She was after revenge; she was after crocodile's skin. They needed her on their side for the moment and sadly, Emma thought, a pirate captain could be useful. Even if that pirate was freaking Captain Hook of all people. If she could only keep her mouth shut and stop flirting and talking to her like she knew Emma already, like she was an open book.

"… And I'm always a lady," her teeth dragged over the cloth to bind her wounded hand. The hook held Emma in place as the pirate looked right into her eyes, hair falling like jet curtains around her face, only making her eyes bluer. It took her breath away for an instant.

Emma knew from the start she was wild, even dangerous and yet absolutely dashing.

Emma never bought her crap for a second.

She could tie her up against a tree again for all that mattered.

.

"I have many a man's wife – and husbands, too," her smile was wide. "Angry men love to shout at me how I broke their marriages, and yet they came so willing to my arms. I'm sure they just can't handle their women seem to have a better time a few hours with me than the rest of their lives with them. Maybe I am a corrupter after all, I'm a pirate."

The way she licked her lips was sinful. A one-time thing, Emma had said, but oh, God, she was doing it so difficult.

"You'd make a hell of a pirate."

Emma ignored her; she had more important things to focus on. It was not the moment to think, and wonder what that feeling was every time she was next to Hook, even if her presence seemed to be mesmerizing and dragged her into something too dangerous.

Hook was dangerous, indeed, but not in the way Emma imagined her to be.

Much worse.

She walked away to let her tease her father. That was cool, that amused her, she could deal with something like that; she could even stand an overprotective father. Time ago, she thought she could deal with a flirting lady pirate, and she didn't want that to be shattered.

.

"I thought you didn't care about anyone, less anyone's opinion about you," Emma said.

The pirate's eyes were darker than ever and so hopeless, so deep, more sincere than ever. I care about you. Emma sensed the warmness on her knuckles and looked down to see Kyra's fingers stroking her. "Do you?"

"Who's Milah, on the tattoo?"

Emma knew she would never admit she cared about anything more than her revenge. Emma wanted to believe that; believing otherwise – was just terrifying.