6Missing Scene from 3x13 New York Serenade after Walsh monkeys out on Emma.
"Swan?"
I could stop, I really could, but I don't.
"Swan?"
It would be so easy. Turn around. Ask him if he thought of me, or if he still thinks of me. I shake my head, and think "Obviously, Emma," or I doubt he'd have made the effort that he did.
I keep walking down the stairs.
"Swan, stop. We should talk about this."
His voice will be the death of me. Deep, commanding and almost hypnotic to my fragile heart.
He pleads with me to tell him what's wrong.
I could do it. Turn around. Face him. Look him in the eye and tell him that even through cursed memories and fake years I somehow thought of him too. Almost every day. Through my memories (fake memories?) of Henry growing up, the pull on my heart when Henry insisted on the Disney films, especially when asking to watch Peter Pan for the umpteenth time. I think back again to that strange flutter I felt when we read Jack and the Beanstalk.
It all makes sense.
But then again it really doesn't.
Or shouldn't.
Who knows.
What a mess.
I push open the door from the stairway to my hallway. I see my door. Just a few more steps.
I shake my head again and think of what my life would have been if he hadn't come back. Going through life, living a lie.
Married to a fucking crazy ass monkey man.
I shudder.
And I almost give in.
Almost turn around. Just to look at him. Just to make sure he's actually there.
Just to make sure that this isn't the dream.
I almost turn around.
But I don't.
Obviously.
"Emma,"
Killian.
I reach the door. Safety at last. Turning the knob I call back, "Be here at 9, it'll give me time to work things out with Henry,"
And I slam the literal and proverbial door to my heart.
But I wait. Staring at the floor like it holds the answers to the universe.
"Emma, love…"
I know he wants to say more, but he won't. Not yet. Not tonight.
I blink. There are two options from here. But only one I can justify choosing at the moment. Not so soon after my life has been turned upside down.
I lay my palm across the door, and I somehow know he does the same.
I savour the quiet moment for only a few seconds.
I turn my back, taking slow, even steps towards the bedroom to begin whatever preparations I can for our journey back to Storybrooke.
I want to go swing open the door and ask him to stay.
But I have a town to save. I have my family to save.
So, I do what I always do.
Close myself down.
Brush it all off
Hide it all away in the deepest parts of myself.
And run.
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