He feels vaguely voyeuristic, watching Snow and Charming hug their daughter and Henry have a heart to heart with Regina. But there is nothing in any world that would keep him from being there to say goodbye to Emma Swan as she's about to walk out of his life forever.

With her skin like fresh cream and her hair shining like gold in the wintery sunlight, she'd never looked more beautiful than she does in this moment. And maybe there's some masochism in him too, because this hurts worse than losing his hand—worse than watching Rumplestiltskin crush Milah's heart. (And now the Crocodile is dead but there's still a hole in his chest, left empty and wanting, and maybe now he can finally admit to himself that it wasn't as much about vengeance as it was having a reason not to throw himself into the sea with her body.)

He wasn't even sure it was possible for him to love again until he met Emma Swan—until she left him chained on the top of a beanstalk and he realized all he wanted to do in retaliation was kiss the living daylights out of her. And now she's about to get in that strange yellow vehicle and leave him once more.

He's already spent nearly three hundred years living with the pain of one lost love. He doesn't think he can do it again.

So when Emma turns to say her goodbye to Baelfire—Neal, gods that still takes some getting used to—Killian doesn't hesitate to wrap his good hand around Regina's arm and pull her in close.

"What the—"

He keeps his voice low and straight to the point. "I was never part of the original curse. I can cross the town line without losing my memories. Is it possible—"

Regina's no idiot, and she sees where he's going before he can even finish his thought. "Are you insane?" Her eyes blaze with fire, reminding him of another woman he knew a long time ago. "You'd bet your life on the slimmest of technicalities? Do you have a death wish or something—"

"Could it work?" he asks, cutting her off before she can spew any more ridicule. "Could. It. Work?"

She falters. "M-maybe. I don't know." Then in a split second the fire and brimstone is back, and this is the woman he remembers from the Enchanted Forest, the one who sent him through a portal to kill her own mother so she wouldn't interfere. "But it's a risk I'm not willing to take. Not if it means potentially putting Henry's happiness in jeopardy."

"Henry will be fine. He's a good kid." His desperation must be leaking off of him like liquor after a particularly boozy night, but he doesn't care.

Gritting his teeth, he lowers his voice and his dignity even further. "Please, Regina. There's no going back there for me." He can see her eyes flicker with recognition, and continues, "If you think it's a deadly risk then fine. This is a price I'm willing to pay."

She's silent for a long moment, making him painfully aware of how little time they have left before this damned curse arrives. If this gamble isn't going to pay off, he sure as hell doesn't want to spend his last few moments in Emma's presence standing here talking to Regina.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost misses it when she says, "If I do this, you have to promise me you'll protect Henry."

For the first time in over three hundred years, Killian's heart is light. "Aye."

Regina's is clearly not, and there's steel in her voice that can't be ignored. "I mean it. No matter what Emma might think of you—and I can't promise what kind of memories she'll have of you—you stay close and keep my son safe. Otherwise no deal, got it?"

He nods, fully aware he would agree to just about anything to get what he wants now. No matter that he doesn't know the first thing about life in this land. He'll learn. For her. He would do anything for her.

The queen pulls away from him before he gets a confirmation, so now he'll just have to trust that she'll keep her word.

"My gift to you is good memories. A good life for you and Henry."

"You would do that?" The disbelief so clear in Emma's voice makes his heart ache. This woman should never have known such little love and kindness in her life. She shouldn't be forced to do this, to leave her family just after finding them again. It only furthers his resolve to risk everything for this chance—to be the one person who never leaves her.

As Snow White goes to hug her daughter one last time Regina takes a step backward and meets his eyes, nodding her head almost imperceptibly. Relief floods his veins, stronger than any liquor.

Emma's eyes fill with tears and he wants nothing more than to scoop her into his arms and kiss them away. How exactly am I going to do this? he wonders, watching her lift her chin and stride toward the yellow death trap.

The green smoke is coming closer, thick and bilious. Snow, Charming, and Bae wear pained expressions, but their eyes never waver from the car as it starts to move. Regina pulls apart the scroll and the two halves begin to glow purple. She bundles them into her hands, closing her eyes in concentration… then turns around and glares at him with glowing hands.

"What are you waiting for?" she snaps. "Go!"

And before anyone can realize what he's doing Killian runs, faster than he's ever run in his not-so-short life, until his feet are well past the red-painted line and there's nothing behind him but trees and empty road.

He waits for lightning to strike him dead where he stands, some kind of sign from fate that he can't bend the rules and make his own happy ending, but when nothing happens he lets out the breath he's been holding since Regina told them what it would take to stop the curse. The yellow car is retreating further into the distance but he's not worried. The worst is over now.

And then, miraculously, the car stops.

He starts running faster, heart racing in anticipation and also in fear that Regina's spell won't have worked, that she won't know who he is. It doesn't matter, I'll make her remember… she's my swan, my happy ending, I'm not losing her, not again…

"Killian?" she shouts into the wind. His heart seizes at the sound of his name on her lips—his real name, the one he hasn't heard in so long—her voice like the ring of a bell. "What are you doing out here?"

He crosses the last few feet to her side, reaching out to touch her hand, to reassure himself that she's really there and not a mirage. "I'm not entirely sure, love," he says honestly.

"Do you need a ride back to the city?" She looks up at him with those green eyes, so big and beautiful and trusting. That's what's different about her now—she's lost some of that permanent skepticism, some of that hard edge built up from years of being alone. Having love in her life softened her, made her more open to letting people in.

It's not real. The reminder that this is the work of magic prickles at the back of his head like an unruly thorn in his side. He pushes it aside like the minor bother it is. If there's one thing that's said about Captain Hook that is one hundred percent true, it's that he can be extraordinarily selfish.

"That would be wonderful."

Bae—Neal—might be Henry's father, but what's he doing now? Nothing. Accepting that they'll be separated again, with only a vague promise of finding their way back together.

Killian loves her enough to fight for her.

Now all he can do is hope that will be enough.

It takes some time to figure out who he's supposed to be—he can't exactly ask Emma without giving himself away—but eventually he gets it down.

In this world, Killian Jones is a bartender who used to be a sailor in the US Navy, and lost his hand in a recreational boating accident. He knew Emma Swan in high school, then met her again about a year ago in New York City when she was working as a cop and he got arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct. Though she resisted his initial attempts at rekindling a friendship, not wanting him to be a bad influence on her son, eventually he wore her down.

It's remarkably similar to their real story—minus the beanstalks, dark wizards, and Neverland, of course—even in the way that they're still just friends, albeit friends who engage in some seriously flirtatious banter. In a way, Killian appreciates that part. Though he would have loved for Emma to immediately hop into his bed he doesn't like the thought of magic having anything to do with it. He wants to earn her love, for her to make the choice to be with him freely of her own will.

So while he waits, he adapts to city life—learns to navigate the subway, use laundry machines, and pay for things instead of just taking like the pirate he used to be. He can't wear his hook anymore, obviously, and though he tries to get used to a prosthetic hand he eventually realizes it's been too long for him to ever feel comfortable with it. The tourists like the idea of being served by a one-handed bartender; he gets bigger tips for it (though this world's currency system still befuddles him).

He often wonders what his life might have been like if he'd been born this world's version of Killian Jones. Happier; not plagued by thoughts of revenge so heavy they threatened to drag him into the undertow.

He'd still never deserve her, but maybe in this world he could have been enough anyway.

Emma doesn't come to the bar often—she has Henry to take care of, after all, and fewer reasons to get drunk than in her other life—so he lives for the times when she does. He's developed a certain softness for Henry over time but there's something to be said for spending time with his swan just as two adults. He treasures every second of their time together, as if for a second he can close his eyes and pretend none of this curse nonsense ever happened—that they're back in Granny's trading barbs over hot cocoa, that everything is as it should be.

Which is why he does not appreciate turning away from her to serve a customer and looking back to see some moron chatting her up.

Killian's grip on the bottle in his hand tightens to the point where he wouldn't be surprised to end up with a palm full of broken glass. His blood is boiling and he's starting to wish very much for his hook back so he can stick it in the unfortunate guy's chest.

Kenny, a fellow bartender he's somewhat friendly with, comes up behind him, following his gaze to where Emma sits chatting with the scruffy-bearded loser. "You like her, don't you?"

Killian manages a gruff chuckle. "Like is a severe understatement, mate."

Kenny claps him on the shoulder. "I normally wouldn't advocate this since he's a customer, but if you want her, go fight for her, man." The words jolt something inside of him.

A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.

What happened to him, somewhere along the way, that he lost a part of himself? Captain Hook would never stand for letting that idiot monopolize his woman. He would match right over there and claim her for the whole bar to see, damn the consequences.

With that, Killian makes a decision. Fuck giving her time to adjust. After all he's gone through to get here, he refuses to lose her.

He sets down the bottle, braces himself with his good hand, and hops over the bar. Ignoring the gasps of surprise from other patrons, he blazes a path across the room to Emma.

Engrossed in her conversation, she doesn't see him until he's standing right in front of her. Then she looks up with a start, her green eyes wide and full of questions. Her lips part as if to speak.

"Hey!" Her companion, drunk as he is, staggers to his feet in indignation. "What do you think you're—"

Ignoring the other guy, Killian cups his hand under Emma's chin and crushes his lips to hers.

At first she is stunned, unable to do anything but stand there and accept his demanding, relentless excuse for a kiss. His tongue sweeps over her bottom lip, still parted, and that seems to jolt her into awareness. But instead of pulling away and slapping him, he feels her soft body mold against his, two hands coming up to grip the collar of his shirt and—oh fuck yes—pull him closer.

This isn't their first kiss but it might as well be, with the way he's devouring her like a starved man. He loses himself in the sweet taste of her mouth, the warmth of her small body pressed against him, the electrifying sensation of her fingers on his skin. When she finally pulls back for air, pupils dilated and breasts heaving against his chest, it takes every ounce of his self-restraint not to throw her against the wall and have her right here in the bar.

Time seems to freeze while her eyes search him, her hands still twined in his shirt. Tiny tingles of electricity prickle on his skin where her fingers are dancing over his collarbone, an action he's not entirely sure she's conscious of.

At last their eyes meet and hope flutters to life inside his chest. He'd slay dragons for this woman, go across the ends of the universe to keep her happy, but right now there's nothing he can do but wait for her move.

He hates it.

"Killian." Her voice is barely a whisper—almost a plea—and it does terrible things to him. He's waited so long to hear her say his name like that; the possibility that she might push him away now is enough to gut his insides.

But—thank gods—she doesn't. Her eyelids flutter shut as she pulls him back to her. "Kiss me again," she demands, her voice low and sounding sex-wrecked already. It pulls a groan from his chest before he leans down and obliges, taking her lips with a force that sucks the air from her lungs and replaces it with him.

After all, who is he to deny her anything she wants?

Things change after that—not all at once, but gradually.

He starts spending more time with her and Henry together. Until that night in the bar she'd mostly done her best to keep them apart but now he comes over for dinner on school nights and helps Henry with his homework while Emma cooks (he'd never known of that particular talent of hers before all of this, and wonders vaguely if the magic had anything to do with it). She spends more nights at the bar when she can, flirting with him between drinks, and during his breaks they sneak outside like giggling teenagers and make out furiously.

He's her date to any work-related parties and he even goes to Henry's school functions, keeping her from falling asleep by making inappropriate comments about the other people. On the weekends when the weather is good he takes them all sailing on the boat he keeps docked at a marina a couple hours outside the city; Emma's lips are even more intoxicating when she smells of salt and sea, his only other love in the world.

Then one dark winter night they have the apartment to themselves and the inevitable finally happens.

He wants so badly to make it last, to take his time getting to know every single inch of her body and worshipping it with his fingers and tongue the way she deserves. But it's them; slow and steady was never going to be an option, not when she tastes like heaven—like chocolate and cinnamon and rum—and it's all he can do to keep from drowning in her.

From the way she gasps and squirms in his arms, soft and pliable, he doesn't think she minds one bit.

She falls asleep almost instantly afterward, curling up in his arms like she was made to fit against him, and he stays awake and watches her sleep, occasionally tracing his fingers over the bare skin of her shoulder or pressing a kiss into her sweet-smelling hair. He remembers the look on her face when he finally slid inside her, the way she'd cried out his name like a prayer when she came. If she'd let him, he'd spend the rest of his life making her scream his name over and over until her voice was hoarse.

He finally has Emma Swan in his arms, in his bed—the sum of everything he'd wanted when he made that desperate deal with Regina. He has a life again and someone to share it with, both things he thought he'd never get to have. These last couple years of being Killian Jones have almost managed to erase three centuries of Captain Hook from his mind.

But even in this quiet, perfect moment, he can't stop the doubts from creeping in. Can't stop himself from remembering Rumplestiltskin's last words and wondering when everything will prove to be too good to be true.

Remembering that he's a villain, and villains don't get happy endings.

This world's sailing vessels may be faster and sleeker, but they have nothing on his Roger.

Of all the things he gave up to follow Emma into this strange new world, his ship is the only one that inspires a pang of homesickness. Nothing would ever make him regret his choice, though. These vessels may be inferior, but they can still get the job done.

"Killian, I think the wind is changing. Should I do anything?"

He looks down at Henry—well, he doesn't have to look that far down anymore, the boy's really sprouted up in the last year or so. With the wind rifling through his hair, he looks so much like the fourteen-year-old Baelfire it sometimes makes Killian's heart hurt to look at him.

"I think we'll be fine as we are. Keep a steady hand on those ropes, eh mate?"

Even once he moved in with Emma—she had no choice but to say yes once he got evicted from his old place—spending time with Henry alone was a rare occurrence. But she got a last-minute call to cover a friend's shift as they were about to leave the city, and when the boy asked if they could go sailing anyway, Killian had agreed. He was as surprised as Emma that her son even asked. But Henry likes sailing, apparently.

He's a really great kid—incredibly bright, thoughtful, and just mischievous enough. Killian knows Emma couldn't be prouder of him, and it's times like this when he thinks that them leaving before the curse hit was the best thing that could have ever happened. Henry deserves a chance at a normal life. And so does Emma…

Despite what he said, the winds do change, and he barks out commands to Henry as they both rush to get the sails in order. It's work, no doubt, but still nothing like the Jolly Roger. He remembers how the first time Emma saw his boat, she laughed and asked why he didn't get something with a motor, and he struggled to explain to her the freedom of being out on the open ocean with nothing but the wind at your back propelling you forward.

(He can still feel the kiss she gave him when she saw that he'd christened the boat Heaven's Swan, all laughter melting away like ice cream in the hot sun.)

Finally they get it done, and after making sure the knots are secure, he reaches into the cooler and pulls out two bottles of water. He hands one to Henry, then twists the top off the other and takes a long swallow.

"Are you going to marry my mom?"

Killian chokes on his water.

"W-What makes you ask that?" he asks, coughing and sputtering, trying in vain to regain a smidge of composure.

Henry looks at him with those big gray eyes that are so much like his father's. "You're the only guy she's ever dated that I got to meet. You two are always kissing. You live in our apartment."

"All true…"

Emma's son sits down on the bench, looking down at his feet like he's nervous about something. Curiosity makes Killian go over to sit next to him.

"This isn't my way of saying I disapprove. Just the opposite, in fact. I'd be really happy for you both if you did." His face lights up in a boyish smile that looks almost out of place on the face of the young man he's becoming.

"And why is that?"

The smile is replaced by a starkly sober expression. "You love her. You wouldn't ever leave her. She deserves that."

Not for the first time, Killian is astounded by Henry's intuitiveness.

"Do you ever think about your real father, Henry?"

The words are out before he realizes what he's said, and then it feels like his throat is closing again.

Those months in Neverland, before Bae discovered who he was, he'd come to think of Bae like the son he never had. Watching Bae's son so at home on his ship feels like the most twisted case of déjà vu he can imagine, and it forces him to remember where Baelfire—Neal, goddamn it, that is annoying—is now.

He wonders what's become of all of them back in the Enchanted Forest. Knows in his heart it can't have been anything good, not after seeing what it had become when the first Dark Curse struck. Those moments when he's forced to confront the truth are when he thinks this life could never be the right choice. That there's no way the best thing for Henry—and for Emma—is to be separated from their family.

You're their family now, a little voice whispers in the back of his head. You made that deal with Regina because that was what you wanted. It's too late to change your mind.

"Not really. I've made my peace with that." He blinks, realizing Henry is talking, and tunes back in to the boy's words. "I have my mom. And, well, you."

This time Killian manages to swallow his water rather than spray it onto the deck, though he sets the bottle down. Clearly, any more drinking today will be hazardous to his health, as much as he wishes for something stronger to get through the rest of this conversation.

Emma told Henry the truth—or rather, what she thought was the truth—about his father a couple years ago, when he was old enough not to be put off with one-sentence answers and diverting follow-up questions. He took it surprisingly well for someone of his age, but Killian had just chalked that up to the boy's startling maturity. He'd never wondered if Henry had come to think of him like a father.

"Please don't tell her I said anything today," Henry begs. "I just wanted to let you know, in case you didn't. She was so lonely before you came back into her life and I've never seen her so happy since then."

And there it is like a punch to the gut. The false memories.

Even if there surely is some truth to what the boy says about Emma being lonely—he remembers her confession to Pan's scroll about feeling like a lost girl, made right in front of her parents—he doesn't know what he's talking about. Came back into her life—he never left her, not by choice at least, he fought like hell to make it that way.

But the bigger hit is this: the real Emma Swan, the one buried under layers of magic, wouldn't have found a cure for her loneliness in him. And no matter how hard he tries to ignore and run from that fact, he can't make himself forget that this whole beautiful life is built on a lie.

"Are you okay?"

Killian coughs, getting to his feet and putting some space between the two of them. "Aye. But we should be getting back. It looks like a storm's coming."

Storybrooke really is completely gone.

Until he saw it with his own two eyes, Killian wasn't sure he really believed that a whole town could just up and disappear. If it wasn't for his centuries of maritime expertise he might have thought he'd sailed the Heaven's Swan into the wrong port. But this is the little cove where the docks used to be; he remembers it as clearly as the shine of Emma's eyes.

All that surrounds it now is empty forest.

Still in a state of shock, Killian anchors the boat and secures it to a nearby tree trunk. It's a lot harder to take care of everything by himself with one hand and no hook but he didn't dare invite Emma or Henry with him. Neither of them even know where he is this weekend; he lied about visiting an old friend to avoid suspicion.

He took the Swan up to Maine hoping the solo sail would clear his head, which has grown increasingly more clouded ever since his talk with Henry a few weeks ago, and counting on being sure of finding the right place that way. Plus, he never really learned how to drive; steering a car one-handed is a lot harder than a boat.

Killian doesn't quite know why he's here now, other than some kind of sick need to torture himself. The memories of those months in Storybrooke are so far in the past that they often feel like a dream, yet somehow, even though nothing but trees and frozen dirt remain, everything is flooding back like being caught in a tidal wave. He can picture exactly where things should be—Granny's Diner, the police station, that stupid broken clock tower, the pawn shop…

He's never regretted the choice he made to follow his love instead of returning to the Enchanted Forest, but sometimes it feels like the world's biggest burden to still have his memories. Emma and Henry don't even remember that this place exists; their minds and lives are free to enjoy their second chance without regrets. While he often feels like his happiness is only temporary and that at any second the rug will be pulled out from under him, leaving him alone and miserable again.

It's cold up north, colder even than in the city, and Killian pulls his coat tighter around his body. His breath forms a white cloud in front of him and he shivers; he's never quite gotten used to the cold, not after all those years in Neverland. New England winters are only bearable with a fire and hot cocoa and Emma snuggled in his arms, and that is exactly what he's going to seek out, he decides.

That is his life now, here in this world with the woman he loves and her child. There's no peace to be had in this stupid forest in the middle of nowhere. Coming up here was an utterly pointless endeavor.

And then a flash of gold catches his eye, buried underneath a tree root.

Unable to control his curiosity, Killian bends down and carefully disentangles the object from the tree. It's a book—heavy and brown, with old-fashioned paper and gold lettering on the cover that reads "Once Upon a Time."

The dirt is freezing cold through the thin fabric of his jeans but he sits down anyway, opening up the book and skimming his eyes across the page. For a moment he thinks he might have been wrong—that this was just left by some family who was camping in the woods—but then he gets to the part in the story where the Evil Queen disrupts Snow White and Prince Charming's wedding and icy tendrils of dread snake through his veins that have nothing to do with the weather. A few pages later he sees the picture of the baby cuddled in a blanket with EMMA stitched into the corner and his stomach drops.

Fueled by a morbid curiosity, he skips through the book, coming across the tale of Little Red Riding Hood—except in this version, Red is the wolf. There's the story of Pinocchio, the boy who was sent through the wardrobe to protect the savior. It even tells about Rumplestiltskin and how he lost his son, and at that Killian finally has to close the book before he can see if his own story is inside its pages; he doesn't need a black and white reminder of all the things he's done, not when his own mind is busy dredging them up from the depths.

In all his experience with magic, the one thing he's learned is that everything happens for a reason. This book wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't meant to be found.

And that likely means that Emma's family in the Enchanted Forest is in trouble.

But opening that can of worms would mean unraveling the life he fought so hard for. Killian has tried to forget his past, to be a good man for Emma, but now that he finally has everything he ever wanted, can he really bring himself to do the right thing when the price could be his happy ending?

Still at war with his own thoughts, Killian gets to his feet and starts toward his boat. The book he leaves tucked under his arm, waiting for him to make the ultimate decision of what to do.

It's not that late by the time he makes it back into the city, several hours after docking at the harbor where he keeps the Swan—only about five or six o'clock—but the days are growing steadily shorter and the sky is nearly pitch-black as he pulls open the door to their apartment building. The air is crisp and cold, tasting faintly of water and metal the way it always does before a snowstorm is about to hit.

Inside their apartment is bright and warm and smells fantastic, like roast chicken and fresh bread. Killian takes a moment to revel in it all, standing in the doorway and soaking in the fact that this is all his—that after all those years of wandering, he finally has a real home to return to.

(The book in his bag feels like hot coals at his feet.)

"You're back!" Emma looks impossibly beautiful in jeans and a soft pink sweater, an apron tied around her waist and a glass of white wine in her hand. She leans in to give him a peck on the lips, her smooth skin rosy from the kitchen's warmth. "I wasn't expecting you till much later. Did you have a good time with your friend?"

Ignoring her questions, Killian drops his coat and pulls Emma against him, both hands—well, hand and brace—gripping her waist tightly as he kisses her like he wants to sear her soul with the imprint of it, of him. She gasps then relaxes into it, twisting her hands into the fabric of his shirt and kissing him back just as fiercely, and that's what he loves so much about her—that she can give just as much as she can take.

There's a dazed look in her eyes for a moment after he finally releases her, and then it's replaced by a small, satisfied smile. "What was that for?" she asks.

"Nothing," he says, taking the wineglass from her hand. The alcohol burns down his throat but does little to thaw the block of ice clenched around his heart. "I missed you, that's all."

She grins, and his chest aches with the sight because she's so fucking beautiful it's almost painful. "Mmm, well if that's the kind of welcome home I'm going to get, maybe you should go on trips more often."

"And leave you alone? Never."

They make it through dinner without incident, Killian lying smoothly when asked about his trip. It isn't until dishes have been cleared and Henry's off playing video games in his room that the bubble finally has to burst.

Emma's head is lying against his chest, the warmth from the fire like nothing compared to the heat of her, and her fingers gently tracing patterns over his skin feel like heaven. He wouldn't want to move for anything in the world, but then she asks him something inconsequential that nonetheless jolts his memory and he makes his decision. She deserves to know.

She makes a small whine when he gets up, obviously as comfortable in their current position as he was. He can feel her following him with her eyes as he crosses the room and retrieves his bag, pulling out the book which feels frozen solid in his hands. Before he can lose his nerve, he presents it to her. "I got this on my trip."

He can see the skepticism in her eyes as she turns it over but not a hint of recognition, and two warring impulses fight inside him: distaste for the way she seems to treat it as nonsense, and relief that her memories hadn't been rocked by the sight of it the way he'd feared. That maybe it's not too late to change his mind about this.

"Henry's a little old for fairytales, isn't he?" she says finally.

"Oh, but these stories are classics," he insists, not recognizing the sound of his own voice. He's not quite sure if he wants for her to read the book or throw it out the window.

"Well, that was very sweet of you," she says politely, setting it down on the coffee table at the same time she gets to her feet.

Outside the window snow is falling, tiny specks of white lighting up the dark night. That's what she is—she's his light in the darkness, the first person who ever made him want to change, to be better. But is it enough? Do I really deserve her?

Emma wraps her arms around his neck, leaning against him so he can feel every one of her delectable curves under the soft fabric of her sweater. "It's getting late," she says in a voice that promises nothing but sin, and he almost swallows his fucking tongue with how much he wants her. "I'm ready to go to bed. You coming?"

Oh, he wants nothing more than to follow her into the bedroom, to do all kinds of wicked, wonderful things to that beautiful little body, but then his gaze falls on that damned book and he thinks of her parents, separated from their daughter and grandson. Of all the ways that this life, which is everything he's ever dreamed of, was built on a lie that would shatter the woman in front of him if she knew the truth.

Apparently taking his silence as some kind of challenge, she presses closer. Her small hands slide under the fabric of his shirt, palms gliding over the smooth muscles of his back, burning hot against his skin. "Killian," she whispers, nuzzling his neck, and that more than anything is what gets him, because there was a point when he thought he'd never hear his name said with such tenderness again. "Come to bed."

She slips her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, giving his butt a playful squeeze, then turns around and walks confidently toward the bedroom, like she knows he'll follow her.

He stands in the living room and watches her leave, enjoying the view. Drains the rest of the wine she left behind. Looks down at the book lying on the table, then back to the door where a certain blonde waits for him.

Makes his choice.

At the end of the day, despite his best intentions, he can't deny who he is at the core. He lived for revenge for three hundred years, and even now that he finally has something else to live for, some old habits are too tightly ingrained to break.

Killian Jones wants to be a good man but he's spent so long being Captain Hook that he isn't sure it's possible anymore.

And Captain Hook is selfish.

Author's Note: Well hi there peoples! It's my first time in the OUAT fandom (though I've been a rabid fan of the show almost since it started) so please be kind. I was sort of weaning myself off fanfiction in favor of focusing on original stuff (more about that in a second, while I've got you) but then the Season 3 mid-winter finale happened and I just had too many feels NOT to write something. So then this happened. For anyone wondering, the title comes from the lyrics to Coldplay's "Atlas," which has been on permanent repeat in my head since I saw Catching Fire last weekend (fantastic song, and fantastic movie as well. God, what is it with me and the feels lately?).

Since I'm a new face in this part of the site, I thought I'd mention that I'm also a self-published author with two novellas on Amazon. If you liked my interpretation of Captain Swan then maybe you'll like my original bad boy character. Details are on my profile page.

That's all for now, folks. Hope this ficlet added a little bit of brightness to your day. We're all going to have to stick together to survive until March 9 (oh ABC, why must you torture us like this...).

Happy holidays!

- Authoress