The first nights, Emma tries to sleep. Killian leaves her at her door those few nights with a brief kiss goodnight, and he walks the few steps to his room, watching as she breathes deeply—summoning the courage to enter her assigned room. He can hear through the separating wall, so faintly, the rustling of the sheets and her pacing and muttering as she tries to sleep and fails.

The next few nights, she wanders into his room. The first time, she startles him awake with a whispered "Killian." He jumps awake, searching with his hook for the threat. When he sees her, and the darkening circles under her dim eyes, he reaches for her. She takes his hand and curls up beside him, curling against him under the blanket. After that night, he expects her to come to him, and he waits for her.

Those nights, he thinks she sleeps. For just a few minutes and only a few times throughout the long night, she doesn't move and her breathing pattern changes to the slow, even breaths he grew used to in Storybrooke.

Killian barely sleeps. He's memorizing the woman he loves, that face he knows so well but is changing, just a little. Sharper, darker, less like Emma. When she's awake and her eyes are open, he sees the demons behind her beautiful eyes.

No one else seems to see them. It may be because everyone else is in denial, that Emma's the Dark One now, but Killian doesn't think that's it—he's in denial more than anyone else. But he knows what the Dark One is. He knows the demons that haunt Rumplestiltskin; he spent a several lifetimes fighting the Dark One.

When she's awake, he can, when she's not entirely herself, when the darkness is burying Emma Swan in itself, see the eyes of the demon he hates staring at him. Those are the moments that make him fear they can't win this battle.

At night, it's different. At night, she tries to sleep, and closes her eyes, and nestles her feet between his, and buries her face into his neck, and murmurs nonsense into his chest. He lies awake memorizing her. Every now and then, when she stirs fitfully, he presses kisses into her hair and makes her smile.

But soon, even he's not enough, his presence, his kisses, his warmth. Emma still comes to him, but she doesn't remain at his side. For a few minutes, she presses herself into his chest even further, muttering at something he can't see. She nestles further into his shoulder, but Killian senses that it's not snuggling as much as she is shaking her head. No. He can't see the battle his love is fighting, but she's winning; he knows it. He hopes with all his heart that she is winning.

Soon she's up again, pacing the room. Eventually, she leaves, whispering to the air swirling around them.

He finds her; of course he does. He follows her to an empty hallway, one with a window at the end. She stares at the table at the end of the hallway, staring at nothing. Then she waves her hand, and with a burst of that golden magic, a mixture of the Dark One's and Emma's, a piece of wood and string and a sharp knife appear. She materializes a chair and sits down.

"Get out of my head." Her voice is weary.

She picks up the wood and waves her hand over it, fashioning it into a hollow circlet of thin wood. Slowly, as if she were a puppet, she picks up the string and begins a web of string, in and out and in and out of the circlet. A pattern quickly takes shape, her fingers flying and forming beads and shells with bursts of the magic, weaving them into the circle of twine.

"Look, I've got a hobby, you happy now?" she asks. "Good, I'm glad," she answers herself. Killian doesn't think the question is directed toward him. She whispers to the voices in her head.

Emma finishes one of the projects as the dark hours pass, Killian standing in the hallway and just watching. He's exhausted, his knees ache, and can't feel his feet, but something keeps him there, watching his Swan.

He wanders back to his room just before first light, and she follows him; both pretend that they slept throughout the night and none question them.

The next night, she kisses him a little more forcefully, and she doesn't follow him into his room. He stands at his door for a single moment and follows her as she wanders away, just before she disappears from his view.

She's at her table, whittling and weaving. She doesn't notice as he slowly walks up behind her. He watches for a few minutes and finally speaks.

"What are you doing, love?"

Emma jumps and turns just enough to see him. Then she turns back to her project and whispers. "Dark Ones can't sleep. I needed something to do."

"I could have provided something to do."

She falters for a moment and he sees her grin, Emma surfacing for the time of the smile. She doesn't speak.

"What are they?"

She ties off the string and stands. He takes the project from her and hangs it alongside the others. Emma stares at them, the breeze of the castle causing them to drift slowly against the window. "They're dreamcatchers. Like the one Neal gave me."

She's told him about the dreamcatcher Neal gave her before—she's shown it to him. "What do they do? I assume these won't just keep out bad dreams like the other one." She's told him what they meant to her, not just what they were said to do.

She shrugs. "I don't know yet." Her eyes are blank and, behind the veil of vibrant green he loves so much, he can see the Dark One clearly. She blinks and it's Emma again. "They keep out the demons."

He hears the unspoken for now. She kisses him quickly and turns back to her work. Soon, Killian can see that she's forgotten he's there.

Night after night, Killian follows her.

She keeps making the dreamcatchers, every moment she can. At night, though, she seems more relaxed, just a little, because he's standing behind her, watching. He won't let anything harm her, not even the demons that float around her head and taunt her every minute of the day. The demons that he still sees despite the dreamcatchers.

Here in Camelot, Killian is living his worst nightmare; the woman he loves is now the enemy he has hated most of all. But as she weaves the dreamcatchers, there is a peace on her face. The tension of Camelot fades from her shoulders and she speaks less: the voices are quieting as time passes.

(He still sees the demons in her eyes.)