.
"He'll be safe on the ship," Emma stated firmly.
"My magic—"
"Why are we still talking about this?"
"—I can make a barrier around his room, no one would get in—"
"No, we can't risk it. Magic is unpredictable here. Isn't that what you and Gold always said?" Emma huffed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Regina pushed herself off from the island counter where she had been leaning, growing impatient with Emma's stubbornness. They had gone back and forth for hours on the issue, both anxious about the impending confrontation with the Wicked Witch and the potential danger to Henry. The apartment was suffocating her, and Emma's protests, while valid, were causing a rage to bubble within the queen.
"I am not letting our son be alone with a pirate," Regina hissed.
"If you have a better idea we'd love to hear it," Snow chimed in, coming to stand beside her daughter. It had been an all-too familiar scene from the day before: the Wicked Witch's voice booming down on the townspeople in the main square, promising—no, threatening—to appear to them in all her glory, ready to take them all down. It reminded Snow of her wedding day, seemingly a lifetime ago. She sympathized greatly with Emma; the pressure of a ticking clock was a torturous feeling.
In the hours that followed, there was much talk of preparations that needed to be made. Emma and Regina's main concern was, as always, Henry's well-being. One of the first of the sheriff's ideas—and the only one she kept going back to whenever the topic shifted—was that Henry should go aboard the Jolly Roger where he and Hook could sail away from the shores of Storybrooke. Her suggestion was met with resistance all around.
Snow, however, had begun to see the benefits of that plan. And for whatever reason, Emma wouldn't let it go. "Emma's right. We can't use magic to shield him, not if we want to defeat the witch."
Emma gave her mother a tight smile, grateful for the support. David soon followed, nodding in agreement with them. "It's our best chance," he echoed, eyes darting over to Hook. "He'll be in good hands."
Regina was unconvinced, and marched towards the Captain with fire in her eyes. "If anything happens to him—"
"Yes, yes, you'll make my life a living hell," Hook spat, diverting his gaze from her and focusing back on Emma. "I've yet to agree to any of this, by the way."
She rolled her eyes, chest heaving. "Hook, please. Not now."
"I'll not run from a fight, Emma," he practically growled. His face took on a dark appearance, head angled downward, eyes boring into her own. I'll not leave your side, was his unspoken pledge.
"I am asking you to take care of him. I need to know that you're—that he's," Emma faltered, her slip noticed by everyone in the room. "That he'll be okay," she corrected adamantly.
"This is a waste of my time," Regina whined bitterly, striding straight for the door. "When you've figured all this out"—her wrists rotated violently, gesturing towards the remaining group—"you know where to find me."
Snow patted David on the shoulder, whispering indistinguishable words that ended in convincing him to join her outside in the hallway, giving Emma and Hook some privacy.
When the handle clicked and the space was vacant, Hook inched closer to her. His features softened as understanding washed over him.
"What's this really about?" he asked gently, knowingly. She scoffed, a pathetic attempt to contradict him. But when she met his eyes—and he studied her expression the way he always did—she sighed, shoulders sagging and arms falling to her sides. Open book.
"I need to keep Henry safe—we need to keep him safe. I'm not gonna risk losing him again," she repeated like a mantra. Her declarations were losing their edge.
"Then have the woman who runs the dining establishment watch him, or better yet, why not your parents?"
Emma shook her head, standing firmly in place as Hook approached. "We need Mary Margaret's arrows."
"And David?"
"He's good with a sword."
"You think your father a better swordsman than me?" he pressed, aggrieved by her implication. Several months of training with the prince back in the Enchanted Forest had proved that to be untrue.
"I mean, I did manage to win against you once," she said, a proud smirk emerging on her mouth.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, love." His laugh was derisive, still distressed by her unwillingness to tell him the whole truth.
It was a game he would have gladly played under different circumstances, the flirtation and banter. But things had changed between them, gradually, over the span of months and days that felt like years. While his faith in her abilities to overcome any obstacle never wavered, his fears that one day she too would meet her end (like so many of his loved ones had) were heightened now. Having spent a year apart from her—hanging his only hope on a simple "good"—Hook was overwhelmed by the prospect of being separated from her during such a critical time.
A silence had formed between them, half-hearted chuckles and pained looks exchanged between them.
"I'm still learning how to use magic," Emma began, taking a step towards him, hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans. "It still takes a lot for me to focus. I can't have any distractions." Hook only watched her as she finished, brows furrowed in concentration as he took in her statement.
"And I'm a distraction?" His question was phrased more like a fact.
"I can't worry about something happening to Henry, or you," she finally admitted, voice low and childlike. "I trust you." I want you. I love you.
Hook exhaled loudly, finger scratching at the bridge of his nose. "Anything I can do to help."
"Thank you," she breathed, her hand ghosting along the leather of his false hand. They made eye contact, and Hook gasped as her touch moved up from his wrist to his elbow to his bicep. As she looked into his blue eyes, Emma could feel her fear evaporating. He had that unique ability to boost her confidence just by being near her.
Whereas before she found comfort in looking to him on the battlefield, now Emma winced at the thought of any harm coming to the man before her. It was silly, really, to think a 300-year-old pirate couldn't handle himself. But the heart was rarely ever logical.
It was no small favor she had asked of him, Hook realized; to be charged with guarding the person she cherished the most was an honor he never thought he'd be found deserving of.
His eyes held a heartbreaking sincerity, intensely earnest as she broke the physical contact with Hook only to have him rest his palm tentatively against her cheek. His stare reminded Emma of the time he promised to think of her every day, or when he professed that he would eventually win her heart. And she wanted him to know—hoped that she'd have the courage to tell him—that he already had.
"Show her no mercy, Swan."
"Aye aye, Captain."
.
.
They returned to the Storybrooke docks just as the sun was beginning to rise. After a whole day spent teaching and story-telling along a secluded beach far from the fighting and chaos that the Wicked Witch was certain to bring, both he and Henry were keen to get back.
Henry's pace was sluggish that they descended down the gangplank, his body exhausted from the morning chores Hook had (playfully) commanded he partake in. While initially enthusiastic, the boy had come to realize that the life of a pirate was more strenuous than his books made it out to be.
Once on the main street, however, his mood changed. Off in the distance they could see a row of approaching figures, weary yet satisfied. "Hey!" Henry called out, waving his sore arms in the air with renewed energy.
Hook watched as the group collectively paused then began to jog towards them. Henry ran down the pavement, and Hook couldn't help but break into a minor sprint himself.
By the time Henry collided with his two mothers, the Captain was several feet away, separated from the touching scene. He didn't mind, content to just observe the happy reunion. The sight of Emma unharmed and smiling while in her son's embrace was enough for him. She looked up suddenly, as if aware of his staring, and she grinned wider before schooling her features back into a practiced calm. Ever the unshakable leader.
Emma never wavered in her gaze, eyes locked onto his as she rose up and started moving towards him. Slow at first, then with an intense speed until her arms wrapped around Hook's neck, her chest crashing against his. He stumbled backward, his stump resting against the small of her back while his right hand clutched at her shoulder blade.
"Thank you," she muttered, eyelids pressed shut and hair tussled by the steady breeze.
"It's alright, Swan," he teased, truly taken aback by her reaction, his hold on her still firm. "We had quite the adventure." Emma released him, her nose brushing against his cheek as she moved to stand in front of him. "Although I'm sure yours was far more eventful."
"You have no idea." She laughed, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. "I'm glad you're back." Her voice was so faint; she appeared so small. The warrior woman Hook knew her to be had vanished momentarily, replaced by the lost girl he had come to care for so deeply.
"I'll always come back, love," he promised, certain that she would try to spot the lie behind his words. Old habits die hard. But upon finding none, she relaxed and leaned into him. "Now, I believe you have a story to tell."
.