Swallowed by the Sea

She watched as her parents, Tinkerbelle and Regina continued moving, walking the short distance to their designated campsite. A warm wave of relief swept over her and she sighed, putting a hand to her forehead as she tried to process the fact that they were one step closer to the Lost Boys, one step closer to Henry.

Tinkerbelle had infiltrated their camp and, while the tribe of young men had already left for their next camp, the fairy had discovered a map detailing their intended destination as well as the four after that. They were going to beat the Lost Ones to their next spot and, when they did, they would get Henry.

It was a small but much needed victory. And now he was just within reach, Emma could feel it – and it felt good.

"Not long now, Swan," Hook's lilting voice murmured beside her.

She turned, slightly startled, and found a small smile threatening the corners of her lips, tilting them up against her will as she met his ice blue eyes in the moonlight.

"Yeah," she answered simply, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

He smiled in return, a soft expression on his face as he studied her. And she couldn't help but feel warmth; this pirate, this man, was making it all possible. He was the one to offer his ship, overlooking a three century long vendetta to help her. He was the one who had disregarded all of his reservations to take her to a land she knew he hated. He was the one who had been steadfast in his belief that she would solve the identity puzzle of Pan's map – and distantly she felt as though he'd known the answer from the beginning, something about the way he regarded her at that time speaking volumes of understanding and an unwillingness to prompt her, knowing she needed to figure it out herself.

He was the one who had suggested they outsource Tinkerbelle. He was the one who had found a cure to David's near-fatal wound. He was the one who was consistently there, waiting in the wings with a bottle of rum and a strangely soothing, albeit teasing, comment.

Looking up into his mirth-filled eyes, she couldn't help the rush of gratitude as it took hold of her heart. She could feel her eyes soften as she regarded him, a curious look crossing his features as he registered her strange expression.

"Thank you," she said, cocking her head to the side and maintaining his gaze.

His eyebrows twitched together marginally and he shrugged diffidently, "I've told you before, Swan, I'm nothing if not a gentleman."

And the way he smiled down at her, soft and light, brought something bursting to the surface. There was a long moment of silence, just the two of them staring at each other like they were trying to solve a puzzle. And then, before she could second guess herself, Emma grasped the lapels of his jacket and pulled him forward. He stumbled towards her, his eyes wordlessly questioning her intentions before she answered him.

She leaned forward, capturing his lips in a tender kiss.

She could feel his surprise; his body going rigid as his eyes widened, shock emanating off him as she continued the exchange, the feel of his lips against hers nothing like she'd ever imagined. And then, as he seemed to realise, she felt him relax, his mouth moving gently against hers. They stayed like that for a moment longer, and she wondered what was going through his head, if the chaste action was resounding within him as much as it was her.

Emma was the one to pull back, her lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, breaking the kiss but not withdrawing completely, her forehead still pressed against his so their noses touched. Her eyes were still closed, the fear of looking up and breaking the moment so deeply instilled that she forced herself to look down, her eyes lingering on the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his breaths puffed warmly against her face.

She'd never been the type to linger but in that moment, with her lips still tingling and his face so close, she never wanted to leave. Her grip on the lapels of his jacket loosened ever so slightly and she fingered the leather, her eyes still glued to the thin material of his shirt.

She almost didn't feel his hand as if drifted up her arm, tracing an invisible line that left gooseflesh in its wake. His hand continued up over her shoulder until it was coming around the back of her head, tangling in her golden hair, and she felt herself being pulled forward again. Responding in kin, she gripped his lapels tighter and then their lips met for the second time.

His mouth slanted over hers and almost instantly she began to move, giving back as good as she got. There was an undeniable hunger in the second kiss, a fire roaring to life and consuming them both as they battled for dominance.

She felt like she was drowning, falling deeper into an abyss that smelt like rum and spice, tasted like sin, felt like leather and stubble.

And then the kiss deepened, her mouth opening to offer him entrance at almost the same he swiped his tongue along her lower lip. He plundered her mouth, the kiss a clash of tongues and teeth as she reciprocated just as fervently. The wet sound of their mouths moving in sync was the only noise in the air, interspersed occasionally with heavy breathing as they momentarily broke apart, only to delve straight back in.

Eventually though, they seemed to remember their place and the kiss became softer again, slow and languid until it was just a lingering press of lips. Her lungs burned and she gathered he was experiencing the same thing because they broke apart at the same time, gasping for breath. And again, she felt no desire to move. His hand still rested on the back of her head and her eyes flitted up to his hooded ones.

There was something there, something flickering in the icy blue depths, that made her chest constrict. She chewed her bottom lip for a long moment, haphazardly glancing at his slackened jaw and then meeting his eyes again. They didn't move, didn't speak, both afraid that any sudden motion would break it – whatever it was. Reality was biting at the back of her mind, a cruel voice reminding her of their mission, calling her out on her rash actions and demanding she focus entirely on Henry.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, opening them to find a pair that seemed to exude understanding. And it took her off guard, the simple empathy in his eyes as he untangled his hand and stepped back, her hands falling limp at her sides as she let go of his jacket.

Emma watched him as he levelled her with one last meaningful look before walking in the direction their troop had gone. She followed a second later, her mind reeling as everything came back into focus and she realised: he understood.

And that notion spurred something delicate and foreign to bloom in her chest.

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