A/N: So it's been a while. Trying to get back into the swing of things, so thought I'd start with a one-shot, late-night drabble of our favorite Captain Swan. It's has a bit of stream of consciousness in it, a bit poetic, so when sentences drop, it's intentional. Promise. Without further ado…

Disclaimer: Wish I did, but alas, I do not own a thing.

What's Mine is Yours

"Take this sinking boat and point it home

We've still got time

Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice

You'll make it now…"

"Is it the last one?" So delicate a whisper, he barely catches it. But as her voice breaks, he can feel his chest tighten, his fist tighten, his jaw, teeth—everything seems to clench in longing of her, this damned princess, this bloody

"Emma." He doesn't mean it to come out as a threat, but it does. A warning. Not to question his motives.

The wind is picking up. Whipping those blonde tresses violently about. How he longs to tangle his lone hand in their depths, control them, make them his. He has but to reach out. She'd give willingly enough, he knows, God how he knows. Those stormy eyes, those raging embers, he knows every single bloody time they meet his. She is his. And he? He is

"Hook?"

back to square fucking one, again, lass. Her shoulders are quivering, back facing his chest. He can see it, but holds himself back from every aching muscle in his body that longs to lunge for its prey, ensnare her in his arms and trap her against his chest, in him. Her head bows and he can see how she's trying so hard not to look back at him. All she wants is confirmation, acknowledgement, recognition that this is, indeed, it. And as her eyes roam longingly, as he just barely escapes her peripheral vision, he feels a familiar jolt surge through him. Smolder from his head to his toes, that throbbing that has only ever left him breathless of her. His eyes stray, memorizing every angle, every curve, every patch of skin he's grown acquainted with over the months, stranded in this hellhole together. But just as he closes his mind, he finds he forgets. Desperation kicks in, a feeling not acceptable to his nature.

He reaches out and in one smooth movement wraps his lone hand around the back of her neck, allowing it to nestle beneath the waves of billowing yellow. He can feel her tense, feel her defenses crumble as her entire body seems to sag beneath his fingertips. Power, he muses grimly, this is what power must feel like. It ignites a thrill. And dulls all sense of reason. The pad of his thumb begins to work its way, back and forth, up and down, from the base of her skull to the delicate curve where neck meets shoulder. Goosebumps. Thousands of tiny ridges rise to meet his touch. And, deeper still, he can feel her skin hum, quiver, in anticipation of something it's experienced dozens of times before.

"It's yours, darling. Has been for quite some time."

"Then where," she rounds on him angrily, "the hell," she shoves his hand away, "is it?" Her lips purse, in some half-hearted attempt, he can see, to quench her fear, her emotions, and bottle them back behind that blasted wall of hers.

"Cute, but hardly believable, love." He grins. That damn fucking grin.

Her fist drives into his chest.

It reverberates hollowly.

She comes after him then, her nails clawing, teeth bared, his own wild Cheshire cat. Mischievous. Independent. Bare before him yet completely out of reach. He nearly laughs—yet the look in her eyes is enough to make him swallow it back thickly. She, his pet, is so utterly, utterly dependent when it comes to him. So much worse for wear. He sighs a sad sigh as she corners him, backs him into the railing. With one fluid motion he's caught one first in one hand and the other tugged down to his hip with his hook, trapping it between silver and leather. The crisp hook bites into her flesh. "Emma," he chides, brows furrowing as her struggling increases tenfold. His grip tightens menacingly. Her wrist is trapped painfully against his side. She jerks as the metal threatens to break skin.

When she does speak, her words are hollow, tone deadpan. "You did this."

He dips his head down, leveling their gazes. He searches her eyes for a moment before emitting a deep, guttural growl. "You're bloody well right I did this." He jerks his head over her shoulder, eyes never breaking contact. "I did this for you." Emma is shoved away from him, but he instantly regrets the sudden loss of warmth.

"I didn't want—"

"Ohh, lass, you've come a far way, haven't you?" He doesn't need to clarify. She knows. Henry. This place. This land of never afters has left her forgetting. He can see she knows, as her eyes sharpen and there's something threatening to spill over just there at the corner of her eye.

"My son," she echoes his implication. He watches the bob in her throat rotate as she swallows thickly, and he has to keep himself from reaching out to stroke her neck again, to draw her back into his hold, his caress, his control.

The ship rocks suddenly, lurching from beneath them and Emma loses her footing. He catches her smoothly with one arm, hauling her dead weight against his chest. His left arm snags around her waist as the other crosses over her shoulder, down, and to her stomach, fingers splayed protectively. The wind howls around them, lashing their hair into each other's' faces. He leans over her shoulder and braces his cheek against hers. Everything about his embrace screams Mine but he won't say it. He won't fucking say it. Not here. Not now. Not when

"Henry, Killian," Emma moans. And he's torn, between her plea to be let go and the gut-wrenching he suffers at the rawness of his name on her tongue. Gods, he would die a thousand deaths if he could only hear her say his name unmarred, unaccompanied, once before the end of it all.

"I know, lass, I know." Because he does know. Henry's hers. She's his. He knows, more than he can bare to know. "Just—" but he can't finish. He burrows his eyes into the cradle of her neck, holding her that much tighter to him.

"I can't."

"You can."

"No—"

"You must." He presses a chaste kiss to her skin before pulling back, twisting her around and holding her at arm's length. So she couldn't see the monstrosity behind her anymore. So she could, if only for a moment, put it behind her before she put him behind her. "Yes, it is the last one. For good, this time. No turning back, sweetheart."

"There never was," she interjects sadly.

He smiles, tilting her head up with his hook beneath her chin. "Never is an awfully big assumption, love."

"From the man who lives in Neverland."

"Ah, there she is," he grins mischievously. He taps the bottom of her jaw lightly with his hook. "Go home, Emma. They'll be missing you."

She knocks his hook away, shaking her head and folding herself beneath his own chin, pressing her forehead to the bare patch of skin exposed between his collarbones. He stands there for a moment, suddenly unsure just how he could possibly ever let her g—

"Tick, tock," he whispers shakily. Even as his reserve dwindles, he wonders how his swan became so soft. What he wouldn't trade for that woman atop the beanstalk right now, guns blazing and confidence practically rolling off her as she strode out of the castle with him shouting. If only for a moment so she could be strong enough for the both of them. Blimey, he thought, she's gone and turned me into a whipped cur.

The ship shakes violently, then, and he feels as if the entire world were in on it, shaking from the force of their need. He hisses, pulling and pushing her seemingly at the same time. "Emma-love, you have to—"

"—go," she finishes for him. He can feel those small arms wrap around his torso for the last time, squeezing. He'll miss those arms. He'll miss a lot of things, but now is not the time. Before he can admonish her again, his blonde spitfire pulls back and without a glance paces to the opposite side of the ship's deck, gripping the railing as she hauls herself up. She pauses for a moment, laughing to herself quietly.

"Emma, what is it?" He had followed her, of course, close at her heels. His hand and hook go to her waist to steady her. She shakes her head, hastily wiping her sleeve across her eyes.

"I feel like Rose-fucking-Dawson on Titanic." At his confused face, she pulls herself on over the rail, fingers grappling for purchase on a taut rope.

"Who's Rose Fu—"

She shakes her head, laughing louder this time. "Never mind. Just a movie." She sighs and it takes everything in him not to reach out and bottle her breath, the sound of it, the feel of its heat against his face.

"I swear to you, Emma, if I could make a deal with the devil, I—"

And it's her turn to be brave. "Shhhhh. You never know when Cora could be listening."

"She's—"

"Don't. Say. It."

He frowns, brushing a stray tendril away from her glossy eyes. "I swear, you will be safe now, Emma." He leans in, pressing his forehead to hers as he gazes earnestly into her smoldering orbs. He freezes when her palm comes to rest on his bare chest, smoothing aside his shirt and resting exactly where

"Why?" Her voice is hoarse. "Why did you just give it so freely?"

He shrugged dismissively. "You needed it to cross. Cora has no knowledge of where mine is—she can do me no harm now. I gave it to you, sweetheart. Wherever you go, wherever you are—"

"—there you'll be," Emma whispers hauntingly. His arm crosses over hers to hold her hand to his chest. It's so easy, he thinks, to cover her with himself, entwine and make her disappear. The ever-growing rock in his stomach churns and sinks into a pit of despair. Without warning, so utterly Emma, her lips are crashing against his.

The kiss is chaste and urgent and an eternity of things, he thinks, they will never say or do again. Her lips are soft and plump, searching against his as he pushes back with unquenched rage. Punishment. His tongue slips past her unguarded lips and invades her mouth. He cannot help but moan when his vixen's tongue battles with his, fighting for the very thing she's had from the beginning: dominance. Her tongue brushes along the bottom of his teeth before she lets out an animalistic hiss, their teeth raking painfully. He takes her bottom lip between his teeth and bites, his hand slipping beneath her shirt to grip skin soft as peaches. He can taste blood—her blood—filling his mouth but he no longer cares. Just another part of her that will stay with him. He drinks her in, all of her, snarling when she jerks back abruptly. Her eyes, those doe-like eyes, are wide and glistening and she has his face in both her hands. "You can't cross. You have no—"

He allows his eyes to slip closed as he nods in agreement. "I cannot."

"Killian…" But before she can let go, his nails bite into her bicep and his hook sinks painfully into her waistline. He heaves her non-too-gently back across the rail. She yelps, and for the hundredth time he curses that damn hook. Always getting in the bloody way. Bloody bugger. She jerks angrily away from him, bitterness wiping over her face at her lost strength. She glances at between him, then the railing, and he knows she's going to make a run for it. "Oh, no you don't, sweetheart," he growls. Emma's body falls limply to the deck with him atop. He leans down and gently licks at her lip, careful to keep his cerulean eyes locked on hers. His eyes, he knows, have always had the power to hold her still.

"Damnit, Emma, you will be my undoing," he groans. "Do not run for me. Never run from me." He breathes heavily, breathing her in. He can feel his—her heart—thundering madly to be free from her chest. "I promise, promise you, I will find a way. For us. A way for us." His gaze searches her, longing for her to for once just accept whatever words come out of his mouth as truth. Whether they are, however, is entirely unbeknownst even to him. He watches as her eyes slip shut and she nods. He realizes she doesn't want to know. For once, that damn woman is finally trying something new. Oh, so now you believe me, blasted girl. Opportune moment, Swan.

Emma's eyes flash open. Her lip quivers. He watches her take a deep breath, feels her chest expand against his. His heart, her chest, thunder against his chest. The ship rattles around them menacingly, sails billowing loudly, and the very woodwork beneath them moans against the anchor's taut restraint. "Killian, I—"

His hook silences her lips. "I know, darling. And I, you."

She grits her teeth and shoves at his chest angrily, but he refuses to budge. She kicks out her leg, swiping it beneath his braced one, and he effectively loses his balance. Emma uses her last ounce of energy to roll them over. "No," she snaps. "You don't know. I haven't even known until…" she gestures around them. He can feel her weight sink down on his lower torso, and that familiar ache returns. "You told me to try. You told me, so this is me trying. And the funny thing is I think I have all along. And I'm so—I'm so angry with myself for letting—"

God, please, Emma, don't regret

She leans forward bracing both hands on his chest. "For letting," she continues, "us both go on in this twisted delusion. I have a son. I have a family now, Killian. But you have to know. If Henry weren't—if it weren't for Henry, I would never leave," she sighs, "you. And I wish," her forehead meets his, "I wish you could come."

"Darling," he chuckles, "I think you and I both know from experience—"

"Shut up," she swats away his sexual innuendo. Emma moves her head lower, and he can feel her hair tickle his chin, his chest, as her ear hovers then presses over the spot where

His hand comes up to once again tangle in her hair. He holds her there, holds her warmth to the place that will never emit warmth again. His eyes close. He swallows thickly. Content to just stroke her hair. Keep her there with him. Forever.

"I wish you hadn't."

"Emma," he suddenly warns, hearing the familiar growling of the sea. "We are a slave to words here, so be careful what you say, m'lady." He listens to her breathing for a moment. "It was mine to give, and it is yours. You need it as much as you want it. The portals between worlds are stingy with their rules, darling. You have to be alive to—"

"But you're alive," she retorts bitterly. "I can feel you. You are." Stubborn. Like a child. His princess.

He gives her scalp a good squeeze, allowing his nails to dig in before raking them down her neck to her back. Emma shudders beneath his touch. "There's a difference between what one feels and what is." He lets the words sink in. It takes him a moment to notice she's tugging at his bad arm. He twists his head to the side and sees her fingers are curled around his hook, thumb deftly testing its pointed tip. He watches her fingers walk up his arm before coming to rest in his mane of hair, fisting it and giving it a soft tug. Her eyes are closed. Feeling what is. He leans his head forward, pressing his lips to the top of her head. Lightning flashes across the sky.

"Emma-love, it's time."

"No."

"Yes." He rolls her off him, and she leans back. He's kneeling, just as he was back in the giant's castle, hand outstretched. She glances down and he knows she knows. Knows she recognizes the irony of the situation.

This time she takes his hand.

This time without shackles.

This time they walk towards the rail.

But just like last time, one will leave and one will stay. He shakes his head bitterly before swallowing back the lump in his throat.

"Deep breath, darling. Chin up," he lifts her head with his hook. "There's a good lass."

"I'll see you soon." He helps her over the railing again, and she braces herself with the rope.

"It's closing, Emma. Last bean won't last so long."

"Say it."

He grips her jaw in his hand, pulling her slightly over the railing again as his lips mold to hers, pressing firmly and fiercely. His lips pull back, brushing against hers. "Be seeing you soon, love." She shakes her head. So he gives her the last thing he can give.

"I do, Emma Swan, love you. You daft, stupid girl," he laughs. And she can see, from his smile, it's true. His eyes sweep over her face one more time. His hand presses over her chest, his heart. "Keep it safe, darling. I'm going to want it back someday."

She grins. Forced, he can tell, but something in him no longer cares. She leans forward and whispers in his ear. His eyes flash, and he reaches out, but she's already gone.

She's let go.

The portal hums, closes around her.

The waves roar, caving in.

Calmness.

Her words echo in his mind, the only sound in all of Neverland.

Come and get it.