A Glimmer of Hope

Note: I needed to write this after 3x19. My poor bruised shipper heart, agh! Aaanyway, should be 2-4 chappies. Enjoy!

Again he opened his eyes, noticing the dark of night had ebbed away further. He groaned, shutting his eyes and willing himself to sleep for the hundredth time that night. His body felt tired and worn but his damn mind was still alert, still buzzing and refusing to let him sleep and oh how he needed sleep. The effort to shut it off, to stop himself from thinking over the events of yesterday, only made him more exhausted.

Now the first rays of sunlight bled through the curtains, ushering a new day that would surely bring with it awkward, painful conversations, cold looks and a distance he didn't know if he could handle.

If he could turn back time, he would. If he could pause it, freeze it before today came, he would.

But there's no rest for the wicked, came the thought. He frowned into his pillow, his fingers clenching into it, tensing in an effort to physically force himself away from the pain. A deeper meaning lay in those words; where once they made him proudly smile, now they taunted him, showing him what he had always been inside.

He was damned, a lost cause, a man who had struggled against what he really was – a villain. Had he truly been so naïve as to think his centuries of villainy and darkness could be washed away by anyone? By her? From the moment he first laid eyes on her, a glimmer of hope had sparked in his heart, and before he knew how it had spread, before he could fathom what a kiss from Emma Swan could do to him, it had grown so much that he couldn't hold it back. He couldn't return to his old pirate ways, but he couldn't reach her either; it was a year of torment. Hope soared when he saw her again in New York, but as he now lay in his bed he cursed hope for making him believe he could have any happy ending.

With one bad decision, meant well but unwise, he had undone what he had worked towards ever since that kiss… He wanted to be better, to show her the man he really was…

What, a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem?

He sat up abruptly, glaring at the ever-growing sunlight, before walking across the room towards the kettle, filling it with water, turning it on, grabbing a cup from the cupboard, setting the teabag, tapping his fingers impatiently before growling in utter frustration.

…that villains don't get happy endings. Do you think that's true?

You're nothing but a pirate.

You're selfish, and heartless.

I feel sorry for you. You'll never be happy.

I can't trust you now. How can I?

His forehead fell against the cupboard in front of him with a soft thud. He pulled back an inch and fell forward again. And again. And again. He could do this all day, he thought bitterly as the kettle started to whistle. Thud, thud, thud—

Knock, knock, knock.

Killian froze. He debated whether to pretend he wasn't there, but the blasted kettle had thrown that option out the window.

Knock, knock, knock.

Begrudgingly he made his way to the door, breathing deeply and wrapping away emotions. By the time he turned the handle, his face held a lazy smile and a gaze of perfect nonchalance. Only the circles under his eyes, the dishevelled state of his hair, and the sweat sticking to his body might have hinted otherwise.

Just as he dreaded, or hoped, it was Emma.

She had sported a no-nonsense, dignified expression all the way up until her eyes fell on him - the locks of dark hair in a wild mess, striking blue eyes, pink lips and the arms, chest and torso of a man wearing nothing but loose pyjama pants… Even his hook was absent. She blinked, promptly closing her mouth and breathing. It seemed he had completely forgotten himself, even with the casual, unconcerned look on his face. The image was strangely intimate and even as she quickly recovered her composure, it was already burning into her memory.

"Do you always answer your door with half your clothes on?" she said as she looked somewhat impatient and unimpressed. Killian recognised the potential for innuendo but felt it miles away.

"No," he said simply. A moment of awkward silence passed between them and she felt her chest tighten.

"Right… well, you might be interested to know we found something to help us against Zelena. But it'll require travelling…"

"Right…" he said. Another awkward moment passed as she folded her arms and looked down. She hadn't expected it to be this hard to even look at him. There were things she needed to say, so many things to cover the distance she suddenly felt between them, but she had no idea how…

"Right, so, if you want to come with us, you might want to get dressed."

"Of course," he said without hesitation.

"Okay, well… we'll be downstairs waiting." Emma returned his nod with her own before walking away and feeling like a ruddy teenager. As she heard his door quietly close, she wrapped her arms tightly around her, a wave of conflicting emotions surfacing for the umpteenth time that morning. So deep in her own thoughts was she that she completely missed the faint thud as Killian's forehead landed on his door.

He swayed, his weak body begging for rest as a dull ache spread over it. His mind, triggered by her presence, betrayed him as it suddenly forced his attention on every dark thought he'd had that morning, that year, and many years before. He hated feeling sorry for himself, hated breaking, but a single dry sob pushed Killian Jones to the very edge of doing just that, and he thanked the gods she wasn't here to see it.

The problem was that his heart was completely open, and now, only now, did he see how every time she had frowned at him, shouted at him, walked away from him, every time he failed her or disappointed her, his heart broke a little and a voice in his head grew stronger – I told you so, I told you so…

His head ached with that voice, his body shuddered and his lips briefly, sharply tingled. It felt like a fever…

He blinked furiously as he tried to clear his mind, to think straight.

"Get a grip," he ordered. "She needs you." He took a deep breath as he raked his fingers through his hair. "Control, Hook. Now."

"You look like hell," said David as Killian joined them. The prince had a strange look about him; his expression, Killian realised, had a hint of amusement. After yesterday's accusations, he didn't know quite what to make of it, but was spared any awkwardness with the man as Regina quickly explained her plan to finally destroy the Wicked Witch.

"We won't have much time. Snow is about to go into labour; we need to do this before the baby's born."

"Where are we going?"

"Kansas. I believe there's something there that can destroy my sister before she does any more damage."

"How do we get all the way to Kansas? We don't have time-" said David.

"You won't be," said Regina. "You should go to your wife. She will need you." David made to argue but the look on Emma's face urged him not to. "Trust me, we can take care of this." He begrudgingly nodded. "Swan, are you ready?"

Hook watched as the Saviour took a deep breath.

"I'm ready."

Her eyes met his own and he was struck by the emotion in them; he could almost believe she needed him there… The distance between them perhaps wasn't as great as he feared.

To his complete surprise she grabbed his hand and a jolt of energy surged through him, briefly lifting away the headache, the heaviness in his heart, and the slight sting in his lips. As she took Regina's hand, connecting them for the magic to begin, he couldn't help but stare at her, oblivious to the Queen's amused look.

"Right. Just as we talked about; concentrate on the vision," Regina instructed as Emma closed her eyes and focused.

With a bright flash the room around them faded away.