"You deserve a happy ending, Emma. And happy endings always begin with hope."

Even after Gold stabbed Pan in the back, after Henry got his heart back, after many nights of his screams, his fear and regret still boiling over, there were two things Emma could concretely remember about Neverland. One was Mary Margaret's assurance about hope. And the other she tried as much as possible to ignore, hoping it would vanish like many of the rest of steamy hours, days spent in the jungle.

Emma never had hope, not even after rescuing Henry, and wasn't sure where to go to find it. Henry was with David and Mary Margaret at home while Emma drove, circling the town in her sheriff's cruiser aimlessly. As she drove past Granny's for practically the tenth time, Ruby's gaze followed her car, and she felt it, knowing and burning red as the streaks in her hair, as her lips. Emma resolved to avoid driving past again, or Ruby would tell her parents something was wrong – something other than the fact that her son just nearly died and was barely able to cope with the crushing self-doubt he now felt.

Belle lingered outside of Mr. Gold's pawn shop, holding a book and probably waiting for him to finish whatever magic he was up to. As she drove past the docks, Emma determinedly did not look at them, because she knew what was there, tied up and bobbing with the movement of the water, and did not want to think of it. Finally, she realized where she was going. The well. When August brought her there, everything changed, and it was the only place she didn't think anybody would look for her.

She was wrong.

"Emma," came a familiar voice as she sat with her back lightly resting against the stone of the well. Neal.

"Henry's at home," she said without thinking.

"That's great, but I wasn't looking for Henry. I was looking for you." He looked tired, even more tired than when she found him hunched in that cage. "I've been looking for you all day."

Which is why she kept moving. "Why?"

He watched her with an expression of incredulity that he seemed desperate to mask. "To talk," he said.

"To talk," she repeated. "About? Henry?"

"Listen, I love Henry, but can you forget about him for one second? This isn't about him."

No. "Okay."

"I hate how cheesy this sounds," he said with a small sigh. "I hate it. But I wanted to talk to you about…what you said."

"I told you," she said, running her fingers through her hair. "I wish I could change my secret, but I can't."

"Not that. The other thing."

Emma knew what he was talking about. But it was impossible. She couldn't. Not now, not ever, never. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. And this must be why it took me so long to find you."

It was true – she didn't want to be found. Not by Neal, or anyone else. The other party would remain nameless, faceless, and had to, or the memory would come back. The smell, the taste, the feeling of his hand in her hair…no. That was why she didn't even think of it.

"Come on, Emma," he pressed. "I know you don't want to. I love that about you. But we have to talk about it when I'm not, you know. Dying. We can't only talk about it when I'm dying."

"Fine," she relented. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Well," he said. "I told you I'd never stop fighting for you. I meant it." He took a chance on a smile – it was small, but present.

So now she should fall into his arms, right? Finally, Henry's entire family would be reunited – well, apart from the fact that his grandfather had just stabbed his great-grandfather to death, despite that very great-grandfather being intent on killing Henry. It was too fucked up for Emma to even continue her sarcastic line of thinking.

"I told him the same thing I'm telling you. It's not a contest," she finally said, more quietly than she meant to.

"Him?" Neal's eyebrows furrowed.

Emma stared. He wasn't going to make her say it.

Neal stared back, and she saw his smile was gone, replaced by an expression of anger, anger that held his eyebrows more tightly together. "That wasn't…I'm…okay." He smoothed his jacket and sat down across from her. He stood up again and began to pace.

"What is wrong with you?" Emma asked, annoyed with herself for wishing he'd get to the point. It was probably insensitive of her.

"This whole thing!" he said, voice slightly raised. "I wasn't even talking about Hook, and I don't know why you'd bring him up as a part of this conversation."

Emma felt her frown deepening and tried to ignore the squeeze of tightness in her chest. "Didn't you just say you'd fight for me?"

Neal turned on his heel to face her. "It's not that. I'm just wondering why his name is in this conversation at all. You said you loved me. That's what I want to talk about. I reminded you I'd always be fighting for you so you would know that, well. I want you, too."

Before she could stop herself, she snapped, "You'll never stop fighting for me? Okay, even if I could ignore the whole abandonment thing, the whole jail thing – and stop, I know you'll blame August, but you made that choice – how could I ignore the second time you stopped? You think I don't know that August told you the curse was broken, but I do. And you didn't come get me. You didn't fight for me." Her shoulders began to shake under the weight of all the feelings she had suppressed for so long. Now was not the time to deal with them – Henry was her priority, after all – but she couldn't make them go away now. She felt like she was drowning in every feeling she ever tried to ignore.

"I thought you'd reject me," Neal immediately said, obviously growing upset as Emma's emotions escalated. "I knew you would. How could you forgive me? But now we're here, and it's all I want. It's all I ever wanted."

"Just don't lie," Emma said, holding her neck, her throat very still. She needed it to stay very stiff so that the sobs could not escape. "You say you'd always fight for me but it's a lie. Don't say that anymore."

"But you said you love me," he said again.

"I do," she said, feeling the pressure at the base of her neck. No sobs, not now. "I do, and I always will."

"So be with me," he said, more boldly than Emma had ever heard him speak before. "Be with me, Emma, and Henry can have his parents back, and I'll have you back."

One gasping sob escaped, and Emma felt her cheeks burn with crushing embarrassment. "Henry has his family back already," she said. "We don't need to be together for that to be true."

"But I want to be with you," he said. He had stopped pacing now, and crouched in front of her, searching her eyes, demanding that she meet his, but she couldn't.

"I love you," she said. "But I can't stop feeling like you're going to abandon me again. I know you'll say you won't, but we are living in the most screwed up circumstances, and I don't know what obstacles will be next, but I know the obstacles will be there because they always are. I can't trust you to be here for me if another obstacle comes."

He tried to speak, but she interrupted him. "You always blame the obstacles. You always do. I can't do it again."

"But –"

Sobs surged out, and she felt like she was choking instead of drowning, choking on tears she never wanted to shed. "You broke my heart every day for eleven years, over and over again. And then if I had a second heart, you broke it again and again when I found out you knew you could come to me, and didn't, and when you didn't trust me about Tamara. I can't."

She tried to reign in the sobbing, but couldn't. It was like she lost control of her body, of every muscle she knew how to hold exactly right so nobody would know how she was feeling. They all rebelled, giving away every bit of hurt she felt in that moment, maybe even in the time Neal was gone.

"I need to fix this," he finally said, choking a little on the last word. "But I need time."

"Take it," Emma said. "Take it, and leave me alone. I need to be alone."

"Emma, please," he said sadly. "Please talk to me."

Somehow, she summoned the strength to stand. "Not now." She strode past him, climbed into her car, and drove away, watching him shake his head and wipe away tears that had leaked from the corners of his eyes in her rearview mirror.

She needed comfort. She needed love, and warmth, and a safe environment where nobody could hurt her anymore. There was no way she could admit it to anyone, because she never sought comfort from anyone before. She needed somewhere that could show her what to do. She could have gone home, gone to her father and mother and cried on their shoulders like she never could when she was young, but didn't. That wasn't a place of comfort for her, but a place of awkwardness, of a strained relationship that would never be fully repaired.

She parked the car the last place she thought she'd go. She walked across the wooden planks that made up the last place she thought she'd be – or even should be. And the Jolly Roger loomed over her, its red paint standing out in the darkness. She could go here. She could. But wouldn't it be a mistake, too? She just needed somewhere safe, and somehow, she was here, and Hook was watching her from the deck as though he had known she'd show up all along.

"Emma," he said. "Love. You look troubled. Not that I find that a surprise."

She looked up at him, high above her, the pale light of the moon glinting in his eyes, visible even from where she stood. She always felt like his eyes were brighter than everyone else's, and that's why she always had to look at them. In Neverland, it was the first place she had looked whenever she saw him.

"It's not a surprise, no," she said, wishing she had checked to make sure her face wasn't too red before she got out of the car, and instantly hating herself for caring. "What are you doing, Hook?"

"I heard your car," he said simply. Explaining cars to him had been exhausting, largely because he was so curious about every aspect, and she spent hours supervising him while he sat in her yellow bug, flipping the turn signal on and off and cursing when he accidentally pressed the horn.

Emma's legs propelled her forward quickly, more quickly than she wanted them to, and she was climbing up the gangway, and then she was on the ship with no idea how she had even gotten there. It certainly wasn't where she wanted to be.

She realized it wasn't where she wanted to be as Hook stood near her, always nearer than he should, always close enough to smell, close enough to feel his breathing even though it wasn't touching her.

"Anything I can help with?" he asked. He watched her with his lips parted and his expression both soft and flirtatiously inviting – he couldn't help always looking a little arrogant. "I hate to tell you this, so I'll preface it with that I still quite fancy you – but you look terrible."

"I had a fight with Neal," she said before realizing. She didn't want to say that, hadn't planned to. It just came out.

"Which I am undoubtedly responsible for," he said. She watched his eyes drop, the light vanishing. "Emma, I am…well, sorry is not right - my apologizes, but you know me, and you know I'm not. I feel badly, though, to cause a fight between you and your love."

That moment, her eyes widened and she stared, completely forgetting that she was upset, even. "Why would you think that?"

He looked suddenly embarrassed, and she carefully memorized the expression, because she knew she was unlikely to ever see Hook embarrassed again. "I just…I assumed all that about our…you know…was bothering him."

She shook her head. "Not that. Why would you think that Neal is, as you say, my 'love'?" she asked, imitating his accent.

"Is this a trick?" he said, still looking embarrassed. His shoulders slumped in a way that Emma couldn't identify.

"No," she said.

"You love him, and I know that," Hook said simply. "I do not accept it, and still maintain that I will win your heart, but I know it. I'm not stupid."

She knew he wasn't. She never thought he was, not even when he was working with Cora. It was never Cora she was trying to outsmart. When she thought about their next move, Hook was always the first obstacle she'd mull over. He only helped Cora because he was angry that Emma hadn't trusted him, and it took her awhile to come to terms with that, but once she had, he was easy to forgive. She knew how it felt to trust someone and be betrayed. She couldn't blame him for being angry.

"I need a drink," Emma said, voice wavering. "I know you have something."

"That," Hook said, placing his hand on her arm lightly to guide her below deck, "can be arranged." He seemed almost happy suddenly. "I do believe in the power of a stiff drink."

Emma drank two shots of rum before she even considered speaking. Hook sat on a wooden bench across from her, just like he had when they toasted Neal on the way to Neverland. The best thing about Hook was that he didn't say anything as she drank. Everyone else she knew would have commented. It meant more to her than she could allow herself to feel.

"I don't know what to say," Emma said lamely. She slammed another drink.

"If I've learned anything, that's the way to figure it out," he said with a smirk. He moved next to her so he could pour her drinks more easily. As always, he was close – too close – and she could smell leather and salt and soap. He clearly had no concept of personal space. Emma had lived distantly from everyone but Neal, so having someone even so physically close to her made her feel alert, like she needed to do something to protect herself. So instead, she took another swig, this time from Hook's flask. Mistake.

It tasted like the taste she didn't want to remember. It was stupid to come here, and she knew it now even more than every other moment she knew it as she approached the ship. But where else could she have gone? She put the flask down, thinking only of his lips on it, and abruptly pressed her head against Hook's shoulder, the worn leather soft on her cheek. "Sorry," she said immediately. "Rough day."

"And you didn't even take me on a proper date first," Hook said. His tone reminded her of another time, another thing he had said, something that had changed her life: Is that all your father's life is worth to you? She felt overwhelmed, but couldn't move – all she could do was sink deeper, deeper into Hook's shoulder, and when he smoothly wrapped his arm over her shoulder, she sank into his chest, and kept sinking. She felt his arms around her, and it was mercifully silent save the sound of water churning against wood. Neal's face disappeared from her mind, Henry's pain was gone from her ears, and all she felt was leather, warmth, and safety. Everyone else thought Hook was dangerous, and he certainly had that element at other times, but right now, he was safety.

His chin rested on top of her head and he said nothing, whether because he had nothing to say or couldn't, Emma didn't know. She knew it was wrong to be here, but she sank deeper still. She felt herself breaking apart, bit by bit, as her carefully assembled stature – fearless, strong, tough – weakened and disintegrated. She couldn't handle everything Neal had just dredged up, and now she was breaking down in front of someone; she could hardly bear the shame.

"I'm not objecting to this in the slightest," Hook said. "But what's wrong?"

"I just needed a place to go," she said quietly.

He didn't ask why she couldn't go home – he just accepted it, accepted her, and gave as much of his warmth to her as he held her that she could take. It was selfish, so selfish. She came here for comfort, knowing he would give it, not caring if it hurt him.

"Why did you want to kiss me?" she blurted. It felt important to her.

She felt the small smile that he allowed to spread across his lips. She couldn't see it but knew it was there somehow. "Many reasons," he said. "None of which, I might add, have any relation to the fact that I am supposed bad news, or a heartless, lady-killing pirate." He spat the last word a little.

"Why, though?" she pressed, knowing he was trying to get out of talking about feelings just like she would have. The only time he didn't try to get out of it was when Emma had wanted to save Neal, both his friend and his rival.

"Because," he said. "You are quite – forgive my language – charming to me, Emma. You are both tough and sensitive, sweet and determined, full of a hope that I am not, a caring mother, and above all, a lady who can stand on her own two feet. Damsels in distress, while occasionally a bit of fun, are vastly overrated." There was that wit of his, both sharp as a cutlass and subtle as one. But it made her smile. He didn't care what people thought about what he said, and she liked that.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"And I love you, obviously, but that's a mostly irrelevant part of the reason. I wanted to know your feelings, and that was more important. As I understand it, your family believes in finding your true love through kissing, or something like that."

He must have spent time with David to know the story of him and Snow. It didn't strike her as odd, but made her feel strangely warm and safer than before. He was bold and he said what he thought. He'd never run. He'd never be cowardly enough to stay away from her because he was afraid to be rejected. He'd arrive, and she'd melt like she was melting against him right now, and he'd declare himself regardless of the harm that may come to him. That's just who he was.

"What did you find?" she asked, unable to stop herself.

"Something like getting struck by lightning when you're sopping wet," he said.

She slowly lifted her head away from him so she could look at him. The angle of his cheeks to his chin always surprised her when she saw his face. They were so unlike anyone else's in a way she couldn't place, and she hated feeling that way. She hated everything to do with the way she felt when she saw Hook. The light in his eyes was back, sparkling in its usual dangerous but gentle way. But she knew after spending time with him in Neverland that the gentleness was only there when she was near him. She lost herself in it before she could stop it. She felt herself slipping away in favor of an Emma who didn't care what happened, an Emma who only wanted one thing and would do anything to get it.

She grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him to her more roughly than she meant to. She had forgotten how close he was, how close he always was to her. If her mouth moved a muscle, it'd touch his, and it would over. Her self-control would be gone. He sat very still, probing her gaze with his, a question there that she didn't know how to answer. She wondered why he didn't close the small and agonizing space between them without stopping to wonder why she found it agonizing. Regardless of why, it was, and she knew he wouldn't move after they sat that way for what felt like minutes. She could feel his soft, warm breath on her face, tickling the tiny hairs on her cheeks. She knew he wouldn't move because he probably felt sure she loved Neal, felt sure she didn't want this again.

She did. She didn't have to grab him, or barely move. She wasn't even sure how it happened. But she was kissing him and he was kissing her back, and it was safe and warmer than she remembered, but somehow dangerous, too – risky in a way she couldn't describe. He wove his hand into her hair and with a jolt, she realized why it felt risky. That was him, that was Hook, and any girl that ever saw Hook saw at least a little of the danger in him – the danger that once he had you, you'd never get away. And that was how Emma felt now. She couldn't stop, and when she tried, she felt a pull toward him that was almost magnetic. She needed more, now, and then more, and more.

Right now he tasted like the sweet, spicy rum they had just drank. It overwhelmed her all the way to her bones as his lips kept moving with hers, more and more intense every second. She couldn't stop, and the rum made her thoughts feel slower, but she wanted more, too. She tried to stop again but Hook's mouth found hers, starving and gentle at the same time, and then less gentle, and she thought she was going to burn with the heat she felt inside her, the bubbling electric waves that grew hotter and hotter. But she had to have more, because it tasted too good to stop, it felt too good. When she found his tongue, she needed even more, and she had no idea how much time had passed, but she couldn't stop, didn't want to. The Emma that didn't care had taken over.

He picked her up suddenly, easily, and she was straddling his lap and in control, still wanting and never sure she'd have enough. He touched the skin of her cheek and Emma felt it blaze beneath his fingertips, their lips still together. It burned, and she pulled back, suddenly aware of where she was and what she was doing. She had been aware the whole time, but now remembered what had happened before she came here. As quickly as she could bear to remove herself from him, she stood up, immediately feeling freezing cold without the heat of him near her. He held his hand over his mouth and looked awed, but oddly content.

"Don't leave," he said, knowing she would.

"I'm so sorry," she said more quietly than she meant to as she rushed as quickly as she could back to her car. Hook followed her to it and opened the door for her, looking confused but still unable to stop grinning in a way that made Emma want to grin too, even though she couldn't, shouldn't. This was wrong, and now she had another kiss she had to try to forget about. She drove away, feeling a wave of something strong but unidentifiable as she saw Hook's placid expression behind her and still felt the ghost of his lips against hers.