Emma accepts the flask from Hook and takes a drink.
"So, how did you unlock the map?" he asks.
Emma looks at him for a moment, feeling the burn of rum easing into her system. Then, she shrugs and answers, "I did what Pan asked."
She knows what's coming next. She knows that he'll ask the question. Her mind flashes back to the beanstalk. He knew,even then, who she was. They had just met, but he knew immediately. It terrifies her, the way he can read her.
A moment later, he asks the question she had been waiting for, "Just who are you, Swan?"
She thought she'd been prepared for the question but - the way he asks… the husky tone to his voice, the sincerity in his eyes… that she hadn't been prepared for. Where's the innuendo? Where's the flirty manner he always uses when he speaks to her?
Her heartbeat picks up slightly as she meets his eyes and, for a moment, she wants to say, You already know… You've always known. You told me so while we were climbing that beanstalk, but she resists the impulse. Admitting to him (and to herself) just how much he understands her is not an option. She wants…. No, she needs to keep things light between them. She needs to keep him at a distance. So, she pretends not to notice his somber expression and answers with a slightly cocky, "Wouldn't you like to know."
Hook, of course, understands what she's doing. He may not realize that he already knows the answer to this question (and that he has always known) but he knows that she is deflecting and he's not going to let her get away with it – not this time.
So, he looks directly into her eyes and says, "Perhaps I would." There is a gleam in his eyes that she is afraid to analyze. Her heart skips a beat at his expression. As quickly as she can manage, she walks away from him, hoping that he doesn't see how panicked his words left her.
K&E
Emma glances across the loft to watch Hook making microwave popcorn. Her face lights into a smile as he waits with his eyes trained on the microwave, still a little in awe of the contraption (as he calls it).
Something in her heart twists at the site. They've been friends for months now. He has proven himself again and again. In Neverland, in New York, against the Wicked Witch…
When had he become her best friend?
The question comes unbidden to her mind and startles her a bit. Her best friend. Her confidante. Her partner. When did this happen and why doesn't it bother her? She doesn't really have many friends. She never has. Being in the foster system didn't really lend itself to lasting relationships. It seemed like every time she made a friend she was moved shortly after until making friends seemed pointless.
She knows he wants more than friendship. She sees it in the way he looks at her when he thinks she isn't watching. She's actually taken to watching him in mirrors so that she can see the unguarded expression without letting him know that she does... the adoration that he covers the moment she looks at him directly.
She had told him she needed time and he hasn't pushed, even though he's at her side almost constantly. Offering assistance, offering advice, even offering comfort when she needs it. Sure, he still flirts. He still quirks his eyebrow at her sometimes with that wickedly sexy smile on his face, but it's all for show. His innuendo laced banter is just part of him (and if she were completely honest, she'd admit it's one of her favorite parts). He makes her smile when she needs to… makes her roll her eyes when life gets too intense.
She's sure that some of the people in town assume that they are an item by now. She should probably care that rumors are running rampant about their relationship. She should want to set the record straight, so to speak. But the thing is: She wants everyone to see him for who he is now. She knows there are still some who see him as a vengeful pirate. If letting the people around town think that they are lovers makes it easier for them to accept him, then so be it. Considering everything he's done for her, it's an incredibly small price to pay.
She picks up her jacket where she had tossed it on the couch earlier and turns to hang it on its hook next to the door. Her eyes fall on his leather jacket, which he hardly ever takes off in front of anyone else, hanging next to hers. She smiles, he puts it on the same peg every time... His peg. His boots are perfectly lined up directly underneath it, as always. She turns to look at him again and, there he is, completely at home in her kitchen, making popcorn for with the movie she has picked out.
And when did he become so at ease in her apartment?
After she puts the movie into the player, she joins him in the kitchen. She pulls a bowl from the shelf and lays it on the counter as the microwave beeps. While he is opening the bag and pouring the contents into the bowl she sprinkles some extra salt on the snack. Then she turns to get them each a drink from the refrigerator as he throws the bag away and picks up the bowl. When she turns around, he has his hand out in front of her, offering her a few pieces of popcorn. Since her hands are full, she accepts by simply opening her mouth. He places one salty treat on her tongue and stuffs the rest into his mouth with a grin.
Then he turns and grabs them each a napkin and heads to his place couch. She follows behind him and takes her place next to him.
When did they agree which side of the couch was whose?
He places the bowl in between them as she unscrews the cap of his favorite drink… Snapple, of all things. She hands it to him and he passes her a napkin. She opens her own drink and they lean back on the couch in almost perfect unison. She starts the movie and both of them prop their legs up on the coffee table.
It suddenly hits Emma that they don't even need to speak when they are working together. They both seem to anticipate what the other is going to do to the point where words aren't even necessary. She'd read a long time ago in a magazine that one of the signs of a successful relationship was nonverbal communication. The article had said something about knowing each other's preferences and strengths and taking comfort in routines and… she couldn't remember the rest.
She always opens his drinks because they're not as easy to open one-handed. He opens the popcorn because you can't burn your fingers when your hand is a metal hook.
How long have they been a team?
Because that's exactly what they are. The realization doesn't scare her… which surprises her a little. She smiles to herself as she pops another kernel into her mouth.
The movie, a western she's seen a dozen times, can't seem to hold her attention tonight. She finds herself stealing sidelong glances at Hook. He really is striking looking but Emma has never been one to be impressed by looks. Her time as a bail bonds person taught her that even the prettiest faces could be untrustworthy. Looks have nothing to do with character. But Hook… She trusts with her life. She trusts him with her son's life.
When did she give him her absolute trust?
It had begun in Neverland.
But - of course, it was Neverland… he was the expert on Neverland, so she really didn't have much of an option then. And sure, he'd convinced her to drink that potion in New York but that wasn't because she trusted him so much as she sensed… something.
Still, only a few short weeks after that, she'd entrusted him with Henry's life. And, when the Wicked Witch had attacked, she'd trusted him to watch her back as they fought together. He has been there every time she has needed him.
She tries to draw her attention back to the movie. There's a big shootout between the Marshall and the outlaws that ends when the Marshall gets shot in the leg and the bad guys escape for the time being. Emma's eyes start to drift closed in exhaustion. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Hook pick up the now empty bowl between them and place it on the table. Then he takes the pillow that he has been leaning on and places it on his lap… an obvious invitation for her to lay her head down. He hadn't even glanced her way. He just knows her that well. She stifles a yawn and accepts his unspoken invitation, laying her head down on the pillow.
She smiles to herself as she feels his hand stroke her hair. It's a comforting feeling, like he does it without even thinking. She can tell he doesn't mean it in a sensual way (although she's sure he wouldn't mind if she took it that way). It's just natural for him to offer her affection.
When did she become so comfortable with his touch?
She wasn't at first, she remembers. When they were driving back from New York, he had tried to sooth her worries by stroking her arm, and while she hadn't stopped him, she hadn't been comfortable with it either. Back then, it had made her feel guilty because she knew how he felt. She thought that by accepting the comfort he offered, she was leading him on in some way. Especially after the emotionally charged hug she'd given him when her memories returned. She'd been so happy to see him… to remember him… and her parents… and even Regina.
It wasn't long after that, though, that she'd been hit with a wave of grief over the memories of her and Henry's life together. They weren't real. She had suddenly been back in that delivery room turning away from the most precious thing in her life and the anguish she felt almost sent her to her knees. He'd understood immediately. He had helped her cope with her lost life and guided her back to her real life, giving her everything she needed along the way- even before she knew she needed it. He read her so well.
How long has he been able to read her?
Well, this one is easy, she thinks to herself. He'd read her like a book since the moment they met. Knew who and what she was from their very first greeting, it seemed. Idly she tries to remember if there was ever a time that he hadn't been able to read her.
She thinks about it for a long time before her attention drifts back to the movie just in time to see the Marshall catch the outlaw he's been hunting for the better part of the last two hours and realizes she missed virtually the entire movie.
As the credits roll across the screen, Hook's hand stops stroking her hair and he reaches for the remote to shut off the player. He's very pleased with himself that he has figured out how to work her magic picture box. He knows that it's called a TV but he likes his description better and continues to call it that.
Emma is reluctant to sit up. She doesn't want to give up Hook's company yet. When she doesn't move, he goes back to stroking her hair softly, running his fingers through it until it flows completely tangle free down her back.
That's when she remembers what she was thinking about just before the movie ended. Slowly, she sits up and turns to face him.
"Do you remember when I unlocked the map in Neverland?" she asks.
Rather than answer her, he asks, "Is that what you've been thinking about all night?"
It surprises her (although it really shouldn't by now) that he knew her focus wasn't on the movie.
"No," she tells him, "I was actually thinking about a lot of things."
"And the map in Neverland was on the list?" he asks, a bit of surprise in his voice.
"Sort of," she hedges, "You asked me a question after I unlocked the map. Do you remember?"
"Aye," he says turning on the couch so that he was facing her better.
"I never answered it… your question," she hesitates, not sure why she started this conversation.
"And you want to answer it now?" he asks softly, looking a little confused.
She leans on the back of the couch in an exact mirror of his stance, her arm propped up on the back with her head in her hand. "Actually, you already knew the answer."
He stares at her a little incredulously, "I'm not sure I know what you mean, love."
"I was thinking earlier about how you've always been able to read me," she tells him, "You can tell what I'm thinking… even when I don't want you to." He smirks and she lowers her gaze. "You answer my questions before I even ask them sometimes," she adds and meets his eyes again. Then, taking a deep breath, she continues, "But you couldn't read me that time. You asked me who I was that day. But you already knew who I was. You told me on the beanstalk."
He looks at her for a moment before his eyes fill with understanding. "Of course," he says softly, "Of course Pan would use that. He tried over and over again on that island to break the bond between you and those closest to you. It's the same principle as the Echo Cave."
Emma had never thought of it that way but he was right.
"I'm sorry, darling. I should have known. With Pan, everything was about making people feel like the worst version of themselves."
"No – that's not why I brought this up. I don't need or want an apology. I just… I wanted to tell you… I wanted to explain…"
What was she trying to tell him? She doesn't really know -
"Thank you, Emma," he says, before she can even finish her thought and in those words she hears understanding. He understands why she's telling him this even if she doesn't.
How is that possible?
She holds his gaze for another minute, hoping that she can see her own reasons reflected back to her in his eyes - then she sees it.
No more walls. She doesn't want or need any walls when it comes to him.
Her eyes widen as she realizes it but Hook says nothing. He just gives her a knowing look, stands up and gathers the popcorn bowl and their empty drink containers to throw away. She watches him as he takes everything to the kitchen. And in that moment, she realizes something.
How long have I been in love with him?
It hits her like a ton of bricks. This man, this pirate, has done what he promised. He has won her heart. Now it's time to panic.
She waits for a minute, her gaze focused on the arm of the couch, waiting for the panic to set in, expecting it to. She takes two long, deep breaths and closes her eyes, waiting, waiting…
But the panic never comes.
Finally, she opens her eyes to see Hook leaning casually against the kitchen island, looking at her. His relaxed stance is in direct conflict with the intense look on his face. He's waiting, too, she realizes… waiting to see if she will panic.
Slowly, she stands, her eyes never leaving his. Her lips curve into a smile. She takes a step toward him and sees him mirror her movement. Then she's closing the distance and so is he. He says her name as they collide into each other. Their lips meet with burning intensity as he spins her around.
Every thought leaves her mind as her body becomes awash in the sensation of being in his arms. His lips pressing to her neck, her jaw, her shoulder. His arms encircling her, lifting her. His words praising her, caressing her, enticing her. It's not until she feels herself being lowered onto her bed that one last question comes to mind:
How did they get up the stairs?