Author's Note: The idea for this came from an interview Jennifer and Colin gave. Jennifer made this remark about there being ways other than a kiss to be intimate. Colin's blush was absolutely adorable! He he. At any rate, I couldn't shake the idea of intimacy without kissing and alas this little bit of was born. Not smutty, but it does represent 'true' intimacy IMO. I adore critiques, whether they be flattering or suggestions on how to improve. Thanks for reading!

The pounding in Emma Swan's head kept tempo with the racing of her heart. She was starting to understand why people said ignorance was bliss. The last year had certainly been blissful. No curses. No fairy tale icons for parents. No flying monkeys or evil witches with mommy issues. And certainly no sexy pirates clad in leather making her girly parts feel things they had no business feeling. At least not with him. She let out a half growl, half sigh and fumbled for the key to her room above Granny's dinner. A hot shower. That was what she needed. A long, hot shower where, hopefully, the water washed away the ugliness of the day. "Come on," she muttered, trying to get her shaking hands to insert the key into the lock. She let out a frustrated cry as it fell to the floor. Crouching down, she curled her fingers around the old brass key with it's swan engraving. Her body tensed as she heard someone coming up the stairs. Keeping the key curled in the palm of one hand, she reached for her gun with the other.

"Having a bit of trouble there, love?"

It would be him. She let the hand hovering over the gun fall to her side. Didn't he know he unsettled her in ways flying monkeys never could? Oh, why couldn't he just leave her alone? "I'm fine," Emma lied, letting out a silent shout of victory as she managed to properly insert the key and unlock her door. "Just been a long day." Hint, hint. Go away. Let me and my girly parts be.

"That it has," he agreed, following her into her room.

Killian Jones, better known as Captain Hook, was either extremely obtuse or he didn't care that she wasn't in the mood for company. Since he was one of the most observant men Emma knew, she was laying odds on the latter, rather than the former. "What do you want Killian?" she asked, shrugging out of her black leather jacket. She laid it over the back of a chair before sitting on the edge of her bed and bending to untie the laces of her combat boots. With Henry staying with Regina, she was looking forward to not only a long, hot shower, but going to bed early. Being 'the savior' wasn't just physically challenging, it was emotionally draining as well. Everyone expected her to save them. Well, what about her? Who was going to save her from over doing it? Nobody, that's who. She had nobody. Henry wasn't old enough to bear that burden. Neal was dead. Her parents were all wrapped up in her new baby brother and keeping Zelena from taking him for her nefarious plan. There had been a time she had trusted the man standing a few feet from her, but after he kept the curse Zelena cast on him from her, she knew he couldn't be trusted. No man could.

"I wanted to be sure you were alright." He quietly closed the door before leaning back against it. Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, Emma told herself to stay focused on removing her boots. She wasn't going to look at him. She wasn't going to let her girly parts turn to mush just because he looked hot as hell in those tight leather pants and that open neck shirt. Pirates were supposed to look grimy. They were supposed to have skin that was dried out from to much time on the open seas. Their hair was supposed to be long and oily, or maybe even done in those dreadlocks. They weren't supposed to be young, with piercing blue eyes, soft black hair, and a smile that made her melt.

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine. So now you can go." Yanking off one boot, she tossed it in the general direction of the closet. No point in putting them in their place. She would just be pulling them back on in a couple hours. With Zelena on the war path, she couldn't afford more than a power nap.

"Oh, you'll not be rid of me that easy, Swan." She didn't have to look at him to know he was smirking. There was always a smirk just waiting to form on Killian's full lips. His lips. Her stomach tightens. Even if she wanted to kiss him, she couldn't. Zelena had seen to that. Not that she did. Want to kiss him, that is. She didn't. She couldn't trust him. He'd kept something important from her. He'd tried to take Henry to New York. His heart was in the right place. She wanted to tell the little voice in her head to shut up. Even if it was right.

"I'm exhausted. I have flying monkey parts in my hair. There's a crazy witch with mommy issues trying to use my new brother in some weird time changing spell. I just...I want..." Her shoulders slumped. What she wanted was impossible. A normal life. Maybe if she'd never drank that potion Killian had given her in New York she could have lived blissfully ignorant for the rest of her days. Yes, thinking you're in love with a man who is really a flying monkey. She couldn't help but make a face and fight back the bile that always formed in her throat when she thought about Walsh. It was a bit disturbing to remember that she had been intimate with a man who turned into a flying monkey. Her only solace was telling herself Walsh had once be human. "I want New York," she whispered, knotting her hands together in her lap. New York wasn't exactly what she wanted. It was what New York represented it. A happy, normal life.

"You don't want New York, Swan," he contradicted. Eyes narrowed, she shot him a hard look. She wanted to make some snarky remark about him not knowing her well enough to make that sort of call, but she couldn't. She couldn't come up with a flippant response because the son of a bitch was right. She didn't want New York, not literally. She wanted what the place had come to represent: a normal life where she had a home.

"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean I want Storybrooke either." There. She had finally said it. She didn't want Storybrooke and all the ridiculous drama that came with it. Perhaps she had been born in their world, but she had been raised in this one. All the things the residences of Storybrooke took as normal weren't normal by 'real world' standards. It was more than she could handle at times.

She felt the bed shift as Killian sat next to her. She expected some sort of argument from him on how she was the Savior and she belonged in Storybrooke with her family. It never came. He wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, careful not to scrape her cheek with his hook, and then used his right hand to press her head against his shoulder. She fought the comforting embrace for a moment before relaxing against him. She buried her face against his neck, her eyes squeezed shut as tears trickled from beneath her lashes. A slight trembling started in her body that slowly manifested into a full blown convulsion as twenty-eight years worth of not knowing who she was, what she wanted, or how she was going to figure it all out came rushing to the surface. The pain-filled sobs that echoed in the room sounded like they belonged to some wounded being but they could only be her own. She was only half-aware of Killian murmuring that it would be alright. Her fingers curled into the lapel of his black duster, clutching the leather as though her life depended on it. And then, just as quickly as the weakness came, it left. She pushed away, raising her hands to her damp face and wiped at the tears with her finger tips.

"Feel better?"

Tossing her hair back, Emma stared at him. She should feel something akin to anger that he had pushed her into a break down, but all she felt was relief. He'd known what she needed and he'd held firm until she had it. Raising two finger tips to her own lips she pressed a kiss against them before gently pressing those same fingertips against his lips. "Much better," she said softly. "Now, let's go kick some Wicked Witch ass!"