So, this story is born from the ocean of feels I've been swimming in ever since 3x17 aired. I've been mulling it over and just have to get it out before any more episodes air and the show takes this scenario another way. I don't think anything in 3x18 has made it too non-canon, but this story does pick up right where "The Jolly Roger" episode ended…
Of course I don't own them! (This would have happened already if I did!)
Enjoy! Please send some feedback my way if you're willing to share what worked for you or what didn't.
"Never Better"
By: TutorGirlml
The uneasy sense that something isn't right stays with Emma Swan, hovering in the back of her mind as she and her family sit in the warm, cozy dining room at Granny's, talking and laughing together, almost beating back the shadow of Zelena's threats and evil presence for a time. She can't put her finger on it, but she knows that something she isn't privy to is wrong and lingering right under her nose at that. Trying to ignore the nagging unease and enjoy a moment of peace while she can, Emma forces herself to refocus on Henry's eyes alight with unsuppressed glee as he laughingly relates the look on his grandpa's face when the truck went out of control on their first drive. Even Regina is smiling tentatively at her son's story, though the longing in the other woman's eyes makes it clear she wishes to be able to hold Henry close and run her hands through his hair with a mother's touch instead of just sitting across the table from him, a friendly acquaintance. Charming is good naturedly chuckling at his own expense as he wraps an arm around Snow's shoulder to pull her into his side and place a kiss to her brow.
Beyond the loving scene she sits at the head of, however, Emma finds her troubling concern cannot be distracted. It all seems as normal as possible for her family, so the only other answer is that something had been off about Hook. Granted, when he talked to them at the loft earlier, he had seemed guarded and distant, as if he were withholding something from her. It was a sense that set her old, familiar "lie detector" blaring. It scares her to feel that discomfort where Hook is involved; pirate and former villain though he is, Emma has never found him to be purposefully vague, or trying to put distance between them – that has always been her. She worries about what might have changed since they spoke on the docks that morning, and finds that she hopes the exasperating pirate is alright. She was truly surprised and more disappointed than she wanted to admit when he declined coming to dinner with them.
As she continues to dwell on all her questions and fears, the tingling feeling of being watched crawls oddly across her skin, raising goose flesh. Her head shoots up, immediately on guard, thinking that the Witch might be coming to attack them even during something as innocent as a family meal. When she sees no signs of the green sorceress, a breath whooshes out of her lungs in relief, but she doesn't stop searching for where the odd sensation is coming from. Glancing out the diner windows, her brow furrows in concentration as she catches the glint of something metal in the street lights just outside. Sucking in a sharp breath of surprise, her eyes narrow as she stands, making an excuse to her parents and son and promising to be right back before moving to the door and out onto the street.
'What is he up to now?' she asks herself as she steps onto the pavement and moves toward the darkness on the edges of the facing buildings, where she knows she has seen the flash of bronze metal off of Hook's spyglass. She doesn't see the pirate captain, but he has been there, watching them, obviously drawn back into the shadows, and she is going to find out why.
"Hook!" she hisses under her breath as she draws closer to where she saw the trace of him. "What are you doing out here?!"
He materializes from the murky depths of the alley slowly, like a shadow taking on solid form. Emma tries to shake that unbidden impression away as soon as it enters her mind. He is no longer the dark villain he had once been. Hook has sacrificed so much for her – for all of them – and is still standing at her side in this new threat, even when by her side is a dangerous place to be. Yet that earlier instinct that a veiled menace hangs over him, that he is different somehow, still will not leave her in peace. When he makes to swagger right up to her, entering her personal space and practically leering at her with an arched brow and innuendo-laden, "What may I do for you, Darling?" she wants to growl at him in frustration. He is as tense as a pulled bowstring beneath his well-practiced façade, and she is not in the mood for games. He has pulled away, is troubled and overly cautious, and she is going to find out why.
Grabbing him by the forearm roughly, she jerks him away from the brick wall he leans against with feigned casualty and pulls him across the street to Granny's back entrance without ceremony. "I don't have time for your games, Hook," she growls by way of short explanation when he starts to argue in startled surprise before following her. "We need to have a talk."
Emma doesn't release her grip on his leather-clad arm nor slow her determined steps until they have made it up the back stairs to the hallway which holds both of their rented rooms and she has shoved him into his temporary dwelling, locking the door behind them. "Okay," she finally blurts out, eying him steadily and planting her hands on her hips, "What is the matter with you?!"
Hook tries once more for light and flirtatious unconcern, "Why, whatever do you mean, Love?" he tosses back jovially, a teasing smirk gracing his lips as he moves from across the room to stand right in front of her, face to face.
She tilts her head to the side, taking the time to quietly calm herself and really look into his breathtaking ocean eyes. There are telltale signs that he hasn't slept well for some time, worry lines mar his forehead that she doesn't remember seeing before, and his lower lip is caught in his teeth, as if hoping to hold back some admission that wants to escape. Almost without conscious thought, one of Emma's hands comes up to rest at the side of his face, her thumb gently stroking along his jaw. His eyes fall closed at the soothing touch, and he draws in and releases a shaky breath. "What is it, Hook? What aren't you telling me?"
Her anger has dissipated in the face of his obvious distress and reaction to her touch. Instead she waits, hoping for him to let her in, as he has done ever since she met him, with little encouragement from her – until now.
His unfairly long, beautiful, dark eyelashes flutter until his eyes open again and meet hers reluctantly. She can tell immediately that he wants to glance away, that he can't hold her gaze the way he normally does. It stops her cold, and Emma finds herself wanting to either shake him until his sense returns or to wrap him up and hold him in her arms, the way she knows without doubt that he would do for her were the situation reversed. As long as she has known Killian Jones, he has been inching into her personal space, taking down her walls, and to see him backing away now scares her more than she can say.
He raises his good hand to squeeze her arm warmly, and then forcibly moves her back from himself a step, as if her proximity pains him. The ache that squeezes her chest at his action surprises Emma; she orders herself to ignore it, but fails miserably. There is true agony on his lovely face as he reads hurt in her reaction – a skill he apparently never loses. "Emma, I don't want to harm you, Lass," he grits out, as if fighting to allow the words passage. "Please…just leave me."
He jerks roughly from her grasp, turning his face away and then stalking over to look out the window, giving her his leather clad back. Emma can see the tension coiled within him and wants to ease it, wants him to know he doesn't have to hide from her. Whatever he is punishing himself for, whatever harm he thinks will come to her through him, means nothing to her. She wasn't kidding when she told him earlier this evening that she was tired of living in the past. What she's still looking for is a way to speak aloud that it is largely due to him; Killian has made her start to see a future where she can let him in. He can't give it up now. She will fight for him, as he has done for her.
"K – Killian?" she whispers, trying not to let her words get jammed up in her throat tight with emotion, thick with tears that she cannot let stop her, that she will not let escape. She steps as cautiously and quietly as she can, coming to stand just behind him and letting a gentling hand come to rest on his back, rubbing gently over his shoulder blade. "Whatever it is, it's going to be okay. You still believe in me, right?"
He barely nods stiffly, but the conviction in his rough 'aye' is no less than it has ever been before. "I still have yet to see you fail," he finally chokes out in response.
"Then…trust me," she urges. Standing on tiptoe, she moves quickly enough that he can't react to resist her. Her hands rest on his biceps for balance as she turns him toward her partially and rises on the balls of her feet, moving to kiss him.
To her shock – and hurt, Killian flinches back the second she draws near his lips, and keeps backing away as though he plans to quit the room if he cannot put enough distance between them. Tears pool unshed in her eyes again, prickling unpleasantly against the momentary sense of betrayal. After all the time he has spent pursuing her, proving himself to her, claiming that he wants her, how can he have changed his mind?
Then she truly looks at him, forcing herself to push past the pain she feels at his refusal. Those blue, depthless eyes are pleading with her – for patience, for understanding, and she realizes that he is acting in some desperate form of anxiety, not by what he truly wants. Again, her resolve strengthens, this time with anger added to it. Someone – and she's sure she knows who – has put her pirate in this untenable situation and is hurting him. It ends right now.
His blue eyes darken with passion and conviction, even in the midst of his anguish, and Killian's stare bores into her, leaving Emma no choice but to take his stumbling, labored words as the absolute truth. "I want you, Swan. …More than you will ever know…but I cannot…you have to believe me… If I explain further…Henry could be hurt. Please…keep your distance…I cannot bear to be used against you."
Emma stands facing him, her breathing heavy, her heart pounding at the raw desperation and pure feeling in every line of his bearing. Hook has now nearly backed himself into the furthest corner of the rented room, putting the bed between them. She is still trying to make some sense of all the missing pieces to the equation she doesn't have, but she understands finally that the distance he has been putting between them is not by choice, but because he feels that he is some kind of a danger to her. She hasn't waited too long and lost him; he is still here. All she needs to do now is convince him that whatever their wicked opponent has done to him does not matter. They can defeat her together.
His eyes have lowered from hers, his gaze directed stubbornly at his feet and the pattern of the carpet, so he does not realize at first when she draws closer on silent steps. His head shoots up again as she climbs onto the bed and inches toward him on her knees, watching her warily and with aching longing until she stops right before him, kneeling on the mattress, her face even with his. Realizing too late that he has let her get closer than he can handle once more, he moves to dart around the foot of the bed and escape, but she grips the lapels of his coat tightly and holds him there.
Letting out a deep sigh, she tries to make her concern for him, her sympathy for the internal struggle wracking him, clear in a long, charged look. He heaves a ragged sigh, muscles practically vibrating under her hands. She can sense he is a hair's breadth from shaking off her grip and fleeing again, but he stays; doing her bidding even now, so determined to give her all he possibly can. One solitary, silent tear leaks from the corner of his eye and rolls unbidden down his cheek.
Emma reaches out to catch it and wipe the moisture away, the pad of her thumb lingering on his skin. He trembles at the tender motion, wanting more than anything to let her touch him, but terrified his control may snap if she continues. "Oh Killian," she sighs, the reality of at least part of his burden somehow clicking into place. "She cursed you, didn't she?"
Killian doesn't answer her audibly, but the tense way his breath catches and he stills completely under her fingertips lets her know that she is right. Emma doesn't know the particulars, or what his exact curse is, but she doesn't care in the slightest. In the midst of all the worry and indecision she has felt since returning to Storybrooke, at least in this moment, Emma knows exactly what to do.
She draws even closer to him then, arms looping around his neck, and she gives him an almost playful half smile, taunting him playfully over her fear and insecurity, finding the courage to give him words she would never be able to admit in a normal context. "Don't you know, silly pirate? True Love's Kiss can break any curse."
Without giving him another moment to process, she lunges forward, hands delving into his jet black hair and lips diving in to claim his.
He visibly panics for a second, trying to pull away in fear of stripping her magic from her, but she is quick and uses her element of surprise to cling to him. "Emma, no!" is all he gasps out before her lips are on him and their whole world shifts.
His body locks beneath her touch, rigid with fear over what his kiss will do to her, and Emma feels the tingling charge of magic she has experienced running through her veins ever since she began calling on it start to drain and fade. He is fighting her instead of joining in the kiss and giving her the feelings she knows he has. Emma's doubts try to surge back up as she feels her power weaken, but she remembers all the times that this pirate standing in front of her – this man that she loves – has come back for her, fought for her, shown her the steadfast devotion she has been yearning for all her life, and she knows that his belief in the curse and his crippling self-loathing is all that allows Zelena's plan this success.
She practically growls against his pleasantly soft, supple mouth, warning him to relent and allow himself participate, or he will make his nightmare into reality. She allows her fingers to sift lovingly through the strands of his hair and lets her tongue barely trace the seam of his still stubbornly compressed lips, until suddenly, with an equally pained as pleasured groan of defeat, his mouth opens to her and he grips her back tightly.
Lifting her off her place on the bed for moment and into his strong arms, Emma feels the magic swell back to life under her skin as if every cell in her body has come to life, and she can't help thinking it might not be just her actual powers returning, but the feeling of being truly loved and able to love him in return.
"Reckless, stubborn lass," his voice rumbles into her neck as he pulls away to breathe, but nuzzles his nose into her sensitive skin, not letting her go for a second. Emma knows he has to have felt the pulse of enchantment that washed over the two of them and through the room when he finally kissed her back. He has to know it is alright now, and that is why he's kissing, nipping, and tasting his way up her neck like a starving man finally allowed into the banquet hall, and squeezing her so tightly it would steal her breath – if she were not pulling him to her just as desperately. Her pirate must finally realize his adoration is not only accepted but reciprocated as fully as her heart has ever allowed her to feel.
Emma wonders with idle curiosity if the others have felt it too; if they will come looking for her to see if she knows what has happened. Instead of making her defensive or embarrassed, she finds she can't wait to laugh out loud at the looks that will not doubt be on Snow White and Prince Charming's faces when they see for themselves that their princess daughter's True Love is a notorious pirate captain.
"Swan?" Killian's soft voice, infinitely gentle and dazedly awed, breaks into her thoughts as he lovingly brushes his knuckles down the side of her face. His bright cerulean eyes have never seemed so clear and full of hope. "Are you alright, Love? Did that mean what I think it did?"
Her gaze finds his unerringly, wanting to never break free of him again. She feels the wide smile splitting her face and joy like she has never known overtaking her. "Aye aye, Captain," she teases, mimicking his distinctive speech quite well before turning serious, so he grasps the sincerity in her next words. "It means you were right all the time…we're going to make quite the team."
She presses her lips to his again briefly, wanting to touch and kiss him constantly now that she has finally let herself start. "And I'm more than alright, thanks to you, Killian." His eyes widen at that, full of love for her and even some absolution for himself. She makes sure he is taking in every single word she gives him, letting him know the smile she has now is all for him – all because of him. "In fact, I have never been better."