Modus tollens

P implies Q

~Q

therefore ~P

She's not an idiot. She knows where he's going with this talk of getting his happy ending and it has her mind reeling.

Logically her brain can figure out that, yes, of course he's talking about her, their relationship, whatever future they might have together.

Emotionally, she's still that lonely little girl that no one cared enough to adopt. That got teased for her stringy hair and spindly chicken legs as she bounced from family to family and school to school. That never had a boy like her and want to hold her hand at school because she had out-of-style secondhand clothes and a flat chest to boot. That had thought that, just maybe, she'd finally found someone who cared, only to be left in jail, or with a dead sheriff in her arms, or fighting a flying monkey on a New York City rooftop. All that? That'll leave a mark on one's psyche no matter how rational and smart that kid, or woman, is.

So when she asks, and when he finally actually articulates that she is it, the tears come. Yes, because it is so damn unexpected and breathtaking and scary and wonderful and thrilling and amazing to hear. But the tears also come because - and she hates herself for it – she still hears that voice that whispers that is not true, it can't be, because she's her, and love and happiness and people who care are simply not in the cards for her.

Tears come, but her voice doesn't. She opens her mouth wider as if to speak, but can't form words. They've danced around most of the hard conversations, happy to just be together, so now, after he almost died - again - and he's laid his feelings out on line explicitly, she's dumbstruck.

In the silence, she finds herself gravitating towards him, her heart aching and soaring at the same time. He's hurting, and she wants to comfort him, but she can't even figure out her own emotions at the moment. It's everything all at once as she melts into him, barely doing more than pressing her body and lips to him.

But she needs him to know, to know that even if she can't articulate it quite yet, she feels so much… A tear escapes down her cheek, and she deepens the kiss, pulling him ever closer.

They drink each other in, slowly, tenderly.

Until David's voice rings out from outside the cabin, growing ever louder. "Emma! Hook! We need to get out of – "

Emma reluctantly drags herself out of Killian's arms just as her father re-enters the room. She wipes at her cheek as David's yell trails off. "We're coming," she croaks out. Moving towards the door, she motions for David to head back out. "Go." She reaches behind her and grasps Killian's hand tightly, pulling him with her wordlessly.

She doesn't let go as their haphazard group – Poseidon and Pinocchio? – makes its way back into town. But it quickly becomes clear that they must part. Killian needs to take care of loose ends and see Ursula and her father off. And with her parents needing to fetch Neal from Granny, it is left to her to get August somewhere safe and comfortable.

She clings to him as long as she can, with parting pleasantries being exchanged amongst the others. When she finally must leave, she squeezes his hand before letting go, a silent acknowledgement that they have more to say.

Later, with August dutifully brought to the loft so he can rest, and Henry still buried in the book, she stirs her drink absently in the kitchen.

She still doesn't quite know what to think. Emma Swan was never meant to be anyone's happy ending. Nor get her own. But Killian…

Regina bursts in, interrupting her train of thought. But her musings are merely pushed aside, not away completely. Thankfully, with August's revelation, no one is paying enough attention to her to notice her distracted demeanor.

David and Snow return with the baby soon after August wakes and are quickly filled in on the new development. Amidst the anxious, speculative chatter that follows, Emma finds herself redundant, not able to offer any more to the conversation than anyone else.

So she slips out the door.

At the marina, she can make out his form in the misty evening, sitting on the dock next to the Jolly, his legs dangling over the edge.

He hasn't noticed her yet.

With one final deep breath, she gathers her courage and heads over to him, offering a wan smile when he hears her footfalls and looks up.

His face is etched with worry, surely unsettled over Gold, happy endings, whatever else had transpired with Ursula. But it doesn't change what she came to say.

She eases herself down to sit next to him, his thigh warm against hers in the damp chill. She toys with her fingers as they both sit silently, but eventually her voice leaks out softly.

"Am I supposed to get my happy ending?" she asks, staring first at her fingers, but turning to face him once the words are out.

His brow furrows in confusion, so she clarifies. "I'm the Savior, right? Do I get my happy ending?"

He chuckles softly, then speaks with a bemused frankness, "Swan, you brought everyone else theirs. Surely, you'll get your own, love."

She studies him for a moment, before unceremoniously blurting out, "Then this author-villain-ending-whatever is bullshit."

His eyebrows shoot up in clear disbelief, and he follows it up with a self-deprecating shake of the head and laugh. "You may be the Savior, Swan, but I'm not sure you have any say about that."

"You're wrong," she insists, her eyes falling closed in frustration over his refusal to believe her.

"And what makes you so sure of that?" he sighs wearily.

Emma opens her eyes, training her gaze on his and takes a deep breath. Her eyes well up before she even gets the first word out. "If you don't get your happy ending, then I don't get mine either." A tear spills over and trickles down her cheek. "And I'm supposed to get mine."

She can't be sure, what with her heart beating in her ears and her vision blurry with tears, but she's almost certain she knows the exact moment he understands. His breath catches and his eyes shine a bit more in the dim light. And when he presses his forehead to hers before capturing her lips with his, Emma knows it's not just her own tears that fall on their joined hands.

Thanks for reading...