This started as an answer to a couple of prompts on tumblr and then grew a little longer than that. I really hope you like it!
Prompts: (from natylaeo) Is just an idea that I had that instead of killing Milah, Rumple see as revenge to bring Emma from the future to Killian, knowing they are true love! Uahahahahaha
(from atimelesslove) Emma goes to see an old friend who convinces her to give Killian a chance. In New York. The old friend is the guy from the pics. Go!
As always, creative liberties were taken ;) Also, I'm unsure if I am finished with this, so I thought I'd bring it to you guys for opinions on whether it needs continuing (that means reviews, guys. Hehe).
Disclaimer: I wish I owned any small part of OUAT, if only to know what is going on in 'those spoiler pics'. We all know the ones. Alas, I don't.
Never Tear Us Apart
I was standing
You were there
Two worlds collided
And they could never tear us apart
There's a soft haze to it all that makes him think he's in a dream. But at the same time, he remembers this. He remembers standing here at the helm, his arms softly pressed against her sides, pulling her into him, his lips kissing softly at her neck, the smell of the salty ocean on her skin and a bottle of rum held loosely in her hand.
"Pirate," he had muttered, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her hips, gently moving lower, his hips rocking into hers from behind.
She had turned into his touch, looping her arms around his neck and kissing him slowly, leisurely. They had all the time in the world and the pleasant buzz rattling around their heads was enough to make them slow down and take their time. "You made me this way," she had answered with a smirk, her blue eyes shining in the sun.
They still had days before they reached land, days of whiling away the time on board the Jolly Roger. The thought of making love to her for that entire time had crossed his mind and brought him to the helm to steady the ship on course. He'd only have to check on it every couple of hours, would only have to surface from the skin of his love a few times a day.
The thought sent shivers through his body, the pure excitement of this time with Milah.
The bottle in her hands drops to the decks below their feet as he picks her up, her legs wrapping easily around his waist. Walking down the stairs takes a while longer than usual as it becomes necessary to push her up against the handrails and ravish her with kisses and less than innocent touches, but neither party seems to mind the longer trek to his cabin.
She pulls away for a moment, with a look in her eyes that he can only describe as completely aroused, "You wait here a moment, I'll go…get ready."
He growls as her legs fall from around him, her feet coming to rest back on the ground, "The things I will do to you."
Her eyes never leave his until she has closed the door behind her and it's in that moment that he turns back to the ocean, his hands gripping the side of the ship and turning his knuckles white with anticipation.
Out of the corner of his eye he notices one of his crew standing there, watching him, and feels a burst of anger rise up in him at the lack of privacy on board. He knows when they reach land, he and Milah will have days of uninterrupted fun for themselves, so he tries not to address the man moving towards him, tries not to let his temper take hold. He has a beautiful woman stripping herself bare just feet from where he is now and he chooses to focus on that instead.
However, after giving his love a few minutes to prepare herself, he knows he cannot wait any longer. He turns towards his cabin and comes face to face with not a member of his crew, but a woman. A beautiful woman.
Her hair falls in tumbling golden curls around her face, her eyes looking up at him with apologies written in her irises. He knows nothing of her, she's barely been there a whisper of time, but he feels his heart race, feels his fingers burning to touch her, to take her clothing from her and make love to her on the deck right here. He doesn't touch her though, for fear of her disappearing, so they stand here in the middle of his ship, locked in an immediate stalemate.
"Are you a siren?" he asks, his voice sounding nothing like his own.
She shakes her head, "I am your future."
She's wearing the most peculiar clothing, a red coat and black tights that reveal far too much (yet not enough) of her legs, and the shoes, those shoes make her taller and look like torture devices to him. To suggest that she is from the future is nothing less than ludicrous, but her clothes and the look on her face tell him that she is being honest.
Or perhaps this is a dream as he had suspected. Perhaps he's going to wake up at any moment, roll over and see Milah and forget any of this ever happened.
"You will be waking soon, yes. But it will not be her by your side."
He wonders if he had spoken out loud or if this siren could simply read his thoughts.
"I don't understand."
She smiles and his heart beats faster still. Her eyes still hold that apology, that sadness, as though she knows of a pain that will befall him but cannot say, "It's okay, Killian. You will."
And then he wakes, a blinding pain between his eyes, his breath caught in his throat, a light from a room down the hallway illuminating a path between the bed he seems to have just fallen onto and what he can only assume is a bathroom from the sliver of white tiles he can see.
"Hook, is that you? Are you awake?"
Emma's voice drifts towards him from the room and he realises he must be making a fair bit of noise out here. He's still getting his bearings, trying to remember how he got here…New York. He remembers the journey down here in her strange yellow 'bug' and remembers finding this inn as a suitable place for them to ready for the evening ahead. And then he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he remembers is this.
"Aye lass," he answers. Her voice sounds more solid than it had mere minutes ago, which means it was all just a dream right? Memories and his imagination running wild with one another. Just a dream.
And then she steps out of the bathroom, long legs clad in black tights, slender body barely covered with a slinky black dress and those shoes. Those tall shoes with pointed heels. She turns her back to him, "Zip me up?" She must know what she's doing to him, must understand that any opportunity to see and touch her skin is going to be a difficult situation for him.
Still, he reaches out and tugs on the undone thing, the thing he assumes is the 'zip', using his hook to push her hair out of the way and across her shoulders. It's impossible not to notice the goosebumps that light up on her skin, the way shivers run through her body. She turns around to face him, his hand not leaving her back, effectively pulling her to him. Her hands reach up to tentatively pull on the lapels of his coat, straightening them, she tells herself, "You remember the plan?"
He swallows, her voice breaking through the spell surrounding them, "Aye."
She nods, taking a deep breath and pulling away from him, marching towards the door of the hotel, pulling on a very familiar red coat as she goes.
He hates being told to wait by the tree line, he hates that he's not in her immediate vicinity. Everything in his body screams out for him to protect her, not only for himself, but for her very worried father who had made certain those were his last words before he had slipped away, lost to yet another curse. "Protect her," he had said, "Keep her safe."
So when Emma had suggested he wait at the bar while she met with this mysterious man, he had merely scoffed and followed her to the closest point he could while not being spotted.
And it seemed like he had made the right choice.
This man, he doesn't look menacing or as though he means harm in any way, but months of being near Emma Swan have taught him a few things about reading the truth in a person and this guy is not being honest. He's shuffling from foot to foot, nervous eyes scanning the darkness around him, trying to find words to dance around the topic at hand.
"Do you have the potion or not?" Emma asks, quite simply.
"Emma, you know I would give it to you if it were that easy, but you also know I would try to protect you if I could, and that's what I'm doing, asking you to run so that you are protected."
Hook had missed the beginning of their exchange, but this seems too familiar, like they knew one another. He rubs a hand against his temple, trying to get rid of the persistent headache that seems to have wound itself around his skull since his dream (or was it a memory) from earlier in the evening. Something is so wrong here. Emma should not know this man, this is getting too complicated. It's supposed to be easy. In and out, safe and sound.
"Nathan," she meets his eye, her voice softening as she uses a name from their past, "Nibs, I already have someone protecting me."
Nibs. He knows that name, not personally, but he's heard it. He was on Neverland…a Lost Boy. And now Emma knows him. Oh this is not good.
"Who? The pirate? We know all about him. All about the two of you. You should just go be with him and leave this all alone. I don't want you hurt."
Hook doesn't like the sound of all this and simply wants to get out of here. But Emma is insistent, reaching out to take Nathan's hand, "We're more clever than that, we won't be hurt. Okay? If you're working for Pan you know what kind of horrible that demon can be and he's hurt a lot of people I love. Killian and I just want to help them. So please, stop playing games and let's do this exchange like we planned it." She holds out a wad of cash tucked inside a plain white envelope.
But Nibs simply pushes her hand away and leans in to kiss her forehead, "I'm sorry, Emma. I won't let you die for this."
It happens so fast, a flash of black leather and then Nibs and Hook are a tangled mess on the ground, struggling against each other. Emma calls out for them to stop, but before she can do much more than pull at Hook's coat, she's being directed out of the area as a few policemen pull out their batons and begin swinging.
She winces as they make contact with Hook's chest, knowing his ribs are still healing and she yells out, "Stop hurting him, he's cooperating," not really knowing if her voice will help matters or hinder.
One of the cops tugs the pirate's arms behind his back and attaches cuffs, while the same fate befalls Nibs, her old friend. She vaguely hears that they will be taken to the 35th Precinct to 'sober up' before everyone is gone and she's left standing in the middle of Central Park with an excessive amount of money and no way of getting the potion they so desperately need to save her family.
She uses the money to post bail for Hook, telling Nibs he needs to contact someone else to get him out. She's starting to get sick of her life seeming to have been sorted out for her from a young age by one magical entity or another and Nibs is another person who she had thought she could trust only to find out he'd been placed in her life by Peter Pan. Her heart beats hard in her chest in anger and in sadness. Then, not being able to handle the closing in walls of the holding cells, she waits outside for Hook to collect his personal effects and make his way out into the night.
He greets her with a smile, but she can't find it in her to muster the same level of enthusiasm he seems to have, "Come on, we should get back to the hotel. Try and figure out how to do this better next time."
His smile widens at that and he opens his mouth to speak, but she holds up a hand, "Not now, Hook. I don't want to hurt you after you just tried to help me."
So instead, without words, he moves his hand to his pocket and pulls out a small blue bottle, holding it out for her to see.
Her eyes widen and she sucks in a sharp breath, "You got it?"
"Aye," he says, stepping closer, "I didn't push him to the ground for show."
She doesn't even think about it, just rushes forward and throws her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. "You are amazing," she whispers, not trusting her voice to remain stable above such a quiet decibel.
He really does know the importance of what they're doing, of who they're saving, but right now, he can't bring himself to care for anything or anyone outside of this fragile bubble they're in. He wraps his arms tighter around her, shifting his head against her shoulders, face buried in her hair, completely surrounded by her. It's like a moment from something out of a great love story and he thinks for a second that perhaps it is.
And all is quiet in their lives for just that time.
The sound rushes in as she pulls away though, her eyes finding the pavement and her shoulders hunched, "You know what this means, right?"
He nods, "I do."
"We should go, then. Rest up before tomorrow."
And he doesn't know if it's the way she looks up at him with apologies in her eyes, or if it's the red coat and her long, long legs, but he sees flashes of her, flashes of before, of his dreams.
"Yeah, we should rest," he agrees quietly, already following her, but totally engaged in his own thoughts.
It's hazy again, cold too, and his fingers are numb against the wheel of his ship. And then he feels her hands wrap around his, that smell of the ocean and some exotic flower accompanying her at his back.
"You can come to bed, you know?" He smiles sadly. She makes it sound like she's asking, but really, he knows she's telling him. And really, she has every right to. He hasn't been to bed with her in days, possibly weeks. It's hard to know sometimes out here on the open seas.
They had docked at a lonely little port off the edge of the enchanted forest. The journey to the township had been a day long trek over white sand and jagged rocks and by the time they had arrived and found lodgings for the evening, they had all just fallen asleep where they sat, ale still in hand in the case of some. They had sorted out separate rooms for the nights to follow. Milah and Killian in one, Smee and Don in another and so on, but even then, the pirate had found himself passing out in places other than their bed, avoiding her at all costs.
And for no reason other than a hallucination, a siren who had taken the form of a beautiful woman and tried to tempt him into infidelity.
Killian stretches his fingers, shaking hers off, "I will."
But she knows he won't. Pulling her arms back from around him, she turns away from him, "I think it might be time for me to see home again. Just for a little while."
It breaks his heart to hear that tone in her voice, the way she sounds broken and confused. He can practically hear the truth behind her words. She wants to see her son, to see if he's ready to join them, to bring them together because she can feel him slipping away. He wishes he was more than he is, better than he is.
He waits until she's out of sight before turning the wheel, directing them back towards shore, back towards Milah's home and back towards the Crocodile.
The water is calm enough that he could feel comfortable to leave his ship be and sneak below deck for some alone time with his love, but he won't. Not tonight, not for a long while. Especially after seeing the form of his siren at the helm of his ship.
"Killian," she whispers, her lips barely parting. She looks almost ghostly here in the moonlight, a contrast to the day time where she appeared real and solid. Here she seems like an image conjured from someone else's imagination.
"What is your name? What do you want with me?" he demands.
She steps towards him, and despite her less than real appearance, those shoes still make a noise on the wooden deck of his ship, "My name is Emma. And I mustn't tell you any more. Not of where I've come from, not of where you're going. Just know that when all is said and done, I'll be here."
He feels that overwhelming desire to strip her bare and take her right here, against the wheel, but he fights it, attempting to appear indifferent.
"And what if I don't want you when 'all is said and done'?" he asks, sarcasm dripping from his every word.
She smirks, her eyes fluttering, trying to contain a laugh, "Oh Killian. You already do."
And then she is gone and he is calling her name to a darkened room in New York, the sounds of traffic outside bringing him back to the present. His breathing takes a moment to even out, and then Emma is there beside him. "You were dreaming," she says, trying to bring a little calm to his obviously erratic emotions.
"But you were there," his hand is shaking, a sweat breaking across his brow.
"Listen, Hook, I know you're concerned about what this potion will do, but you have to try and rest."
His hand snakes up her arm, coming to rest between her neck and her jaw, "No, Emma. You don't understand. You were there, in my past. I've known you all along."
Her eyes run over his face, searching his features for understanding, for reason, because as he says it, she remembers it too. She remembers his ship, she remembers being forced to watch him with Milah, she remembers the feeling in her heart. She feels it now.
"And you know me."
She looks up at him, fear in her eyes, "I do. How do I know you?"
It's confusing and strange, his heart is beating so fast in his chest, and then it hits him with a rush. For no other reason than it's the only explanation, "The Crocodile."
His eyes go wide, piecing it together, "It has to be…it must be."
She shakes her head, "It makes no sense, Hook. What would the Dark One want with your past?"
A darkness crosses his face, something hatred filled and raw. She hasn't seen it since the night he shot Belle, the night he'd been lying on the ground in more pain than he could handle and happy that he'd hurt his foe. She sees Hook in this moment, not the Killian Jones she's only just beginning to know.
"It's not me. It's you." At her blank stare, he continues, "He wants you to pay him for saving David, for saving your father."
"No, he said-"
"Whatever his son needed to hear."
She shakes her head, "I would have known."
But he's already two steps ahead of her, "You can detect a lie when it is aimed at you, but lass, he was speaking at Baelfire when he said he'd do it without payment."
She remembers that. Remembers trying to sense it, but not being able to, "But why? What does he gain from me seeing your past?"
His eyes finally meet hers, cold and sad, "He gains you wanting his son. Seeing myself and Milah, it's supposed to hurt you, to drive you into Bae's arms. It's possessive, manipulative. Except…" he stops abruptly, diverting his gaze once again.
"Except what?" she prompts, "What is it?"
"He mustn't have known."
He comes back to her, focusing again, "I loved Milah very much, Emma. But that day she was taken from me, she wasn't even supposed to be on the ship. We had fought, she had wanted out for a while. Just a month or two because I was growing distant," his thumb strokes her cheek, "Because I had met you." It's all falling into place in his mind, "He knows I fought for revenge for centuries in Milah's name and assumed you would be seeing the pair of us in love, but he underestimated what I felt for you in those initial moments, what I feel for you now."
She wants to turn away from him, wants to escape this intensity, but he has a hold on her. The small blue bottle on the bedside table catches her eye and she thinks about what will happen tomorrow, thinks about the possibility of their separation and thinks about how words left unsaid are the worst curse. So instead of running from him, she charges into him with a question needing the most honest of answers, "And what is it you feel?"
If he's surprised by her response, he doesn't show it. "Love," he says, without qualms, without an ounce of hesitation.
And she nods before reaching up, her hands on each side of his face, and pulling him down to her, lips meeting in the middle. It's surreal and bizarre, because she's still not sure if this is a dream or real and she can feel that he's the same. Their kisses are slow and long, drawn out to make the time go slower. When that sun rises, everything changes, but right now, they're caught in a moment of truth and neither of them wants to be the one to break it.
His hand tilts her head slightly, moving so that he can kiss her deeper, can hear that little moan again and again, can feel her, taste her, everything. And she doesn't hold back, pushing herself into his touch, their chests bumping together and their legs becoming tangled as they try to get closer.
There's no hiding it, whatever Rumple had been trying to disrupt between them, whatever he had thought he could break, he's only made it stronger. Emma feels as though she has known Killian for centuries now, feels like she could read him just as well as he always reads her. And for his part, Killian doesn't know if he's ever not loved this woman. Yes, he fought for Milah's memory all these years, but he now has all these memories of flashes of pale skin and blonde hair mixed in with those vengeful thoughts. Flashes of hope and redemption.
She starts pushing at his coat and all he wants is to be lost in this moment, to allow it to consume them, but he knows they need to stop. Need to understand this, so with great difficulty, he pulls back, wanting nothing more than to go straight back to her and finish what they've started.
"Emma, we need to talk," he begins. He sees the shift in her gaze, the uncertainty in her eyes, "No! Not like that, lass."
She smiles slightly, his words easing her concern, "We only have a night left, can't we just think less?" The interference in her life is driving her mad. Nibs, August, Neal…all these people in her life as a part of some big plan. Rumplestiltskin messing with her story for the benefit of his own. But no, she's taking a stand, tonight is about her and him and everything that's building between them.
His brow creases in thought, because something occurs to him then that hadn't before, "You want this?"
She doesn't even hesitate, "So much more now."
And despite the knowledge that this will complicate things, despite knowing they're still two very wounded people, he can't help but think that he'd be a fool to refuse her.
It's easy this time to allow the moment to envelop them, their arms moving quickly to divest the other of clothing, eager to touch, to be together after so many centuries of wanting each other. Neither one of them really understands how Emma could have been there, how she could be feeling all these things in a rush, but they don't question it, choosing instead to let their minds switch off and cherishing each touch and what it brings to them.
His hand lifts insistently at her hip, his body crawling over her and settling between her open legs. She brings one hand up to cup his face, trying to convey the intensity of the moment in a look, while her other hand reaches between them to guide him to her entrance. And it's when he slides home that she notices that time seems to have halted for them. The traffic sounds are no longer there, the air frozen around them. She feels a surge of warmth in her belly and knows what is happening. She had always wondered if it would be different for her when she found him, when she found 'the one'.
He begins to move and the sparks intensify, bringing them closer and closer to the edge. She can see it in his eyes too, the feeling, the warmth. It's magic.
He ducks his head down to the crook of her neck, nipping at the skin there, sending her body into sensory overload at the feel of his scruff on her jaw and her shoulder. His hand snakes between their bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves she so desperately needs touched, running a finger across her, feeling the stirrings of something beautiful and intense begin to coil inside of her around his length.
"More," she moans, her fingernails clawing at his back, "I need more." She braces a foot on the bed and knots the other between his, pushing up and rolling them over, their bodies still connected, his fingers still dancing across her clit.
Neither of them know which way is up on the bed, completely lost in the moment. Her hips drive down on his over and over, trying to find the right friction, the right pace. She flicks her hair back over her shoulder, giving him a clear view of her body moving in the most delicious ways over him and he gets the sudden urge to just taste her, as much of her as he can.
Shifting their bodies, he sits up just enough that he can still lean back on the pillows behind him, but also rest his forehead against hers, leaning in to kiss her parted lips and slowly make his way down her neck again. It's there, pressed against him, their bodies joined, hips colliding that she feels the build again, feels the way her muscles cling to him, begging him to stay with her always.
As their reality dissolves around them in a blinding haze, she sees flashes of their past, flashes of his hands itching to touch her, flashes of his eyes watching her. She has no idea how this is possible or how Rumplestiltskin could have underestimated something so much, but as she feels him tumble after her, she finds herself not caring, choosing to focus instead on the way her body is positively humming as she comes down from her bliss.
"That was…" she starts.
"Amazing," he finishes.
And she can't help but find herself nodding. She rolls off him with little grace, flopping down on the bed beside him and staring up at the ceiling, "Did you see it too?"
He doesn't say anything, but she feels his head moving in a nod next to her.
Her head turns to look up at him, scared of what voicing it may mean, "Maybe we're already connected enough. Maybe we don't even need the potion."
His eyes flick down to her. "Emma," he warns, his voice rough with sex.
"I'm just saying we don't know what it's going to do and I can't lose you, okay? I just can't."
He knows what it costs her to say that and appreciates every ounce of her honesty, "Lass, I'm not going to forget about you. Not now when I've known you for over 300 years. You're a part of me."
She rolls onto her side, her hand reaching around his waist, "You know what I'm thinking before I say it."
It's not a question, but a statement of fact, just something to keep the conversation going, something to distract them from the fact that the sun is rising outside the hotel they're in and the sounds of the streets have started up again, "Does that surprise you?"
She smiles, kissing his chest, trying to ignore the small blue bottle glaring up at her, "No."
Of course she would wear that damn red coat again, that gentle reminder of every reason he is doing this. His memories of her are fierce in his mind's eye, every moment he has wanted to protect her, and he wonders how the Crocodile ever thought he could drive a wedge between them. Not now. Not ever.
She takes a moment to look around the deserted Storybrooke streets before she reaches up to adjust the collar of his coat, stalling, distracting, "This will work, won't it?"
He nods surely, "Aye. The link between us will be even stronger now, love. We will bring them home."
"And if you don't remember?"
He reaches out to cup her cheek, "We'll still be connected. Something will remind me."
She takes a deep breath and uncorks the small bottle, holding it up in the light, "Here's to us, the 'saviour' and the 'hero'," she mutters before taking a sip of the sickly sweet potion and handing it to him.
"Here's to a couple of pirates," he returns, tipping back the rest.
Nothing happens for a moment, and then it all happens at once. Blinding light shoots out of the air like silvery tendrils of magic reaching across space. He steps towards her once more, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her to him to kiss her softly again. It's filled with such promise and such fear and she can't help the tears that spring to her eyes.
"I love you, lass," he says quietly, barely audible over the sound of the growing portal in the space behind them.
She nods, words getting caught in her throat. It's not as though she doesn't want to return the sentiment, it's more that she's unable to in this moment. It's too much, he's too much, and she could lose him forever.
She kisses him one last time, a growl rumbling deep in his throat, making her want to give this all up, just be with him. But it is fleeting and she knows he has to go back to the Enchanted Forest. She knows they have to somehow break this curse together, keep this link between worlds open and bring them all home.
And she has every faith that they will do it.
As he turns around and walks towards the light, she wishes Henry were here to hold onto. She wishes she wasn't alone. They'd left him at the loft while they had gone to New York with Wendy, John and Michael, people who were used to protecting other people. It had been one of the hardest decisions of her life, but putting him in danger of yet another curse had scared her too much.
Right now though, she needs him, because as Killian steps tentatively through the portal, she feels her heart ache. She reminds herself that he's only steps away from where she is now and that she can go and see him soon. And then Killian is gone and she is left standing on a street with a blinding light before her, left to wait and to keep the connection alive until she sees her family again.
Left to only see his image in her dreams.
The portal seems to swallow him, his body falling through a stream of consciousness, of memories from his past and memories he's yet to make. To say it's an odd experience would be a terrible understatement.
He sees flashes of Milah rush by him, of the Crocodile and of Bae. The things that were and the days that could never be. But as soon as the image passes, he finds he cannot recall it again. There's Cora and Regina and a giant named Tiny. He sees his life whirl by him, Emma present in the back of each scene. She's always been there. Since before he could remember. She's a flame of hope through his whole life, the thing that kept him going when all he wanted to do was throw himself into the ocean and lay to rest with his love and his brother.
And finally he lands in a field of wet grass, a dull haze over the land before him. But he knows it's not a dream. How does he know that?
He gets to his feet, wiping wet dirt from himself and spinning on the spot. His mind feels strangely empty and quiet, his thoughts missing. But there is one image there, one bright shining hope that he has to return to.
A woman. In a red coat and shoes with spikes as heels. A woman that he feels greatly attached to, yet can't remember a name. A woman standing on a ship tempting him and teasing him. His future or his past, he can't tell, but he knows he needs to get back to that woman.
Turning from the light of the portal, he sees a stable up ahead. Excellent, he thinks, time to commandeer a horse and get back to his new reality. The reality where he sees himself as not a pirate, but as a man truly in love.