Killian watched David retreat from the campfire with Mary-Margaret at last, their hands entwined, whispering to each other-of what, he could not imagine, nor did he care. Regina had retired some time before, and he had been waiting for what felt like an eternity for Emma's parents to take their own leave. David shot him one glance over his shoulder, and Killian waved his hook in sarcastic acknowledgment, unable to help himself. The prince seemed to frown, although the expression was so fleeting Killian could not be certain. Shrugging a shoulder, he turned his attention back to the crackling fire in front of him. David had little to worry about now. Pan had seen to that.
Eyeing Emma surreptitiously, he struggled to utter the words that he had contemplated all day. Reaching instinctively for his flask of rum, he uncorked the bottle and lifted it to his lips. Hesitating as it came into focus again, he lowered the bottle and replaced the cork. Damn Pan, he thought, stashing the bottle back inside his coat. Damn him for everything.
"Someone spit in your rum?"
He looked up, startled to hear Emma speak. Since their arrival in Neverland, he had been the one to initiate most of their conversations. At any other time, under any other circumstances, he would have welcomed such initiative on her part. Now it only frustrated him, for any interest she might have developed in getting to know him in the future would be dashed the moment he related to her the news that Pan had dropped into his lap regarding Neal.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, trying to recover his wits.
"Your rum. I've never seen you take it out and put it back again without taking a drink. You act like someone spit in it when you passed it around today."
"Ah," he said, leaning back slightly as he shifted position, "well perhaps I've been a bit distracted."
A corner of her mouth quirked upward into the ghost of a smile. Gods, that smile. Even a fraction of it was dazzling in its brilliance. And worth more than all the treasure the giant had stored in his lair. "Is that a compliment?"
His heart skipped a beat. Was Emma flirting with him? No, it couldn't be. But then, hadn't she responded in kind to his flirting with that kiss earlier today? She had sworn it was a one-time thing, the implication being that it was solely as a thank you for saving David's life, but Killian had remained hopeful that it might develop into something more significant, whatever Emma insisted. Until Pan had appeared again, that is. Cursing the evil little shit in his mind, he steeled himself for what must be done.
"Don't take this the wrong way, love," he began, "but I've been having a think about something else." The soft smile evaporated, and his heart shuddered at the thought of what he must say next. "After you left, Pan appeared."
She stiffened visibly at the mention of her son's captor. "What did he want?"
He inhaled deeply. "He told me Neal is still alive, Emma. And he is here on this island."
Her expression became angry. "Is this about the kiss?" she hissed. "Are you playing games because you're angry that it was a one-time thing?"
"And what would I have to gain by such a thing?" he replied, remaining calm by sheer force of will, when all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and prove to her that the last thing he wanted to do was play games that would hurt her. "I'm telling you the truth."
"He's lying," she argued, taking another tack.
"No," he said, "I've known Pan a long time. He never lies. He might twist, bend, or mangle the truth in pursuit of his own goals, but he doesn't lie. If he says Neal is alive and on this island, then you can guarantee that he is."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Wouldn't you want to know?" he countered.
She was silent for a long time after that, staring into the fire as if her life depended on remaining riveted to this one small detail. Her expression was difficult to read, but Killian almost thought she looked frightened. "We have to get him back," she said at last, her expression never wavering from the fire for a moment.
"Aye," he answered, disappointed that she refused to look at him. The fact that he had expected Emma to distance herself from him all the more, to restore the walls he had been chipping at so relentlessly, did not make it hurt any less. "We will."