Characters: Emma, Captain Hook

Description: The curse is coming and Emma searches out Hook for emotional support. Set after 3x10.

Nothing Good Stays

The fresh air wasn't helping. Emma supposed she'd been naïve to think that it might. When she'd announced that she was going for a walk, pulled on her boots and coat, and left, her family had all objected but they didn't understand. She wasn't running away, she couldn't anymore if she tried. She just couldn't breathe either.

It was coming. It was coming and there was nothing she could do to save them.

Gold and Regina were still working furiously on a counter-curse, but even if it was ready in time it couldn't be used until Pan made his move, until the curse was bearing down upon them. They were all just waiting and it was killing her. Because in her gut she knew that nothing they did would work. This was it. The curse that had cost her so much was coming back to take everything away all over again. Nothing good ever stayed.

She'd wound up down by the docks, sitting on a bench looking out at the rough water. It had probably been close to an hour since she'd left. The wind had pinked her cheeks and left her ears frozen ridges of cartilage. Her fingers were going numb from the cold and she craved it, craved anything that could distract her from the agony of waiting for the curse to hit. She was the saviour. She was the saviour and she was goddamned useless.

Even though she didn't mean it, even though she'd deny ever thinking it, she wished with all the might of her buried self-loathing that she'd put her kid on a bus and sent him back to Storybrooke on his own. Wished that she had never come here, never broken the curse, never found her family. At least when she'd had nothing she hadn't felt like the ground was constantly falling away from her. At least when she'd been alone there'd been nothing worth losing.

There was no point anymore in wishing herself numb. Henry had dismantled her walls brick by brick, and left her with no way to protect herself. She wished there was still some way she could.

Emma let her gaze travel up to the glow coming through the captain's quarters of the Jolly Roger and brushed away the tracks of tears that she hadn't felt fall. She knew Hook was there; he'd disappeared from the group without a word shortly after Pan's shadow had wrecked their first attempt at protecting the town. A thought took hold in her chest and tightened around her heart. She couldn't force the helplessness away, but maybe she could replace it with something else, find some other way to reclaim her strength and push back the choking, crushing weight of impending loss.

Knowing that she'd back out if she gave herself time to second guess, Emma stood up and boarded the ship with a confident stride meant to conceal how lost she felt. She headed straight below deck and towards his quarters. The door was closed but she didn't bother knocking. If he was here, it was because he was as alone as she was about to be and she needed to steal that strength from him. The strength of being alone by choice.

He startled when she came through the door, standing up from his seat at the table, almost knocking over the pot of ink he'd been using to write with. Emma ignored the ridiculous antiquity, as well as his attempted greeting, and crossed the room until her hands were pulling his face towards hers for a furious kiss.

Hook grunted as she pressed herself against him and shifted his stance to hold her tighter, hand buried in the hair at her neck. She was on fire. Not from desire, but from pure want and need—more raw and consuming than simple passion. Christ, she needed. There wasn't enough, would never be enough, but she sucked whatever she could steal anyway as she ravaged his mouth with her tongue.

He pulled back roughly and gasped as he tried to put space between them. "You shouldn't be here, love."

The warning did little to mask the desire in his tone. Emma knew better than to let him keep talking but she couldn't trust her own voice to respond. Using the space he'd put between them to work on the buttons of his vest, she pushed up on the balls of her feet and kissed him again just as hard as before. He shuddered as her cold hands found warm skin and she sucked on his lip in response, heat starting to pool between her thighs.

He groaned but stumbled back, away from her. "Damn it lass, I'm trying to do the honourable thing here."

The asshole had managed to put the table between them. "Are you telling me to leave?" It was supposed to be a challenge but the question came out sounding more like an incredulous croak.

Hook ran his hand over his face and through his hair. She could see how badly he wanted her. Why the hell would he be pushing her away when he might not even remember her come morning?

"I told him I wouldn't get in the way—give you a chance to be a family."

Emma felt as though she'd been slapped. Fury surged through her and she dimly remembered Regina trying to teach her magic. Here, at least, was something she could use. Something familiar. She'd been wronged so many times before, what difference was once more? Anger wasn't what she had come for, but it was such a fine line sometimes between love—lust, she corrected—and hate that she let it bubble up and fuel her. Words clawed their way out of her throat, the pain of decades spent alone because someone was always trying to do what they thought was the right thing.

"You know what? I am sick of men making decisions for me behind my back. Fuck you. And fuck your honour. I hope it keeps you warm at night because it's never done shit for me."

"I'm only trying to do right by you, lass."

"What happened to the pirate? What happened to Captain fucking Hook who took what he wanted and damn the rest?"

He winced at the hysteria that had found its way into her voice. "He found a saviour."

Blue eyes pierced through and held hers, but no amount of murmured, pained sentiment (even if it was true) would soothe the wound now that it was ripped open. It was easy, the way the insults rose and rolled off her tongue—vitriol tainted with rage and bitterness.

"You're pathetic," she snarled, leaning over the table, hands planted wide on it for support. "And worthless to me. It's a good thing I'm going to be alone soon. Clearly I'm better off that way."

"Emma—"

"Don't 'Emma' me! You have no right! You said you would be there. I thought I could count on you, Jones. I thought we understood each other." She straightened and made to leave but didn't have to look to know that he was moving towards her. Emma stopped with her hand on the brass door handle and kept her back to him. "Don't even bother. I'm done with you."

The sound of his words echoed back to him reverberated through the room and the door shook in its frame when she let it go. Emma stormed down the hall, each step a determined protest against his rejection and the old betrayal it had brought to the surface. She could hear him coming up behind her. As her hand reached for the ladder his hook slipped around her wrist.

Something inside of her shattered. There was no other way to describe it. Emma whirled around and though she had no intent or awareness of doing it his hook flew out of its brace and into the wall next to his head, landing with a thud that vibrated through the tight space.

Her eyes widened and just like that she was shaking, limbs no longer her own. Anger was only useful if it was directed and controlled. Now, as all the hurt that she'd used to build herself up and make herself strong started to slip away from her like a wave out to sea Emma felt like she might lose herself entirely along with it. It wouldn't be the first time.

Hook's eyes narrowed at her but she couldn't force any words to form, let alone voice an apology. The magic had sucked the fight out of her and left her gasping, clinging to the ladder for support, terrified by what she had nearly done. Another inch and she would have hit him, might have killed him. She pushed the hair out of her face with a shaky hand and desperately tried to reclaim control over her emotions.

He reached for her again—with his hand this time—palm sliding up her arm, gently pushing the hair behind her shoulder. His rough fingers trailed up her neck and then down to her chin, tipping her face up to him. When she finally met his eyes he closed the distance between them in one step and pressed his lips to hers.

Warmth spread through her chest. The kiss was firm but tender, positively chaste by his standards. Emma sank into it, still too paralyzed by fear to be able to kiss him back. His other arm came around behind her, supporting her and drawing her away from the ladder. Wasn't this what she had wanted? To take some of his strength for herself? Hook's tongue slipped between her lips when she held back a sob but the kiss stayed slow and careful, as if he were also afraid that she might crumble at any moment. The pad of his thumb traced her jawline and she squeezed her eyes tight to force the tears back, fisting her hands in his open vest.

Somehow, this pirate managed to make her feel both strong and vulnerable. She could hear all the things he wasn't saying, all the words he'd said before. His trust and faith—his love—smoothed the edges of her pain. She didn't deserve it after what she'd said, what she'd nearly done, but he was there anyway. He always would be. Even in spite of his honour, even in spite of a curse.

She wasn't sure who eventually broke the kiss but as their lips parted neither one moved to step away. Her legs felt weak but she wasn't trembling anymore and they stayed like that for what felt like a long time; his arm around her, foreheads touching, each breathing in the other.

Finally, he rubbed the side of her nose with his own and pulled back. "You should go. Don't let them worry after you, love."

Emma nodded and took a shaky breath, letting it out slowly. "Come with me," she whispered.

For a moment she thought he would refuse her again. His eyes searched hers and she had to make herself hold his gaze so that he could see all the broken pieces she'd been trying to glue together. He deserved that much from her, at least.

Hook inclined his head to her and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Aye, as you wish." Taking hold of her hand, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss just above her knuckles. "Let me get my coat."

She felt the loss of his warmth keenly as he stepped away and turned down the hall, disappearing into his cabin. Without the strength of him next to her she was half afraid she might fall apart again. Emma Swan did not do tears. Not if she could help it. In an effort to keep herself together she focused on pulling his hook out of the wall. It took both hands and a few strong tugs, but it finally came free with a jerk and she stumbled backwards, hitting the opposite wall roughly.

Hook reappeared from the cabin and closed the door behind him, quirking an eyebrow at her as she righted herself. She offered him the hook with what she hoped was an apologetic smile and he took it, fingers brushing hers before clicking and twisting the metal back into place. As soon as they were both up the ladder and on deck Emma reached for his hand. Neither one addressed the gesture. She just needed him.

Together, they walked in silence through the town's deserted streets, back home to where her family was waiting for her.

Emma dropped his hand to open the door and Killian took the opportunity of her back to him to reach for the inside breast pocket of his coat, needing to reassure himself that it was still there. He didn't know how the curse would make them all forget, didn't know if the letter and stolen picture would even still be there if the counter-curse failed. If he knew someone in Storybrooke with the skill he'd have tattooed the image and words to his skin instead. But there was no time, and the letter was the only thing he could think to do.

Emma Swan,

Sheriff of Storybrooke,

Mother,

Daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming,

Product of True Love,

Lost girl,

Saviour.

Help her. Protect her.

Find her. Find her. Find her.

Love her.