A hand touches her face and panic jolts her body upwards.

"Easy, my girl." Doc's voice is soothing as he holds his hands up in front of her in supplication. She relaxes fractionally, eyes darting around the room as her heart beats quickly in her chest. Her bedroom is bright with the sunlight that streams in through the windows and she lets out a shuddering breath, wide eyes falling back to the dwarf.

A frown twists his features and Emma can't help but notice how much older he looks like this. He sighs and sits in the chair next to the bed, the one she vaguely remembers seeing him in when she woke last night. Her eyes dance around the room before landing back on Doc and he gives her a small, sad smile.

"I thought it would be best if it was just you and I when you woke. But don't worry –" He inclines his head to her bedroom door and his smile turns much more genuine. "They aren't very far. Now, how are you feeling?"

She shifts and winces sharply. She wants to say it feels like I've been run over by a herd of horses and then stabbed in the throat but she doesn't think she'll be able to manage all that.

"Headache." She tries to say, but her throat is sore and scratchy and her words are barely intelligible. She puts her hand to her throat and winces and Doc's face contorts back into a frown.

"Don't talk." He says and she sighs softly, nodding slightly. He pulls himself from her chair and reaches into his large bag at the foot of her bed. He pulls out some herbs and small bottles and she watches as he carefully mixes them together in a large cup.

He peers up at her from over his glasses. "This drink will soothe your throat and make it easier to speak, although I suggest you do so as little as possible. It will also ease your pain a bit." He hands the drink over to her and she looks down at it skeptically, remembering very well what happened the last time she took a drink from Doc. He seems to as well and he gives her an abashed grin. "Don't worry, my girl. This has no side-effects."

She tips the cup back slowly and takes a tentative slip. The liquid tastes strange, but her throat feels better almost immediately, and the ache in her limbs lessens slightly. Doc watches her carefully as she relaxes back into the pillows of her bed, drinking from the cup greedily.

"I dressed your wounds while you were sleeping." He begins quietly and she hands him the now empty cup. She notices a thick white bandage on her outstretched arm and suddenly everything comes flashing back – James and the orchards, fighting him off, pain, and then darkness. Her entire body locks down and Doc swallows hard.

She remembers hands on her legs – cold and clammy and wrong. James' intentions had been clear in the orchard – he wanted her.

"Did he – " It feels like rocks are lodged in her throat and she inhales sharply, borderline hysterical. Her breathing accelerates and Doc looks panicked but she can't remember much – everything is a blur – and if he touched her, if he ruined her –

Doc shakes his head hard.

"No." His grey eyes darken and cloud for a moment before he sits carefully in the armchair. He shakes his head again. "No, my dear, he did not. Killian came upon the clearing just as the poison took hold of you."

She sighs audibly and wipes carefully under her eyes, embarrassed at how quickly she became frantic. Her heart drops in her chest when she realizes what Killian must have seen – what he must have thought. She bites her lip and stares hard at her bed sheets.

"Most of your injuries are cuts and bruises. I don't want to use the term minor, but you will heal from them just fine. You have two broken ribs." He shifts in the chair as she presses lightly over her torso. There's a thick bandage wrapped around her stomach, under her nightgown, and she feels her cheeks flush hot.

"Your mother." He whispers kindly and she is slightly relieved. She trusts Doc but the idea of anyone touching her right now makes her skin crawl.

"The poison, however, will leave its mark on you." She flinches as she remembers the blinding pain as James pressed his ring into her skin. Her fingers brush over her collarbone and she feels the web of raised skin there. It feels like an intricate lace pattern – thin lines twisting together over one another. She quirks an eyebrow at Doc and he nods sadly.

"Permanent, I'm afraid. The poison almost took you from us. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you were very lucky."

She wants to snort. Lucky. Nothing about the way she feels right now feels lucky. Both of their attention is diverted towards the door when there's a light scuffling against the wood. She can hear muted voices, and then silence. She looks back to Doc.

"They're quite impatient to make sure you're alright. Shall I let them in?"

Her chest feels heavy and she doesn't know how she's going to explain all of this to her parents – it was her own stupid fault for slipping off alone in the orchards – but she's anxious to see familiar faces, one in particular. She nods and Doc shuffles over to the door, reaching up and twisting the handle.

There's a whispered conversation with whoever is on the other side and then her father is striding through the door, Snow close behind. Lancelot and the rest of the dwarves slip in behind them, Doc sliding out into the hallway and shutting the door behind him.

No Killian.

Her heart pounds in her chest.

She idly wonders if she imagined him last night.

She's distracted from her thoughts when her father comes to a lurching stop in front of her. She watches as he clenches his hands tight by his sides and her heart breaks at the look on his face. His jaw his tight and his eyes are hard – fearsome in his intensity. But his gaze softens the longer he looks at her, and he falls to his knees by her side.

"Emma." He whispers. His hands hover over her and she realizes with a turn of her stomach that he's afraid to touch her. Tears fill her eyes as she reaches for his much larger hand.

"Hey, Dad." She whispers back and he gives her a weak and turbulent smile as his fingers wrap around hers. The contact makes her uneasy, but she pushes it away. Her mother takes the chair Doc abandoned and sighs heavily, eyes red rimmed and puffy. Emma reaches for her hand and Snow's fingers twists with hers, a broken sob escaping her lips. They sit like that for a moment, huddled together, taking one another in.

David is the first to lean back, keeping his fingers wrapped around Emma's but raking his other hand roughly through his cropped hair. He looks at her carefully, and wipes a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

She inhales sharply. She doesn't want to speak of it, doesn't want to even think of it ever again.

"It helps." Lancelot's voice is a deep rumble from the edge of the bed. His eyes are soft as he gazes at her and he shrugs. "When something terrible happens to you, it helps to get it out of your head. I assure you."

She knows he speaks from experience so she sighs heavily and scrubs her hands roughly against her eyes. She winces at the dull ache that shoots through her with the motion, and belatedly realizes she must have a black eye.

She frowns. "I was in the orchards and he came out of the trees. He must have followed me from the castle." Her voice is rough and scratchy but the drink Doc made her is working wonders because the pain is minimal compared to before. She swallows hard.

"Who?" Her father asks carefully and she looks at him in surprise.

"James. I thought you knew." He nods, eyes darkening slightly, the tightness returning to his jaw. His eyes flicker to Lancelot before looking back to Emma, nodding for her to continue. She closes her eyes and rubs at her temple, trying to remember.

"He threatened me. He said terrible things." She remembers what he said to her about Killian and she shudders. "I smacked him." A ghost of a smile passes over her father's lips. "He got angry and pushed me back against a tree. He hit me and then he-" She breathes in sharp as she remembers his mouth closing over hers, his hips pressing tight against her own, his arousal straining against her leg.

She averts her eyes and looks down at the blankets. "He kissed me." She mutters and Snow stills out of the corner of her eye. She watches as her father's hand clenches so hard on the bedspread, his knuckles turn white. "I kneed him in the gut, and he fell back. I tried to get away – I swear it – I tried to fight him off, but he was so strong and – "

She cuts off in a high-pitched wheeze and she knows she's panicking, but she can't get her heart to calm. Fingers soothe over her hair and her entire body jolts against the contact. She pushes back hard against the headboard and when she opens her eyes, she sees dark trees and cold eyes. She blinks again and she's back in her bedroom. Her father and mother are looking at her in concern and she anchors herself.

She is safe. She is safe. She is safe.

She breathes deep. She hopes to the Gods above that Lancelot is right because she's hardly telling them anything at all and it's still too much. "We fell to the ground and I was trying to crawl away. He pulled me back and that's when he poisoned me." She sees the question in their eyes. "He had a ring. He twisted it around and flipped it open and there was a needle. He pushed it into my skin and – "

She lets out a shaking breath. She feels moisture on her cheeks and when did she even start crying? "And I don't remember anything else." She whispers brokenly. Her father opens his mouth but the door to her room opens and suddenly Killian is standing there.

His arm is slung tight across his chest and he's got a terrible, jagged cut on his cheek right below his left eye and there's a bright blue bruise on his jaw but his eyes – Gods, his eyes – he's staring at her like she isn't real.

She exhales, finally able to breathe again.

"How are you feeling?" Snow asks and Killian visibly jumps, eyes flickering over to Snow for a moment before locking back on Emma. One of the dwarves pulls a chair to the end of the bed where Lancelot is and gestures for him to take it. Killian nods gratefully and limps over, moving slowly.

"Doc fixed me up well and good." He says with a grin, but the grin turns into a grimace as he sits. Emma blinks at him from across the bed and he gives her a half-hearted wink.

"Don't fret, love. You should see the other guy."

Lancelot snorts behind Killian, but David's face is still stern. His body is tight and coiled and he looks about ready to snap. "Killian." He grunts and she watches as Killian sighs heavily. "Tell us what happened when you came upon Emma."

Killian scratches at the back of his head and Emma knows he has no more desire to relive this anymore than she does. He meets her gaze, speaking softly. "I was halfway through the orchards when I heard you scream." He pauses and the look on his face is something she's never seen before. It causes her stomach to plummet and she wants to reach out to him, but her body is aching and her parents are here and it's not the place.

"When I came into the clearing, James was on top of you. You weren't moving, you were so still, I didn't know if – " He sighs again, frustrated with himself.

"I shouted at him to get off you, but it was like the git didn't even hear me. He just kept on-" Killian cuts off abruptly, eyes flickering to David and then back to Emma.

She knows it must be bad if he's thinking about his words.

Her father senses the hesitancy and if possible, grows tenser. Snow reaches for his hand but he brushes her off, standing up and pacing the room like a caged animal. "Continue." He barks and everyone in the room jumps at the command.

"He was preoccupied with himself." Killian mutters with disgust and Emma closes her eyes tight. Everything in her quakes at what almost was.

There is a loud crash and Emma's eyes slam open to see her tall bookcase shattered on the floor. She barely catches her father wrenching open the door to her bedroom before it's slammed shut again. There is another crash from further down the hallway and Snow half-stands.

"No." Lancelot mutters, eyes fixed on the door. "I'll go. Stay with Emma."

Snow nods and Lancelot slips out of her room. Her eyes dart back to Killian and he's still staring steadfast at her, blue eyes fixed in concentration.

Her stomach flips and she feels warm and she wants to roll her eyes that he still manages to evoke that reaction when she feels (and probably looks) like absolute shit. His lips twitch.

"What happened?" She manages with a gesture to his arm and face and he shrugs.

"We fought." His eyes are hard and dark and Emma wonders what sort of things James said to him. "I managed to knock him out and that's when I grabbed you. I brought you to the gates, told the guards to alert the King and Queen – mind you, I did not tell them to sound the bloody war bells." He rolls his eyes at that and Emma remembers the deep tolling of the bells on the walls. Apparently they were for her. She sighs and watches as a warm blush climbs his cheekbones and he shuffles in his chair.

"And then, uh, I passed out as well."

She blinks at him. "You passed out?"

His blush burns hotter and Snow takes Emma's free hand carefully. "Emma, darling – Killian dislocated his shoulder. The orchards are a far way."

She looks back to Killian and he's looking down at his knees, black hair falling heavily over his eyes. He looks ashamed and embarrassed and she wants to cry because he saved her and he's upset he passed out from pain? Sometimes he's so ridiculous. Her eyes prick at the idea of what he must of endured carrying her completely unconscious and paralyzed body the long distance between the castle walls and the orchard.

"Thank you." She wheezes out and his head snaps back up. He gives her a weak smile.

"Anything for you, lass."

-/-

She doesn't sleep. She tries, but every time she closes her eyes, she sees a malicious grin and feels cold hands on her thighs. Eventually she stops trying.

She hasn't seen Killian in days, but she really hasn't tried that either. She's kept to her quarters – the stares in the hallway too much for her to handle. Everyone looks at her like she's a broken doll and its beginning to drive her mad.

He hasn't come to her, and she tells herself it doesn't hurt.

She sighs and regards her reflection in the mirror, touching at the bruise under her eye carefully. Her body is slowly healing itself, but she's certainly looked better. She has a deep bruise over her left eye and a matching one along her jaw. Her lip is split and there are yellowing bruises on her throat in the shape of fingers. She doesn't let her gaze linger on those.

She leans closer to the mirror, tilting her neck back to get a better look at the top of her chest. There's a thin web of scars starting from where the poison entered her body and branching outwards, the pattern of her veins burned forever into her skin. Doc says the poison did just that – burned her – from the inside out. The bruises and cuts would heal, but the scars would be forever.

She has a feeling he was talking about much more than the physical ones.

She bends down carefully and lifts the hem of her nightgown, shucking it up around her waist to look at her ribs. The thick bandage covers most of the damage, but the purple bruise peeks out around the material. She sighs and lowers her gown slightly, peering at the bruises on her legs. Those are the marks that haunt her the most.

Just like her throat, she has two distinct imprints of hands on her thighs. She sees them every time she bathes, feels the unforgiving clench of his hands on her every time. Her stomach rolls and she frowns at her reflection.

She's startled from her thoughts when her door swings open and she sees a familiar mop of dark hair elbow into the room.

"Hey, Granny told me to bring you some tea before I left. And I thought we could - "

The words die on his lips as his eyes find her and he freezes. She drops her skirt, but it's too late. He's seen.

"Talk." He finishes lamely and he's looking at her like everyone else – like she's damaged goods, broken beyond repair.

"Stop it." She whispers and he looks down at the ground between them. "Don't do that with me."

He places her tea on her desk and runs his good hand through his hair, a nervous reaction. "Do what?"

She reaches for her robe and gingerly pulls it on. "You know what. You're looking at me like I'm pathetic."

He blinks up at her in bewilderment and she plows on, all of her emotions crystalizing into anger. "So glad you could finally fit me into your schedule." She spits and she watches as his shoulders tense.

"It wasn't like that, Emma, I-"

"If you wanted to end this, you could have told me." She shouts and his entire body jolts. Her chest is heaving and she's a bit lightheaded, but she makes sure to keep eye contact with him. He takes a step forward and sighs heavily.

"Why are we always in these situations?" And then he grins. The bastard grins.

Her face heats as a fresh wave of anger surges through her. "And just what are you smiling about?"

He chuckles and reaches forward, looping his fingers around her wrist. She tries to wrench away, but he's persistent. "Try not to punch me, love. I don't think either of us could manage it at the moment."

She huffs and he releases her hand, sliding his palm along her arm, tracking the movement with his eyes. "We constantly find ourselves doubting the other, thinking the worst of ourselves. I'm quite guilty of it as well." His blue eyes lock back on hers. "I did not come to you because I felt responsible for what happened. It was I who told you to meet me in the orchards."

All of the anger leaves her in a rush and she brushes her fingers lightly over the cut on his face. He lets out a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes. "And it was you who saved me."

His fingers find hers and he raises the back of her hand to his lips. "So I will forgive myself-" He begins, blue eyes sad. "If you stop thinking of yourself as damaged goods. Deal?"

She's surprised at his ability to read her, but then again she's not. He's always been able to gauge her thoughts and emotions from a simple look. She gives him a tired smile.

"I'll try."

"Good." He responds and his eyes drift to her lips. They're standing so close, sharing the same air. She can feel the energy humming between them and it feels like it's been forever. She wants for him to kiss her, to have him claim her as his.

"Killian." She whispers and his head ducks down softly, lips meeting hers in a gentle kiss. His lips are careful, caressing hers in a sweet dance. He is slow and soft and everything she needs and she sighs, her mind going deliciously blank. All of her fears, all of her nightmares, disappear instantly.

He pulls back much too soon and runs his nose along hers. "I thought you were lost to me." He whispers and he sounds so broken – her fingers tighten their hold on him.

"Never." She replies and he leans back fully.

"You've not been sleeping." He mutters and his thumb swipes under her eye. She melts into his grip and rests her forehead against his chin. His good arm comes around her, pulling her in close.

"Neither have you." She mutters petulantly and he chuckles lightly, stepping forward, closer to her bed.

"Aye, too right lass." Her knees hit the back of the bed and she sits down lightly. He gazes at her, fingers pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear. He gives her a shy smile, and her heart jumps in her chest. "I should leave." He whispers.

But he makes no move towards the door and her fingers find his.

"Stay." She replies.

He nods after a beat and she scoots back carefully in the bed, shucking her robe and sliding under the covers. He follows, adjusting so there's no pressure on his wounded arm, his chest pressed tight against her back. His fingers slide gently over her side and grip hers, pulling her even tighter against him.

His breath is warm on her neck as he buries his face in her curls.

And for the first time since James came out of the trees, she feels safe.

"I love you, Emma." His voice is a tremulous whisper and she smiles, squeezing his fingers between her own.

She sleeps.

-/-

Epilogue

She adjusts the load in her arms carefully, pressing her back to the worn wood of the kitchen door and pushing it open. She grins when she spots him and she is immediately transported back – back to the day when she had been so riddled with anxiety over seeing him.

He's standing at the same countertop - sleeves rolled up over his strong forearms as he quickly and carefully peels potatoes. A grin curves her lips as she takes him in.

Hi blue naval jacket is tossed over the far end of the table, his white vest unbuttoned and loose against his broad chest as he works through his stack of vegetables. His skin is darker, more bronze, no doubt from weeks of exposure on the deck of his ship. She lets her eyes rake over his jaw line, the rough stubble that covers him, and she feels her belly clench.

Gods, she missed him.

She must have moaned or something equally embarrassing because his head snaps up and a breathtaking grin stretches his features. She sees nothing but love and adoration in his bright blue eyes and the burning need is quickly replaced by a glowing warmth.

"Hey." She whispers as she walks over to him. "Were you going to say hello? Not a very fitting way to greet your wife after a long journey at sea."

She pouts and he grins wider, putting down his knife and meeting her around the table. His rough fingertips skim her cheek and she sighs happily, letting her eyes drift closed.

"Granny informed me the Princess was taking a much needed nap." She opens her eyes to see him looking down at her with concern. His free hand comes up to rest on her swollen belly, thumb rubbing a gentle pattern back and forth. "Are you alright, love?"

"Better now." She whispers and the small form in her arm squirms against her. She raises both eyebrows at Killian and runs a soothing hand over the toddler in her arms. "Your children are exhausting me."

Another breathtaking grin curves his lips upwards as he reaches out for Liam, pulling the still sleeping boy into his arms. Emma smiles and watches him as he presses a kiss to Liam's wild blonde curls, finding a seat at the counter he had been working at.

She rubs her hands in a soothing circuit over her belly as the baby kicks and she closes her eyes, tilting her head back. Apparently the baby knew Daddy was home, too.

She opens her eyes when she hears Killian's deep, rumbling laugh. Liam is awake, little arms clung tight around his father's neck. He's giggling loud, his voice small and light and perfect and Emma wonders how she got so lucky.

They had been so stupid – she had been so stupid – circling round and round one another for half of their lives. They had wasted so much precious time worrying and assuming – she often wonders what would of happened if she never gave him a black eye that day in the courtyard.

After that night in her quarters, Killian had surprised her by attending an open court. She had been sitting between her parents and he had shuffled in, anxious and nervous and falling to a knee in front of her father. He had asked to formally court her, and her father just blinked down at him smugly.

"Killian, you've been courting her since you were six."

She's pulled from her thoughts when two identical pairs of bright blue eyes fix on her from across the kitchen. Killian whispers something in Liam's ear and sets him down on the floor, tiny legs running to Emma. She scoops him up as smoothly as she can with the size of her stomach and Liam wiggles against her with another set of giggles.

She can't help but smile in response at her perfect boy.

He leans close to her ear, like he's got a secret. She plays along, tilting her head against his.

"Daddy says you look boo-tee-ful." Liam whispers loudly in her ear, pronouncing out the word in three syllables and Emma blushes. Killian just winks and grins and she rolls her eyes.

She tilts her head to the stack of potatoes. "Back to your kitchen duties, Captain Cutlery."

He catches her hand on the way - lifting it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. "As you wish, my love."

(And when Liam mimics his Dad, lifting her hand with both of his tiny ones and pressing a sloppy wet kiss to her knuckles with a little wiggle of his eyebrows – she knows she's in for hell when he becomes a teenager.

Killian's loud laugh confirms it.)