So this is Part Two in The Dark Ones series. A series depicting what could happen if Emma and Killian were the ultimate power couple. Kind of canon divergence, kind of speculation. I would read Part One first.

…

Caught Before I Hit the Ground

…

He wonders if Emma's fall into darkness had been the same as his, if the sounds of the night had felt like they were going to swallow her whole and leave no trace. He feels his power rear its head more prominently in the dark and he doesn't know how she managed to stave hers off for so long when she was so alone. He supposes her strength will always be something that astounds him.

In Camelot she had her dreamcatchers, these things of beauty and heartache that she had crafted with her bare hands; countless hours in the still nights threading string around a frame made of twigs she'd collected during the lonely days when she'd felt as though everything was collapsing in around her. An implosion she couldn't escape.

He notices fairly early on that she's ceased making them upon their return to Storybrooke, their purpose fulfilled, and he wonders what she does now to occupy her nights. He wonders because, as he sits in their kitchen, wide awake, he can feel the dark magic trying to escape him, trying to spill out into his life and consume his soul. And he needs something to distract him from that because Emma's idea of tethering the dark magic to Zelena and sacrificing her is seeming far too tempting.

It would be so easy. And then they would be free.

Gods he wants to be free. To feel the wind at his back and the spray of the ocean on his cheek, his princess by his side, his beautiful Swan leading them onward to a new adventure.

He breathes sharply, coming back to reality and pulling his hand away from the door handle. It's dark outside, but he recognises the house he is standing before as Regina's. Couldn't mistake it for the world. He wonders idly if he's already woken the occupants with the rattling of the door handle or if he'd merely touched his hand to it before he'd been brought out of his dark haze. Either way, he decides that it's not a good idea to stick around and find out.

That's the problem with not sleeping really; he can't dream. And in that, his dreams are fast becoming his reality, fast twisting their way inside his head and making themselves the only relevant option for his excessive time. Emma had her dreamcatchers and, while he knows she had used them on everyone in Camelot, she must have used them on herself, must have pulled her lost dreams from her reality to keep a clear mind.

He wanders back towards their house on the edge of town, fighting for control and knowing he's losing. Emma greets him at the door with a grim look on her face, an expression of recognition.

"You're losing time," she says. He can't help but notice that it's not a question. So he had been right; she has gone through this.

He climbs the stairs and allows himself to be cradled in her welcoming arms, face buried in her neck as he breathes her in, trying to ground himself. "Aye," he whispers.

…

He feels as though she's watching him with more caution than care lately, as though he's a loose cannon with a burning fuse. He'd once relished in the feeling of her looking upon him, had wanted to feel her gaze to know that she was perhaps thinking about him as much as he was thinking about her. He used to purposefully avoid eye contact with her, make her watch him just a little longer, the hunger in her gaze unmasked if she believed he couldn't see her. But, gods above, he could always see her, always feel her.

Now, though, is another story. Now he doesn't feel desired or wanted. Now he just feels like the person she has to babysit. Having a single Dark One running about Storybrooke had always been dangerous enough and, now that there are two, Emma can't risk setting him loose on the town, not until he can control himself. And maybe he's just not strong enough.

She finds him all over the house with no idea of how he got there, his eyes glazed over and memories hazy at best.

"You can use the dreamcatchers on me," he suggests desperately one day after she finds him with his hook buried in the locked door under the stairs. Though she trusts him while he's lucid, she's taken to locking everything around the house to stop his dreamlike state influencing any dangerous behaviour.

He pulls the metal appendage from the wood of the door with a defeated sigh and turns to Emma with pleading eyes, "Pull my dreams from me. Make this stop."

She steps towards him, hand reaching out to brush against his cheek, his head tilting into her touch and eyes slipping shut. "I know they're called dreamcatchers…"and he can already hear the end of the sentence before she says it, "…but they're not made to take dreams of the waking conscious."

He nods in resignation, wanting to fight her on this, wanting to make her see that he is more than just requesting this. He is in need of it. Needs to rid himself of this lost time. Needs to be in control of himself again. But, the thing is, he can see it now, can see the argument that will occur, can see how it will end. And he knows that Emma truly can't help him. Not this way.

With a sigh, he reopens his eyes and meets hers, "How did you do it? How did you get through this?"

A small smile graces her pretty pink lips, just the barest hint of happiness in the foggy haze around his head, enough to keep the hope alive in his chest. "I had you," she says, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He nods his head against hers, foreheads meeting as they simply exist in each other's space, "You always will."

…

He walks as though following instruction, his grip tight around the sword in his hand. He hears the librarian's pleas, but ignores them as he grasps the Crocodile by the collar and thinks of the deck of his ship until dark smoke surrounds them and that's where they stand.

The former Dark One and the newest facing off on the surface where it all began.

"So much for a happy coexistence," Gold mutters, trying to edge away from the pirate.

But he has other ideas, throwing another sword to the deck, "Pick it up."

Gold looks up at the pirate advancing on him and shakes his head. Because it can't be…

"It's inside you. How the hell did it get inside you?" he spits, his voice less strong than he'd have probably hoped.

Killian merely sneers and kicks a foot under the hilt of the sword on his deck, "I said, pick. It. Up." Each word is punctuated by a sharp jab to the shoulder with the sword that Killian is holding, "I won't ask you again."

Gold leans forward on his good leg, and reluctantly obeys Killian's order, standing with the sword at his side, awaiting the fight he knows is about to come. He spies the sword in the pirate's hand and swallows his fear – he knows he won't make it out of this alive, not with Excalibur as his opponent.

Killian's jaw ticks as he takes in the former Dark One, the coward who stole everything from him. It's been a long time but he still feels that loss just as acutely as the day it happened. Although, now, it feels more selfish. A sense of loss of the man he was before Milah, before Hook.

"Stand there," he commands, pointing Excalibur towards the main mast.

Gold follows the order, his weak leg protesting without his cane. "Don't toy with me, pirate. If you're going to kill me, just do it."

Killian scoffs and seemingly ignores the request, "You killed her right here. Do you remember? You tore her heart out and crushed it." He stalks towards the Crocodile, "What makes you think you deserve a swift end?"

He raises Excalibur and swings it through the air, meeting Gold's sword on the downwards stroke, the coward putting up a fight. Killian smiles, good.

The clash of metal on metal drowns out the calming lapping of the water against the hull of the ship, the harsh ding ringing out loud in both their ears. Killian can see Gold's energy waning, the man shuffling backwards on his injured leg, barely able to stand. He swings again and again, his aim, certainly, to toy with the man. He knows now that a small cut will be enough to kill his enemy, that it will be enough to utterly destroy him too. Give him hope to live, let him go on thinking he is fine, only to fall prey to the sword's destiny hours later.

He thinks of what Emma did to him after he'd suffered the same fate. There is nothing else to tether the darkness too. Just he and Emma, the eternal Dark Ones for the rest of their days. Gold will live in hope and then he will die – the Crocodile and the pirate's feud finally at rest.

Still, the man comes at him again and again, swinging high and meeting Killian's strikes until he simply cannot any more, falling to his knees and resigning himself to his fate.

Killian's heavy footsteps fall on the deck as he raises his sword to the Crocodile's neck. But, just as he's thinking this is such poetic justice, he hears a voice ring out across the docks.

"Killian, stop!"

Swinging around, he sees Emma surround herself in her grey smoke at the end of the pier and then, suddenly, she is before him. It all happens in a blink of an eye, but that's the only time it takes for him to come out of the haze of darkness surrounding him. He sucks in a gasp, panic lighting up his features as he searches Emma's face for answers.

A noise behind them startles them both until they realise it's just Gold being the coward he is and running. Not that Emma can blame him – she's sure she'd be running too. But her focus here is Killian.

Killian who is currently looking at her with utter fear in his bright blue eyes.

"Emma, what…?"

She reaches out, one hand curling around his on Excalibur's hilt, the other curling in his hair at the nape of his neck, "It's okay now."

He frowns, trying to remember how he got here, what he'd been doing, "How long?"

Her fingers wrap around his hair and she feels him relax a little at her touch, "You've been out about an hour."

He can still feel the traces of anger simmering beneath his skin, electric shocks of a person he's trying his best not to be. An hour isn't that long, he muses, and yet he'd come so close to killing someone in that time. He'd known the desire to harm his enemy was still lingering, but to know that he could lose control so easily made him almost uncomfortable in his own skin.

"Gods," he breathes, leaning forward until his forehead is resting on Emma's, trying to re-centre himself enough to piece together just what he's been doing for the last hour.

"It's okay," she repeats, her words gentle and calming, her lips practically brushing his they're so close.

Excalibur hitting the deck doesn't get a flinch out of either of them, both already completely lost in each other. Her heels make her the perfect height for him to just tilt his head and…

"Mmm," she moans, finally feeling like he's back with her. He moves slowly, lazily, building her up in a dizzy swirl of lips and tongues. She could kiss him until the ends of her days and be happy, of this she is sure. But, right now, she needs more. Needs to feel him, know that he is still Killian beneath his darkness, just as he had needed to know Emma was inside of her.

She wonders briefly if she could just cast a cloaking spell over the whole ship and take him right here, but decides she'd rather be locked away with him anyway – just the two of them, no boundaries, no confusion, just them and their love.

She releases his hand momentarily, long enough to flick her wrist and sweep them below deck. He pulls back, eyes flicking around his quarters before focusing back on her, "I've always dreamed of having you here, darling."

She swallows, the possessiveness in his voice striking something deep within her. She's never belonged to anybody – never wanted to – but, with him, it feels okay. He isn't taking anything from her, but giving so much. So fucking much. "Take me," she commands with a breathy whisper.

He growls and tugs her to him, hips aligning as he presses his lips into her neck, teeth baring to nip at the sensitive skin beneath her ear, his breath sending tingles straight down her spine and to her core. It makes it easy for her to lean against the ladder at her back and let him hitch a leg on his hip, his whole body surrounding her as he grinds into her.

Yes, this is what they need. Dirty and raw and real. Him and her and fuck, "Right there," she cries, her body moving with his. It would be so easy to come like this, she's already so close to the edge, his breathy panting sending pulses of magic beating under her skin and it can't ever be better than this. It never will be. He is everything; they are everything.

He continues to rut against her clothed centre, his arousal evident against the tight blackness of his jeans. His hand grips at hers again, raising it up to rest against one of the rungs of the ladder above her head, turning it so that she holds on. She gets the message, uncurling her other hand from the back of his neck and reaching above her head with that one also. He leans back a fraction, hips still rocking into her, and watches as her pretty lips open in an "o" shape, a gasp escaping her when she fixes her gaze on him and crashes over the edge of oblivion.

He grins, still moving against her, bringing her down so he can build her back up again. "You look so good, lass, spread out for me. A right feast."

The corners of her mouth tick upwards as she comes back into awareness, still gripping the rung above her, her leg still thrown across his hip. Still fully clothed. She licks her lips; judging from the way he's watching her, she must look utterly wrecked. "What if I'm hungry?" she asks slyly, finally letting her heeled foot fall to the floor, pushing herself off the ladder and standing upright, "What if I want to be the one to taste?"

He wants to chuckle because as if he could deny her anything she wanted, "Then who would I be to say no?"

She returns an answering smile, raises her hands to his chest and pushes him backwards, her magic sending his clothing from his body and leaving him bare for her eyes as he lands on the narrow bed in the corner of his room. It's hard to remind herself that this is for him when she gets so much in return.

His hand finds the bare skin of her hip as she straddles him, fingers pushing under the leather of her top and just feeling her warmth, her skin still on fire from his touches a moment ago. In a moment, she is unclothed at his silent command and she smiles at the fact he's getting the hang of that particular piece of magic.

She kisses him, chaste and quick, before trailing her lips down his body, leaving marks of red lipstick in her wake. She can feel his cock drawing along her body as she moves, his leaking tip leaving a similar mark from her belly to her breasts. She's practically salivating when she can finally wrap her mouth around him and…

"Fuck, yes, lass."

She hums in delight at his dirty words, knowing what the vibrations will do to him.

He rolls his hips, his cock brushing the back of her throat. She sucks him lightly in retaliation and begins slowly bobbing her head up and down, licking and kissing him every few strokes until he is grunting and growling beneath her and she knows he can't get out a word of English.

One hand finds its way to the base of him, squeezing lightly and relishing in the sound of his answering groan, the other hand finds its way between her own legs, fingers pushing into herself because she needs to come again. Turning him on turns her on in a way that's never happened before and she just… She needs to come.

"Emma, I'm going to…"

She forces herself to pull away from him then, because as close as they both are, they need it together. They need the comfort and the ease and the way it feels when he's dragging inside of her.

Crawling back up his body, she plants her knees on either side of his hips, watching for the nod she knows he'll give her when he's ready. It comes and she sinks down, her head tipping back with the feel of him there again. It's too much and it's perfect.

With their hearts beating wildly, she braces her hands on his chest and raises her hips a fraction, just enough that she can grind back down and have him hit her at a different angle, one that has her body clenching around him in anticipation.

"You've got to move, love."

She smiles wickedly at him, "I know how sex works." Then, quirking an eyebrow, she adds, "Trust me."

He bites his lip, sweat breaking across his brow because this is too intense and he loves it, "Oh I do. Indubitably."

She nods her approval – only slightly annoyed that he seems to have regained function of his big words (she needs to get him back to breathless and begging again) – and then rocks above him, building a steady pace, his fingers on her hip digging into her in the most delicious way. As a Dark One, she doesn't injure all too easily, but she wonders if bruises left by Killian might show.

"More," he begs and she grins.

They were already so close and the thick and heavy drag of Killian against her walls is sure to push them both over the edge soon so Emma quickens her pace, hips slamming down over him again and again. He meets her beat for beat, ensuring she's right there with him as he pushes himself off the mattress, burying his head in her breasts and crying out with his release, the thick wetness of him coating her inner walls as she, too, cries out and clenches around him. She clutches him close to her chest for as long as she can, shivering when his open mouthed kisses leave a cooling spit wet trail across her breasts.

For a while they just breathe and then Emma leans back just enough that she can meet Killian's stormy eyes. She longs for the days when she would only see love in his gaze; now there is so much conflict and, while she knows he still loves her, there are tinges of hate around the edges.

Her hand comes to rest on his cheek, "You with me?"

He nods, but then shifts away from her, pulling out and leaving her feeling cold despite his still close proximity at her side.

"I hate that you put this idea in my head," he says quietly to the ceiling before turning his head and looking at her. "This idea that we can pour all our darkness into another being and kill it," he clarifies, "I want it out."

She reaches a hand across the bed, laying it over his heart and resting her head on his shoulder, "I just wanted to save you."

"But look at that cost. You saved me and we're both tormented dark souls and I can't save you like this. I can't save you as the Dark One because then you will only be able to see the darkness. I will no longer have any part of that lightness you gave me." His voice cracks and he rests his hand atop hers, trying to ground himself, "I would spend an eternity trying to save you. But I won't be the man you love if I succeed." He brings her knuckles to his lips, holding them there and breathing his kisses to her skin, "It's all I can think about and it's eating me alive."

She turns her hand in his, locking their fingers together as best she can from the awkward angle. She knows the pain all too well, the conflict and the desire to do so much wrong to get what you want – the realisation that you can, because who the hell is going to stop you?

"You have to trick the darkness," she says, "The voice in your head telling you to do terrible things, you have to trick it."

He thinks of the flashes of faces he has seen – Rumpelstiltskin, Zozo, Nimue – the past trying to taunt him into his revenge. "I'm not strong enough."

She shakes her head because she knows that he is, but that self-doubt is something she's also familiar with. So she changes her approach, "Let me in, then."

His movement is fast, head swivelling down to meet her gaze looking back up at him, all honesty and earnestness in her expression, "What do you mean?"

She sits up a little, looming over him and pressing her lips to his still damp forehead, "Let me be the voice in your head."

It's crazy and insane and perfect, because how could he refuse anything she says to him? And how could she do anything to hurt him? "You would do that? You would risk your safety for me? Even knowing that I could lose control at any time?"

She shakes her head and his heart sinks. Of course she wouldn't be able to when it came down to it. But then she's speaking again and it's too good to be true, but he holds onto every word because sometimes we need things to hope for that seem impossible.

"Don't you see, Killian? We're joined, forged as one, two halves of a whole. You can't save me and fall to darkness because for me to be saved, you must be also."

And it makes sense. Creating a new Dark One hadn't separated them, but joined them more completely than ever. Untethering one from the darkness would surely untether them both. And for the first time since he'd started losing time, he feels hopeful for a happy ending.

Emma's lips rest against the shell of his ear, the voice in his head saying, "Come on, Killian. Fight for us."

And he finds himself smiling as he nods, "Always."

…

Thoughts?