the book, fisted his sheet with one hand and covered his mouth with the other as he turned his head away. He could feel the coppery taste of blood, but still did his hardest to push it back. He had started vomiting blood a few days ago, but so far managed to successfully keep that development from Henry. He was determined to keep it that way for as long as he could. Whale had told him it was because his liver was wreaking havoc on his vascular system, which caused blood to overflow in his gut. The doctor didn’t say it in these exact words, but the message was loud and clear: he didn’t have long.

Thankfully, he just felt his nausea subside when his ears picked up the creak of Henry’s armchair (Judy had, in fact, provided the boy with a bit more comfort) as his son stretched and creaked his neck. Killian discreetly wiped his hand over his mouth and was relieved to find no blood had made it past his lips. Nevertheless, his head was pounding and he could feel the cold sweat forming on the back of his neck.

“Dad?”

Killian turned back to Henry and found the boy was leaning over him, his face scrunched in concern. When had he gotten up from the chair?

“Dad, please, are you ok?” his voice sounded distant and scared.

Killian shook his head and ran trembling hands over his tired face. “Henry, call a nurse, please.”

The boy jumped to his feet and returned a moment later with one of the nurses Killian did not recognise. She immediately checked his chart and the monitor and proceeded to manually check his pulse. He could tell by the severe look on her face that she didn’t like what she found.

“I need to get to the bathroom, please,” he managed just barely, and without a word, she helped him up to a standing position.

“I can do this,” Henry reached over for him, but Killian held up his hand.

“Not this time, lad.”

His son backed away in confusion and the nurse supported him with one arm around his waist and the other hand on his arm as they slowly made their way towards the small room.

Once there, and as soon as he ensured the door was shut behind him, he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, gripped the rim with both hands and heaved relentlessly until he cleared his stomach of all its contents.

When Killian was done, he sat up and leaned back against the cool tile, allowing the cold to wash like a calming wave over his burning skin. He barely registered as the nurse quickly wet a towel under the cold tap and started dabbing around his face and neck. He closed his eyes with a quiet groan, "I can't do this," he murmured to himself before he realised that he had spoken out loud. No one was supposed to witness his defeat to such extent.

He pried his heavy lids open and turned his head to the side, where he could clearly see the crimson splashes all over the toilet bowl that the nurse was now attempting to flush. “Don’t let him see,” he begged, barely perceptibly, his eyes closed again. “Don’t tell the boy.”

“I won’t, Captain.” She nodded.

By the time Killian emerged from the bathroom, he felt a little better and his blood pressure also started to drop back to reasonable levels. His head still throbbed and his vision swam a little, but it was nothing that he would allow to take priority. When Henry impatiently took charge of helping him walk practically as soon as the nurse opened the bathroom door, he knew he had a concerned and frightened teenager to contend with first and everything else would have to take a back seat.

“Sit down,” Henry gently lowered him back onto the bed, while the nurse wrote something in his chart and left the room.

“Thank you, son,” Killian inhaled a deep breath and took a moment to collect himself. “Everything’s-“

“Stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying to you, Henry. I had to go because I felt sick, it’s nothing new,” Killian attempted to deflect.

“Yes, I know why you were there, I could hear you,” Henry retorted accusatory and winced a little at the memory. “But that’s what the disposable sick bowls are for, and you have a stack of them by your bed. What are you hiding from me?” his voice was rising, the more agitated he was getting and, for the first time, Killian really loathed himself for not insisting the boy went home more often.

“Forgive me, Henry, you shouldn’t have to witness it-“

“I don’t mind witnessing it! I’ve seen you throw up and cleaned up after dozens of times already and I don’t mind. But I’m not a child anymore and I want the truth!”

Killian tried to keep his gaze as unfaltering as possible when he calmly promised, “There is nothing more to it, son, I assure you.”

Henry groaned and turned away from him, throwing his fists up in the air in frustration.

“Henry, please,” his father implored quietly.

The teenager sucked in a deep breath, but didn’t turn back around for another long moment. When he finally did, he wordlessly strode back to the bed, helped Killian back under the covers and arranged the pillows behind his back. “Here you go,” he muttered and sat back down in the armchair.

“Forgive me for scaring you like that, Henry,” Killian broke the silence after a while.

The boy shook his head weakly. “Why do you do that, dad?” he levelled two forlorn red rimmed eyes at his father. “For months, you’ve been taking whatever it was that Whale’s been feeding you, knowing that it was making you sicker and sicker. Why?”

“It’s not making me sicker, Henry,” he replied honestly. “I’m already sick. I take the medication because it keeps me here.”

“You mean, prolongs the inevitable,” Henry exclaimed. “You’re torturing yourself!”

“Perhaps,” Killian conceded calmly. “But I would do it a hundred times over, if it gifted me with a hundred more days with your mother and yourself, lad.”

Henry just shook his head in disbelief and buried his face in his hands. “You must know that neither of us would ever ask that of you.”

Of course, they never did, and he had long since given up on living long enough to receive a liver transplant, but he knew – even though he hadn’t seen Emma in so long - he still firmly believed that every moment he was still alive mattered to the two people he loved most, and he was willing to endure all manners of torture, as Henry put it, to make that happen. And if it meant he had to bear or stretch out discomforts along the way, no matter how big or small, it was a price he would happily pay. Killian smiled sadly and placed a comforting hand on his son’s arm. “You didn’t ask.”

The boy sighed, filled a cup with water and held it up to his father, supporting him as before while he drank as much as he could.

“Thank you, lad.”

Henry nodded, put the cup down and sat back in his seat. “Did you and mum have a fight?” he asked after a beat.

Killian quirked a brow, not expecting that. “Beg your pardon?”

“Are you going to lie to me about that, too?” Henry challenged.

“Henry, I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Killian dismissed in confusion.

“I know she hasn’t been visiting as often as she used to for an age now. She walks around the house like a zombie most days and that’s when she is around. I try to do what I promised, dad, I really do, but there are days when she locks herself in her room for hours and I think she’s either crying or getting sick or both. She barely eats.” At Killian’s alarmed stare, Henry calmed his voice. “I don’t think she is actually physically sick and, for what it’s worth, she’s been getting better in the last month or so, but… sometimes she takes the car and disappears for hours and sometimes she won’t leave the house for days… She’s hardly left her room in over a week, except to make dinners she barely touches and the time when she drove away somewhere. And of course, when she visited you.”

Killian’s head was reeling while the boy continued to ramble on his report on his wife’s whereabouts. Naturally, he was already worried about Emma as he’d noticed how thin and sickly she’d been looking in the last few months, but the odd time he had brought it up, she had assured him she was perfectly fine and he’d be damned if he spent one minute with her arguing, but now he wondered whether he should have pushed her, after all. He knew something must be the matter, but until now, never had he even suspected- his train of thought suddenly came to a screeching halt when he recalled something Henry had mentioned. “What do you mean, she disappears for hours?”

“She drives somewhere, somewhere out of town, judging by how often I end up filling the car when she comes back. I don’t know whom she visits or what it’s all about, I swear. Every time I even bring it up, she spins some ridiculous story and changes the subject. That’s why I came so early today, because she left shortly after I got home and said not to expect her until late evening, so I figured there was no reason for me to stay home anyway.”

“You still have your other mother, lad. As well as your friends,” his father pointed out unconvincingly, momentarily straying from the subject. “You don’t need to spend all your time here.”

“Regina understands and I do see her when I can,” the boy countered. “As for my friends, they also understand. And they’ll still be here later,” he added softly, not needing to speak the words Killian heard regardless clear as bell: but you won’t be.

The former pirate closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. He was trying very hard not to think of what it all could mean. “Did you ask your grandparents or Regina?”

“Grandpa and Grandma don’t know anything, but they’ve been too busy with Neal lately anyway. My other mum keeps parroting Emma’s excuses to the point where I think they’re colluding with each other behind my back.” At Killian’s dubious side-gaze, Henry shrugged. “I know how ridiculous it sounds. Grandpa did say it could just be her way of coping. Stress, I mean. I think he’s just trying not to worry me, or both of us.”

“What do you think?” his father probed.

“I don’t know,” the boy admitted. “It could be stress. I’d like to think, if it were more serious, she’d tell me. But even stress doesn’t explain where she’s disappearing for hours all the time.”

Killian looked away from Henry with a defeated sigh, striving even harder to keep his feelings at bay. He didn’t think his son realised what a Pandora’s Box he had opened with his words and what sort of thoughts were now running riot in his head. He could tell that Henry was desperate for answers; he would not have brought it up otherwise. Unfortunately, the only answers he could presently come up with, he preferred not to acknowledge, let alone speak out loud.

He glanced at the phone on his bedside table, just as the device stirred to life. It was a message from Emma. The tremors had returned to his hands again earlier on and he asked Henry if he could read it to him.

“Killian, I’m so sorry for getting back to you so late. I had a few errands to run today, nothing special, but they took over most of my afternoon. Everything’s fine. I’ve been feeling a bit off lately, but I should be fine tomorrow so I will definitely see you then. I promise. I love you.”

Chapter Text

“And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

Henry’s voice trailed off into nothing as he lifted his eyes from the page and his gaze drifted to rest upon his father’s face. His eyes closed, the thick dark lashes standing in sharp contrast against the deathly pallor of a once tanned and healthy skin; the once expressive eyebrows lay still. If Henry didn’t know any better, he would think the man lying before him was already gone.

But he did know better. And, if he were ever to succumb to doubt, all Henry had to do was to focus on Killian’s chest, rising and falling with the continuous rhythm of his breathing, the monitors that kept beeping steadily, the pulse line that kept spiking. He was alive, there was no doubt about it… It was just that he would not wake up.

It had been four days since Killian’s body failed him yet again. Four days since Henry came to the hospital straight from school to find his father’s room swarming with medical personnel. Realistically, Henry knew there probably wasn’t that much blood, but in his mind’s eye, he could still see it everywhere; on the floor, on the bed, on Killian’s clothes, on the crisp uniform of the nurse who attempted to offer help and comfort while he strove to expel the rest of it from his stomach, or lungs, Henry was not sure. Killian’s back was to him, the sounds of his agony attacking his ears as he stood frozen in the doorway, and between the nurses trying to stabilise his father and Whale shouting orders left, right and centre, no one even paid attention to him being there. He ran.

That day, Henry went home to a deathly silent house. A text from his mother had already informed him that she would be gone for most of the day. He didn’t know if she knew; never asked. He had returned to the hospital that night, only to find his father fast asleep, the room quiet and peaceful, thoroughly cleaned and not a trace of the commotion he had witnessed only hours previous. He watched the former pirate’s serene face; not a speck of blood on his ashen skin, his eyes drifted downward to the fresh clean tee shirt, covering a chest that moved with even breaths… as though nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened.

Hours ticked by, and even when Henry returned again after school the following day, his father still hadn’t woken up.

Whale had promised him that he had nothing to worry about. He had swiftly ruled out coma and assured Henry that Killian’s heart and brain activity left no cause for alarm. Supposedly, there had been instances when Killian showed signs of waking, movement, a couple of nurses even reported he had opened his eyes, but it all happened when Henry hadn't been around and for a few seconds at most. His body had to recharge; to recover from the recent trauma, was all the doctor had said, as though that was meant to make Henry feel somewhat better. He would wake in time.

Henry sighed and opened the book again.

“A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.”

He slammed the book shut with an avenging force and grimace as soon as the last syllable made it past his lips and tossed it to the floor in an unexpected fit of rage. He cast one final look at his father, only to find the absence of any change mocking him in return and stalked out of the room.

The cool air of the empty hospital corridor hit his face like a soft breeze on a calm sea and he breathed it in, filling his lungs until abruptly, his breath caught and a sob forced its way past his pursed lips. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that suddenly threatened to overflow out of the blue and gritted his teeth against any such sounds as he found himself kneeling on the floor by the wall just outside Killian’s room, his knuckles paling as his hands gripped the material of his trousers. He tried to pull himself together, he really did, but it proved in vain. His ragged breath once again morphed into a sob and this time, he couldn’t stop another one following, and another, and another. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he managed to remain coherent enough to sit up against the wall, pull his knees up to his chest and bury his face in them as his shoulders shook uncontrollably.

Henry didn’t know how much time had passed when the tremors finally ceased, the tears dried and his erratic breathing evened out. His tired eyes briefly scoped the empty hallway, having never been as happy about the fact that, with the exception of his mother, he always appeared to be the only overnight visitor in the entire hospital. He inclined his head back against the cool wall and momentarily closed his eyes. He reached for the phone in his pocket. A few messages, no calls. Everyone in any way close to him knew not to call him these days, just in case they interrupted his hospital visits, but he dialled his voice mail regardless. He was after only one message, saved a very long time ago.

“Hello, lad,” Killian’s voice rang out from the speaker, full of life and excitement, “your mother finally showed me how to use the voice messages and I decided to give it a go, this talking phone is a true marvel! All right, lad, your mother says dinner is at Granny’s tonight with everyone, I shall see you there.” The message was years old. He did not know why he had kept it for so long; he had no other messages he had saved. Perhaps it was because he had found something funny, or even endearing about Killian’s excitement over such a trivial matter, perhaps he had saved it by accident and never bothered to delete it. Whatever it was, it proved to be a blessing as Henry had replayed it countless times over the months when he hadn’t been visiting his father in hospital, and who knew how many times over the last few days. For reasons beyond his comprehension, the last four days and thirteen hours had found him needing to hear his father’s voice more than ever before.

“Hello, lad…” the message played again as Henry closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the calming effect Killian’s lilting voice had on him. If he tried hard enough, he could almost pretend they were somewhere else, on the Jolly Roger maybe, on one of those sailing trips he decided not to attend… or one of the ones he did attend, Killian teaching him how to sail, his guiding hand resting proudly on Henry’s young shoulders as he steered – The message ended. He played it again. And again. And –

“Hi.”

He opened his eyes and looked up. Judy was standing in front of him with two steaming Styrofoam cups in her hands. She wasn’t wearing her nurse’s uniform, dressed casually in blue jeans and a yellow jumper. Her shoulder-length blond hair, normally pulled back in a neat ponytail, now framing her face. Henry gaped at her, his foggy mind still trying to catch up and grasp his present situation.

She smiled kindly and with a touch of amusement and unceremoniously sat down on the floor next to him, handing him one of the cups. “It’s hot chocolate with cinnamon,” she said. “I noticed it was your favourite.”

He accepted the cup with a grateful nod, still too confused to utter actual words.

Words, thankfully, was something Judy had never been short of. “I hope you don’t mind… my shift ended and I thought, well… You sort of look like you could use someone to talk to.” At his stare, she amended, “Or just to sit with you for a while. Whatever you prefer. You just don’t seem like you should be alone.”

“Thanks,” Henry finally found his voice and took a hesitant sip from the hot chocolate. It tasted divine. He allowed a small, barely-there smile before looking back at the young woman next to him, casually sipping at her own drink. “You should go home. Thanks… for that, but… you probably had a long day and…”

She shrugged. “I really don’t have anything that important waiting for me back home.”

“Sleep?” he suggested with a quirk of his brow. “You’re a nurse. You spend all day looking after patients, my dad included. You don’t need to spend your free time looking after me.”

“Are you lecturing me about sleep? Do you even stay awake in class anymore?”

He looked down sheepishly and murmured, “Maybe I think he would do the same for me… Maybe I have a lot to make up for.”

She nodded, her face quickly losing its easy smile and going completely serious. “I love what I do, Henry. I choose to do it. I like helping people and I don’t think it stops just because my shift ends, so unless you want me to go, my schedule is pretty clear.”

“I think it’s the first time you ever used my actual name instead of Mr Jones,” he quipped.

She grinned. “Well, I’m not on duty right now.”

Henry nodded and sighed, absentmindedly bringing the hot chocolate to his lips again, but not actually taking a sip. “He’s not my father, you know,” he blurted before even realising what he was saying, then, as though catching himself, added, “I-I don’t even know why I just told you that.”

Her eyebrows climbed to her hairline and he would have found it quite comical, if not for the circumstances. “You mean, Captain Jones?”

He nodded. “You keep calling him that… I don’t know how much you know about my family…”

“There’s always gossip and stories about everyone in this town… I don’t pay too much attention. Also, I was in college, only got the job here a few months ago.”

Henry knew she was lying. Not about all of it, but he could tell she wasn’t being entirely truthful either. She may not have known about him and Killian, but she was certainly aware of some of the less glamorous aspects of his family tree, judging by her polite reluctance to bring them up. “He’s not my father,” he reiterated. “He’s my mum’s husband. Well, one of my mums’. But he is not my biological dad.”

“I didn’t know,” she confessed, and he knew she was telling the truth. “Just from watching you two… I would have never guessed.”

“What about all the weeks after he’d first arrived here, and I hadn’t visited once?” He chuckled mirthlessly, but detected no judgement in her eyes, try as he might. “Things were not always like that. We got along pretty well at first. Then, when my mum and he first got married, I was okay with it, but the closer he and I were becoming, the more I started pulling away. I didn’t realise, but looking back, I was so afraid to lose him, again, that I just decided it would be best if it were on my terms. Sometimes I was just a jerk, selfish and cold… and the entire time, he never faltered, no matter what I did, he loved me and he kept trying… and I kept throwing his best intentions back in his face.” He shook his head and buried it in his hands with a sigh. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” he muttered again.

Completely ignoring the rhetorical question, she simply countered, “But it’s all in the past now. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters,” he persisted. “It matters because he’s always been there for me; risked his own life to save me before we were even properly introduced. And when he needed me most, I failed him. It matters because I am going to lose him after all, and… we could have had all this time-“ He bit his lip and looked away from her, furiously blinking away the moisture gathering in his eyes.

She didn’t say anything for a while, as though contemplating her answer. “You know, Henry, I see a lot of sick people every day, some worse than others and… Captain Jones is no different. None of them care about the past, especially the ones-“ she hesitated for a beat, unsure, but then, “the ones that may not have a future. He loves you very much. I can see that. Anyone can see that. And anyone can see that you love him very much, too.”

He smiled bitterly, taking a sip of his now cold hot chocolate. “I still can’t tell him. After everything, I still can’t tell him that.”

“Just tell him,” she urged, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

He shook his head with a sigh. “He’s asleep anyway, I don’t even think…”

“He’s been asleep for days and you’ve barely left his side. You’ve been talking to him, reading to him, sitting with him… listening to his messages just so you can hear his voice,” she pointedly nodded at the phone lying discarded at his side. “You wouldn’t be doing all these things, if he didn’t mean so much to you. Why would you not tell him how much?”

“I don’t think I can,” he persisted hoarsely.

“Why not?”

“Because it will make everything real.”

“Make what real?”

“The fact that… when he dies… I will lose my dad,” his voice caught on the final word as he turned his glassy eyes away once more, determined to regain composure. As if the fact that he was sitting on the floor in an empty hospital corridor, pouring his heart out to a relative stranger, not ten years his senior, wasn’t bad enough in itself.

Judy smiled as she placed a comforting hand on his arm, and this time, her smile was not sad, but bright and full of promise. “I think what you’re trying to keep to yourself here… you’ve already given him without realising. He can hear you, Henry, asleep or not. I know he can. Just tell him.”

Henry hummed noncommittally and took one final gulp from his drink. “Do you think he stands a chance?” He purposefully kept his eyes on her face, so not to miss the slightest hint at her true thoughts and feelings, even as he recognised just how foolish it was.

Her expression darkened involuntarily, and she had no choice but to look away. “I can’t tell you that,” she deflected.

He sniffed. “You just did.”

But she grabbed his arm once more, forcefully this time, making him face her again. “I can’t tell you because I don’t know. Dr Whale is doing everything he can, but even he doesn’t know. He’s asleep now because his body is so weak and so damaged, it can barely hold on, but he is somehow still here. He is either too stubborn or too lucky or both, but whatever it is, I have never seen anyone fight so hard and I doubt I ever will.”

“He’s a survivor,” Henry mused with a melancholic grin. “That’s what he always used to say.”

“Then you have to trust him. You wanted to know what I think? Well, this is it. I think there is always hope until there isn’t.”

Henry nodded and rose to his feet, holding out his hand to help her do the same. “I should go back in there,” he tilted his head towards the door. “Just in case… Don’t want him to wake up alone. Listen… thank you,” he held up the empty Styrofoam cup, “for everything.”

“My pleasure,” she smiled and winked at him good naturedly as she turned to leave. “Have a good night, Mr Jones.”

Henry chuckled softly to himself as he walked back into his father’s room and carefully closed the door behind him with a faint click. He picked up the discarded book of poems he had thrown to the floor earlier and carefully dusted off the cover. He wasn’t even sure why he had been reading it to Killian. Not the poetry type himself, he had found it stashed on one of the shelves in the former pirate’s cabin during his latest visit to the Jolly Roger and the worn, well-read appearance of the small tome called to him somehow. Even considering the somewhat depressing nature of some of the poems, he had hoped his father would welcome the familiar words of these yellowed pages.

He resumed his place by Killian’s side, took his hand in his own and squeezed gently.

“I hope you really can hear me,” he began, keeping his eyes fixed on the sleeping man. “I want you to know that… I know you’re doing everything you can. I know you’ll never leave us, if you can help it at all.” He paused, taking a moment to study his father’s face, as though looking for any sign of change, for the most fleeting reaction. He found nothing. “I love you, dad,” he whispered anyway, his chest feeling immediately lighter.

Still, nothing.

“Hey.”

He almost dropped the book when he whirled around in surprise to see none other than his mother quietly close the door behind her. He had barely caught glimpses of her in the last few days and when he did, she looked so ill that it didn’t seem too far-fetched to suggest she should be in the hospital, too. He knew better than to do that though. She would simply dismiss him and say she was perfectly fine.

Emma walked up behind him and planted a kiss on the top of his head before carefully sitting down on the edge of her husband’s bed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, but to Henry’s ears it sounded more along the lines of “I could finally keep my head out of the toilet due to whatever it is that is making me feel unwell that I’m hiding from you.”

He said nothing.

Emma reached over and gently brushed Killian’s hair away from his forehead, her hand tenderly lingering on his cheek. “He still hasn’t woken up,” she observed, with a mix of resignation and melancholy, as her hand slipped away from the side of Killian’s face and caressed all the way down his shoulder and down his other arm, until she gently clasped the hand that Henry was not holding.

“He will, mum,” her son found himself saying, even though he lacked any conviction.

She smiled sadly to herself. “You should go home, kid.”

He balked, almost about to protest, until it occurred to him… “Do you want me to leave you two alone?”

She shook her head. “It’s not that, Henry, you have as much right to be here as I do. But you’re only seventeen and you’re taking too much on yourself, you shouldn’t-“

“Then I’d rather stay here, if that’s ok.”

His mother nodded. “Didn’t peg you down as the poetry type,” she glanced down at the book he was holding.

Henry chuckled. “It’s not mine… I found it in dad’s cabin… it looks well-read, so I thought he’d like it.”

Emma’s lips stretched in a tight smile as she tenderly placed her other hand on her son’s back. “Thank you, Henry.”

After a short lapse of comfortable silence, Henry let go of Killian’s hand, just long enough to open the book on the discarded page, and resumed his reading.

“Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I -“

“Have promises to keep…”

Henry stopped abruptly, interrupted by the low murmur of Killian’s voice, and his heart pounded as he dared to look at his father’s face only to find blue eyes staring unwaveringly back at him.

“And miles to go before I sleep,” Killian continued softly, squeezing his son’s hand in a wordless vow.

“And miles to go before I sleep,” Henry echoed firmly, the edges of his mouth turning up in a relieved smile.

Chapter Text

Emma groaned in a mix of frustration and exhaustion when her determined disregard of the ringing doorbell did not send the necessary message to whoever was apparently equally as determined to get her attention. She was just tired; too tired, her stomach twisted in knots and her chest on fire. It had never been that bad when she had been pregnant with Henry, which was only a blessing as she had no idea how she would have dealt with it in prison, but on the flip side, this pregnancy felt like she had bitten off far more than she could chew.

Her persistence to keep it a secret from everyone did not help one bit, only making everything that much worse, especially on days like yesterday, when she had an appointment in the clinic, and she had to drive for hours there and back and ended up pulling over on the side of the road no less than fifteen times to empty her rebellious stomach. All she wanted was to curl up in bed, or on the bathroom floor, stop throwing up and cry herself into oblivion, all the while trying her hardest to take her mind off her husband.

As though in response to her train of thought, the soft flutters, not dissimilar to butterfly kisses, resumed in her abdomen. While she herself was still barely able to keep anything down and, between that and her stress levels going through the roof, was losing rather than gaining weight, the babies – twins – were thriving and big enough to be felt by their mother. But that was another thing she tried not to think about. She loved her children already even though they were not yet born. They were nothing short of miracles; a product of the truest love between her and the father they would never know, and it was precisely that thought, every time she felt them move in her abdomen, that caused her heart to clench most painfully and tears spill unbidden from the corners of her eyes.

The doorbell rang again.

And again.

With a sigh, she uncurled herself from her foetal position, pulled on one of her trademark oversized hoodies to hide her bump and splashed some water on her ashen, tear-streaked face. It seemed, whoever that was, was not going anywhere.

“Emma,” her father greeted her with a tight smile that hardly reached his eyes. When, a few seconds later, she was still vacantly staring at him in the doorway of her house, he prompted, “Can I come in?”

Emma blinked, as if out of a stupor, and stood back to allow him entry.

“How are you?” David asked, when she still hadn’t uttered a single word.

“Fine,” she mumbled, still carefully avoiding his eyes. On some subliminal level, irrationally born out of a childhood of neglect, she hoped that if she didn’t see him, he would not see her.

He sighed as he gently grabbed her arm to garner her attention and Emma couldn’t help but wonder whether his gentleness originated in mere kindness or his fear of inflicting physical damage in her current state.

“Emma, you don’t look well,” he observed.

She groaned softly to herself. Second one it is, so. “Is that why you’re here?” she demanded, a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

“Yes… and no,” he shook his head. “I mean, I am worried, we all are-“

“Get to it, dad, please.”

Her snappiness was enough to put a stop to his rambling. “Emma, what’s happening with you?”

“Nothing’s happening with me,” she rolled her eyes exasperatedly. “Maybe I’m just not coping very well with the fact that my husband is dying!”

He shook his head, “No… no, it’s more than that. I’ve spent weeks trying to excuse your behaviour to your mother, to Henry, to Killian…”

Her eyes snapped back to him, wide and pained. “To Killian?”

“I noticed you barely show your face in his room once or twice a week, Emma. We all noticed, he noticed, even if he is too much of a gentleman to ever complain about it.”

She physically flinched at his words, retreating further into herself. Her head was pounding and her nausea crested once more as she leaned back against a nearby wall, subconsciously glancing at the bathroom door.

“Emma?” her father’s voice sounded detached, as though it came from miles away. “Emma…” Her vision blurred… “Emma?!” she squeezed her eyes shut, internally counting back from five until the ringing in her ears subsided. She was stunned to find David standing in front of her, his blue eyes holding nothing but genuine concern, with a glass of water in his hand.

But that glass of water was all it took to send her over the edge and she darted into the bathroom, fiercely slamming and locking the door behind her before she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach into the toilet.

When she ventured back out, her father was standing just outside the door, the glass of water still in his hand, but she pointedly ignored it. She would have killed for it in that moment, if she hadn’t been so certain it would do little more than set off another wave of sickness.

“You can’t keep this up, Emma,” he spoke finally, and for the first time, she heard the tiredness in his voice, saw the dark circles under his eyes. It was a stark reminder that she was not the only one hurting, not the only one losing someone. Again. But it wasn’t himself he brought up as argument. “Henry deserves better. He’s spending every day in hospital, watching his father fade away, please don’t make him worry about his mother, too.”

Emma’s eyes flashed dangerously at him, and her jaw ticked, but whatever retort she had in her head remained behind her tightly gritted teeth.

“I may keep telling him that, but even I no longer believe it’s just stress. We are all worried about you. Please, just get yourself checked out-“

“I did!” she clipped, her anger washing over her guilt of lying in a tsunami of self-preservation. “I got myself checked out already, I know there’s nothing wrong, and if there were, I would tell you, even if I couldn’t tell Henry! Now, if all you came here for was to use my son to guilt me into doing something-“

“Your mother thinks you’re pregnant.”

Emma’s head snapped up so fast it reeled.

But her father was not fazed. “Are you? I told her it would be impossible, with Killian… but are you? Is there someone else? Is that why you stopped visiting him?”

“How dare you?” she hissed, but he only shook his head sadly, his shoulders drooping.

“Emma, you’re my daughter. I love you more than anything, you know that. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through and I’m not here to judge, I’m just trying to understand…”

“Well, you said it yourself, it’s impossible,” she muttered with a thinly veiled warning. “Never question my loyalty to Killian again. I got checked out, there is nothing wrong, so I can only assume it’s stress. One way or another, I’ll handle it. Is that all?”

Her father let out a long, suffering breath and simply stared at her for a long moment as her own hard gaze softened under his tenderness. She wished nothing more than to tell him everything that moment; to let go and cry in his arms and let him comfort her and tell her it would be okay and that she had not made one of the stupidest decisions of her life. But she couldn’t bring herself to. And so the armour went right back up.

“No,” he whispered.

“What is it then?”

He hesitated and averted his gaze with an uncomfortable grimace, absentmindedly wetting his lips as he did.

“Dad?”

“Can you go see him please?”

“See wh- Killian?”

He nodded. “Please.”

She sighed, dropping her gaze in mortification. “Not- Not right now, I can’t… I just need another day or so, I know I should feel better soon and-“

“Emma, please,” he interrupted, his voice verging on pleading.

The already burning tears in her eyes suddenly overflowed without her consent and she wiped them away violently with the back of her hand.

“He asked for you.”

“What?” she gasped.

David nodded, as though to reinforce his statement. “I know it’s been a few days since you’ve seen him, but he’s not doing great at the moment. I saw him yesterday and I think it’s finally hitting him that- I think he’s afraid- he’s never outright asked to see you before, just sort of accepted that you weren’t there, but…”

“What did he-“ she attempted to swallow the bitter taste in her mouth. “What did he say exactly?”

“He asked to see you,” David reiterated softly. “I don’t think he was quite… himself, he would normally have more self-control. He asked to… If I see you, to ask you if maybe… maybe, you could come.”

Her tears ran unchecked down her cheeks as she stared at her father.

“I’ve never seen him like that, Emma. Look, if there’s any way-“

“I’d like to be alone now, please,” she murmured, not looking at him.

“Okay,” he nodded, taking a step back, but then took two more forward and gently pulled his daughter into his arms, one hand cupping the back of her head and the other arm holding her close, even as she didn’t make a move to hug him in return, purposefully keeping her folded arms between them to avoid him coming in contact with her stomach. “I love you, Emma,” he whispered into her hair. When no reply followed, he pulled back and walked over to the door.

---------------------------

The first thing Emma did after she had walked into Killian’s room was run into the bathroom and throw up.

She hoped against hope he didn’t hear her as she emerged into the main room, having thoroughly rinsed out her mouth and washed her face, but one look in his direction told her that her fears were unfounded. She walked over to the bed and sat down in the chair next to it, all the while trying not to think too much about how much worse he looked from the last time she had seen him. Was it a few days ago? A week? Her heart clenched with guilt and shame as she tenderly clasped one of his hands in both of hers and bent over to softly kiss his forehead.

“Swan,” her name just barely made it past Killian’s lips on a sigh almost instantly, suggesting he had not been asleep after all. He attempted a smile of sorts, but more than that, Emma noticed how he appeared to be struggling to force his eyes open. After a few moments of trying and only managing two barely-there slits, he visibly surrendered to his frailty, the smile slipping off his face. “Forgive me, love,” he murmured ruefully. “It appears I’ve had better days.”

Emma shook her head weakly before realising he could not see her anyway, only to briefly wonder whether it was a blessing in disguise as her sickly appearance would probably do nothing to lift his spirits, only cause him more worry. “Are you in a lot of pain?” she recognised the futile silliness of the question even as it escaped her lips, but just went on to squeeze his hand gently, placing a kiss on his knuckles.

“Not more than usual,” Killian deflected, true to form. “Thank you… for coming,” he said, and although there was not so much as a trace of accusatory malice in his voice, that small statement made her feel like the worst human alive.

“Please, don’t… Killian, don’t thank me. I know I’m not here nearly enough-“

“You’re enough, Emma,” he breathed. “You’ve always been enough.” After a beat, he added, “I wish I could see you, love.”

She bit her lip and closed her eyes momentarily, then leaned down slightly and brought his hand up to her face, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing when his fingers splayed across her features.

“Don’t cry, darling,” he murmured as his fingers tenderly brushed away the tears she hadn’t even realised had gathered in her eyes.

Emma said nothing and let him hold her for a few more moments, until his hand began to slip from under hers when he could clearly no longer hold it up. She clasped his fingers in her own and gently lowered it back down onto the bed.

“Had better days, love,” he muttered quietly once more.

Emma grimaced at the familiar feeling of nausea and heartburn creeping up to the surface, but was instantly relieved when he showed no indication of noticing. She had done everything she could to keep the sickness down, had exhausted every trick in the book with the hope something might help, and she wouldn’t have to spend this visit running to the toilet every few minutes. Hope was all she had.

Killian’s brow furrowed and his eyes moved frantically under his heavy lids as he once more attempted to force them open and, to her surprise, managed to peel them back halfway. His blue eyes were red-rimmed and a little bit unfocused, causing her to wonder just how much he could actually see, but he managed a smile, nevertheless. “Beautiful.”

A tear trickled down her cheek even as she tried a smile of her own. Whale had warned her last time they spoke that her husband’s body was now simply too weak; that although he would still have the occasional burst of energy, he would often be just about strong enough to stay awake for a spell at a time and maybe say a few words. Anything past that, such as moving or even keeping his eyes open, would quickly become a luxury. She had thought she understood what it meant, but due to her rare visits, that was the first time she witnessed it. Needless to say, imagining something and seeing it were two vastly different things.

As if on cue, Killian’s eyelids finally exhausted whatever little strength he had mustered and drifted shut once more, but his spirit did not appear to be affected. “You remember, Swan… when we… we danced at the… the ball…” He chuckled softly, as though reliving that particular memory himself. “Your father… was quite vexed I had your first dance… at your first ball… when he found out.”

Emma grinned, squeezing his hand encouragingly.

“You were stunning… in that dress, you were… you were beautiful. Couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

“You scrubbed up pretty well yourself, Captain,” she quipped.

“Aye…” He didn’t say anything else for a while and his hand relaxed a bit in her grasp. “Don’t forget, Emma…” his voice somewhat slurred this time, growing notably weaker the longer he pushed himself. “We were happy once… don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” she promised, unbeknownst to him silently biting her lip against the threatening onslaught of tears and striving to keep her voice from betraying her. This conversation and her raging hormones were already proving to be a disastrous combination. Once again, she found herself morbidly grateful that his eyes were closed.

“Our first date,” he spoke again. “Remember our first date. Your face… so bright… your smile… Dave scowling in the corner,” his lips turned up a touch, and she couldn’t help her quiet laugh at the imagery he just painted.

“I’m glad you insisted on planning it yourself,” she admitted. “I would have been a disaster. I don’t think I’ve ever planned a date with anyone before you in my life.”

“I know,” Killian whispered. “But I didn’t care… I’d have been- been happy,” his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, visibly struggling to keep his voice going, “I’d have been happy with anything… as long as it was with you.”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand again, a melancholic smile tugging at her features. “I remember our wedding, when I saw you standing there, waiting for me, and I knew you were my happy ending and happy beginning all in one; that I had everything I ever wanted.”

“You were a vision that day,” he mumbled, but his voice dropped so low she had to lean closer to pick up what he was saying. “My salvation… Thank you, Emma,” she thought he said next, but before she could even process it, his hand went completely slack in hers and her heart stilled instinctively, expecting her worst nightmare to manifest right in front of her, but nothing of the sort happened.

His chest kept rhythmically moving with wheezing, but steady breaths as his meagre strength was finally spent and he succumbed to sleep.

Chapter Text

Killian had never felt so unwell in his life and, bearing in mind the most recent months of it and then the scars that littered his body over the course of the nearly three-hundred years prior, that was saying something. His mind was too foggy and disoriented to understand what was going on around him and his head felt heavier than it ever had. He briefly wanted to lie down before he realised that he was, in fact, lying in his bed. He felt as though something was lodged in his throat and when he attempted to cough it out, it felt like knives ripping through his windpipe.

“Oh, no,” he vaguely heard someone say and when he managed to half open his eyes, he clearly saw the bright red staining his white pillow even through his hazy vision.

“Captain?” he thought he heard the same voice again and closed his eyes when stars exploded in his head. “Captain Jones, can you hear me?”

He wanted to answer, but he couldn’t form words, let alone utter them. Instead, he drew in a sharp breath, which resulted in another coughing fit. This time, he was aware enough to taste the blood in his mouth.

“Get the doctor,” the voice said again. “Captain Jones, I need you to open your eyes.”

He tried, he really did, but his lungs felt on fire, his throat felt like he was chocking and his head throbbed so much he could barely focus on a single thought at a time. The pain that was normally restricted to his abdomen had spread to his chest and it seemed his entire torso was in agony.

“What the- dammit,” he thought he heard Whale’s unmistakable voice somewhere nearby, but he couldn’t be sure. “Captain?” Definitely Whale. He tried to open his eyes again and calm his racing heart, but all he managed was a groan. “Killian, I need you to focus, stay with me. Up his pain meds,” the doctor ordered someone.

“But I already-“

“I said, up his pain meds now!” He had never heard Whale lose his cool like that. “Killian, where’s the worst of it?”

“H-hurts,” Killian managed this time, barely audibly, before another coughing fit took over and he felt tears spring from the corners of his eyes together with the blood from his mouth.

“Dammit,” Whale hissed and reached for Killian’s phone, dialling Emma’s number. “Emma? Yes, listen to me, you need to get here immediately, it’s Kil- the hell?”

“Did you expect me to drive?” Emma shot the doctor a glare as the white smoke that surrounded her dissipated, and then Killian could feel her, feel her hands on him, smell her shampoo. She washed over him like a healing balm and he tried his hardest to focus and stay grounded, for her.

“Killian? Killian, baby, can you hear me?” Her voice sounded so broken, so sad. He could hear the tears in it. “Killian please…” Her hands cupped his face and, in spite of the tremors wrecking his body, he did his best to lean into her touch and savour it.

“Killian, I need you to open your eyes for me,” she was pleading again and his heart broke for her. “I’m begging you, Killian, stay with me, please.”

He attempted to say something, anything, but found he couldn’t help it and started coughing again.

“It’s ok… it’s ok,” he heard her calming voice. “Everything will be ok, I promise, open your eyes for me, baby, please.”

His eyes fluttered open, but he could barely make out her form even though she must have been mere inches away from him. The splashes of blood stood out on her light grey hoody. “Swan,” he managed.

“You should call Henry, Emma,” he heard Whale speak again.

“I will, I will, just… Let me… let me try something,” he heard her whisper and the next moment felt warmth radiate from her hands on his face. His laboured breathing eased and the pain subsided everywhere almost immediately. It wasn’t gone, not remotely, but he felt he could almost focus now. His fists gradually unclenched from the sheets he hadn’t even realised he had been grabbing and he felt his heartbeat slow down and the blood no longer gushing in his ears.

“Swan,” he spoke her name again, with as much awe as he could muster.

She exhaled a sigh of pure relief and her tear-streaked face broke into a smile. “There you are,” she grinned sadly, her hands still caressing the sides of his face. She looked tired and pale, her hair up in a messy ponytail and her slim shoulders drowned by the oversized hoody. Nonetheless, she was like an oasis to his parched soul.

But he couldn’t return her smile, not this time. Instead, more tears sprang from his eyes, steadily making their way down his cheeks onto the pillow. “Emma, I can’t,” he whispered, every word a struggle. “I know- I know I promised, but I can’t anymore, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, love.”

She whimpered and all he wanted to do that instant was to take these words back, but for the life of him, he no longer had the strength. “It’s ok,” she forced a smile and looked him straight in the eyes. “Killian, I love you. I love you, it’s ok. I need you to do one last thing for me now, sweetheart, I need you to let go. Let go for me, ok? It’s over now. You can let go.”

Another burst of tears forced their way out. “Henry…”

“I’ll get him,” she nodded. “I’ll call him now. Don’t worry.” Then, to his surprise, she looked away from him and over to Whale, nodding with her head in the direction of the door. “I’ll be right back.” She pressed a tender kiss to his lips and walked out with the doctor.

---------------------------

“That’s it, isn’t it?” she asked bluntly as soon as they were out of Killian’s room.

The doctor sighed. “I don’t know, Emma. He started bleeding into his lungs, his cardio-vascular system is shot. The truth is that his body has endured a lot in the last years and especially months, all things considered, I’m actually surprised he’s been holding up as well as he has. But at this point, his body is ravaged, so even with a transplant, his recovery will be long and very uncertain. I already have to be pretty... Should we say, creative to secure him an organ at all. As for today… It could be just a really bad day and we could stabilize him for a little while longer, or it could be the day and…”

“I need you to let me take him home.”

Whale’s eyes shot up to his peroxide hairline. “You’re joking, right?”

“Does it look to you like I’m joking?” she hissed challengingly.

“Emma, I can’t release him, it’s out of the question!”

“I wasn’t asking, I’m telling you to let him go!” her voice was so heavy with tears, she could barely keep it steady. “I promised him, Victor, I told him I would not let him die in this hospital! For months I selfishly stood by and did nothing while he was taking any medication available to prolong his life even though all it did was cause him more unimaginable pain. I did nothing because, once again, I couldn’t let him go! But I can do something for him now; not me, him. I can keep my word. Let me take him home, please.”

Whale didn’t say anything for a few moments, but then… “Emma, I can’t,” he shook his head, his voice uncharacteristically soft and full of genuine regret. “We both know where I came from, but there is about as little left of Frankenstein in me now as there is of Hook in him. I am a doctor, Emma, and I swore an oath; an oath to always put my patient’s welfare first, to always save lives. The IVs he is attached to are what’s keeping him alive and managing his pain levels, not even to mention that his immune system is probably non-existent by now. If he leaves here, within a couple of hours tops, he will die, in agony.”

“He will die anyway!” she sobbed, instinctively clapping her hands over her mouth as though it was the first time she had said those words out loud, by which validating them and making them real. “There is no hope for him, Whale.” She added quietly. “There is no chance. Whether here or somewhere else, he will die. You want to do what’s best for your patient, well let him die with dignity, I’m begging you.”

But the doctor shook his head at her plea, levelling her teary eyes with his own sad ones. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Now, if you excuse me, I need to go get something and then I need to be with my patient.” With that, he turned around and walked away, leaving a devastated Emma behind.

----------------------

When Emma returned to the room, it was just in time to catch Killian expelling more blood from his lungs. She sat down next to him on the bed and rubbed his back in soothing circles as he was desperately trying to clear his airways. There was no one else in the room with them and privately, she was grateful for that. There wasn’t much they could do for him at that point, anyway.

She knew he must have heard at least some of her exchange with Whale earlier on, if not all of it. There was no use pretending anymore. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, holding him close to her and caressing his sweat-soaked hair. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise, Killian. I’m sorry I let you down.”

“Don’t, Emma. It doesn’t matter. I realise now… “ he drew in a deep shaky breath. “It really doesn’t matter.”

They sat like this together for another few moments before Emma abruptly pulled back and after casting one cautionary glance at the door, first removed the oxygen tube from around Killian’s ears, then reached for his forearms and began removing the IVs from their cannulas. “I’ve never done this before, so I’m sorry if I’m too rough,” she muttered, while he just stared at her in shock. “Damn you, Whale.” When she was done, she helped Killian sit up fully and quickly wrapped the blanket from the bed around his shoulders over his tee shirt. Not a moment later, they were engulfed in white smoke and were no longer in the hospital room.

A gust of cool salty ocean air blew into Killian’s face as he found himself sitting on the much familiar and longed-for deck of the Jolly Roger, his back leaning against the main mast of his ship.

“Emma,” he murmured in wonder as he dared to look around, tears pooling in his eyes again, but this time his physical aches had little to do with it. On her part, Emma wrapped the blanket tighter around him against the sea breeze and pulled out her phone, dialling Henry’s school. A minute later, she hung up and tucked it back into her pocket.

“He’ll be here, Killian. The school is not too far, he’ll be here soon,” she promised. “How are you holding up?”

Badly, was the only answer in his head, but he refused to voice it. While traces of Emma’s magic still held, it was wearing off and between that and the present lack of any pain medication, he was feeling worse by the minute. His lungs were still in agony and, every time he dared to take a breath, he gurgled and wheezed and had to fight the urge to cough. His head was pounding, his body trembled and his vision clouded. But he would not change anything for the world. He closed his eyes and relished the warm rays of the sun on his ashen face, giving Emma all the answer she needed.

She adjusted the blanket around him again and pulled him closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder and wrapping both arms around him.

They sat like this for a while, the only sounds were those of squawking seagulls and the waves lapping against the hull of the ship. He still continued to cough every few minutes and his breathing worsened with each such episode, but she simply rubbed his back each time and, when he was finished, held him tighter. Emma tried to use her magic again on him, but nothing happened this time. Not only that, she herself felt unusually unwell and quite drained after using it the other three times. Regina had warned her that her magic would be unpredictable due to her condition, and she’d never wished the former Queen to be more wrong, but what’s done was done.

“Thank you, Killian,” she murmured into his hair, her tears tracing silver paths down her cheeks. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for everything you’ve given me and thank you for just being you. I love you more than anything. I will always love you.” Find peace, wherever you’re going, she wished silently to herself.

He smiled sadly into her neck. His strength was leaving him and he could barely keep his eyes open. He stubbornly tried to clench his teeth to ward off the pain he was feeling, but judging by how his mind was slowly slipping away, he doubted any such endeavour would be necessary for much longer. He tried his best to cling to the here and now, even for a few more minutes. There was so much he wanted to say to her, and to Henry, so many things he wanted them to know and to remember. But, when needed most, words and strength failed him. “I love you, Swan,” was all he managed, with the utmost difficulty, his voice the weakest it had ever been. He closed his eyes then, with no intention of opening them again.

She wrapped her arms tighter around him and fisted the soft material of his blanket. “Always, Killian,” she promised. “Always.” She kissed his cold temple, the last of the tears falling from her red rimmed eyes as she felt the familiar soft flutter in her now quite swollen abdomen. She was six months pregnant now and the bulge had become unmistakable seemingly overnight, even under all her oversized layers. The only reason she assumed no one had noticed was because they had all been so distracted. “Sleep now, my love,” she murmured softly, hoping against hope that Henry will be there soon.

But instead of her son’s voice, the sound she heard mere minutes later were the sirens of an ambulance, and not five minutes after that, rushed footsteps on the deck of Killian’s ship.

“God dammit, Emma, can you not answer your damned phone?” Whale invaded their personal space with his more than colourful language.

Emma didn’t dignify him with a reaction, however, let alone a response. In fact, she didn’t move. The man in her arms didn’t either.

Ignoring her silence, the doctor crouched in front of the couple and reached his hand for Killian’s neck, fingering his pulse. She could tell the exact moment he finally found it by the relieved sigh that escaped him. “I told you not to remove him from the hospital, Emma. Dammit.”

“You’re not taking him,” she said emotionlessly, not even looking at Whale. “He’s staying right here, with me. Henry is coming-“

“Well, you can redirect him to the hospital then.” Completely ignoring her yet again, he motioned for the paramedics to take Killian off her and start loading him onto the gurney. She wanted to fight them, she really did, but she found herself so numb she couldn’t move. Killian didn’t so much as stir as the two men lifted him up. He was no longer conscious. She stared dazedly as they gently laid him down, but in her head, she was in another time and another place and she almost expected them to cover his face like they did before… but they didn’t. They covered him with a warm blanket instead and reattached an IV to his arm.

“Dr. Whale, he’s struggling to breathe,” one of them shouted over, to which the doctor groaned in frustration.

“Well, I hope you practiced your tracheostomy,” he retorted.

“What, here?”

Whale rolled his eyes as he stood up. “No, by all means, let’s wait to get that blood out of his lungs and get air in until we get to the hospital!”

As the men set to work, Emma realised, with no small amount of horror, that, deep down, she wanted them to cover his face and pronounce him dead. She just didn’t want him to be in pain anymore.

A shadow passed over her and, snapping out of her stupor, she looked up to see Whale holding out his hand to help her up, his face almost apologetically hopeful. “I have a liver, Emma,” he told her. “There is still a chance, however small.”

Chapter Text

Sounds were the first thing that permeated gradually into Killian’s consciousness. The steady, somewhat comforting and all too familiar beeping of the monitors in his room, the muffled hum of activity outside in the hall. Next came the smells. Antiseptic, fresh flowers, hot chocolate with cinnamon… It was only after that he realised that, beyond the dimness of his heavy lids, the room was bright. He must have made a movement or even a sound because the next thing he knew, two hands were gently pushing down on his shoulders. He recognised them. “Dad?” followed the urgent word he was hoping to hear.

When he had last closed his eyes, Killian was certain it would be for the last time. He had hoped and prayed that Henry would make it over in time at least for him to hear his voice once more, if nothing else. Although a part of him still was not entirely certain he was not, in fact, dead, the sound of Henry’s voice lifted an unimaginable load off his chest. Killian peeled his eyes open, with great difficulty at first, and tried his hardest to bring his son’s face into focus. It seemed to be taking longer than he realised because Henry had no such patience.

“Dad, can you hear me? Can you see me?”

He opened his mouth and tried to talk, but he could not hear his own words come out. His throat hurt and felt strangely tight and scratchy. He reached up with his hand, but Henry grabbed it before it could make contact.

“Try not to talk too much,” he instructed. “And be careful with your throat.” He carefully brought Killian’s hand the rest of the way over there and placed it gently over the thick bandage. “They had to do a tracheostomy.” At Killian’s confused expression, the boy simplified, “They pierced a hole in your throat and inserted a tube in there to help you breathe when you couldn’t and they also drained your lungs. They only removed it and sewed it up the other day when they started to wake you up and were satisfied that you’d be able to breathe on your own. Whale did say that speaking might be difficult at first and it is going to be a bit sore for a while, so try not to touch it.”

Killian tenderly felt the gauze on his throat one more time before swallowing hard and removing his hand as he’d been told.

“Are you feeling any pain anywhere else?” he clearly took too long to answer, because Henry continued his nervous rambling, “Probably not yet. They pumped you up pretty good, but Whale did say it would start wearing off soon...”

Was he sore anywhere else? Pumped him up with what? Was he supposed to be sore? And then that question again… was he not supposed to be dead? What happened, was it even real? He attempted speaking again and he thought he had made actual sounds this time, but still no intelligible words.

“Here,” Henry came to the rescue again, tilted his bed upwards and placed pillows behind his back to help him sit. Killian winced and a groan escaped his lips when sudden pain burst from his abdomen, just under his ribs, as he was repositioning himself. The sensation of having been cut open was perhaps dulled somewhat, but unmistakable, nonetheless. Once Henry was satisfied Killian was comfortable, he handed him a cup of water, which he held firmly while his father sipped from it. The cool water washing down his throat was heaven sent. He finished drinking and breathed in deeply. Although the very air seemed to scrape at his throat and his lungs protested, he could not help but marvel at how much easier it was than he remembered.

“Henry,” he attempted speaking again and although the one word could be classed a success, the voice sounded hoarse and nothing like his own. Also, it was uncomfortable at best and painful at worst. He figured perhaps it would be a good idea to listen to Henry’s instructions and keep speech to the bare minimum for the first while.

But the boy’s wide smile at hearing his own name suddenly made everything worth it. “I missed you, dad,” he confessed, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

His father didn’t require words when he opened his arms for Henry, his tired eyes holding a single clear invitation. Henry hesitated at first, nervously glancing down at where Killian felt the thick layer of gauze was covering his midsection, but eventually relented and very cautiously returned the embrace.

“H-how long?”

“Only a few days, thankfully. Dr Whale wasn’t sure when you would wake up...” Henry looked down briefly. “They put you to sleep after the surgery to allow your body to recover at least a little bit.”

Killian frowned. “Surg…”

Henry nodded, his face breaking into possibly the widest beam he’d ever seen. “You’ve got a new liver now. Dr Whale says everything went very well and it should start regenerating pretty much immediately, and, to quote him, you ‘surprise he hell out of him by refusing to kick the bucket against all odds’,” the boy’s voice quivered slightly as he spoke the last bit, even though he attempted to sound as upbeat as possible.

Killian rolled his eyes, well familiar with Frankenstein’s unique ‘charms’, and squeezed his son’s hand in a comforting gesture. The heavy tendrils of sleep were beginning to pull him back under, but there was one thing he had to know first. “’Mma?”

Henry’s face fell a little but he quickly schooled his features. “Don’t worry about mom, she’s fine. she just couldn’t be here today. We’ve sort of been taking turns… watching over you until you woke up. Today happened to be mine,” he smiled reassuringly and Killian could tell immediately the teenager was lying through his teeth. An odd tightness in his chest caused him to wince despite the amount of pain medication he must have been given.

Henry had never lied to him; not like this, and Killian didn’t know what to make of it. But even his curiosity and concern for his wife were not enough to keep his lids from sliding back over his eyes and before he knew what was happening, he once again succumbed to a dreamless sleep.

-----------------------------

Hushed voices woke him up and, at first, he didn’t quite know whether he was actually waking up. His somewhat dazed mind was unable to place them in either reality or dream. He opened his eyes, only to realise the room was much darker, which must mean it was either much later in the day or an entirely different day altogether. A quick squint also told him he was alone in the room and the voices were coming from outside of it, through the crack in the door someone had carelessly left open.

“No, this is ridiculous, Emma!” he heard the harsh whisper and attributed it to the former Evil Queen immediately.

“I’ll sort it out, Regina, it’s my problem, not yours.” Swan. His heart skipped a beat and he briefly wondered whether he should continue eavesdropping, but he was blessed – or cursed – with far too keen a hearing not to.

“You’ll sort it out? You dug yourself so deep into this mess, there is no sorting out anything! Just tell him the truth already!”

“He only just started recovering from the surgery that – hopefully – saved his life, don’t you think he doesn’t need this right now?”

“Stop stalling and tell him the truth! You tell him, or I swear, I’ll tell him.”

“You promised me-“

“I made that promise when you were in a terrible place and made a stupid decision that reeked of some childhood trauma, and I also supported that decision because on some level I agreed that, given the circumstances, it was best to keep him in the dark. I don’t agree anymore.”

“I’m scared, Regina, I don’t know if I-“

Regina huffed. “Emma, I’m trying to be supportive, I really am, but your insecurities are what got us into this mess. And I do mean us. Need I remind you that I’ve had to lie to everyone to cover for you, including my son? I’m done!”

“I don’t want to hurt him!”

“Do you have any idea how much you’re hurting him already by lying to him?! Or how hurt he will be when he finds out you’ve been lying to him? You dug yourself into this hole, Emma, dig yourself out, and the only way to do that is by telling the truth. He deserves to know. And I think you know all that and his reaction is what you’re truly afraid of now. Before it may have been about him, but now it’s most certainly about you…”

Footsteps indicated the two women were retreating further down the hall and whatever else the former Queen said, or whatever Emma said to Regina, Killian could no longer hear. But he didn’t need to. His fragile mind was reeling with this new information and he clasped his hand to his chest when that same tightness returned and he could almost hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He tried to regulate his breathing, but it kept coming in gasps of air as he vividly recalled every single time Emma had visited him in the past few months without her wedding or engagement rings on. Such a trivial detail he hadn’t given it any thought, but now… and what had Henry said that one time, about her disappearing for hours somewhere unknown? He finally confessed to himself that, in the darkest recesses of his treacherous mind, he had been spending months entertaining the possibility of his wife finding someone else when he became too much of a liability… He shook his head, as though to dispel these poisonous thoughts, but they wouldn’t leave.

The tightness in his chest was becoming unbearable, to the point where he briefly wondered if it was indeed his heart or the site of his new liver that was acting up. He attempted to rub at his ribs to ease the pain, but to no avail. He knew that if he didn’t regain composure, the heart monitor would surely summon the entire bloody hospital to his room and that was the last thing he wanted. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe deeply and calm down. He couldn’t reconcile the Emma that had clearly already found herself someone else with the Emma that had whispered words of love and comfort to him in his darkest moments and had held him while he was drawing what was sure to be his last breath. It did not make sense. He had to talk to her, give her a chance to explain… he needed her to explain, to say something, anything, other than what was on his mind… but was he brave enough to face her? The heart that was practically pounding out of his chest suggested otherwise.

Killian attempted another calming breath, but he didn’t even get a chance to fully exhale before the traitorous monitor whirred to life.

Chapter Text

They were talking… or arguing, Killian wasn’t sure anymore. He probably should have been listening, but he wasn’t. He had tuned out a while ago.

She had come in very early that day… his Emma. She was thin and a bit pale and dressed in black leggings and a thick white knitted jumper that was probably about five sizes too large, but she was glorious. He noticed it immediately. To him, she was sunshine incarnate flooding the room with light. But he also noticed she was not wearing her rings again, and this time, he made sure to notice. She wasn’t his Emma anymore, after all.

He had never been so grateful for blasted Frankenstein showing up mere moments after she had walked in and stealing her attention because he wasn’t ready. He didn’t know how to face her, didn’t know how to listen to her, didn’t know what to say or what to think. And he loathed, absolutely loathed himself for the thoughts that were presently dominating his head. He’d had a couple of days to process things since that damned conversation he had overheard of her and Regina, but he still could not think about it without his heart breaking. He tried to rationalise it, tried to tell himself that it had been too much; she hadn’t signed up for it. He’d all but refused to listen to that tiny voice that was telling him they were true love, the voice Emma’s devotion and acceptance had cultivated in him over the years. Instead, the other voice was getting stronger and stronger; the one that shouted the loudest and drowned all others: he was a villain, he was a burden, he wasn’t worth it. Villains didn’t get happy endings.

He felt something wet on his pillow by his eye and realised he was crying. Damn him and his bloody inability to control his emotions lately.

“Killian? Can you answer that please?” Emma’s voice sliced through him like a knife and he could not have been happier that he had been lying on his side, facing away from her when she spoke. He quickly and discreetly wiped his eyes and drew in a shallow breath before turning around to face her. She would pass the redness off as tiredness, he needn’t worry. He always looked so tired these days.

“Yes, love,” he croaked, wincing slightly at the discomfort of speaking, his voice still recovering. “Apologies, I… I wasn’t listening.”

She sighed and walked over to him, taking his hand in hers. He fought between the urge to pull it back and the need to relish in her touch. “Can you think of anything that may have caused the heart attack?” she asked patiently.

“It was not a full-blown heart attack, Emma,” Whale rolled his eyes.

“Right, just a little one,” she pinched her thumb and forefinger together sarcastically.

The doctor rolled his eyes again. “The monitor is built to detect heart rate abnormalities and respond accordingly. It doesn’t mean a patient is having a heart attack every time it beeps! And it doesn’t help that we don’t know what set it off!”

Killian groaned quietly and cradled his head in his free hand when they started at each other’s throats again. Had he had a heart attack? How was he supposed to know? To the best of his knowledge, he’d never had one before, but then, given his recent track record, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities. Did he care? Not particularly. He was alive. Quite frankly, other more pressing things were occupying his mind these days.

“Well, the patient is right here, maybe we can ask him?” Emma again.

He graced the pair with a side glance, his head still partially in his hand. “I don’t know,” was all he said, hoping she’d be too distracted to spot the apparent lie.

She was.

“Look, Emma, his heart rate was abnormally high, yes, but said heart is over two-hundred years old, not to mention the trauma his body had been put through due to his liver problems. Unless it happens again, I see no cause for alarm. I will, however recommend not to exert yourself and I’ll postpone the physio sessions until next week, just in case.”

“So, you’ll just wait until it happens again before you actually do something?” Emma exclaimed. Her level of concern for him could not be feigned and it was only confusing Killian more.

“An open-heart surgery isn’t a joke, Mrs Jones,” Whale’s fuse was getting shorter and shorter, judging by the sound of his voice and the formal way in which he addressed Emma. “We don’t just throw patients on an operating table and cut their hearts open at every small mishap. Even serious heart attacks very seldom justify one. Right now, my professional opinion is to monitor him closely. If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know. Now, excuse me, I do have other patients. Killian,” he nodded his head in the former pirate’s direction and walked out.

“You haven’t touched your breakfast,” Emma’s soft voice snapped him out of his reverie and he casually glanced at the tray on his bedside table. As per Whale’s instructions, the nurses had started bringing him food again in the last day or so, hoping to soon wean him off the IV. He had to admit his nausea had all but disappeared and his appetite was slowly returning , but breakfast, along with most other things, simply wasn’t on his mind anymore. “You need to eat, Killian,” she admonished gently. “You have to gain weight and you have a lot of strength to recover.”

“Of course, love,” was all he said, not even looking in her direction. His hands still trembled quite often, whether from general weakness or something else, and, if he were being honest, that too was a reason he’d neglected his food, but he was not going to tell her that.

“How are you?” Emma touched his face gently and he almost flinched. She must have noticed because she quickly removed her hand and frowned.

“How are you?” he countered, finally looking at her. “I imagine… I imagine the last several months have been rather… trying for you.”

“Me? Killian, this isn’t about me, I’m fine.”

He took a deep breath. “I may have been the one physically sick, but I’m not stupid, Emma. This has taken a toll on you, as well as Henry. I just wanted to say, I… I understand if that toll is too great.”

“You understand if…” she echoed his words in confusion, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

“I noticed you haven’t been wearing your rings lately,” he nodded in the general direction of her left hand, but made a point of avoiding looking at it.

She glanced down at it, then back at him. “No, I… I can’t really wear them anymore…”

“I see,” he mused.

“No, it’s not… Killian, I don’t know what you’re thinking right now and I have to admit, you’ve caught me a bit off guard here, but whatever you’re thinking, it’s not it.”

Killian shook his head at her ramblings, somewhere in the back of his mind registering that same pain blooming in his chest. “You don’t know what I’m thinking, Emma,” he said simply. Even he didn’t know what he was thinking.

“Are you… angry with me for something?” she asked carefully and just by looking into her eyes, he could immediately tell she wholeheartedly believed he should be. She was still an open book to him. But he was simply too much of a coward to confirm it and, deep down, he knew it wasn’t her. Was he disappointed? Yes. Heartbroken? Definitely. But angry?

“No, Emma,” he replied honestly. “If I’m angry with anyone, it isn’t you.” I’m angry with myself, was what he wanted to say, but didn’t. And he was. He was so angry for even believing the possibility of a happy ending was viable for him. He should have known better.

“Killian, I… “ She sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. “Sweetheart, I spoke to Archie and he did say you may not be quite yourself. He said… because your body has been through so much and spent so long preparing for the worst and then- then the worst nearly happened, your mind might need a little time to catch up and realise the worst isn’t happening anymore. He mentioned depression…”

“I’m not depressed, Emma,” he countered tiredly. Was he? He wondered, looking down at his hands. They trembled ever so slightly and were still dangerously thin, but the colour was returning to them and the yellowish tint was all but gone. Yet somehow it was not enough to provide him with even the tiniest spark of hope. He stared at his empty ring finger; he had had to take the ring off months ago when his fingers became too thin to hold it. Perhaps life was trying to tell him something even then, he mused, however irrationally. Perhaps some things were not meant to be after all.

The pain in his chest was spreading again and becoming stronger; that same old tightness hitching his breath. This time, he could also feel odd tingling and numbness down his left arm, and he flexed his fingers on that hand before subconsciously splaying them across his chest, as though to assuage the ache there. His heartbeat was picking up and he glanced at the monitor by his bed only to confirm his suspicion.

Emma’s eyes darted between the monitor and his chest. “Killian, what’s wrong?” He could detect the unmistakable undertone of panic in her voice. Surely, if she were truly planning on leaving him, she would not be that invested in his survival? He wondered. But no… No, because she’s good and she’s kind, she wants to do the right thing… and she’s everything that isn’t him. Of course, she is invested.

“I’m alright,” he managed, but it was becoming harder to speak. He needed her to leave.

“Mom? Dad?” Henry’s voice sounded from the doorway and the two adults turned in his direction, Killian wincing at the movement, his hand pressing harder onto his ribcage.

“Henry, get Whale,” Emma ordered immediately.

“Henry, don’t,” Killian commanded in turn and the teenager’s eyes darted in confusion between his two parents. “Emma, you need to go, I- I need you to go. I can’t do this now,” he implored her, trying to breathe through the stabbing pains in his chest, his frustration with himself only growing at his feeble sounding voice.

She didn’t understand. “Killian, what- why?”

But instead of an answer, she watched as his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell back on the pillows, Henry’s cry of “Dad, no!” deafening in her ears as the heart monitor alarm filled the room.

Chapter Text

It appeared this time he had suffered a heart attack. Or rather, the kind that justified what Victor Whale called an exploratory surgery, which to Emma and Henry meant he would be cutting into Killian’s heart after all. A surgery was scheduled for two days' time, during which Whale had given strict instructions to be careful and avoid any unnecessary stimulation.

It baffled the doctor that he could not pinpoint what was causing these sudden attacks when, even at his worst, Killian’s heart had largely remained strong and steady throughout. While he had a few suspicions, there was nothing that particularly stood out, especially because both times there was no physical exertion of any kind present that could have triggered an attack, and neither was there a consistent one of the emotional variety. While they could potentially chalk the second one down to emotional stimulation, the first one – as far as everyone was concerned – had happened in his sleep. Consequently, Whale’s only suspect was an underlying condition.

Killian was moved out of his room to the ICU, where he could be monitored more closely and barely an hour went by when there wasn’t a nurse in his room, checking his heart rate and other vitals. Whale was apparently afraid of potential arrythmia and subsequent cardiac arrest, neither of which prospects made Killian feel any better.

On one hand, he just about had his fill of it all. All he wanted was some peace and quiet. On the other, and that was the one that won over, he would submit to just about anything Whale and his ‘minions’ pulled out of their sleeves as long as it meant he could cheat death one more time. Henry’s scream just before he blacked out reverberated in his ears like a broken record on repeat and the apparent fear in the teenager’s eyes when he saw him next was all it took. ICU or not, Henry had refused to leave his side since then, even to go to school, to which both his mothers promptly agreed, even though no one had appeared to consult Killian. As far as he was concerned, his ICU bedside was the last place where Henry should be.

That was the very thing he was trying to convey to the boy when he noticed he had been ‘reading’ the same page in his book for at least half an hour because he spent more time looking at him than the written text. Killian carefully removed the oxygen mask and inhaled gingerly. “Go home, son,” he said faintly, “Please, Henry.”

The teenager glanced up over his book. “I’m fine here.”

Killian inhaled again, this time with difficulty, and briefly looked away from Henry. “Go out for a walk then, go visit friends, even just for a few hours. You shouldn’t be here, Henry. Not here.”

Henry put the book down and bit his lower lip, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I wasn’t on the Jolly Roger,” he said. “I wasn’t fast enough and, if you had died that day, I would not have been there to say goodbye.”

Killian closed his eyes tiredly. “Please don’t think that.”

“I try not to,” Henry admitted. “But I’m not leaving anything to chance again. There is no other place I should be more than here.”

“No child… should endure so much…”

“Good thing we’ve been through this and I am not a child. And even if I were, I would not be anywhere else, dad.”

Killian’s lips pulled into a lopsided smile. He would probably never get used to hearing that word. “How did they even allow you to stay here so long?” he chuckled softly. He knew enough about hospitals by now to know that constant visitors in ICU were hardly the norm.

Henry grinned. “My natural charm, I suppose.”

Killian hummed. “Perhaps you’d like to go get yourself some lunch for a while?” he tried again.

“I’m fine right here.”

He sighed in defeat. “I love you, Henry,” was all he said before his aching head won over and he finally replaced the oxygen mask.

Emma had decided to retreat for a while, or so it seemed, because he had not seen her at all since he had woken up. As much as he knew it was probably for the best, his heart was a treacherous organ and broke a little every time someone other than her walked through the door. Killian genuinely didn’t know how much fight was left in him. The recent heart attack had taken a lot out of him and he barely had strength to move or keep his eyes open. The oxygen mask was back and he had not even argued against it, not to mention it seemed as though his chest was now in perpetual agony. Regardless of where this entire ordeal had left them, he held no grudges. He simply didn’t want to leave this world without seeing her at least once more.

“Dad?” Henry’s voice drew his attention. When he looked over to him, Henry lowered his gaze apologetically. “I just… I know it’s probably not my business, but I need to know, I… you and mum… you’re not ok, are you?”

There were times Killian honestly wished Henry had paid a little less attention to those around him. But he could hardly lie to him either. He looked away and lightly shook his head.

Henry pursed his lips and nodded. After a beat, he asked. “Are you going to leave?”

Typically, straight to the point. Killian summoned all the energy he had left and removed his oxygen mask once more. “I don’t know what will happen with your mother and I, lad,” he spoke hoarsely, barely audibly, “but I can promise you that as long as it is within my power, I will never leave you, Henry, I swear. One way or another… I’ll always be with you.”

Henry nodded again, his relief and satisfaction with that answer clearly evident on his face. “Good.”

If it were in any way up to him, he wouldn’t leave either of them, but sadly, that was no longer the case. “You’re old enough, Henry,” he inhaled deeply, “to know how it all works. Sometimes people… with the best of intentions… don’t get a happy ending.”

“You’re True Love, dad,” Henry argued, sounding so much like his grandmother at that moment.

Killian smiled sadly. “Perhaps sometimes… even that just isn’t enough, lad.”

At that, indicating they’d spoken about the subject long enough, Killian replaced his mask back on his face one more time.

Henry placed a hand on his father’s shoulder and gave it a tender squeeze, promising him without words all the support he had to offer.

Killian heavily closed his tired eyes. His chest was growing tighter and, despite himself, he was beginning to succumb to all sorts of fears.

“Mom?” he heard Henry’s curious whisper and followed the teen’s eyes to the door, through which he could clearly see Emma, only his breath suddenly lodged in his throat because she was not all he was seeing. Emma was standing there, speaking to Dr Whale, seemingly completely unaware that she could be seen from Killian’s room because one of her hands was gently cradling her stomach, which, in profile, revealed a very distinct and quite substantial bulge.

Killian stared. His eyes, so exhausted before, suddenly unable to close, and he could feel the tears welling in them.

Henry clearly saw the same thing and probably reached the same conclusion as he instinctively clasped his father’s hand, but Killian barely registered the gesture. Emma was pregnant. It all made sense now. Avoiding him, feeling unwell, wearing oversized clothes to hide her stomach. He had often wondered what she would look like, swollen with their child, how her delicate hands would gently cradle the round stomach with that precious life growing inside. She was beautiful, he thought, absolutely stunning, the most perfect sight he had ever seen. His Emma was pregnant… pregnant with the very baby they had tried so hard to create and, by a cruel twist of fate, were repeatedly denied; the very baby deep down he had wanted so much… a baby that was not his.

The pain erupted in his chest without warning and, but for the oxygen mask, he would have screamed. His back arched from the bed and both his hands clasped over his pounding heart, the organ beating so erratically, it felt as though it would thump right out of his ribcage. His head exploded and all air seemed to have drained from his lungs at once.

“Henry,” he croaked, blindly reaching for the boy’s hand; a boy who was now leaning over him, openly crying.

Henry screamed something and soon, Emma’s face appeared above him as well, and Whale’s too. The darkness was fast closing in around the edges of his vision and he could no longer hear the world around him from the deafening sound of the blood rushing in his ears and the heart hammering wildly in his chest. There was a frantic influx of nurses into the room, pulling both Emma and Henry away from him. The doctor didn’t waste any time and went for the defibrillator.

Sounds burst into Killian’s head once more and he could hear them, he could hear Henry crying and Emma… she was sobbing uncontrollably, calling his name. He made a last-ditch effort to open his mouth to tell them both to leave, that they shouldn’t be there; shouldn’t witness it, especially Henry, but his body was no longer obeying his commands.

His eyes closed once more, but not before he heard one final sound… the unmistakable flat line.

Chapter Text

He had cheated death one more time. If there was a new God of the Underworld, they must really have it in for him now.

Killian didn’t remember much, except for an unimaginable amount of pain, his body spasming with an electric shock and then, suddenly, nothing. He did remember the sound of the machine flatlining, however. That one was bound to stay with him for a very long time. It also brought him to the inevitable question – why and how was he still here?

He opened his eyes to find himself back in his own room. It was bright and the window was slightly ajar, allowing a light breeze to blow in that carried a very faint scent of the ocean, if he knew what to look for. He did not have the oxygen mask on anymore, only the tube under his nose, and he was breathing without much difficulty, which in itself was a good sign. His head hurt a little bit and his body felt numb, but mostly the discomfort centred around his chest area and he could tell, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was not the worst of it. He had become an expert in recognising the effects of heavy anaesthetics by now. He gingerly felt his chest and found it heavily bandaged. It appeared Whale had gotten a peek inside his heart after all.

With a sigh, Killian turned his head to the side and allowed a small smile to spread on his face when he found Henry curled up in a rather unnatural position in the armchair beside his bed, lightly snoring away, a geography textbook he must have been working in lying crumpled on the floor. He fought the urge to wake the teenager, even if just to tell him that he was ok – seemed to be ok. He remembered the sounds of crying from Emma and Henry just before his heart had finally given out. The echoes of these sounds still lanced through him in a way no physical pain ever could.

He briefly glanced around the room and, with a touch of melancholy, noted that Emma was indeed not there. He didn’t know what he was hoping for, didn’t even know what he would say to her, if she were there. There was so much to say and, at the same time, so little. He supposed the right thing to do would be to congratulate her… to let her go. That’s what a gentleman would do, he reckoned. His heart clenched in his chest at the mere thought of that, but it was not the physical excruciating pain from before. It was a no less excruciating pain of a different kind.

“Dad?”

Killian broke from his less than pleasant thoughts and turned around to face Henry, who was rubbing his hands over his face in an attempt to wake up and staring at him in awe. He offered his son a small reassuring smile.

Henry almost went for a hug, but then reconsidered and instead grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly. “No more, dad, please.” He attempted humour, but his eyes shone with everything but.

Killian squeezed back to the best of his ability and gave a slight nod. “How are you, lad?” he was pleased to hear that his voice sounded stronger and steadier. It was a vast improvement from previous times. Although fatigue seemed to be constantly lurking in the background these days, he knew that the anaesthetic he was currently full of was keeping the worst at bay, at least for now, which gave him a little bit of time before he had to succumb to the frailty of his body once more.

“Ok…” Henry swallowed hard and his face fell. “We- we were all so worried, dad, we really thought this time- I’ve never seen mum fall apart like she did when you flatlined, not even… not even after the Dark Ones. I think… I think she blames herself.”

“What?” Killian’s eyebrows shot up in horror. “Why on earth?”

“Whale explained to us what the problem was,” Henry explained. “There was an issue with your heart. It was a defect… people can live for years with those without showing any major symptoms, centuries in your case,” he motioned at the former pirate with a small smile. “It was a blood flow issue. Unfortunately, a possible consequence of liver disease and then a liver transplant is it can damage the heart and, in your case, it simply exacerbated an existing problem. So every time you got too stressed and your blood pressure rose, it led to a heart attack… until the third time, when what Dr Whale expected to happen happened and you had a cardiac arrest because your heart was already too damaged.” He gave Killian a moment to process it and then added, “Whale managed to get you back, even after your heart stopped. Even he was surprised. It was the longest minute,” he squeezed his father’s hand again, never taking his eyes off him.

“And what now?” Killian prompted carefully, taking his time to let everything sink in.

“He pulled you into surgery pretty much straight away. He says he went in and fixed everything. It shouldn’t… you should be fine now. Everything should be fine now. That was a few days ago though. You were asleep in the ICU for days, I didn't know, if-” Henry pursed his lips, "I didn't know if you would wake up."

Killian released a breath he had been holding and looked away from Henry towards the wall in front of him, his eyes glistening. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I wish I could have spared you all that, Henry, more than anything.”

Henry shook his head. “I can’t lose you. I think we’ve all had enough now.”

Killian nodded. “With any luck, son.” He swallowed and closed his eyes momentarily before turning back to Henry. “How is your mother doing?”

A ghost of something passed the teenager’s features. “She’s outside in the waiting room, with Regina, grandpa and grandma. She’s… as good as she can be, I suppose,” he shrugged, purposefully avoiding Killian’s gaze.

Wincing, Killian propped himself on his elbow in an attempt to sit up, pressing his free hand gingerly to his chest. Henry rushed over to help, raised the bed and fixed the pillows behind his back. “Henry?” he probed for an elaboration immediately when he was slightly more upright and his ribcage had settled in position.

“I’ve been sort of… avoiding Emma since… that day,” the teen looked away shamefully.

“What?” his father clipped.

Henry looked up. “I know, I- I know it’s wrong, I just…”

“You listen to me, boy,” he interrupted him and Henry all but snapped to attention at the severity of Killian’s tone, his eyes wide and guilty. “Whatever happens between your mother and I has always been up to her as much as me. Now,” he took a deep breath, as though to collect himself, “she may have made a choice that I wish she had not, but it was her choice and I have to respect it. More importantly, you as her son have to respect it. She is your mother first and foremost and she deserves your respect. Do you understand?”

Henry nodded.

“That’s how a gentleman behaves, Henry. And one more thing,” Killian added, his voice calmer this time. “Do not repeat my mistakes. I was too much of a coward to face your mother when I suspected something wasn’t right. I regret that. We may not always agree with people’s choices, but they still deserve a chance to explain themselves. Very often, Henry, we think we know the truth, but… it can be something quite different. Tell me… did you know?”

“No,” the teen promised immediately. “I admit I was not honest with you. When she was unwell all those months, I kept the worst from you, but… I didn’t know. I swear. I think my other mum did though.”

Killian nodded. “I think she did, too.”

“Wh- how-“

The pirate waved his hand dismissively. “No matter. I must speak to your mother, lad. Can you arrange that for me, please?”

Henry began shaking his head in protest. “No, I… I don’t think… dad…”

“I’ll be fine, Henry,” Killian assured him. “It’s time to put this sordid affair behind us and do the right thing.” He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He could already feel the anaesthetic beginning to wear off and knew he was practically in a race against time before physical pain once more took over his ability to function. “Fetch your mother for me, please, will you?”

The boy nodded obediently and stood up, just as the door opened and Whale walked in, with a wary Emma trailing behind him. Her face briefly lit up when she saw Killian was awake, but then, as if she had remembered herself, the wide beam was gone and replaced with a mask. Only her eyes revealed the truth and the profound sadness in them nearly crushed him.

“The man who just refuses to die,” Whale observed casually, making both Henry and Emma’s heads snap in his direction, similar warning glares firmly on their faces.

Killian rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Whale,” he said candidly, his eyes trying to convey all the gratitude he was feeling in a single stare.

The doctor nodded solemnly in appreciation. “My pleasure.” Then he glanced at Emma, “Not very often that I get to use the wife as a diagnostic tool.”

“Excuse me?” Emma snapped, unimpressed.

He merely shrugged at that, unconcerned. “In my defence, I was a bit in a bind and you did save his life that way. You see, if I had insisted on you treating him with kid gloves until he recovered and had asked you not to do or say anything triggering, it is entirely possible that he would have walked out of this hospital perfectly fine and collapsed back home as soon as you two started sorting out your differences. Only then he would not have had me and my resources at his disposal,” he pointedly glanced at Killian. “And I assure you, he’d have not cheated death as successfully.”

Emma stared at him in shock, struggling to process it all. “You knew?”

“About you being pregnant?” he asked casually. “Of course, I knew, I’ve known for months. I’m a doctor, Emma, it’s my job to notice these things.”

Her jaw almost reached the floor just as Killian’s head snapped between his wife and his doctor in astonishment.

“Why didn’t-“

“Why didn’t I say anything?” Whale arched a brow. “Because I already told you, I operate with my patient’s best interests at heart and my job, Emma, is to save his life, not to be your marriage counsellor. That’s for you two to sort out. But as I said, it’s good that I didn’t reveal your little secret. It saved his life.” Turning to face Killian, he added. “You had a pre-existing cardiovascular defect that was escalated to severe form following the liver transplant. I fixed it,” he added smugly. “You can live happily,” he glanced at Emma, “or unhappily ever after now for however long it may be.”

Whale paused to check the heart monitor and jot his findings down in Killian’s chart. “Recovery will be a bitch though,” he observed, then looked at Killian again, with a trace of apology this time. “I expect it’ll take significantly longer than it should, considering what your body has been through. I would hold off even mild exercise for at least a week, just stay in bed. I will start you on solid meals as early as tomorrow though and I expect you to eat them. I advise you stay on oxygen for a while, too, at least until you are one hundred percent sure you don’t need it. You don’t want to put unnecessary strain on your heart. Your cocktail of meds will increase substantially before it drops back to the bare minimum, but you’ll be on some of them for probably the rest of your life. The anaesthetic will wear off completely in a couple of hours and I’ll put you on milder pain relief. It will hurt a good bit, but I can’t numb your recovery completely if I want to be able to make sure it’s going to plan. All in all, I’m confident everything will be fine. Any questions, you all know where to find me,” he glanced around the little family.

Killian nodded at that, his head reeling. “Thank you.”

Whale returned his nod and walked out.

Henry glanced between his two parents and followed the doctor out of the room.

Killian sighed and placed a hand over his heart. He theorised Whale’s couple of hours’ prognoses was too generous. The pain relief was wearing off and he could most definitely feel it, alongside the tiredness seeping through his very bones. He grimaced at the distantly familiar feel of broken ribs rubbing together. The fact that his ribcage had been sawn through intentionally this time did not make the outcome any less painful.

“Are you ok?” his wife’s hesitant voice filled the silence in the room and he looked up, meeting her broken gaze. Instead of replying, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep, stuttering breath.

“Please, have a seat, Emma.”

She did not move from her spot.

“I’m sorry, love,” he spoke finally. “I owe you an apology for how I handled the last time we spoke. It was terrible bad form. My brother would likely cuff me across the head, if he were here,” he chuckled sadly.

“Your brother wasn’t my biggest fan,” she reminded him gently, with a lopsided self-depreciating smile. “Maybe he was right.”

“No, Emma. He was a self-righteous arse that, deep down, was as flawed as everyone else. But he did teach me good form. And I… I owed you at least the opportunity to explain yourself. I do though… I want to congratulate you,” he forced his best smile on, inwardly hoping his eyes did not shine too much with unshed tears. “I’m genuinely happy for you. I know how much this means to you,” he gestured at her stomach that was now on full display in maternity skinny jeans and a form fitting red turtleneck that accentuated every curve. She really was the most beautiful woman in the world to him in that moment. He contemplated touching her abdomen, just for a moment, but he knew it was neither his right, nor his place.

As though in response to his thoughts, she protectively cradled her bump in her arms and he found himself fisting his hand and looking away in an attempt to regain composure.

“You’re congratulating me?” she asked in a small voice. “You’re… you’re not happy?”

He arched a brow in confusion. Was she trying to torture him? Surely, if his heart was still damaged, he would have flatlined ten times in that moment alone. “Emma, I- I’m happy. For you. And… whoever you have chosen to share your life with. My sincere congratulations. He is a lucky man indeed.” His heart was breaking even as he uttered the words, but he had convinced himself it was the right thing to do. The truth was that he had always hoped she would find someone else after his demise. He imagined she would grieve for a while, of course, but the last thing he wanted was for her to rebuild the very walls he had fought so hard to break down and turn her heart to stone after his death. It just so happened that he was still alive...

She stared at him dumbfounded. “Killian, I- I swear I-“

“It’s alright, Emma,” he attempted a smile again. “I understand, love. Truly. It… all of it, it was simply too much. I do not fault you, you must know that.”

“Killian, this baby is yours,” she blurted. “Babies, actually. Twins. A boy and a girl. They are yours. Yours and mine.”

He just stared at her, his mouth gaping. Of all the things he expected her to say…

“I can see why you would think… what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. I needed a piece of you so desperately that I made a rash decision behind your back and used the sperm we froze, Killian, that’s how I got pregnant. There never was and never will be anyone else. I wish you could trust me, but the truth is, in the last few months, I have not been honest and I haven‘t given you any reason to trust me. I’ve messed up, Killian. I made what I now know were bad choices and I ruined us. I even made Regina lie for me because I felt I could not tell you and I just had to tell someone.” She looked up at him imploringly. “Please don’t give up on us, Killian. Please tell me we can fix it.”

Killian only realised that he was crying, when neither of them had said anything in a while. He wasn’t sure whether these tears were the product of the terrible accusation he had levelled against his wife in a moment of despair or the wonderous prospect of becoming a father. Emotions of any and every kind were racing through his mind, alternating between anger, shame, despair, incredulity, relief and pure bliss. He found that it was himself he was livid with more than anything, yet again. If he had but asked her outright, he would have avoided all this heartache. That being said, if only she hadn’t seen fit to lie to him in the first place… but would he have been able to take it? He would ask her why, and he would do his best to understand this time, he vowed that much, just… not now. Not now because now, everything paled in comparison to the fact he was going to be a father.

“Killian, I beg you, say something,” Emma all but pleaded with him. She looked at him with the exposed desperation of a person whose very life was about to be decided by him.

He dragged his hands over his face and looked at her with tired regretful eyes. “Emma, I… I’m so sorry, I don’t-“

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, trying in vain to stifle a sob. “Killian, please, don’t… don’t say that.”

He shook his head and reached his hand out to her. “I can’t come to you, so would you please,” he gestured with his head at the armchair by his bed.

She wiped at her eyes, nodded and hesitantly closed the few steps’ gap between them. His eyes remained fixed on her bulging stomach, especially when she held on to it with one hand in order to lower herself more comfortably into the seat.

“We really must start listening to each other, Swan,” he observed sadly.

“Ok.” She waited for him to continue.

“I owe you an apology… for jumping to conclusions. For not asking you outright.”

“I didn’t make it easy on you. I didn’t give you a chance.”

He chuckled. “No… that you did not. But nevertheless, it too was rather bad form on my part. I… thank you, Emma. Thank you for this,” he gestured at her stomach, still retracting his hand at the last second, feeling unworthy of coming in contact with it.

“You’re not… you’re not angry?”

“No… no, if you had told me months ago, it would have been devastating. To know that we finally managed to conceive a child, or worse, children, and to know that I would not last long enough to even see them born… I would not have been able to cope with that knowledge, Emma, it would have made the rest of my life a living hell. So I thank you. I thank you for sparing me this. And I don’t begrudge you going behind my back. Truth be told, when I agreed to your idea of freezing the sperm, I didn’t do it in hope of us becoming parents against all odds… I simply wanted you one day to get the child we wanted… but even then, I did not think I would be alive for it.”

“And now?” she prompted hopefully.

“And now… I have a chance now. I have to believe that I have a chance.” He unclenched his fist and shakily reached over to her swollen stomach. She gently grabbed his wrist in her hand before he changed his mind again, rolled up her jumper and placed it on her bare skin.

His breath hitched and tears sprang from his eyes when he felt – and saw – the tiny ripples in her skin. He brought his other hand to his chest almost subconsciously, fearing his already fragile heart might just burst with the overwhelming love and adoration he was feeling towards these tiny creatures and their mother. He winced painfully when he tried to move closer, realising that he could not reach with his other hand. “Please, could you,” he began imploringly, but she only smiled and stood up, sitting back down on his bed instead, her exposed abdomen brushing softly against his side as both his hands were now reverently caressing it all over, following each small kick and nudge with awe.

“They’ve never been that active before,” Emma stated matter-of-factly. “They must know it’s daddy.”

Daddy. He was Daddy now. He had waited so long to be Dad and practically relished every second of it in the past few months and now the unthinkable happened and he was a Daddy. He wanted more than anything to place a kiss on one of those precious ripples, but didn’t have it in him to ask Emma to move again and he simply could not bend. He had never resented his feeble body as he did that very moment.

“I love you,” he settled for whispering to them instead. “I won’t let you down. I promise. Daddy won’t let you down.”

Emma covered his hands on her stomach with her own and he looked up at her. “I love you, Swan. More than you know.”

“Good,” the corner of her mouth ticked up in a knowing smirk as her eyes twinkled with everything she didn’t have to say.

He smiled.

Chapter Text

Killian’s eyes flew open and he shot up in bed with a cry, both of fear and of pain at the sudden movement. His lungs heaved and he pressed both hands to his chest, futilely trying to suppress the flare of agony by keeping the ribs from shifting too much.

The room was dark and quiet, with the exception of the faint light above his head. As it happened more and more often, he had woken up completely alone, with no one watching over him. He was glad, in a sense, that he didn’t trouble anyone, but unfortunately, it all served the perfect backdrop for the echo of the continuous flatline beep that still reverberated in his head, accompanied by the agonising screams of his wife and son.

He recalled that after his return from the Underworld with Zeus’ blessing, his nightmares about Hades’ Hell had continued for weeks and even months, but this one was different. It had nothing to do with torture, at least not of the physical variety. It simply reminded him of his mortality; that as much as he prided himself for being a survivor and so far, life had been kind enough to agree, his death was a very viable probability he had come face to face with one too many times. And to make matters worse, he now had two more people who meant the world to him, to whom he owed to do everything in his power and beyond to stay alive. He did not completely lie to Emma when he had said he believed he was given a chance. He had hope, that much was true. But there was a chasm between having hope and believing in it that he could not quite cross.

That particular nightmare plagued him often and he found himself unable to get these sounds out of his head for a long time after he’d woken up from it. It had been more than two weeks since his heart surgery and, as far as he could tell, very little had changed for the better. When Whale had said recovery would be difficult, he was making an understatement.

The first week was undoubtedly the worst and Killian had found he had no problem at all staying in bed for its entire duration. Once the anaesthetics had worn off and pain hit him like a brick wall, he found he was all too happy to move as little as possible. The pain relief Whale had put him on took the edge off somewhat, but more often than not, his entire torso felt like it was on fire. Every time he breathed in too deeply (which was quite often due to the breathing exercises Whale tortured him with on daily basis) or coughed, he felt like his sternum was about to open all over again. Both incision sites had to be thoroughly cleaned and rebandaged daily and, while the one for his liver had had a chance to heal a bit, the one over his heart stung unbearably every time anything touched it. Moving his arms the first few days turned out to be difficult at best because of the stabbing pains in his chest, back and shoulders and his legs were so weak, he could barely stand, let alone walk. He had tried to eat, he truly had, his appetite was not even an issue anymore, but he sometimes felt so sick that he ended up throwing up what little food he had managed to consume.

But he was alive. And slowly but surely, the pain abated a little and he was finding ways around his limitations. According to Whale, he was making excellent progress without further complications. According to himself, as he was trying to reconcile the man who could once singlehandedly scale the masts of a tall ship without any effort and now could not even walk to the bathroom, he was spiralling into depression.

The only light in Killian’s endless dark tunnel was when Henry or Emma visited, which happened less often these days, since he had successfully convinced Henry he was getting better and to start spending more days with his friends and more nights sleeping at home. Emma visited as often as she could when she was feeling well enough, but Killian had quickly learned that the term ‘morning sickness’ was in no way necessarily restricted to the first couple of months of pregnancy or, for that matter, to mornings. Between that and the odd visit from the Charmings or Regina, Killian had found he had a lot more time alone with his thoughts than he used to, and they very seldom took him anywhere good.

Killian sank back down onto his pillows with a sigh and tiredly rubbed a hand over his face. Whale had mentioned several times that he should be well enough to be discharged in a week or so, but as much as he wanted out of the hospital, the idea of going home, especially in the state he was currently in, absolutely terrified him. He needed more time to get back on his feet, literally. He loathed depending on a wheelchair; something he had sworn he wouldn’t ever do, but had found himself out of options. Not to mention that he still required far too much help for his liking and he much preferred receiving it from professional strangers than his own family. It was not even pride that was getting in his way this time; both Emma and Henry had already cared for him at his worst. It was the simple practical fact that he and Emma were expecting twins in just over a month, twins he would not be able to even properly hold, let alone help with. The last thing his wife needed, as far as he was concerned, was to also nurse him back to health.

He reached over for a cup of water on his bedside table, but a stab flared in his shoulder and he only ended up knocking it down to the floor, water splashing around into a puddle. He slammed his hand on his bed as he groaned in frustration, but regretted it immediately when it resulted in another pain, this time in his chest. Thankfully, he did not think Whale had said anything to Emma about him coming home because she would have been all over the idea and so far, she hadn’t said a word. It bought him at least a little more time.

In the darkness of the room, Killian glanced over to the wheelchair by his bed, a disheartened scowl shadowing his features. With a determined deep breath, he carefully sat up, threw off the covers and, with a wince, swung his legs over the side of the bed, lowering his feet to the floor. He took another deep breath and rubbed his hands over his thighs and knees, trying to massage some life into the stiff limbs. He didn’t quite know what possessed him in the middle of the night of all times, but he was not going back to sleep anyway. All he wanted was just to reach the door, just to prove to himself that he could.

He looked away from the wheelchair in disdain and over to the cane stashed between his bed and the bedside table. Emma had moved it closer to the bed as per his request, but the first time he had attempted using it after his surgery did not end very well as his heart simply wasn't ready for the strain, making it also the last time. He grabbed it and placed it firmly on the floor in front of him. After another moment of summoning all the resolve he possessed, he placed his other hand on the bedside table and slowly pulled himself up to his feet. His thighs protested almost immediately and he could practically feel his kneecaps rattling under the stress. His knuckles went white gripping the head of the cane and pain shot up his arm and through his shoulder. But he was determined, and, one finger at a time, he gradually let go off the tabletop and stood up as straight as he possibly could.

The door that was in fact ten steps away at most, appeared suddenly to be miles away and he faltered, his knees nearly buckling on the spot, but his hand slammed back on top of the bedside table and he remained upright. Once he was certain he was as steady on his feet as he would ever get, he took a determined first step. His leg felt like lead, but he tried to focus on all the physio Whale had been putting him through and that it all must count for something. Another step followed, and another. His arm was trembling with the strain as his hand pressed down on the cane and it took monumental effort to lift each foot and place one in front of the other, but after what seemed to be forever, his other hand touched the door.

Killian leaned his head against the wall and chuckled, only then realising sweat was practically pouring off him. He turned around and slid down the wall onto the floor, with his exhausted legs extended out before him. He had not given much thought to how he was going to get back up, but he did know it was virtually impossible for him to remain standing for a second longer. His head fell back and he closed his eyes, inhaling one deep breath after another.

It was the abrupt ringing of his phone that caused him to snap out of it. But the phone was all the way back by the bed and he simply could not muster enough strength to pull himself back up at the moment. He was simply far too drained and exhausted.

It continued ringing and he tried his best to ignore it, hoping it would not wake up anyone else. Who could be ringing him at this hour anyway?

“Captain Jones?” a nurse poked her head through the door, her eyes momentarily widening in surprise when she found him on the floor right beside it. “Are you alright?” she asked. “We heard the phone ringing at the nurses’ station.” She glanced over to the bathroom door and back at him with the obvious question in her eyes.

He dismissively shook his head.

“I’ll get the wheelchair,” she offered and was about to do just that, when he stopped her.

“No,” he refused. “Help me up, please.”

She eyed him sceptically for a moment, but then gingerly helped him up to his feet and, with her support, he slowly made his way back to the bed and sat down.

Thankfully, the phone had stopped ringing, but he knew he would have to check who that was anyway. “Can I help you with anything else?” the nurse asked.

Killian nodded. “May I have some water please?”

“Of course.” She glanced over to the table and then down to the floor and, without further ado, ran out and came back with a clean cup and a roll of paper towels. She quickly wiped the water from the floor and filled the new cup. “Here you go, Captain,” she handed it to him with a smile.

Killian accepted it with a shaky hand, but managed to keep it steady enough to drink from it.

“If you need anything else, just press the button,” the nurse spoke again. “Have a good night, Captain.” He smiled back at her and she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Killian sighed and placed the cup back on the table. He then stashed the cane back where he had found it and lifted his tired legs back onto the bed, pulling the covers back over his lap just as the phone went off again. Keeping his ribs still with one hand, he reached for the phone with the other and tapped the answering button. He was far too exhausted to hold it and so he put it on speaker instead.

“Killian?” Emma’s voice sounded like she was seconds away from poofing herself into his room.

“Yes, love,” he replied, trying to keep the tiredness and heavy breathing out of his voice as much as possible.

“Are you ok? You didn’t answer the phone!”

“It’s the middle of the night, Swan.”

“I was worried… I woke up and… the babies got restless and I just… I just had this feeling like I had to call you, but then you didn’t answer and I-“ her voice broke off and he knew exactly where her thoughts were headed.

“I’m fine, love,” he hurried to reassure her. “I’m perfectly fine, I promise. Are you ok?”

She was quiet for a beat before answering, “Yes.”

“Ok. Go back to sleep please, I’ll see you in the morning, aye?”

He could hear the smile in her voice when she confirmed that he would. “I love you, Killian.”

“I love you, too, Swan. Get some sleep, love, you need it.”

Tomorrow was another day.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Hook.”

Killian’s head snapped up to face the only person who would still use his moniker after all this time. “Your Majesty,” he snarked back, giving as well as he got. There were no hard feelings or animosity between them anymore, however. They were united by much more than a shared purpose of revenge or being each other’s sparring partner in sarcasm. They were family.

Regina smirked and regally sauntered into his room with her head held high as only she could.

He carefully pulled himself up to a more upright position, gritting his teeth to suppress a wince, and gestured towards the armchair, inviting her to have a seat. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She sat down and sighed, her expression mellowing. “How are you, Killian?”

“Can’t complain,” he replied blankly.

“You look wrecked.” She levelled him with a challenging stare and finally, he relented. He had found it oddly easy to deal with Regina a while ago. There never appeared to be any sort of negative judgement on her part. Perhaps because she knew full well what it was like to be flawed herself, she never lingered on his shortcomings, physical or otherwise, and he did not feel the same desperate need to protect her from the truth as he did with Emma and Henry.

“I had a physical therapy session earlier today. It was recommended I should take a stroll in the garden. As it were, right now, it will not be a lie to say that my legs burn like they’ve been through the very pits of hell. I’ve been better, Regina.” He paused. His legs really were in agony to the point where he did not imagine himself leaving the bed at all for the rest of the day unless it was on fire. “I’m still here. Not much has changed since we last saw each other,” he replied honestly.

“Emma did mention you tried walking.”

“Several times, in fact, some attempts more successful than others.”

“What’s that for?” she nodded in the direction of the small red stress ball in his right hand.

Killian glanced at it uncomfortably. “Whale says it’s supposed to aid with the tremors.”

“Does it?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps it would have been more effective, if I could squeeze it harder, but I’m afraid it appears my hands are not up to the task,” he smirked woefully.

The former Queen nodded, not oblivious to the undertone of despondency in his voice. “Don’t give up, Killian,” she urged. “At least for those who would like very much to see you get better.”

He ran a hand through his hair, wincing immediately at the casual gesture when it resulted in a stab of pain travelling from his shoulder to his chest. “With respect, I do not need you to tell me that.”

“I know. But I’m telling you anyway. Sometimes perspective helps.”

He clenched his jaw, summoning his patience. “To hell with perspective, Your Majesty. I look in the mirror and I don’t recognise the person looking back. Every day – every single day, without exception – they are the only reason I open my eyes in the morning because, believe me, there is nothing else.” A moment later, he weakly shook his head and looked away from her. Grimacing at another abrupt pang in his chest, he subconsciously attempted to rub it away with his hand. “Forgive me, Regina, I fear I’m a rather pitiful company at present. Today is perhaps not a good day, after all. To top it all, my head is pounding and I am immensely exhausted,” he attempted to excuse himself, as though his pale face and bloodshot eyes had not given that away already.

She stood up with a sigh and unceremoniously waved a hand over his forehead. “Better?”

It was. The exhaustion was still there, but the headache all but dissipated.

He opened his mouth to thank her when she spoke again. “Have you seen Emma or Henry recently?” she inquired pointedly.

He smirked. She was a rather perceptive woman, after all. “Not for a few days. Emma has come down with a cold and it has been decided by the Powers that Be that my immune system is currently not strong enough to withstand a visit from my wife. As for Henry, I told him not to even think about coming over. You know he has his Maths test tomorrow, so I sincerely hope he has been spending the last couple of days going over everything I’d taught him, without the unnecessary distractions of this place. The lad’s got more important things to worry about.”

“I somehow don’t think Henry considers his Maths test to be more important than you,” she deadpanned. “Or for that matter, considers you to be an unnecessary distraction.”

Killian huffed. “Well, I think we can both disagree with that.”

She hummed. “I know a thing or two about self-loathing, Killian, but you seem to have elevated it to an art form. Either way, don’t forget that as far as his schooling is concerned, you are looking at it through the eyes of a navy captain, but Maths has never been his strong suit, you know that. I’ll be honest, mine neither. It was one of the reasons I always encouraged his interest in books. It was something we could share and he enjoyed. I know you share it with him, too.”

“I want every door to be open for him, Regina. And he is much better than you give him credit, once I explain things to him.”

“Well, he is certainly stubborn and determined, although he does not get that from me.”

“You’ll be surprised,” Killian half-smiled. “That boy is as much a Mills as he is a Swan.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then offered a mysterious smile of her own. “I see he has chosen not to mention that. He is neither a Swan, nor a Mills, Killian. He’s a Jones now. Has been a Jones since before you’ve been Dad, actually.”

His brow creased in utter confusion. “What?”

She shrugged gracefully. “He had Emma change his name legally to Jones. He wanted your name. I’m fairly sure he did that before you even went into the hospital.”

He took a moment to let it sink in, then looked back at Regina, the guilt in his blue gaze impossible to misinterpret, but she merely waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hook. I’m not that insecure to think that my son suddenly loves me less simply because he swapped my name for yours.” At his look, she amended, “Perhaps once, a long time ago, I might have been, but not anymore. He is a teenage boy and you are the only real father he’s ever had. I would have been surprised if he had never wanted your name. You earned it, Killian,” she finished kindly. “As I told Henry when he told me, you deserve it.”

He nodded his thanks, completely at a loss for words. Before he had gone into hospital… he had genuinely believed Henry just about tolerated him back then. At best, that he was being cordial for Emma’s sake. He knew that there were a lot of layers to the boy’s behaviour towards him, but Henry had never let his mask slip long enough for Killian to even suspect the sheer depth of feelings he had since discovered his son had been harbouring for him. But to have feelings was one thing. To act upon them – quite another; one Henry had made sure to never be tempted to do in those days. To go and adopt the Jones name at that stage of their relationship, of his own accord… well, that simply did not add up. And yet…

“Look, I’m afraid I can’t stay long,” Regina spoke again, drawing his attention, “but I have something for you.” She opened her purse and produced a small vial, placing it carefully on the bedside table. “I think it might… help a bit.”

He frowned at the small bottle, then looked back at her. “What is it?”

“I’m sure our dear doctor has told you that a transplanted liver does not last a lifetime. Ten years… twenty, if you’re truly lucky. The reason for it is that, although the liver has been implanted into you, it still technically is not yours. It never truly will be. A foreign organ can’t last for too long in a body that is not its own.”

He looked away stoically. “I’m well aware. I’ll take whatever I can get, Regina. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that.” His lips curved in a wistful smile when he added, “Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to celebrate my youngest children’s first decade in this world, perhaps I’ll live long enough to see Henry start a family of his own or publish his first book. As it stands, these are all precious gifts I wouldn’t have dared dream of as recently as a few weeks ago.”

“Yes, well… It was your wife’s idea and we hadn’t really discussed it until after you had your transplant, but she was wondering if there was some magical way to counteract that. To bind, if you will, the new liver to your body so it does not reject it. Perhaps something similar to the spell I first used on Henry and she later used on you to ensure that your hearts can’t be taken. It got me thinking. Having done my research, I found that there was no such spell, but I did put together this potion that is supposed to have a similar effect. There is only two problems; there is no way of knowing whether it will work or not; that is, until it does or doesn’t. There is also no way of knowing whether or to what extent it will apply in the land without magic, so do try to not leave Storybrook for whatever reason say, twenty years from now…” she trailed off meaningfully.

He continued staring at her, his face an unreadable mixture of emotion. “You’re saying… Emma suggested it?”

“Yes,” the former Queen nodded with a knowing smile.

“And you made it?”

“A bit slow on the uptake today, Hook,” she retorted good naturedly. “Believe me, you wouldn’t want your wife meddling with magic until she delivers those twins. Gods only know what she might conjure, if anything at all, not to mention the effect it could have on her.”

His face paled even further, if that was possible. “She did use magic. She used it-“

“I know,” Regina confirmed flatly. “She shouldn’t have. It was careless and she knew it. The problem with Emma is that she doesn’t think with her head when it comes to certain situations.”

He looked down in contrition, his eyes welling, both at the prospect of a longer life and everything that came with it, but now also at the knowledge that Emma had put herself and their children in danger for him. “Thank you, Regina,” he whispered. “I don’t know what else to say.”

She made a dismissive face, but her eyes sparkled and that alone was all the reply he needed. “Drop it, pirate,” she grinned. “My son happens to be highly invested in your survival, which inevitably makes it my business.”

“I see. Well, regardless, I do thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You might want to drink it before one of the nurses bins it,” she picked up the vial, uncorked it and handed it to Killian.

He held it reverently in both hands, striving with all his might to keep them as still as possible. “Is there ah, some manner of incantation to-“

“Just drink it, Hook.” She interrupted him impatiently and, as soon as he did, took the empty vial off him and stood up. “I’ll see you later, Killian. Do give my regards to my son.”

He snapped out of his stupor and rolled his eyes in irritation. “Regina, I already told you-“

“We raised a son that puts family first, Killian. Before everything else. And I wouldn’t have him any other way. Tell him that if he’s coming home for dinner, it’s lasagne. Goodbye.” And with another quick smile, she strolled out of the room.

Unsurprisingly, Henry arrived not ten minutes later with a full backpack. When Killian attempted to argue his point, the teenager simply said that him being there was the ideal situation, seeing as he would much rather study with Killian, in case there was something he still couldn’t quite understand. His father had nothing to say to that.

Having arranged all his maths books and notes on the bed, Henry proceeded to pull two brown paper bags from his backpack, placing one on the bedside table next to Killian and taking the other for himself.

“What is that?” Killian inquired.

“It’s for you,” Henry stated the obvious. “It’s dinner. Granny gave it to me. I actually have no idea what it is, but she said it was exactly what you needed.”

Killian arched a brow and reached for the package. Inside was a plastic tub with what appeared to be some sort of stew with meat and vegetables and cutlery. It didn’t look overly appetising, but he kept that observation to himself.

“It’s still hot, you should eat it now,” Henry noted, tucking into his burger as his eyes peered over the textbook pages.

Killian carefully placed the tub on top of the paper bag and reclined back onto the pillows with a sigh. “Perhaps later, son.” He declined, having no intention of telling Henry that after today’s workout, the tremors returned to his hands and they simply were not steady enough to be using cutlery at the moment.

“You’re not hungry?” Henry asked, looking up from the book.

“Not presently,” he deflected with a half-smile, thinking of what he could change the subject to.

“Is it your hands?” the boy inquired thoughtfully, this time, putting away his burger. “I can help you, dad, I’ve done that before.”

Killian’s eyes welled; his heart so full of love for his boy that it even managed to utterly overshadow his mortification at his infirmity. “Eat, son,” he instructed gently, and when Henry opened his mouth to object, gently, but firmly added, “Perhaps later,” closing the subject. “Will you be going to Regina’s for dinner?” he asked after a short silence. “She said she’s making lasagne.” He inwardly wondered how Henry would have room for lasagne, having consumed a burger the size of his face, but then he remembered his son was a teenage boy and they appeared to be bottomless pits when it came to food. Not that he would know himself as his and Liam’s experience growing up had been one of starvation, so they had been all too happy to get their hands on any scraps they’d come across. As he watched Henry devour the enormous burger, Killian felt a load he hadn’t realised was there lifting off his chest at the thought that his children would never know such life.

His son nodded eagerly, taking another generous bite off his food. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow, you know how good mum’s lasagne is.”

“Henry, tomorrow is Friday, going into the weekend, I would much rather if you spent it with someone other than me, we’ve been through this, I’m getting better-“

“Dad,” the boy decisively cut him short. “You’re right, we have been through this. And I’m glad you’re getting better, but it is my choice who I spend my time with and right now, I choose to be here. Everything else can wait. In fairness, I did meet you half-way already,” he pointed out in reference to his less frequent visits. "The last time I saw you was three days ago.”

“And for good reason,” Killian countered. Then, “I thought you were here to study.”

Henry grinned sheepishly, like a toddler caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I have been studying. I will still study, but I’m mainly here to spend a couple of hours with you.”

Killian let out a breath and momentarily closed his eyes. “Thank you, my boy,” he whispered quietly. The truth was that having his son right there was probably the best medicine for Killian. Selfish as it might be, he had missed his presence terribly, both his and his mother’s. Speaking of Emma, “How is your mother, lad?”

“She’s better. She thinks if she comes in tomorrow, Dr Whale won’t mind as much. She’s gone for the afternoon though and said not to expect her until late, so I’ll probably just stay over at Regina’s tonight.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“Augusta.”

“What’s in Augusta?”

“Well, apparently the IVF clinic she used. She has an appointment there today.”

Killian couldn’t believe it. “Wait, you mean to tell me that this entire time, your mother has been driving back and forth between here and Augusta?”

Henry hummed, his mouth too full to answer properly and he knew that neither of his three parents was particularly lenient about talking with the mouth full, least of all, his dad.

“Were there no clinics anywhere closer? Portland, perhaps?”

“Don’t know. It’s her last appointment there. She said she’d ask them to transfer her files here, so she shouldn’t have to go again. Anyway, she spoke to Whale about it already.”

“Ok,” Killian muttered softly, trying to wrap his head around the logic behind his wife driving for over two hours each way, pregnant, just to attend a medical appointment every few weeks.

Having finally demolished his burger, Henry stashed away the small bag of fries for later and stood up, closing the small distance between his armchair and his father’s bed in a single step. He pressed the button to elevate it to support Killian sitting up as upright as possible. When he was satisfied, he reached for his tub of dinner from Granny and popped the lid open.

Killian exhaled, but reluctantly accepted the spoon Henry offered him. Holding the tub up with one hand, Henry did not try to use the spoon himself, but rather handed it to his father and simply steadied Killian’s hand with his free one and moved with him as he ate carefully, allowing him as much control as possible.

About half way through, Killian said he had had enough and Henry conceded, inwardly happy he had managed to get his father to eat even that much. With a “Thank you, Henry,” Killian lay back down and closed his eyes, relieved his stomach appeared to be disinclined to expel any of the food he had just eaten. Unceremoniously surrendering to exhaustion, he allowed sleep to finally pull him under.

Ever the observant one, Henry wordlessly lowered the bed back down and turned off the main light in the room. He then hastily put away all the Maths books and slightly drew the covers up and over his father’s midsection. The teen settled back in his armchair, the corner of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly as he observed the steady rise and fall of Killian’s chest.

Chapter Text

More weeks ticked by and even Killian had to admit to himself, at some point, that he was, in fact, getting better. The wires that bound his sternum had been removed during a quick operation, which, he had been surprised to find, had reduced the pain and discomfort radiating from his chest. He no longer used the wheelchair at all and had requested it be removed from his room as the mere sight of it there still had the power to fill him with hopelessness. Walking by no means came easy, but he was able to walk short distances, with the help of his cane, without it resulting in him spending the rest of the day in bed in such agony he wished he had never taken a single step. His physio sessions had also changed and became geared more towards rebuilding muscle tone than forcing his limbs to work properly again. All in all, while he was still limited in what he could do or how he could do it, he was without a doubt on the right track.

And so, it should have not come as a surprise when one day, Judy walked into his room with a big smile on her face, announcing to him and Emma that she was there to permanently remove the IV cannulas from his arms.

“It will just take a minute, Captain,” she promised cheerily, his wary expression speaking volumes as he exchanged glances with Emma.

“Is this necessary?” his wife asked, both hope and trepidation colouring her voice.

Judy nodded. “Dr Whale said Captain Jones no longer needed them. He said you have gained sufficient weight, Captain, and are eating well on your own, so you no longer need the IV,” she addressed Killian, while gently pulling the needles out, cleaning and taping both insertion sites. “As for the pain and other medication, Dr Whale is going to adjust them and you will now be receiving them in tablet and capsule form, so again, an IV is no longer required. I or one of the other nurses will be bringing them to you throughout the day.”

Killian looked at his arms as though he was seeing them for the first time; it had been so unimaginably long since there were no wires or tubes attached to them, and he was taking his time getting used to the sight and the newfound freedom. But deep down, somewhere he wished not to go, he was also filling with dread about what it all meant.

“Done,” Judy announced and stood up, gathering all the equipment with her. “You’ll be leaving us in no time, Captain,” she grinned. “Bye, Mrs Jones.”

Silence fell between them and Killian knew precisely why.

“Emma…” he began, but was interrupted.

“Will you be leaving them in no time, Killian?” she demanded uncertainly. After a beat, when he failed to reply, she continued, “I’ve tried patience, Killian, it didn’t work. The reason I know it didn’t work is that here we are, whereas Whale said over a week ago that there was no real reason for him not to discharge you; that it was up to you. I haven’t brought it up because I was waiting for you to do it first, but I need to know… why are we here, Killian?” And then, sadly and somewhat imploringly, “Why won’t you come home with us?”

He didn’t really know what to say because he himself was rather unsure of the answer. There were times when he wanted nothing more than to see the doors of the hospital close behind him for the last time, even if he knew that would not truly be the case, but there were also times when the mere thought of returning to his life before everything had gone to hell was inconceivable. In truth, he did not know whether he could ever resume that life; did not know whether he still had it in him. “I’m afraid, love,” he said finally, looking away from her in self-denigration.

She moved closer to him and took his hands in hers, forcing back eye contact. “Afraid of what?”

He inhaled a deep breath, summoning strength to continue. “I know things have been looking up lately, but it doesn’t change the fact that for the best part of the last two years, I hadn’t been quite so lucky. There are times when I think that my life before… this,” he gestured at his torso, “was a dream. The man I used to be no longer exists, Swan, and I don’t know if he will ever come back. For the last hell knows how many months, this life, this hospital, is all I’ve known. The terrible truth is that, as much as I want to go home with you and Henry, I often feel like this is my home.”

She bit her lip to stop the tears gathering in her eyes from spilling out. If nothing else, her husband’s admission had driven home the reality of just how different everything was now from what it used to be; that there was no going back for them, only forward. And whatever forward was, it was an utterly uncharted territory. “Killian, I don’t care. I don’t care how much things have changed, I don’t even care how much you have changed. I need you in my life. I need you in our home.”

“Emma,” he looked away from her for a moment, visibly struggling with what he was about to say next. “You say it now, love, but… we are to finally meet our twins very soon. As things stand, I will not be in a position to help you care for them for quite some time. Weeks, definitely, but perhaps months. It might take longer still for me to be the father to them that I wish to be.” Deep down, he was afraid he may not even be able to hold them in his arms when they were born without sitting down with the support of countless of pillows to make sure he didn’t drop them in case they’re too heavy. That notion alone devastated him, but he didn’t feel it was right to burden Emma with it as well. “Sooner or later, Swan, you will come to resent me for it. I know it. When you will be faced with the most monumental task of your life and the one person who is supposed to be by your side not only is not there, but requires your care as well, you will inevitably resent me. And I’m afraid to ever allow that day to come.”

She stared at him, tears freely falling down her face. “How can you say that?” she whispered, her voice carrying desperation he was not expecting. “God, Killian, do you know me at all? Did you really just compare yourself with some deadbeat dad who spends all day lazing around on the couch, while his wife runs after the kids? I’ll resent you? What for? For going through hell and surviving to stay with us? Jesus, Killian, yes, it will be hard, yes it will be much harder without your help, but how can you even think I would ever hold it against you?” She shook her head resignedly. “Your real problem, Killian, is that you resent yourself, irrationally. They’re not even born yet and you resent yourself already. But don’t you dare project this on me. I will do anything to get you back, do you hear me? Anything.”

Tears were welling in his eyes too and he shut them momentarily in attempt to regain composure. “What will you do, Emma, when the babies need you and I am too unwell to get out of bed? It could still happen. Not too often, but it still does happen. My heart will not completely heal for months to come, what will we do if there are complications? What- what if it fails again? What will we do, if hypoxemia manifests itself suddenly, which again, has happened before only the other day, but this time, I will have no access to oxygen to ratify it? I’m still in pain, Emma; I am in pain right now, I am in pain almost all the time, what if I find that I cannot manage it at home and cannot function? What if you leave me home with them and something happens to them and I cannot help them because I cannot pick them up, or walk, or drive? What if they are upstairs and crying and I cannot climb the bloody stairs to even see what is wrong? What if something happens to me and they are left alone and helpless??”

Killian too was openly crying now, wearing his worst fears on his sleeve. And in truth, he barely scratched the surface. There were too many of them. The number of scenarios like these that had been plaguing his nightmares of late was astounding in itself. He was no longer the confident pirate captain who had nearly blind faith in his own abilities to overcome anything.

His wife waited but a moment before throwing her arms around him and hugging him as close as she dared and her very pregnant belly allowed. The twins almost instantly protested against their parents’ display of affection and, despite himself, a watery laugh escaped Killian’s lips when he received a well placed foot in the stomach, immediately echoed by Emma. They pulled apart and each did their best to wipe the other’s teary eyes, the smiles still on their faces in spite of the despair they had felt only moments before.

“Henry wants you to come home, too,” Emma stated calmly, looking him in the eyes. “He needs his father, Killian. And not here; there. As do they,” she glanced down at her stomach.

“Henry…” Killian’s mind could not help but drift back to the night before he had swapped their house for the hospital for the last time. The boy that had stood before him then appeared all but unrecognisable now, the dire events of that evening light years away from the reality he was blessed with these days. But old wounds tended to linger most persistently, especially when one had convinced oneself they had basis in reality, against all evidence to the contrary. “Henry wants me to come home?”

She drew back and scrutinised him in surprise for a moment, before he reminded himself she knew nothing about that night. “Of course, he does. Why would you even-“

He shook his head hastily and plastered a smile on his face. “No reason, love. Just an old pirate’s insecurities, is all.”

“Maybe instead of listening to them, you might consider asking your son what he wants,” she suggested. “Please, come home. It’ll be ok, Killian. We’re a family, we take care of each other, no matter how big or small.”

He nodded, his eyes closed, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His wife’s own hands gently stroked down his arms, trying to infuse him with all the strength and resolve she possessed.

“We can…” he wet his lips, “we can perhaps speak to Whale tomorrow, love, aye?”

Her eyes lit up. “You’ll come home with us? Tomorrow?”

He swallowed hard and attempted to force his most convincing smile on, but it fell after barely a moment. “If he approves of me leaving then… then yes, I will,” he promised.

The smile that spread on her face and the dread that bloomed in the pit of his stomach were both equally indescribable.

------------------------------

Tomorrow came after a very long night, during which Killian’s blood pressure, fuelled by his fear and insecurities, had risen so much he required medical intervention, which only fuelled said fear and insecurities more. If nothing else, it made him realise he was trapped in a vicious cycle only he himself could break, but he had not an inkling as to how to do that. After they had managed to stabilise him, he could not go back to sleep. He clutched the phone in his hand for hours, alternating between Emma’s text of ‘Just remember, I love you, it’ll be ok,’ and Henry’s ‘I love you, dad, I can’t wait for tomorrow,’ and doing his hardest not to give in and call either one or both of them and tell them he had changed his mind. The pain in his chest flared so substantially that he almost requested extra pain medication, but decided against it in the last second, instead using the aches to ground him in reality and force himself to face his fear.

It hadn’t worked.

When his wife and son appeared in the doorway to his room with Dr Whale in tow early next morning, he was still sitting on the bed, his tired eyes bloodshot with dark circles underneath, every evidence of his spike in blood pressure and physical pain as clear as day in his haggard features. One distraught look from his wife and question from his son as to whether he was sure he was ready, however, was all it took for him to make another monumental effort to bury all his fears where even he would not be able to find them and not disappoint the two people he loved most.

He didn’t succeed.

It took a few minutes of paperwork and a speech about something or other for Whale to discharge him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered his doctor speaking to his wife, giving her instructions and a few prescriptions, but to say he was paying attention would be to lie. Instead he pressed his hand to his chest, where pain flared up again, briefly wondering if it was all in his head.

“Dad? Are you ready?”

He turned to face Henry and, with a frown, realised his son had his two hospital bags packed and ready to go at his feet, while Emma was still speaking to Dr Whale and a couple of nurses who had been taking care of him in the past seemingly endless number of months. He couldn’t help but notice the hope and joy in her sparkling eyes and the knowledge his decision had put them there caused warmth to momentarily surge through him.

But when had Henry managed to pack his things?

As though following his gaze, the teen picked up the two bags. “Give me five minutes, I’ll drop them to the car and I’ll be back,” he grinned, but Killian only nodded distractedly at him, which made his son’s face fall ever so slightly as he turned to walk out of the room with the two duffel bags. He would have to do better from here on, Killian berated himself. He had to have better self-control.

“Looks like you’re finally free to go,” Whale’s voice registered somewhere in his jumbled thoughts and Killian looked up.

“Thank you,” was all the words he was able to muster.

“Make sure to attend your physio for at least another month and expect the odd set back, especially as you reacclimatise to your old life. But I expect you to be just fine. I gave Emma the prescriptions for your pain meds and your immunosuppressants. Manage the pain as required and when you feel you’re ready, I recommend moving on to lighter over-the-counter medication. Immunosuppressants are with you for the foreseeable, which means your immune system will be much more vulnerable than you were used to before. Keep that in mind.” Finally, he smiled and held out his hand. “Good luck, Captain.”

Killian returned the handshake.

“Ready, dad?” Henry popped up beside him and Killian found himself nodding, with no small amount of trepidation. After another moment, he pushed himself off the bed and leaned on his cane with a wince. Henry took his other elbow to help him walk and Emma grabbed his jacket and placed a comforting hand on his back. Killian wasn’t wholly certain whether what he was experiencing was reality at all.

By the time they made it to the car, he was almost saturated with sweat and most of it was not due to the effort of walking, although he did half-expect to hear something from Emma regarding his stubborn refusal to use a wheelchair on his way out. His knees nearly buckled in a moment of sheer panic he would never admit to and he made a conscious effort to calm his breathing when Emma opened the door and Henry very carefully manoeuvred him into the passenger seat where he had a soft pillow in place to support his back and buckled his seatbelt over another small pillow so not to irritate his scars or jostle his ribcage.

“I love you,” Emma kissed his sweaty temple softly and brushed his wet hair away from his face before herself settling in the back as their son briskly walked around the car and took the driver’s seat.

“Dad?”

Killian inhaled deeply and faced him. Something sat on the tip of his tongue, but he was unable to put it into words for the simple reason that, if he were to do that, he would surely break two very precious hearts.

“It’s going to be ok,” Henry offered him his most genuinely reassuring smile and placed a comforting hand on his thigh.

Then he started the car.

Chapter Text

Killian didn’t remember too many details about the drive home. He knew he had spent most of it with his hand pressed firmly against his chest, trying to keep his ribs still. The binding helped, as well as the cushioning and the fact that Henry had been driving as slowly as reasonably possible, but it had been his first time in a car after the better part of a year and under far less than ideal circumstances. He daresay it even took his attention off the nervous knot in his stomach.

They must have reached home somehow; he had surely gotten out of the car and he thought they had stopped for a rest in the sitting room to give him a chance to recover. Henry and Emma – probably mostly Henry – then must have somehow managed to get him up the stairs and into the bedroom. From that point on, his memories were practically non-existent as he was fairly certain he had simply collapsed on the bed in a state of utter exhaustion and that was the end of that.

His first day back home, therefore, was not something he wished to dwell on.

-------------------------

Killian was awoken by the sun pouring into the room through the open French doors, the light curtains blowing in the soft breeze with a distinct ocean scent that he found himself breathing in ravenously like a parched desert traveller who had finally stumbled across an oasis after an eternity of dry sand. He knew that he had to only look out of that window to see the ocean he loved and missed so much. Even lying in bed, he was certain he could hear it.

The bed. It was not his hospital bed anymore. It was the soft large bed he and Emma shared; the one he had not slept in in months. The sheets smelled of their fabric softener and the pillows smelled of her shampoo. He inhaled that scent as hungrily as he had the sea air and pressed his face into her discarded pillow for a brief moment of peace. He then glanced about the room, everything exactly as he had left it all those months ago; bright, calming and… home.

Killian threw off the covers and, steadying his ribs with one hand, he used the other to prop himself up into a sitting position, and then proceeded to very carefully remove his tee-shirt without lifting his arms as much as possible. It had never been an easy or pain-free task and he usually had someone helping him, but there was no one around and he figured it was time to start relying on himself as much as possible anyway.

Having finally wrestled the tee-shirt off, the chest binding he wore almost all the time these days quickly followed to allow him to breathe more easily for at least a few minutes before he would replace it to contain his still healing sternum. Killian grabbed his cane and shakily drew himself up to his feet, intending on going to the wardrobe to retrieve something else to wear for the day.

His breath hitched in his throat when he abruptly found himself standing right in front of a full length mirror, momentarily wondering how he had forgotten about its presence before. Every remaining shred of positivity he had managed to fill himself with since he had woken up had evaporated instantly in the cruellest of manners when his eyes met the tired blue ones staring back at him from the mirror. He remembered at that moment what he had told Regina weeks ago… but there were no full-length mirrors in the hospital… there was nothing like this.

The man standing before him was perhaps no longer dangerously skeletal, but the lean strong muscle born out of centuries at sea was gone and he was thin and gaunt, his once healthy skin pale, bringing out every age-old scar. There was an angry red scar stretching vertically down his sternum and a larger, slightly more healed looking scar crossing his abdomen just under his ribs, the newest morbid additions to his collection. He raised his hand to brush his too-long hair from his face, revealing the dark circles under his eyes, and winced as the simple motion pulled at his chest. He inhaled a shaky breath and tried to stand a bit straighter, but ended up leaning heavily on his cane instead.

“Good morning.”

Killian blinked a few times, trying to rid himself of his dark thoughts as his wife’s small hands lovingly caressed his shoulders and down his arms. She placed a kiss on each shoulder blade before pressing her cheek into his back with a sigh, her hands came to a stop when she reached his and covered them gently.

“I don’t know who I am, Swan,” he spoke softly, not taking his eyes off his reflection in the mirror. The last time he had been that significantly altered was when Milah had died and the Dark One had taken his hand, but back then, he had been so consumed with grief and revenge that by the time he had time to really fully take in his situation, he had become Captain Hook and had buried Killian Jones so deep within him that he had been all but forgotten completely. But now he was Killian Jones, except that he was not.

Emma gave his hand that was gripping the cane a small squeeze and trailed hers up his arm and across his back as she walked out from behind him and turned to face him. Tenderly, her fingers ghosted over the two new scars on his torso, lingering on the one over his heart, before she cautiously leaned in and placed a feathery kiss on it. Then, she turned back around towards the mirror and placed a reassuring hand on his arm, locking eyes with his reflection. “You are Killian Jones. My true love. A loving husband, a devoted father, a caring son-in-law and a loyal friend. You are a brilliant Captain, a fierce pirate, a brave fighter and the most skilful swordsman I have ever known. You are a survivor. A few extra scars will never change any of that. Time heals all wounds, Killian, you know it better than most. Given time, they will fade, just like the rest, and what will be left… is you.” She whirled around to face him, placing both hands on his shoulders with a mischievous smile. “You do need a haircut though. And the sooner, the better.”

Killian couldn’t help but return a small grin at that. He glanced out of the window, his sharp eyes catching the sparkle of the ocean in the distance. “What time is it?”

“Late,” she groaned softly. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you, but you did miss your morning meds.” She handed him the glass of water and few pills she had brought up earlier. “Whale did say as long as there’s at least three hours between doses, it shouldn’t be too bad once in a while, but let’s not make a habit out of it.”

Killian swallowed everything and washed it down with the water, but when Emma opened the wardrobe to retrieve some fresh clothes for him to wear, his heart skipped a beat again. He must have made some kind of a sound, because she too stopped what she was doing and followed his gaze to the black leather jacket and cutlass hanging from a hook on the inside of the door. He slowly took the few remaining steps towards the wardrobe and reached a hesitant hand to feel the well-worn fabric of his coat and trace a longing finger over the scabbard of his sword.

“Killian…” she began empathetically, but he merely shook his head and dropped his hand back to his side.

“Relics from another life, my dear,” he said, a poignant smile tugging at his lips. “Best put them away somewhere. They are of no use to anyone anymore.”

Emma wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words, and so, as soon as he turned away to walk back towards the bed, she buried her face in the wardrobe, discreetly wiping a tear from her eye.

He sat down and she wordlessly helped him secure his ribs in the binder again and get dressed in a new tee shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms, carefully manipulating his limbs into the clothes in attempt to avoid pulling at his chest or abdomen. “Would you like me to help you brush your teeth?” she asked, nodding towards the bathroom.

He shook his head, that same despondency still colouring his voice as he politely declined her offer. “I will manage, love, thank you.”

She eyed him sceptically for a moment, but then smiled and stood up. “I’ll run downstairs and bring us up something to eat. We can sit up here on the balcony, no need for you to go downstairs at all, unless, of course, you feel up to it.”

Killian nodded his appreciation. “That’ll be perfect, love, thank you.”

--------------------------

Killian closed his eyes against the crisp afternoon air, relishing the feeling of the cool ocean breeze caressing his face and ruffling his hair. Of course, there were certain conditions to his newfound freedom, such as his wife forcing him into a warm hoody and a blanket over his lap because she was simply ‘not taking any chances,’ but he could live with that. As ridiculous as he may have felt sitting there all wrapped up, while she was in a short-sleeved top, he still had enough of his own fears swirling around in his head for him to remain obliging to her demands.

As he watched Emma devour her lunch, his lips turned up in a soft smile, he could not help but be grateful to her for leaving him little choice and dragging him out of the hospital. He knew that, had she left it up to him, he would have probably not come home for months; possibly not at all, as ludicrous as that thought was. He had simply stayed there for too long, been through too much, to believe that he could ever live normally again. Medical complications aside, his family – a concept he had once dismissed as a flight of fancy – had been pushed past their limits in the last couple of years because of him and the truth was, he did not think himself worthy. But his Emma, as always, had other plans and he thanked the Gods for that, for her. One day, or so he hoped, he would also be able to openly thank her.

“Mum!”

They both looked up just as Henry barrelled through the door, looking slightly dishevelled, or surprised, or both.

“What are you doing here?”

Emma gave him a puzzled look. “I live here, Henry.”

“I-I know, I mean,” he stammered, glancing at Killian. “I need to talk to dad.” Before she could say anything else, he hastily added, “Alone.”

This time, it was Killian’s turn to be confused. “Eh, Henry…”

“It’s about the Jolly Roger?” the teenager hissed, giving his father a pointed look, which Killian understood immediately.

“Swan, love, would you kindly mind leaving the lad and I alone for just a few minutes?”

Emma shot him a mild curious glare, which she then switched on to her son. “I better not live to regret this.” With that, she got up to her feet, gathered the empty dishes and walked back into the house.

The door just barely closed behind her, when Henry plopped down in the empty chair. “Is that still ok, dad, what we talked about?”

“If you want to bring Violet aboard the ship, it is not a problem with me, but why do I feel there is more to it than that?” He shivered a bit as the breeze picked up. Perhaps Emma had been right in forcing all those layers on him, after all.

Henry gazed down into his lap, then over to the door, as though to make sure his mother was well and truly gone.

“I don’t just want to bring her aboard, dad,” he practically whispered. “I want to take the Jolly out on the water for the night, just the two of us. It’s her birthday this weekend and I want it to be special. Please.”

Killian stared at him thoughtfully, then frowned momentarily to himself once he interpreted what Henry had said for what it really was. “Henry, I know you have been maintaining the Jolly in my absence, and I am grateful for it beyond words, but there is a difference between maintaining a ship in port and making her seaworthy…”

“She is seaworthy, dad, I have been doing everything you taught me. She is in perfect shape. If you see her, you’ll be proud,” the teenager’s eyes sparkled and Killian couldn’t resist.

“I am proud, Henry,” he beamed. “I don’t need to see her to be proud of you.” However, the smile slipped off his face before he spoke next. “But there is another matter, of far greater importance, and I do believe that was the reason you asked for us to converse on our own,” he fixed his son with a pointed stare and Henry bulked.

“I am not doing this with mum, no way. If you insist on having ‘the talk’,” he air-quoted, “I will do the thing where I sit through it, listen to what you have to say and try not to die of embarrassment, but there is absolutely no way I am discussing it with mum. Either of them.”

“These are my terms, Henry, take it or leave it,” Killian persisted, unfazed.

“Fine,” Henry grumbled after a moment when he realised his father wouldn’t budge. “Can we talk tonight then?”

Killian nodded. “Now, if you can go and start your homework, I will be much obliged.”

Henry stood up and picked up his bag. “Don’t tell mum.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Killian smirked.

Just as he reached the door and was about to re-enter his parents’ bedroom, Henry stopped and turned around. “I’m glad you’re home, dad,” he said to Killian with a soft sincere smile, which the man reciprocated.

“So am I, my boy. Now go on, the sooner you start, the sooner you’ll finish.”

Emma returned five minutes later and sat back down on her seat, fixing her husband with a deadly stare.

“I gave a gentleman’s word, Swan,” he grinned, lifting his hands up in surrender.

She huffed. “Is he in trouble?”

“Not yet,” he replied cryptically.

“Killian!”

“Heavens, Swan, would I agree to keep anything from you, if our lad was in trouble?”

She gave him a dubious look.

“Don’t fret, my love, when that beautiful creature you are currently carrying inside you grows up, I assure you, you will be sparing me quite a bit of what you and she will be discussing. So, do me a favour, leave Henry to me this once.”

She stared at him for a moment longer, then her eyes widened almost imperceptibly before she relented with a sigh. “You’re a wonderful father, Killian. You will be a wonderful father to both our sons.”

He smiled, trying to keep the melancholy out of his eyes. Believing in or even contemplating a future was a skill he had yet to re-learn and not an easy one at that. Who knew whether or not he would have that chance.

But for the first time in a long time… he found himself willing to hope.

Chapter Text

Killian Jones stood tall on the back patio of his large Victorian house as he once had at the helm of his ship, his sharp blue eyes scanning the back garden with a touch of contemplative melancholy. His trim frame was clad in smart black trousers, crisp white shirt and matching black waistcoat. His neatly combed once dark hair was almost entirely grey, his face lined with wrinkles, but even at his age, he still faultlessly radiated the strength, wisdom and authority everyone who knew him had come to associate with him. And today was one of those days when he knew that sooner or later people would be turning to him in search of those exact qualities. After all, today was the day he had buried his wife.

Emma Jones was seventy-four years old when she died. She had not been sick or frail. Until the very end, she had been the beacon of light and spark of life for the entire Jones clan. She had passed one night, peacefully in her sleep, with her husband by her side. Killian could not have imagined a better and more deserving way to go and so, as per her request, the sadness and tears during her funeral and now wake were to be kept to a minimum. His Emma had never wanted anyone to mourn her death; she had much preferred them to celebrate her life.

And the testament of this life was now gathered before him. Her brother Neal was there with his family, yes, but mostly, the cosy garden she had loved so much was full of Joneses. Henry, now a successful children’s books author, was there, with his wife, four children and even grandchildren. At the age of fifty-seven, he had three grandchildren, and although they had all been born within the last five years, both Killian and Emma had still been coming to terms with the fact that they had in fact become great-grandparents. Henry was still his rock, even after all these years. Even being the only one of his children who was not biologically his, Killian could not have loved him more.

And then there was his very own princess, his precious daughter: Alice Jones, with the beautiful smile and sparkling green eyes like her mother’s, dark hair like her father’s and a spirit to rival them both. The current Sheriff of Storybrook was there with her husband and three children; two girls and one boy, all carrying the Jones trademark blue eyes that had somehow managed to skip a generation in their mother. Like Emma, she had a natural calm and inner strength that could solve any problem. Like him, she had the patience and tact to diffuse any situation and the relentless passion to pursue any goal. With her mother gone, she would be his lifeline.

And then there was Liam Jones, his remaining pride and joy. Killian still remembered the night he was out late on the Jolly due to some urgent repairs needed to be carried out before a heavy storm. He had almost missed the approaching footsteps, so preoccupied was he with his task, until he suddenly looked up, straight into the tearful blue eyes of his fifteen years old son. Any and all repair work forgotten, he had spent the rest of the night listening to and comforting his boy when Liam had finally confessed to the amount of trouble he was in. And although both Killian and Emma had suspected for some time that something was gravely wrong, in their wildest dreams had they not imagined they were about to become grandparents. Liam had gotten his then-girlfriend pregnant some months before and had only confided in his father when she could no longer hide it from her parents, who had told her in no uncertain terms that the baby had to go for adoption. Liam Jones had not been ready to be a father, being but a child himself, but for some reason, the mere thought of giving up his own child had become so inconceivable that he had swallowed his pride as well as his shame and gone to his father for help, prepared to face all the consequences that could ensue.

After he had calmed down, Killian had taken his son home and when Liam had gone to his room, woken up Emma. They had talked, and cried, and talked some more, and simply could not understand where they had gone wrong as parents, but by morning light, realised it did not matter. That day, they had decided they would foster Liam’s baby into their family, until their own son came of age, but although both Killian and Emma had always been there for their son and grandson and provided all and any help they had required, it was Liam himself who had surpassed all expectations.

When Killian Jones was born on a rainy Winter morning, his teenage father was right there to take him into his arms and, without hesitation, name him after the man who had made it all possible. And since then, Liam had hardly put him down. Relationship with Killian’s mother hadn’t lasted for too long after and, gradually, she had all but disappeared from the Jones’ lives, but Liam had never turned his back on the baby, never shirked a moment of responsibility, so determined was he to prove to both his father and son that he would not disappoint either of them. Killian remembered each and every time when Liam would stay up all night because the baby wouldn’t sleep, or the times when his grandson wouldn’t settle and he had found his son in his room with one hand rocking a crib and the other holding a textbook, trying to make sense of whatever subject he had a test in the next day. Liam had prioritised baby Killian over everything, including school and friends; which, to his parents’ pride and dismay cost him his graduation and he had had to repeat his final year. He had also prioritised his son over his dream of joining the Navy and ended up working odd jobs around town to support themselves until Killian was six years old and only then had he left the boy with his grandparents to begin his basic training. Every leave that he had had, Liam would come home, until Killian turned twelve and was deemed old enough to join his father on the Naval base, with his grandparents only picking him up if Liam had to spend too long at sea at one time.

While Liam had since married and had two more children, the bond between him and his eldest son was something Killian had only seen once in his life, several lifetimes ago. Now the boy who was named after Killian himself and looked the spitting image of his grandfather in his youth was standing tall and handsome in his pristine Navy uniform right next to his proud father, also in uniform. Only the day before had Killian Jones the younger been officially promoted to Lieutenant, and following a week’s shore leave, he would finally realise his dream of joining the ship his father captained.

As he watched the handsome father-son duo, two pairs of blue eyes sparkling as they laughed at something Liam’s wife was saying, he could not help his own smile. With his blond hair, his Liam reminded him of another Liam Jones from long ago and he could not help but recall a different image, one of two Navy officers brothers standing on the deck of their ship, preparing for their maiden voyage together, both full of hopes and dreams of heroism and glory. The uniform was different, as was the ship, of course, but that mattered not. Those brothers’ hero journey had ended in death for the eldest and set off centuries of heartbreak and grief for the youngest. But, looking at his son and grandson, Killian knew, somehow without a shadow of a doubt, that their journey would not end like that.

“Mum was so proud of him,” Henry spoke suddenly beside him.

“Aye, that she was,” he acknowledged with a proud smile himself. “A shame she did not get to see him yesterday.”

His son hummed. “I’d like to think she did, dad. Anyway, she knew he had made Lieutenant and that’s all that matters. Besides, she was proud of him anyway; she always did have a soft spot for her favourite grandson,” he winked.

Killian chuckled. “She did indeed. How are you, son?”

Henry looked down for a moment, his eyes allowing the tiniest touch of sadness to enter his gaze before it vanished just as quickly. “It was a lovely service. She would have liked it. No fuss, just family. Mum didn’t like fuss. I think, in the end, she was happy, so I think I’m surprisingly ok with that. How are you, dad? I hope you know that I’ll be staying in my old room for a while and I won’t be taking no for an answer.”

Killian sighed, trying to decide what was the best thing to say. The last thing he wanted was for his son to feel he had to put his life on hold for him, but to say he was completely ok would be a lie. He was the last, after all. Emma’s parents, as well as Regina, had all passed away within the last decade. And now, having lost the woman he loved, a part of him felt strangely alone and somewhat blindsided. He had never thought that he would be the last one standing. “I will be all right, son,” he mustered a smile for Henry. “I suppose I will just need a bit of time.”

“You wish you could have gone with her,” Henry mused perceptibly, somewhat darkly, “or even before her. I understand that.”

Killian took a moment to collect himself, then, without meeting his son’s eyes, confessed, “I wish it.” Then, as though recalling something important, turned around to face him. “You make sure you look after them all, Henry, whenever that does happen, won’t you, lad?”

The younger man chuckled and shook his head. “No, dad. I won't need to. That’s not how you raised us. We look after each other, remember?”

Killian grinned. “Yes, Henry, we do, indeed.”

“Daddy.”

Killian turned around just in time to be tightly embraced by his daughter. He could see the tears glistening in her green eyes, but her face, much like her brother’s, was thankfully unburdened and serene. “I was talking to Jack and we think it would be best, if we moved into the house, just for a little while, if you have us. You know how much the kids adore you.”

Killian grinned knowingly, gently tucking his daughter’s hair behind her ear with one hand and wiping her eyes with the other like he had done countless times since she was a little girl. “Alice, darling, you don’t need to move into the house, I’ll be all right.” He knew full well that ‘her kids adoring him’ was not the reason for her decision.

She shook her head. “Mum would want us to look after you, daddy. We won’t be in your way…”

“You are never in my way, love, it will be my pleasure to have you all under my roof-”

“Settled then,” she smiled and rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and give him one more hug. “I love you, daddy,” she whispered in his ear. “You know you’re my hero, right?”

He beamed. Of course, he knew.

“Grandpa,” this time it was the younger Killian’s voice that made him turn around.

Killian’s smile widened as he reached over to embrace his eldest grandson. Emma was not the only one with a particularly soft spot for Liam’s eldest son. “Killian! Look at you,” he drew back to inspect the young man from head to toe. “Your grandmother would have been so proud. Congratulations, lad. Well deserved. And you, my boy, that’s all your hard work, too, coming to fruition,” he addressed the last part to Liam, who was standing proudly with his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Neither one of us would be here without you, dad,” his son refuted honestly. “And mum.”

Killian brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “We are both proud of you, Liam. Both of you.”

“We all are, little brother,” Alice wrapped an arm around her brother, who was two minutes younger than her, but she had never let him forget it, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Younger brother, Alice,” Liam huffed good-naturedly and his father’s eyes misted at a centuries-old memory. “Dad, I… will that be ok, if Killian and I stayed with you in the house for a week?”

His father frowned at that. “Liam, this is supposed to be your shore leave, you are both to be deployed for who knows how long after that, would you not spend it with your family?”

“We know that, dad,” Liam put a consoling hand on his father’s arm. “The deployment will be a couple of weeks at most and I think we both agree,” he glanced at his son, who instantly nodded in confirmation, “that for this week, our place is here.”

Killian allowed a small resigned smile and looked away from the four of them for a long moment, his eyes lingering over the rest of their family; the family that he and Emma had created and that was now talking and smiling and laughing in the back garden of his home.

He remembered the day when the twins were born, less than a week after he had come back home from the hospital. He remembered how, only minutes old, they were placed in his arms, albeit one at a time and surrounded by cushions as even tiny newborns had been too heavy for his frail arms at the time. He remembered how he had placed a tender kiss on each of their perfect foreheads and named them – Alice after his mother and Liam after his brother. And he remembered that, at that moment, even though he had known it would be months before he could care for them, lift them or even properly hold them… at that one moment, all he could feel was hope.

He turned back towards his three children, now all grown up with lives and families of their own and all he could feel was pride. At that moment, even without Emma by his side, he was happy, loved, fulfilled, and he knew that in large part, he owed it to her.

“I think I’d like to go for a walk,” he said to them all. “I shan’t be long. Carry on without me for a bit, won’t you?”

His sons’ and daughter’s eyes pained ever so slightly. “Should we come with you, dad?” Henry asked first.

“It’s not a problem,” Liam added.

“Just so you don’t have to be alone,” Alice reasoned.

He shook his head. “No, you stay here. It’s one walk I’d like to take on my own.”

The three of them nodded imperceptibly before suddenly launching themselves at him and wrapping him and each other in a close embrace, which their father happily reciprocated. They held on for the longest moment, only reluctantly letting go after they all had whispered to him that they loved him.

-----------------------------

Killian sat quietly on the wall overlooking the ocean. The sun was setting slowly, painting the horizon in front of him in breathtaking hues of orange, pink and violet, and all he could think of was how much she would have loved it. She had adored a beautiful sunset no less than he did. They had greeted many of them together at this very spot.

He pulled his old flask out of his jacket’s pocket and uncorked it. There had not been alcohol in that flask for decades and tonight was not going to be an exception as Killian suspected that, if he as much as touched the stuff, his wife would immediately come back from the dead to exact her revenge. He smiled to himself and took a small swig of water before pouring the rest out onto the sand. “For you, my love,” he whispered.

A lone tear trailed down his cheek as the sky continued to darken in front of him and the only answer was the sound of the waves lapping at the sand or breaking against the rocks.

“You would have loved today, Swan,” he spoke again after a long silence. “It was just as you’d have wanted, my darling. I looked at our children today, and their children and their children’s children and, Emma… I am guilty of feeling the utmost happiness on a wretched day such as this. I know my work here is done, Swan. I know that when I will finally leave this place, I will be remembered for something good and honourable. I hope to all the Gods that was your final gift to me. My time will come, and the selfish git in me hopes against hope you will be on the other side, waiting for me, and I shall miss you, my love, more than you will ever know, but I realise now… that I am finally at peace. And that is because of them, and they are because of you. So thank you, Emma Jones,” he raised the empty flask again as though in a toast, “thank you for this life.”

-----------------------

Not a month later, another tombstone appeared near the one recently erected for Emma Jones. It was a simple grey one, much like hers, and it read: ‘Captain Killian Jones. Beloved Husband, Father, Grandfather and Great-Grandfather. A Man of Honour.’