When Emma smiles, her facial muscles move and her lips slowly stretch into a hint of a smile. She hesitates, her movements cautious, calculated. Like there was a hidden meaning behind it, as if the gesture had it in its power to plant false hopes, to fool everyone into thinking that all was well while the dangers still hung about their heads and no one could attest to what tomorrow would bring. And he wants to tell her that she might be the Savior, but she is firstly Emma, she is firstly human. And that she's allowed to smile and be glad, dammit! She's allowed to live without this indissoluble burden, she is allowed to be happy. Perhaps there's something selfish about that, because he needs her smile. He needs it to feel safe. For when Emma smiles, it feels as though the sun is shining, as though he can breathe again. Emma is a sedative that soothes his pains and he needs to have her close, deep under his skin and in his veins. So he makes her smile and lets her expel the darkness from his eyes.