I don't OUAT, unfortunately, those guys are making a mint!

Chapter 1

The last rays of a setting sun cast a supernatural red glow over everything in the harbor. The quiet calm of the water barely lapping the bottoms of the ships whispered into the still air that all was well and right and good. An occasional groan of flexing wood was the only noise to disturb the tranquil evening.

Everything was peaceful, except his mind, and as if she had heard his thoughts, she materialized onto the deck of his ship.

She found him with his feet propped on a small barrel, leaning back against the railing of the deck. He was drinking, with a scowl on his face that complemented his depressing thoughts.

When he realized she was there, actually physically present, his mouth opened in surprise. He had no idea what she was doing there, her being so unexpected, like a phantom conjured at a witch's summons.

"What can I do for you, Swan?" he asked, taking a long draught from the flask he was holding.

Trying to answer, and looking unsure of herself, his expression softened.

"I don't know. I felt… I felt..." She had felt that he needed her, but how could she say that to him?

He watched her flounder, looking like the orphan she was, sad and lost in thought. "It's going to sound stupid, but I knew you were here, thinking about… her…Milah. I thought you might like some company."

"Well, love, I don't know that companionship is the only thing on my mind," he smirked, "although if you'd care to join me for a drink, I'd be happy to share." He gestured to the deck next to him, inviting her to sit.

Unsure and slightly nervous, Emma accepted his invitation, placing herself on his right side, with a foot of space between their bodies. Hook removed his feet from the barrel, bent his knees in front of him, rested his hook on his legs, and handed Emma the flask.

She took a sip of the strong drink, wincing as it burned the back of her throat. What was she doing here? How could she possibly explain this to Mary Margaret or David, or even Henry? They'd been fighting Pan consistently for weeks (or was it months?), and she was tired of fighting—of fighting Regina for her son, of fighting the acceptance of her parent's love, of fighting Pan for her son's life, of fighting the past that Neal's presence constantly brought to mind, and of fighting her feelings for Hook.

And there it was, sitting in companionable silence, sharing a drink with the pirate, that Emma finally admitted to herself that she had feelings for him.

The knowledge sent an electric shock through her.

Hook watched her as she sipped his rum, gazed at her lips closing around the top of the flask, wishing he could be that same bottle. She looked pensive and tired. He could tell she was struggling with something, and that she would talk in her own time. He intended to let her have all the time in the world; when he had told Bae he was in it for the long haul, he had meant it.

Then suddenly, he felt magic. He had felt it before, especially when he was working with Cora—he recognized the tingle and the pop, well, almost a pop; it was hard to describe. He looked at her and noticed the faint glow that surrounded her. She looked bewildered, as though she didn't realize she was the source.

"What was that?" she asked, almost scared to know the answer.

Always quick with a reply, he grinned, "True love?" His ridiculous facial expression instantly broke the tension.

She almost laughed out loud, punching him on the shoulder and smiling. It was a good thing, or she might have fled from the realization that hit her like a ton of bricks.

As the rum warmed her belly and calmed her body, she relaxed next to him. It was visible, he noticed the way she slouched a bit more and stretched out her legs. She was wearing her favorite boots, tight jeans and tank top—her typical uniform, not that he was tired of it. Imagining what was under those tight-fitting trousers had set his mind ablaze on more than one occasion. Schooling his thoughts so that he didn't jump her then and there, he asked, "So what's on your mind, milady, which sent you down here this evening?"

Taking her time answering, not knowing how much she should share with him, she simply said, "It's complicated."

"Emma, you know you can trust me?" He meant it as a statement, but it came out as more of a question.

"I know."

And then she spilled it. Not knowing whether it was the rum, the warm night, the quiet water lapping against the base of the ship, or maybe that she finally knew, really knew, that she could trust him—with her life, with her son, and with her emotions—she told him, "Neal asked me out on a date, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Before he fell through the portal, after he was shot, and I was sure he was going to die, I told him I loved him, and I meant it. I did love him… I…I do love him…And …"

Her declaration gave him hope, although he didn't move, not wanting to break her train of thought. It was unusual for her to open up, and he didn't want her to stop.

"And…," he said.

"And, well, I don't know quite what to do with you." There. She'd said it. She stared at the flask, willing him to say anything that didn't make her feel like a fifteen year old telling a boy in her class that she liked him. It was the closest she had ever come to giving Hook a verbal confirmation of the kiss they had shared in Neverland.

"I might have some ideas…," he declared cheekily. She looked at him then, knowing she had left herself wide open for that one, and grinned, watching as his bright blue eyes lit up with mischief. She relaxed against him then, not saying anything, just resting her head on his shoulder and scooting her legs next to his. He lifted his arm and put it around her, so that her face was on his chest. She curled into him, feeling safe for the first time in years. He started tracing circles on her thigh, enjoying the feel of her softness next to him.

Sitting in silence, they stared out at the water, or what they could see of it through the upright rails on the other side of the ship. The moon was full and the sky was clear. It really was a beautiful night.

Emma handed the flask back to Hook.

"About bloody time," he said, smiling and shifting so he could take another drink.

"Hey, I was distracted." She smiled too, enjoying the comfort of the quiet night. Hell, who was she kidding. It was the comfort of a certain pirate.

"Glad to be of service, milady."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Sitting in the crow's nest of a ship on the opposite side of the harbor, a woman watched the couple with an odd mixture of remorse and glee. Even though the night air was as still as the calm before a storm, there was always a slight breeze blowing around her, as though she commanded the wind with her mere presence. She was dressed in black, blending into the dark night as though it was part of her. No one knew she existed unless she wanted them to.

Please give this fiction a chance-it takes about three to four chapters for things to really start moving... And all reviews are welcome!