A/N Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I'm so happy :) I stupidly managed to submit the wrong (though similarly titled) story from Document Manager and replace the story that I had published here, and a combination of unlikely reasons meant I no longer had it saved anywhere else. So it seemed to be lost forever. Was gutted. But thanks to a suggestion from Hippothestrowl to Google specific phrases, I was able to piece it back together again. So, here it is again and big, big thank you for their help!

Hope you enjoy.

Five Times Hook Kissed Emma

The first time they kissed, it was Emma who began it.

The quest they undertook together on the beanstalk prompted a pattern they cemented in their time on Neverland.

Hook was used to the badinage, the interplay, the verbal ripostes; the playful step forward then the rapid step back when he pushed too hard or got too close.

The exchange following the group toast, after he had helped save Charming's life, had begun that way. She in a rare moment of softness expressing sincere gratitude; he immediately pushing for more, roguishly teasing.

"Please – you couldn't handle it."
"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it."

He'd expected her to roll her eyes, to say something emasculating, to walk away. So, he was totally taken by surprise when she grabbed him by the collar and hauled his lips to hers.

What had followed had broken all their previous patterns of interaction: no fight for dominance, no fear of surrender, no wariness of betrayal; it was an exchange between equals. It was a moment of unbroken connection and perfect understanding.

When she broke the kiss, when he surfaced, that was when he realised his feelings had moved far beyond attraction.

The second time they kissed, it was Hook who initiated it.

Overwhelmed by his feelings when the door opened to reveal her; overflowing with a heady brew of desperation, exhilaration and hope. A desperate hope that the kiss might prove magical, might restore her memories, might bring his Swan back to him.

"I was hoping you felt as I did."

Hook had long cherished aspirations that he might one day entice Emma to a more intimate relationship, but the fiery embrace her knee gave to his most sensitive area wasn't quite what he'd had in mind.

The third time they kissed, it was at Emma's instigation; she did not recall the two kisses that preceded it.

When he'd first appeared, she'd been convinced the guy was a nut job, an impression not helped by his apparent fetish for costumes. The stories he told continued to be – literally – beyond belief, with their enchanted forests, giant beanstalks and wicked witches. But when they had received that strange red poppy in the mail and Henry had somehow been deathly allergic, falling into a coma... well, it was the most frightened Emma could ever remember being.

The doctors had had no answers, could offer no hope. It was this man, this stranger, this "Killian", who had urged her to kiss her son, swearing it would save him. Emma had never been one for blind leaps of faith, but it was amazing what desperation could drive you to.

When Henry had gasped out a breath and then fallen into a natural sleep, she had flung herself into the stranger's arms, flying high on excitement, gratitude and relief. He had looked at her with such tender concern, such joyous delight… and she'd felt a strange tug of connection, a tendril of attraction that curled in her belly like a hook. She was drawn to this man in a way she didn't understand.

Thirty years of living had taught her to be wary; Henry had long since been the only person she had given or would give her heart to, but her gut feeling, her in-built lie detector that had only played her false when it came to his father, was telling her she could trust this man.

For Henry's sake, she couldn't take the chance she was wrong. But one kiss – to express her gratitude, to ease some of the pain in those sea-blue eyes – one kiss couldn't hurt.

Could it?

The fourth time they kissed, Hook was dying.

He'd saved them all – saved the realm – but it had come at a price. It was he who managed to trick the Wicked Witch into restoring Rumpelstiltskin, and once returned, Gold had brewed a potion and put it in Hook's hip flask. Emma had taken a swig... and every lost moment had come flooding back.

Hook had given her back her family, had restored her life in every sense of the word, and now he was dying for it.

His magically reinforced hook had taken the witch through the heart, but her last curse had hit its mark even as she died, sending him flying through the air with a yell of agony.

Emma watched him fall in silent, open-mouthed horror. For a moment, she couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Then she found her voice in a shout of terror and denial:

"Hook!"

She raced to his side and gently turned him over, sucking in air as she saw the damage. The curse had blasted a hole through his torso, which was still lightly smoking.

His skin was a ghastly grey, his eyes screwed shut with pain, but he roused slightly at her touch, as she spoke his name once more, this time an entreating whisper.

Grimacing, he tried to smile, but it was a pale imitation of the roguish one she remembered, that she had finally remembered too late:

"Hello, beautiful."

"Hook, hold on. You're going to be fine."

"You hero-types – always so full of hope." His voice was shockingly weak.

Emma was dimly aware of the others drawing round them, forming a tableau of shock, dismay or grief as disposition dictated. "You just saved the whole realm – who's the hero now?" she teased. Hook tried to laugh but started to cough; Emma spoke firmly. "You're going to be fine. You just need to hold on."

"Emma, love – listen. Please, listen. I'm glad I have this last chance to say it before I die–".

Emma's face and tone became coldly stern. "Don't talk like that – no deathbed declarations. You're going to be fine." But she could see the light in his eyes was beginning to dim. Words began to pour out of her in a desperate babble:

"Hook? Hook! Hold on! Rumpelstiltskin will help you! Gold – GOLD!"

Mr. Gold stepped forward, his expression solemn, perhaps even a little regretful. "I'm sorry, Miss Swan – there's nothing I can do to help him." Emma's voice became fierce, though she spoke quietly: "You owe him. He saved you – saved all of us. Now you save him!" Gold just looked at her, with pity in his eyes.

Emma turned desperate eyes on Regina. "Regina – please."

Regina shook her head. "There's no time." Her expression was deeply sympathetic, an expression that once would have been wholly out of place, before she met the archer at her side, hand entwined with hers.

Disbelieving, refusing to give up, Emma turned to look at Mary Margaret, whose eyes were brimming with tears. "Emma," she said quietly, "don't waste what time you have left. You should say goodbye."

Something inside Emma quailed. If her mother had lost hope... She turned back to look at Hook... just as he shuddered and fell still.

Emma's eyes rounded in horror... then narrowed in sudden fury. "No. No! I'm not done yet! You're not done yet." She hauled him off the ground by his collar and crushed her lips to his, channelling all her grief, all her helplessness and all her fury at that feeling, all her fury at him for daring to leave her, into it.

She didn't let up until she felt him shudder beneath her, drawing in a breath... then another... and another. Then she drew back a little, eyes tracking down his body to see flesh whole and perfect once more.

Meeting his eyes she breathed for what felt like the first time in years, breathed him in like she had done in Neverland all those months before. When she spoke again the words were a promise, a threat, a vow: "We're not done yet."

His eyes, vivid blue once more, crinkled in tender amusement, sparked with wondering delight:

"As you wish."

The last time they kissed it was a celebration. All the kingdom was present.

Prince Charming had kissed her forehead in blessing, then laid her hand in Hook's; Henry had gleefully borne the rings, only dropping them once; Emma had even agreed to wear one of those long, flowing dresses her mom was always trying to get her into.

She called him Killian in the vows. She was slowly learning to call him that, at his request. (Though he still liked her to call him Hook in certain... intimate situations. Go figure.)

As Jiminy pronounced them married, his face beaming its delight, the mostly-reformed pirate pulled his bride into his arms and sealed the promise the best way he knew how... Until the congregation started to giggle and David pointedly coughed.

After that... well, after that, they stopped counting their kisses. There were simply too many to number.

Fin