Emma was digging through her sock drawer furiously, worry etched on her face. She's been itching for a reread since they'd returned from Neverland, to rid herself of the memories of that place, but her copy of Peter Pan was nowhere to be found.

It normally sat in her sock drawer, her only precious possession she owned. It had been given to her at one of her nicer foster homes after the woman had read her the story. She fell in love with the idea of a place where abandoned children were always cared for and loved. She longed for it, but Peter never came for her and because of it, for a few years of her childhood, she hated being a girl.

She asked Mary Margaret and David if they'd seem it, but they were no help. She asked Henry and he hadn't seen it since before being taken to Neverland. Frustration burned in her, so she grabbed Henry's book, excused herself before making her way to the docks.

She knew she hadn't read all of Henry's book, and she'd been told Neverland had been happy once. If she couldn't read her version, she had to hope the happier times were in Henry's book.

She flipped through the pages, passing story after story that she'd already read with Henry, until she finally happened up on a picture of a flying boy with pixie dust flying off the back of him. She was happy to see the tale of the boy before he'd left his shadow behind to terrorize the island. She'd barely read a few words before she heard the clopping of boots on the wood and the seat next to her was taken.

"Remarkable that someone made a book of all those stories, eh, love?" the pirate's voice flowed through the air. "Who wrote them?"

"I don't know. Henry got it from Mom when the curse was still here. And she got it from their school library. So, who knows?" Emma tore her eyes from the book to look at Hook. A knowing smile was on his face. "What is that look for?"

"I have a gift for you," he said, leaning toward her a bit.

"A gift? Why?"

"For…letting me be apart of something. For not pushing me away anymore. For letting me in." As he finished, he reached into the breast pocket of his coat, pulling out a leather bound book. He passed it to her, a hopeful look in his eyes.

She accepted it, confused as to why he was handing her a book. Her hands ran over the cover before opening it and gasping. It was the worn pages of her copy of Peter Pan. A smile—a true smile—crept up her face as she flipped through the familiar pages of her book. She looked up at him, trying to find words, but no words coming.

"I had asked Henry what I could do for you, and he told me of your book. He didn't know why, but said it was important to you. I had it rebound for you so it would last a bit long-"

His words were cut off when Emma pulled him into a tight embrace, letting her hold on him say all the words her mouth couldn't convey. He sat there, shocked, before relaxing in her embrace, wrapping his arms back around her as well.

She let out a breath, a contented sigh of a noise before she pulled back, leaning into him to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."