"If I ever get my hands on that bloody monkey," she hears Hook growl low in her ear as she slams her shoulder against the door once again, hard enough to make her grit her teeth against the pain as it shoots up her arm, "I am going to tear him apart."

"Yeah, well, you might have to get in line. I think after all this, I deserve first dibs." In one last desperate attempt to get the door open, Emma throws herself against it again, crying out in pain and frustration as she rattles the lock. "Come on!"

"That's enough of that, lass," he breathes, trying to maneuver himself so that he can place his hands on her shoulders, but it's little use. The closet that that bastard Walsh—that traitor, that scoundrel, that bloody ape has locked them in is tiny, barely big enough to be called a broom cupboard. It's hardly big enough for one person to stand in, let alone two, and so Killian finds himself pressed up awkwardly against Emma's back, trying to comfort her and feeling utterly ridiculous. "You'll hurt yourself. He's not worth it."

"You're damn right he isn't," Emma says, grumbling as she attempts to shift herself around so that she is at least facing the pirate. In the pitch-black of the cupboard, she feels crushed and disoriented, which isn't doing much to help her already-tempestuous mood. "There's no getting out that way. We'll have to wait for someone to come looking for us. Who the hell locks someone in a fucking closet, anyway?"

She feels, rather than sees, the cheeky grin that lights up Hook's face as she fumbles in her pocket for her phone, trying to get a bit of light into the darkness. "Well, as I recall, you did, love, the first time I followed you to Manhattan…" He gasps suddenly, drawing in a sharp breath as his entire body stiffens up next to her. "Swan," he whispers, sounding pained, "I'm afraid that's my foot you're standing on..."

"Shit. Sorry!" Emma quickly steps backward, her back colliding with the door as her elbow bumps up against the wall. "Damn it! Sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, love. It's not as if you could really help it."

She huffs out a defeated sigh before a bubble of laughter escapes her throat, almost before she realizes what's happening. "I guess it's karma, huh? For me locking you up last time we were in New York…and in the hospital…and when I had you arrested…" She feels her cheeks begin to grow hot with embarrassment and maybe a little bit of shame over how many times she's locked him away from the world in some way or another (his smug voice in the hospital echoes through her head, somehow managing to sound enticing even through the haze of painkillers he'd been under at the time, sound so smug as he drawls out "Again? You're really into this, aren't you?"). For the first time since the monkey locked them in this godforsaken cupboard, she's actually glad that he can't see how red her face is undoubtedly getting. Damn it. I never blush...god, Emma, what the hell has gotten into you?

He chuckles low under his breath. "I am unfamiliar with the term karma, but if you're referring to some kind of retribution for the number of times I've been under lock and key thanks to you, I'd say you're probably not far off the mark, Swan." He sounds almost cheerful, despite the less-than-pleasant circumstances, and Emma has to bite her lip to keep from smiling too.

"Well, if we ever get out of here, I'll explain it to you," she concedes as she finally digs her phone out of her pocket. It's nearly dead, and the tiny screen doesn't do much to illuminate the closet. She squints down at it, sighing again. "No signal," she says, defeated.

"Does that mean you can no longer use it as a form of communication?" Hook asks, sounding interested. Slowly but surely, he's getting the hang of the modern world, but certain aspects still elude him. Its almost cute, the way he tries so hard, although Emma still vividly remembers the endless complaints she had to endure when she first got her memories back. He's getting the hang of the concept of cell phones, but god forbid if you suggest he use one himself…

"Basically. I can still try to get a text out, though, hang on—Shit!"

Emma watches, horrified, as the phone slides out of her grasp, the tiny square of light disappearing as it hits the floor. They both hold their breath, staring at the dark abyss before them, both of them realizing that by dropping it Emma has lost both their only light source and ability to communicate with the outside world. There's a beat, and then both of them lung forward, searching frantically, uselessly in the darkness, trying in vain to find her phone before one of them accidentally stepped on it…

"Damn it, I can't see a thing. Do you-KILLIAN JONES GET YOUR HOOK OUT OF MY BACK."

"Sorry, love!" Quickly, the pressure on her back is alleviated, leaving only a prickling sensation behind. There's a scuffling behind her as they clumsily trade places before reaching the same realization that their search is useless. "Damn it," Emma says once again, wishing she could sink down to the floor along with her phone. "There goes that."

"Are you all right?"

"Other than being a complete idiot, yeah, I'm fine."

He chuckles.

"And just what, may I ask, is so funny?" God, he was infuriating—so much so that in spite of herself, Emma can hear the smile in her voice as she looks at him.

"It just figures, is all."

"What?"

"That the very first time you call me by my proper name, you're yelling at me."

She gives a most-unladylike snort of laughter, and Killian is damned if it isn't one of the most endearing noises he's ever heard. She's not anything like he would have ever expected a proper princess to be, and he loves it…just as, he's known for a while now, he loves every damn thing about her.

"I'm not always yelling at you. But you deserved it this time."

"I daresay I did, love. I daresay I did."

She takes a hesitant step forward, shuffling her feet against the gritty floor of the closet just in case she can locate her phone that way. No luck. She shakes her head, discouraging both of them from searching further. "Just leave it. We're not gonna find it in here, not now. It's too dark. We'll just have to wait and see if someone comes to—"

Her words are suddenly cut off as her foot catches on something and she pitches forward. Instinctively her hands fly up in front of her, bracing herself so that she will be able to catch herself, but instead she feels Hook's arms wrap around her waist to steady her. Instead of the dark floor, it is his chest that she finds herself falling against as he pulls her up against him. "Easy there, love," he says gently, steadying her on her feet.

"Thanks." Is she imagining the way her heart seems to have sped up? How is it that this man, this pirate, this former villain is somehow more successful in tearing down the walls that she's spent 28 years trying to build up than anyone else she's ever met? Suddenly she's feeling things she never thought she would, and she's not sure whether to run away or into his arms. She finds herself watching him perhaps a little more closely than she should, almost squinting in the darkness. Emma can just barely make him out, watch his eyelashes brush his cheek as he blinks, finding herself leaning much more towards him than she probably should be…

Of course he notices. He always sees her, even when, it seems, she couldn't even see herself.

"What?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. His scent envelops her, rum and leather and soap and something else that's entirely his own, and that Emma finds she likes much more than she probably should. She swallows, looking up at him, able to just make out his face in the darkness as he blinks down at her, his arms still hooked around her waist.

"Nothing. I was just…"

"Just what, love?"

Her breath catches in her throat, and for a second she thinks about lying, but what comes out instead is the truth, and it surprises her. "I was just thinking of the last time you were close enough to kiss me."

"I wondered," he says, his voice seeming to go straight through her. "Am I in any danger of finding your knee in a place where it doesn't belong again?" He chuckles once again.

"No, not this time. I promise. Although…you can't really blame me, can you? What would you do if a stranger just walked up out of the blue and planted one on you?"

"But I wasn't a stranger." His entire being seems to slump, his grip on her waist loosening although he still holds her against him, and for a moment Emma hates herself for bringing it up in the first place. She should have known better…

"You're not now," she corrects him gently. "But you were then. I didn't remember you."

"Aye, you didn't." His voice is a bit more gruff now, the walls he's worked so hard to build up to keep people out—the same as the walls she has built up around herself—threatening to close down around him again. "That's why I tried the kiss. I just-I thought it would work—but I was wrong."

She looks up at him, jade eyes softening even though she's almost entirely sure he can't see them. "But didn't you know? True Love's Kiss doesn't work if the person doesn't remember it."

Now she's sure she can see the way his eyes widen at this news, the way his breath seems to still in his chest. "What?" he asks, his voice slightly shaky. "It doesn't?"

She shakes her head. "No. David told me. He said that…before they were married, Mary Margaret took a potion to try to forget him. He tried to get her to remember the same way you did…" she trails off.

"I take it he wasn't any more successful than I was, then?"

She smiles. "She knocked him out, I'm pretty sure. So I'd say no. True Love's Kiss…it won't work if the person doesn't remember loving—" She swallowed, the word you sticking in her throat, refusing to come out. "David really didn't tell you?"

When he speaks, he sounds sheepish, almost uncomfortable. "He may have mentioned something of the sort. I can't quite remember. I was too focused on what I had to do to find you…that was all I cared about. I had to find you."

"You did find me." Why does her voice sound so breathless? Why does it seem as if he is leaning closer to her than he was a second before? Why—

"Aye," he agrees, his voice a gruff whisper yet somehow tender as well in that way that only he seems to be able to pull off. "That I did. And you…you remember me."

She smiles up at him, unable to resist using the same words that he had spoken to her a lifetime ago. "Does that surprise you?"

She can practically hear the way he smiles, feel how his entire being seems to relax with certainty. "No," he said softly. "As I told you in Neverland, I have yet to see you fail. I knew you could do it, Emma. I never lost faith…" He closes his mouth before he accidentally goes too far, before he says something that might push her away again, but what he doesn't say lingers between them. I never lost faith in you.

She looks up at him, their faces only inches apart. "Good," she whispers. It's so similar to how they said their goodbyes a year ago, standing at the Storybrooke town line…and yet with one crucial difference. That had been the end of something. This…hopefully…was the start of something entirely new.

And it had taken being locked in a closet by a monkey disguised as her ex-boyfriend to put it all into motion.

What the hell is my life?

It's Emma who moves first, leaning forwards until their lips brush. Her arms come to rest on his shoulders before gently curling around his neck, similar to their first kiss in Neverland. His stubble tickles, scratches, invites her closer as he begins to kiss her back, his arms tightening around her to pull her closer. "Swan…" he whispers against her lips as he pulls away to breathe, before the two of them sink into another kiss, neither of them wanting to have to come up for air again. The taste of him, rum and spice, fills her mouth as their tongues meet, and she nibbles on his lower lip as he all but growls into her mouth. "You extraordinary woman, you…"

A few minutes later, when they hear the click of the lock and the tiny closet suddenly fills with light, that's how Gold and Regina find them—the Savior and Captain Hook, locked in a heated embrace as they kiss each other as if they were drowning. Regina's nose crinkles in distaste, and Gold gazes at them with mild curiosity before clearing his throat. The two break apart, looking as guilty as a pair of horny teenagers, and stand there, blinking in the light at their rescuers.

Regina rolls her eyes. "If the two of you are quite finished swapping saliva, I think we have a Wicked Witch to defeat."

Emma stares at her, mouth agape, apparently too shocked to speak. Hook, on the other hand, only grins.