"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath.

Emma set the lock of her left earring, a twinkling silver piece peeking through her curled golden locks. She smoothed the fabric of her red shift dress, then turned to face the man hunched over the full-length mirror, his black and white form warmed by the dim amber glow of the bedside lamps.

She checked her watch. It was time to go. "You got it?" she asked. "You need help?"

"No," he said sharply. "I will not be bested by a bloody piece of rope."

Emma slid her bare feet across hardwood floor. "Come on," she said. "Tons of men from this realm can't even do this right. I taught you once. Cut yourself some slack."

He dropped his arms in defeat as she began negotiating his tie. "Tell me, love, what is the real purpose of this?" he asked. "What reason might a sane man have to set a noose around his own neck?"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Don't be so dramatic."

The frustration on his face melted away, and in its place grew that familiar, naughty grin that always got under her skin. She felt his arms curl around to her back, the cold metal of his hook brushing briefly against her. "The things I'd do for you," he teased, his voice a near-whisper.

She gave his black tie one last pull before straightening it between the white of his collar. She leaned in instinctively as her eyes rose to meet his. "Hook," she said, a frown forming on her face. "You know you don't have to do this."

"Yes, but feigning ignorance was a much more amusing way to get you near—"

"You know what I mean," Emma said, pressing her hands against his chest.

His grip grew firmer, his expression turned somber. "No, Emma, I don't. If you mean to tell me I don't need to attend this soiree with your parents, I don't accept that. If you mean to tell me that I don't need to wear this suit . . . well, I have my reasons."

"Which are?" she asked, adding, before he could respond, "You have nothing to prove."

"Well, I know that," he said.

"I mean it. You can wear whatever you want. I'm not here to tell you what to do."

He sighed, released her, and drew back with one long step. "Who am I?" he asked.

Emma cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"Come on, who am I?"

She shifted her weight, then shrugged. She was never one for guessing games. "I don't know. You? What do you mean?"

"Of course you know," he said. "Killian Jones, better known as Hook, the pirate captain of the—"

"Okay, no, that's—"

"Let me finish, love," he said, raising his good arm. "I'm not trying to hide who I am. The things I've done, however ruthless they may seem, I did them in earnest for causes I deemed just, at the time. I won't run from my past, and I won't deny it, but I won't live in it either. Not anymore. I know you don't wish to change me, and it warms my heart, but I didn't come to Storybrooke thinking you and I could live our separate lives. That I'd wander off on my ship while you . . . ," he paused, scanned the scarcely-lit room, and added, "lived this life which I knew nothing about."

He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then smiled softly.

"I know more about it, now," he continued. "About your suits, and ties, and . . . mobile phones. I wouldn't ask you to live my life simply for my convenience. I've endured many things, and I am willing to endure so much more for you. One night in a suit, Emma, that's hardly sacrifice."

Emma stared and folded her arms, unsettled by his sudden silence.

He was doing it again, disarming her with his voice and his stormy blue eyes — always drawing her further out of her fortress than she is ever really prepared to go. It's just a damn suit, she thought, couldn't he just stick to the jokes? Couldn't he just laugh and shrug it off, so she didn't have to stand there and think of something to match his perfect set of words?

She pressed her lips together, forcing a smile of her own. "Well, that wandering off part doesn't sound so bad. I could use a week off. You did say I'd make a good pirate."

He licked his lips, then reached over for the jacket laid neatly on the bed. "I don't think your father would approve of the plundering. As for the respite," he said, throwing the garment on, "I'd be happy to oblige."

He raised his arms to his sides, and raised his eyebrows in question.

"You look nice," Emma said, feeling her chest swell with emotion — pride, joy, and . . . "Really, Hook. It suits you."

He narrowed his eyes and hummed. "Was that a pun, Emma Swan?"

She shook her head, and turned to grab her clutch bag from the dresser. "Okay, okay. We should really get—"

She started, her words caught in her throat. He had closed the gap between them, and his face was once again a mere few inches from hers.

"Really, sweetheart. I just told you I'm giving my life to you. Would it kill you to start calling me Killian?"

She stared at him for a few seconds, marveling at how he could sound so mischievous yet so sincere all at once.

She had an answer now. Looking at him, she saw him for who he was — Hook, the pirate captain of the Jolly Roger, the man whose ship saved her from Neverland, and whose lips saved her from Tallahassee. The man who, with every smile, every challenge, and every carefully plotted word, convinced her that she was bigger than the confines that she had built up around herself. That she deserved everything good that was outside of those walls, and that he would move heaven and earth to make sure she could reach them. This was the man who, in giving her all the liberty in the world, had seized her, captured her, heart and soul.

She dropped her gaze. "I don't know, I signed up for a leather-clad swashbuckler named Hook. Not so sure about this Killian guy in a suit. . . ."

"Well, aren't we clever?" he said, leaning back.

But Emma grabbed his arm with her right hand, and brushed the stubble on his cheek with her left. "Hey," she said, and before he could ask, she silenced his lips with her own.

He didn't hesitate in returning the kiss — soft but lingering — and his fingers quickly trailed up and tangled into her locks. Holding her without pressing, taking only what she gave. When he sighed into the kiss, her skin tingled at the warmth that crawled across her cheek.

And when she pulled away, his eyelids fluttered open, as if he had just woken up. "What was that for?" he asked breathlessly.

"For me," she said.

He smirked. "Well, do help yourself more often. I don't mind."

She smiled, fully and sincerely. Then, she looped two fingers around the curve of his hook, and leaned over to turn off the lights. "Come on, Killian," she said. "You're gonna get us late. You and your speeches."

"Oh, really?" he teased. "I'm not taking the fall for this one, love. It's not my fault you can't keep your hands off me. Do you prefer me in a suit then?"

She lead him out the doorway. "I don't mind you keeping the leather pants."

"So that's what this is all about!"

"Please," she laughed, the door closing behind them with a soft click.