Rated: Fiction K - English - Romance - Emma S., Killian Jones/Captain Hook - Words: 1,075 - Status: Complete
Also available at AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1042053
Author's Note: The fascinating characters of Once Upon A Time belong to their creators. Enjoy~
‘How did you do that?’
She did it.
She actually did it.
‘She’s teaching you magic?’
Find your anger, and focus.
‘Yeah, I guess she is.’
Because Emma Swan had been angry, so angry.
She had found her anger, and it had worked.
End of story. Case closed. In the moment that Emma had successfully lit the flame, she had been terrified, desperate and angry; angry that two grown men – both of whom she had been attracted to no less – could act like immature childish brats fighting over a toy – it was a goddamn lighter, and she didn’t bloody care if it was somehow meant to be something else in their heads.
They had almost died.
What the hell was wrong with them?!
It could’ve cost them their mission; it could’ve cost them their lives.
It could’ve cost Emma her son.
She was absolutely furious with them.
That was all there was to it.
Because it was easier to feel that anger, to channel that fury – the fury of a mother who had come close to losing her son – at them; she was livid that they had messed around and it could’ve cost her everything she had fought for.
Because anger was an emotion she had a handle on; an emotion that had fueled her on for most of her life.
A complete and utter terror that had crippled her.
The fear of being left alone. She was a lost girl; she had not been what her parents wanted.
The fear of losing someone she loved. She might not get Henry back; what if she failed her son?
And, another emotion, even more petrifying than fear itself.
One minute he was there, a reassuring presence of safety and protection. A split second later, he had vanished; snatched away right before her very eyes.
It was easier to be angry; easier to believe that anger had been the fuel for her magic.
Stop thinking. Conjuring magic is not an intellectual endeavor. It’s emotion.
Emma had been fuming mad because Neal and Hook’s stupid bickering had jeopardized their quest.
The shadow had its claws all over him; tearing into him, holding him trapped to the tree – helpless – as it had tried to rip his own shadow from him.
Henry. She was livid because their antics could’ve cost her Henry.
You must ask yourself, ‘Why am I doing this? Who am I protecting?’
And, she told them as much when they had successfully captured Pan’s shadow. If she had to choose, she was choosing Henry; because rescuing Henry was the only thing she would allow herself to think about.
Because Emma didn’t want to really contemplate how she had managed to light that candle; she didn’t want to think of who it was that had fueled the desperate need to protect.
They were running out of time.
He was running out of time.
She would not lose him. She could not lose him. The words looped in her head like a mantra, growing stronger and stronger with every passing second.
What was the use of having magic if she couldn’t summon it when she needed it most? What was the use of being the Saviour if she couldn’t even save the one she-
The wick burst into flames.
Triumphantly, she held the coconut out, watching as Pan’s shadow struggled helplessly against the pull of the flame.
She had done it. It was over.
They were safe.
Emma was vaguely aware of Neal questioning her, but she only had eyes for the man who was before her, dizzy with relief as she drank in the sight of him – uninjured, whole.
He was safe.
Henry was the only love she had room for in her life.
And, suddenly, it had all come crashing down on her.
She had to believe that her magic was fueled by anger; anger at Neal and Hook. Because if it wasn’t anger, she would have to face the other emotions that were simmering just below.
Emotions she had not allowed herself to feel for years because of how much of her they exposed; because of the anguish they had caused her.
The fear of loss.
She would no longer be able to run; no longer be able to keep pulling away. Her defenses would crumble; she would once again be opening herself up, laying herself bare, making herself vulnerable.
A new love.
Because against all her expectations – he had come into her life when she least expected it; inappropriate, flirtatious innuendos and sincere, electric blue eyes – despite all the hurt, the pain she had been through – he had built her up where love had worn her down; given her hope where love had left her in a moment of her darkest despair – her walls had collapsed – he had reached beyond the cynical woman and into the heart of the little girl who still dreamt of true love and happily ever after.
He had wanted her when she had felt unwanted. He had reassured her when her own belief in herself had wavered.
With his actions, his words, his respect, his complete faith in her, he had shown what love was like to that little girl who had not known love; the little girl who had only wanted to be loved.
He had given up his quest of vengeance for her; he had returned to her and had expected nothing of her. He had saved her father, he was still fighting to save her son; he had always put her – her wants, her needs, her – first.
Against all odds, she had fallen in love all over again.
He had told her that he loved her. He had shown her just how much he loved her.
He had shown her how to love.
It was easier to be angry at them - at him - than to think of anything else.
Because the alternative meant that she had so much more to risk; so much more to lose.
Because Emma Swan had fallen in love with Hook; the infuriating and irrepressible yet, somehow, irresistible pirate captain.
Emma Swan had fallen in love with Killian Jones; the man of honour who had won her heart.
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