"Hook. Give me your hand."
So, okay, they're in a tree-house hiding from the Lost Boys, they've been separated from everyone else. If anything goes wrong they will most likely die here – in a tree-house of all places – but despite the awful timing Emma can't help her grin.
Because… Hook is being so weirdly shy about this, scoffing and acting like it's no big deal, when the fact is, he took an arrow for Henry. And yeah, it only cut across his hand, but he still leapt to shove Henry out of the way (right into Snow's arms, and Regina put up a shield to cover their retreat, and everyone was shouting and running and Emma thinks they probably didn't notice she wasn't with them for at least ten minutes); Hook threw himself in front of an arrow for Henry.
"Aren't I supposed to ask your father's permission first, Swan? Do you have sufficient dowry prepared? I warn you, I'm greedy." So now he has a huge cut across his palm, and he's making lame innuendo because for some reason he doesn't want Emma to bandage him up.
(Why does she find that adorable, she's lost her mind.)
"And here I thought you'd go for the on bended knees joke," Emma mutters distractedly, fishing around in her pockets. Hook tuts, clearly disappointed he didn't think of that one in time. "Gimme your rum too, I know you have some."
"Honestly, Emma," Hook sighs – she glares at him until he tugs a flask out of an inner pocket, setting it down between them with a wince – "This is nothing to worry about. We should focus on making our way back to the ship before Pan's forces find us."
Where the hell is it, she knows it's there somewhere… "Yeah, well," Emma says. Left pocket, right pocket, back pockets, where the hell is it – "I can't just let you bleed out. You won't be any help without the use of your hand, and besides." A-ha, inside pocket of the leather jacket, of course – "Don't you know Lost Boys can smell blood?"
She isn't sure if it's her reference to last time, or the scarf she's pulled out of her jacket (description: long, black, soft, his) but Hook freezes. His eyes widen so slowly it's almost imperceptible. They are really quite – very blue and he saved Henry.
His fingers aren't soft, when Emma closes her hand around them. Like last time, they're rough from years of work, but warm, and fit too-well alongside her own. His jaw works a little, silently, his mouth twitching slightly like he doesn't know what to do with it.
She meant it as a sort of throwaway joke but she does have his same scarf and he looks struck down already and he saved Henry without a thought (that is not the sort of thing that can be repeated nearly enough). So Emma clears her throat and picks up the small bottle of rum.
Hook's breath catches audibly when she pops the cork with her teeth. He's staring at her like he's seen her every day for years but every time is still like the first.
(What the fuck is she even thinking, she sounds like Henry's book.)
(But, yeah – yeah, that's about the only way she can describe that look in his eyes.)
"What is this, Emma?" he asks in a low voice. Emma knows what he means, obviously, but she isn't quite sure how to explain that, and anyway, it fits her next line perfectly.
She upends the bottle over his hand. Hook flinches hard, but doesn't make a sound, and he doesn't look away from her.
"Rum," Emma smirks. "A bloody waste of it."
She looks down at his palm. The gash is pretty deep. It might need stitches, but that will have to wait. For now, Emma carefully lines up the scarf and starts to wrap it around Hook's hand.
"You think you're being amusing. You are not," Hook says, and she glances up at him. His face is blank but his voice isn't. There's this weird, tight edge to it, and he's staring at her like he wants to say a thousand other things but never will. Emma wonders for a moment if she's gone too far, mocking his earlier kindness like this – she doesn't mean it as a mockery, but maybe that's how he sees this.
(It was kindness. Sure, Anton wasn't actually the sort of giant to crush bones to make his bread, but Hook didn't know that at the time. He could have been self-serving and let the scent of her blood attract the giant, even just as bait for a trap, but he didn't do that. He treated her wound and looked her in the eye, and – it was a sort of kindness, then.)
But he hasn't yanked his hand away yet. In fact he's holding himself very, very still, his breathing shallow and eyes blazing.
"So here's the plan," Emma says, leaning in close and winding the scarf around his hand. "We wait here for the Lost Boys to get tired or move away from here. When they do, we'll sneak past them to the ship. Regina had Henry – that's where they'll be."
She pauses, knowing what comes next (how it affected her). Hook clearly remembers too, and he's watching her intently. Emma is aware that if she does this, it's no longer just a joke. She has two hands, after all; she doesn't need to use her mouth to tie the bandage. She doesn't have any excuse to do so.
Emma meets Hook's eyes as she bites and pulls. Slowly. Deliberately.
His voice is hoarse when he speaks a moment later, but the words are familiar. "And then?"
He's playing along. Emma can't help but stare in surprise, and it takes her a minute to say her line back. "And then… we run like hell back home."
Hook's hand shifts in hers, just slightly until the backs of his knuckles are brushing against her skin. He cocks one eyebrow; it would be a casual movement in any other situation. Now, it's saying: Home?
The only time Emma's ever had a home to get back to was the first time she met Hook. Back then, she'd run from him at the first chance because – because of this, their searing eye contact, the hairs on her arms standing up from the feel of his fingers against hers, this wordless understanding and bubbling tension – she'd run as fast and as hard as she could because she knew otherwise she'd be done for. Something about Hook pried her deepest secrets out of her lips, cut her to the bone as only one man had ever managed before – and they'd only been alone together for a few hours. She couldn't trust him then, couldn't trust any of what she was feeling, not when Henry was on the line.
But right now, Henry is safe. Emma doesn't trust Regina for much, but she is definitely keeping Henry safe right now. Snow and David might want to come find Emma, but they aren't going to leave the Evil Queen alone with Henry just yet so that buys her some time to get back to the ship before another rescue mission is launched. No, she knows where they all are right now, and she will find them. And even if she doesn't, well… Emma doesn't have any regrets. They needed a distraction in order to get away. She and Hook provided that, and now Henry is safe, with people who will always love him and protect him. That's all she wants for him.
And Hook's made that possible.
Hook came back for them, he gave up his revenge to bring them here, he guided them through a treacherous land, he put himself in danger to save Henry. He didn't think about it twice – and suddenly, it seems so easy for Emma to do the same.
When everyone else ran, she stayed behind. She helped Hook to his feet in the middle of a circle of bloodthirsty Lost Boys, and she fought with her back pressed against his until they found an opening and escaped into the forest together.
She cared for his injuries before going back to her family; she refused to disregard his wound because he got it for Henry, without a thought, for Henry and Emma can't ignore that. She can't ignore any of this anymore. She's – hell, trying something new, here, and the fact that she can remember almost every word he's ever said to her should be telling enough already.
Emma raises one eyebrow right back at Hook. She smirks too, for good measure, and repeats herself softly, "And then we all go home… Understood, Captain?"
He swallows, and his fingers twitch against hers. Almost automatically, Emma turns her hand against his, slipping it into a more natural grip. Their fingers interlock slowly, naturally, so easily and with such warmth Emma feels her heartbeat quicken.
Hook's lips part, just barely, and for a long time neither he nor Emma move. She can distantly hear the sounds of Lost Boys crowing to each other in search of them, she can feel her pulse thudding under her skin, his fingers sparking against her own – but she can't look away from his eyes. She can't tell what he's thinking. She can't tell what he's feeling, there's just too much emotion there to decipher; but whatever it is, Hook doesn't seem able to look away from her either.
When he finally does move, it's to tighten his grip on her hand - slowly, cautiously. His lips quirk up.
"Aye aye," Hook breathes, perhaps a little mocking, perhaps a little broken.
The bandage on his hand is warm and soft against the scar on Emma's, and his fingers tremble just-so against her own, and she won't be able to come back from this.
(She - she doesn't want to come back from this.)
They don't let go for a little while.