Not my best, and I apologize for that.
When she was young, probably around the time she turned thirteen, she found herself coming to appreciate being avoided or ignored by those who had taken her in. After facing plenty of foster homes where the parents would give out beatings regularly, or would yell almost non-stop, the more silent form of abuse seemingly gave her a sense of reprieve. (Along with the opportunity to run as she had, at that point, already become accustomed to.)
However, in recent weeks, as she was settling back into a somewhat normal life (save for being surrounded by fairytale characters) alongside her parents, her son, and to some extent Neal, she found that being avoided by those who were supposed to care had begun to hurt. That it left an ache in her chest that represented the disappointment she was met with at not having a certain presence at her side that she had grown quite used to.
His natural presence.
This fact was only - annoyingly - brought to her attention once more at the sight of his ship as she meandered along the docks; waiting for the ocean to calm her.
For, though she still wasn't entirely certain where she wanted the relationship she'd developed with Hook to go, she had been fairly adamant with how she'd liked things would go with Neal. And that was not at all.
He wasn't an awful person, she supposed - despite having the past with him that she did. But after years had gone by since she'd last seen him - last had her heart broken by him - she had changed, and so had how she felt for him.
She didn't hate him by any means, but that was not to be mistaken with wanting to return to his "loving arms."
Now if only he could see that.
After having let him down on another request for a meet at Granny's, honestly, she was tired. She needed a bit of room to breathe, and before remembering that her old source of comfort was now being habituated by pirates (or at least one of them), she found her feet carrying her there to think.
Of course, once she'd reached the docks, her memory couldn't have betrayed her for long. His ship wasn't exactly a dinghy, and it was quite obvious as it rested directly in her line of sight from her bench.
Oddly enough, however, she didn't find it as distracting as she found it almost comforting. The Jolly's gently creaking hull only to adding to the ocean's home away from home feeling.
She chose not to notice.
As she sat there both thinking and clearing her mind, she found that the usual effect was taking place. Her brain slowed down, her muscles relaxed, and she found herself nearly evaporating into thin air with the amount of calm she felt.
She needed to do this more often.
With salty air filling her lungs, she took one more deep, calming breath before making to stand, and possibly give Neal the speech she'd been working on in order to let him down easy.
She supposed that meant taking out the small bit of inner dialogue where she spoke of not being interested in cowards anymore. Though it would have been a bit empowering to finally say.
However, as her inner thoughts were re-gathering themselves from an afternoon that had been both Neal-less and lunch-less she realized with a growl from her belly, a loud noise coming off of the ship before her made her mind come to a stop as she began to cautiously make her way towards the noise.
She hadn't seen Hook for the past two weeks not counting the times where he had rushed out of Granny's after finishing off his drink, and where they'd seen each other from across the street and he immediately turned around; running into a post in his haste to get away. He'd obviously been avoiding her.
And, though she could no longer say that it didn't sting a little bit, and though she also thought he was being slightly ridiculous, she could admit that when she wasn't rejoicing over Henry's safety or groaning over her parent's inability to recognize the proper times for PDA, she had been slightly concerned about his wellbeing.
So, as she lurked up onto the deck of his ship, she both made sure that everything that had been intact when she left still was, and that she straightened her leather jacket. Armor up just in case he'd decided that winning her heart hadn't been worth it in the end.
(Though whether she wanted him to or not was still up in the air, it had been nice to know that someone seemed willing to try and sweep her off her feet…despite the walls of brick she'd built up possibly weighing them down.)
She crept around corners like a cat and checked the deck for anything suspicious until she heard a cry from below. She sped up and then ran to the hatch that she knew led to his quarters, prying it open and peering in before making her initial descent.
Inside, the slight amount of daylight streaming in through the small window lit up his cabin to the extent that she could see everything, but in that way where it all seemed slightly blurred at the edges; the dust wafting through the room giving it that.
Along with that, she saw several books that she last remembered seeing on the shelf near the window were on the floor, and several other things that had been in the same general vicinity now lie haphazardly throughout the room.
It was slightly disconcerting in comparison to how neat it had been down here when Henry had been put to bed on their way back from Neverland. So either he'd been going through something or…
A slight groan came the small bed in the corner where he sat; hunched over with his face contorting in pain.
…that was the crash she'd heard.
She tiptoed down the ladder as he remained lost to himself, rocking back and forth, cradling his wrist. He didn't seem to notice her presence as she crept closer, and she became a bit more concerned at realizing that he was usually a bit more aware of his surroundings.
He writhed a bit as she reached out for him, and subsequently knocked one of the pillows off of his bed. His eyes reopened and, through slight groans, he picked it back up; holding it against himself as his back remained turned.
She felt bad watching him as he obviously was in such a vulnerable place, but she also felt the need to get him out of such a place if possible - it was hurting him.
Knowing that she was going to scare him either way, she quickly sat down beside him and took his hand in hers; doing what she felt had to be done as quickly as possible before he could resist - like she would have in his situation.
As she suspected, he jolted at her touch and whipped around faster than she could have asked him what was wrong. His eyes were wide, his breathing was heavy, and along with that he seemed to be curling into himself further rather than taking comfort in her presence. However, she remained steadfast, holding onto him as he slowly came to.
"You're alright," she said, as he closed his eyes, trying to regain some composure. "I heard you thrashing around down here…" she probed gently, looking around his cabin to see all that had fallen in order to catch her attention from the docks.
A single bottle of rum lay on the floor with the neck broken off along with a cup, some coins, and one of the chairs that normally sat underneath his desk in the center of the room. It was fairly obvious, both after taking more time to look around and immediately after entering the room, that everything was not alright. However, she supposed that, with the circumstances, she could let her own empty words slide.
He hadn't responded to her yet, instead choosing to pull at the sleeve that was concealing his left arm; eyes down.
"What's wrong?" she continued, not letting him go on alone.
She was still not sure why it was so important that he didn't.
She took a guess that it was either guilt from being somewhat rude to him in Neverland, or knowing how it felt to be alone when demons haunt you, that made her want to make it up to him, or save him like she never had been.
It may have been one of those. It could have been both, but that's not to say she didn't have another reason as well.
Perhaps she truly cared for him.
Like the feeling of home she felt when looking at his ship, she chose to ignore that thought as well.
He continued to look down at his sleeve until she gave a slight tug on his index finger that she had been grasping loosely.
He looked up with something akin to shock on his face, as he then took a moment to gather his voice.
She waited patiently. That's what she would have wanted.
"It's not much," he said, somewhat raspy from both lack of use and how quietly he was attempting to talk. "I-I was just…" he looked at her for permission to continue, and she nodded softly.
"Talk to me," she whispered.
He licked his lips.
"I've been alive for quite some time, Swan," he said, smiling at some unstated joke. "Surely you'd have to know that from this I'd gain quite a bit of… experience."
Ah, there it was.
He smiled with a raised brow, and she slowly took her hand off of his.
Unlike him, she wasn't sure about what to do with his walls. She wasn't sure how to take them down.
"Of course," he continued, regaining a bit of his solemnity, "with experience comes pain. Emotional and…" he gestured with his hook, "well." He smiled; an upward tilt of his lips while his eyes remained empty and tired. He tried to keep a smile on his face, but to her it was quite obvious that it wasn't working. That in truth he wanted to frown.
He was easy to read too.
An open book, she remembered him saying, and a small smirk appeared on her lips as she looked over at him. She wanted to frown along with him, but he needed to know that it was her turn to help him make light of a bad situation.
"You know, you're something of an open book," she said to him, and his head slowly turned at the echo of words. She gave him a smile, tinged with a bit of sadness, but real, as she went on. "Keep going. I want to help you."
The look on his face was painful, though, sadly, easy to categorize. His eyebrows raised a hair as his jaw went slightly slack - not particularly in shock, but as if he were about to say something but decided against it. Like he was catching himself from ruining a rare moment where someone cared.
She knew what it was like to feel ignored, and how it felt to be seen and then hurt; having no one who truly wanted to help her.
She'd been alive for about twenty-nine years. She could only imagine how he felt.
She reached for his bicep this time, and gave it a firm squeeze as, finally, the tension in his shoulders released, a sigh fell past his lips, and the protectiveness he'd adopted towards the left side of his body slowly began to fade.
"I haven't had the phantom pains in many years," he said quietly. His eyes were still downcast, and he was noticeably uncomfortable still, but she claimed another small victory that nothing about him seemed fake. There were no masks put on, or false shows of self-pride that had no place in a conversation like this. He was being true. "They're like a burn at the end of my wrist that I can never seem to get to go away, but the last time I had them was during a rather vicious storm a while before the curse. Witch said it was because the sky gods were punishing me." He shook his head at that, and she chuckled inwardly at not being able to tell if he was doing so out of exasperation or regret. At the possibility that the skeptical captain may have spent a time in his life believing that he was being punished by gods in the sky.
It was a ridiculous thought (to her), but not the time or the place to continue such musings with a laughing heart.
Now was the time for empathy, not teasing.
After a moment's wait where he was seemingly thinking back on this time of his life, he resumed his explanation.
"However, today I had been…thinking. Thinking about my past and how I could have been-" he cut himself off, looking to her.
Better, he thought. Heroic. Not the piece of scum that I am.
He pushed away his unruly thoughts, and went on.
"…different," he finished, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "After that, I'm not really sure what hit me." The confusion was evident in his voice. "I'd never had it so out of the blue like that, and after such a long time. But, I suppose," he began rationalizing, "that the memories may have forced it. There must have been a trigger of some sort."
His voice started on a steady decrescendo as his thoughts grew louder.
Those both of self-hatred, and those of desperate longing.
Of if I were this, or if I had that, would I be worth it then?
He didn't know. Maybe he would always be something without value; no matter what his past or what he chose to become.
He was glad that he had already been broken in enough ways to have calluses surrounding his heart, for if he hadn't, the absolute hopelessness that came with that thought would have made him fall apart.
"It's nothing, love," he said with a smile that made his lips look small and his eyes look empty. "It's just a bit of a burn now, nothing I can't handle."
She looked at him for a moment, and then she furrowed up her brows as she seemed to be considering what he said.
It was nothing.
Maybe she did want to flee the close proximity she found herself in with him. Now that she knew that he wasn't dying in a puddle of blood, rum, or vomit she could do so with a slightly lighter conscience. However, as she looked at the frown that marred his face, even as he told her he was alright, she didn't want him to be alone.
She looked up at him again and cocked her head.
"Do you think I could help you at all?" She asked, and he was struck by the kindness that she held in her heart. He knew she would much rather be fleeing his cabin, and getting as far away from him as possible, but instead she asks after helping him.
His eyes grew wide, and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her in awe.
She looked back, basking in his surprise, and wishing that he didn't have to feel so shocked at the fact that she wanted to help him; wanting him to already know what it was like to have people care for him.
They looked at each other for a short moment that felt much longer than it was, and both took a moment to admire the color of the other's eyes. She did so thinking about how, after not seeing him for so long, she'd forgotten how blue they truly were. And he, he looked deep into her eyes and thought about how the golden flecks that resided in the center of her iris must have been left over from the sheer perfection of her heart.
She was so good, the only reasonable way to explain the beauty of her eyes - her beauty overall - was that it was just the remains from how pure her heart and soul must have been.
Was he being ridiculous?
Yes.
Did he care?
No.
He was completely and utterly in love with her, and that definitely wasn't going to be helped by her offer to help him.
Which he couldn't accept.
He chuckled low, and under his breath, as he ducked his head and tugged on his sleeve again. She wanted to be somewhere else, and he couldn't bear to make her uncomfortable.
So, softly, he gave her another way to escape.
"And how do you intend on doing that, Swan?" he asked, breaking the moment and making her pinch her lips.
If it hadn't been for the absolute awe on his face just moments ago, and the uncomfortable blush on his cheeks then, she would have thought he was mocking her.
She did know what she wanted to do for him, though.
For, despite not having majored in helping amputees in the college courses she'd never taken, she did have information on how to help people who were experiencing phantom pains.
(In other words, as she'd been reading an article about who the top ten celebrities who led double lives were, on a website that was sure to give her laptop a virus, at the bottom amongst " " ads and something about dermatologists hating someone with good skin, was a link that said "Learn to Help Those Dealing With the Loss of a Limb.")
(Why she'd clicked on it, she'd never know.)
(She laughed at thinking it might have been fate.)
She could help him.
Even so, she couldn't help but be a bit shy at the prospect of what she was about to offer. She wanted to do this, though, and she supposed her own comfort could be put aside for just a moment.
"Do you…well…I mean… I could give you a massage?" she offered, softly, admitting that she didn't sound as resolute as she needed to in order for him to accept her approach.
His head turned to her as his face morphed into one of pure confusion, shock, and what could possibly have qualified as fear.
She didn't like how fear looked on him. It wasn't quite natural in such a position; where he was given the opportunity to be in people's personal space.
The look clearly faded, though, as his voice returned.
"You don't have to do that, Swan," he said, and she couldn't tell if he was trying to laugh her off, or on the verge of an emotional break down. He cleared his throat. "If you want to touch me, I think there's something more enjoyable than a massage that we could partake in." His eyebrows waggled, and the tease in his voice chased away all signs of vulnerability that previously existed there.
She, however, didn't even take the time to roll her eyes at his innuendo, as it didn't take him more than five seconds to slip back into the version of himself filled with self-doubt and unsureness, and she was completely unimpressed with his attempts at hiding from her.
Instead, she held out her hand, expectantly, and looked at him; her eyes made of steel as she stared him down.
"Give me your arm," she said, leaving no room for argument.
He, however, knew how to wiggle.
His eyes went wide, fear evident now, as he squirmed a bit and shook his head.
"Swan, no. You needn't do that," he responded, resisting as best he could as she continued to reach for his arm that was completely covered.
He began to try and push her away with his hand as she ignored his protests, but she pushed right back.
"Swan - Emma! Please, you don't have to-"
He looked down.
She was holding his stump.
He made to continue his cries, softer now as he recovered from her slipping past his defenses, but one look from her silenced him.
She furrowed her brows as she began to gingerly pull back his sleeve and look upon his scars.
He pulled in a breath as they were revealed to her and waited for her reaction.
He was a monster, broken, hideous.
Which truth would she find written on his raised skin?
She carefully, softly placed her thin fingers on his exposed skin, and looked up at him for permission to continue.
The contact made him gasp for even more air, as her lack of response made him cautiously let it back out.
He could feel his arm pulsing where her hand rested, and the burn slightly subsided.
He reveled in the feel of her skin - cool from the chill outside - against his burning flesh. She hadn't even begun to do anything yet, but still he was wonderstruck at how she could do so much with such a small gesture.
After she gave him time to adjust to her gentle touch, he nodded; swallowing as she pushed the sleeve up further and carefully rubbed down his muscled wrist.
She found the joint at the edge of his wrist that would have connected to his thumb, and rubbed it back and forth with her own.
A release of tension ran up his arm as she continued the movement before moving on.
She then ran her hand down from his elbow to the bone that stuck out like a small ball on the outer edge of his wrist, running her palm over it to spread the cool she brought.
He sighed as she kept up rubbing gentle circles on his wrist and the scar tissue there, pain ebbing away with every smooth roll of her fingers on his skin.
Her hands were the waves and water of the ocean, and the firey ache he felt was like the sun touched sand. With every movement she made, more of it cooled, dissolved, and then drifted away.
She was a goddess, he was sure.
She looked at him halfway through her gentle massage and he looked back, resuming the staring contest they had started earlier, only this time having touch involved. He blushed slightly as he watched her rub the pale skin on the edge of his arm, still nervous despite her refusal to turn away at the sight of his scars. However, she was quick to notice his face's change from awed and contented to the discomfort he wore now.
"What is it?" she asked, stopping for a moment to look at him more seriously.
He blushed deeper and internally slapped himself for letting himself lose his mask once again. She didn't need to know of his pains and misfortunes.
But for whatever reason, he encouraged her.
"Why don't you look away?" he blurted out. His eyes were filled with desperate confusion and his mouth formed a frown that made him look both young and curious and old and shaken by something so new. He didn't understand a simple act of decency, and the fact that she understood, that she got what it was like to feel confused by the most every day things struck a chord.
Made her snap.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, dropping his stump as her rage-laced confusion took over. He seemed to both let out a breath and visibly deflate at the loss of contact, and she was tempted to take his rugged edge back in hand, but instead she continued staring at him.
He shook his head.
How could she not understand that he was a monster?
"Why don't you flinch, or turn up your nose, or make some comment about how horrendous I really am?" his breathing was heavy as he spouted his questions. "Why don't you despise me?"
"Because you're not!" she finally shouted, losing her patience entirely. She wasn't irritated with him; not when he was so lost to himself; when he didn't even know who he truly was.
No, she was mad - enraged even - at the thought that this is what he thought. Disgusted, not with him or his scars, but with the people in his past that made him feel worthless over something he already had to struggle with. She was horrified and upset that a person she knew she could end up being friends with (or was friends with?) was made to feel so absolutely awful about himself over something he could not control.
His eyes were wide as she looked at him; lips pinched and nose curled up. She didn't care if she'd surprised him with her outburst. He had surprised her time and time again, and now she supposed it was her turn. It was time that she gave him a pleasant surprise that threw him off kilter, and left him gaping like a codfish.
"I have seen you in action," she went on, not letting the scowl leave her face. The thoughts of people throwing such violent words at him - the thoughts of her and her family throwing such violent words at him; those that left him sitting before her, broken and unconvinced, hurt her too. Empathy and sorrow caressing her bones as she looked at his confused, sad eyes. "I've known what it's like to see you at your worst. You shot Belle, you stabbed Gold, and you stole me and my family's one hope of survival."
His head fell in shame, and he nodded; looking resigned to the fact that he had no worth (and feeling that way too).
She reached for his arm again and tapped it lightly, breaking him out of his self-loathing reverie.
"Hey," she said quietly, making sure that he was paying attention. "But I've also seen you when you're being kind," she said, looking at him purposefully and allowing her guilt to fall away for just a moment as she tried to build him back up. "I've seen you save a woman's heart though she wasn't even your friend, I've watched you come back from what would have been irredeemable - you returned the bean and helped us find Henry, and in Neverland we all watched you be honest, and helpful, and protective. You saved my dad's life." Her thoughts came out somewhat jumbled, but the point was still being made.
His head fell again, this time with embarrassment, as he smiled and began to say "it's nothing," or "it doesn't matter," or anything else that may have implied that his good deeds didn't blot out the bad. She couldn't tell for sure, because she didn't let him start.
She took his empty wrist fully in hand again, and squeezed reassuringly.
"If I've seen you at your meanest, and possibly at your kindest, so I feel that I can assure you of one thing," she said, lifting his wrist in between their faces, and smiling just a touch. "This doesn't matter."
He furrowed his brows, disbelieving.
She shook her head in response.
"If I haven't told you to take a hike yet because of some horrible things that you've done, " she started, looking him in the eyes as she traced over some of the raised lines on his wrist. "Then, trust me, I'm not going to send you away over something that you live with and you are." She took her own turn to smile somewhat shyly with a bit of self-doubt before she returned to her steadfast stare. "This, " she said, giving his arm a bit of a shake, "does not make you any less worthy, or any more a bad person, and I'm sorry if I or anyone else has made you feel that way."
She looked at him and nodded; eyes severe with hope and begging for forgiveness.
I am sorry.
His eyes had a certain level of wetness in them (not enough to cry - not in front of her), as he looked down at her and her own, pleading eyes.
It was rare to find someone so compassionate and caring as she was. In fact, he supposed that he'd most-likely spend the rest of his life comparing others to the marvel that was Emma Swan.
She was asking him for forgiveness for such a small thing as possibly hurting his feelings?
He had been nearly killed by men aboard his ship and gotten nothing more than an almost apologetic grunt in his direction.
Needless to say, he was somewhat flabbergasted.
She held his reverent and tear-filled gaze for several more seconds, and once again he took the opportunity to admire her. She continued her stare, eyes pleading, and eventually he smiled with a small nod; chuckling a bit inwardly at how serious she seemed.
You're forgiven.
She smiled back - such a small, meaningful thing - thanking him for easing a weight off he conscience, before she cleared her throat, and absentmindedly tapped on his arm.
The small touch sent even more sparks through him than any of those before, now knowing that she didn't mind touching him; that his brokenness in that regard didn't bother her.
How meaningful.
He felt his heart skip a beat.
Though, through the smile he was trying to keep off his face, and feelings he was trying to chase away, he barely heard her ask, "Have the pains gone away?"
Her focus was on the threads in her jeans as the question fluttered around them and alerted him of her rediscovered discomfort.
She was ready to leave. Meaningful words, forgiveness, and close proximity finally proving to be too much for her guarded self.
However, a bit selfishly, he still thought on her question.
He pulled his stump from her grasp and shook his forearm just a tad in order to get a feel for where the burn had gone.
(In truth, though, it had disappeared, noticeably, several minutes ago, as her words and her hands' diligent work had fully taken away any thoughts accompanied by those pains. But having her there for just a few seconds more felt like what would truly make or break his wellness.)
(Though he knew she'd already begun to heal more than just his body.)
After a moment more of him looking as though he was considering whether or not he was alright, he nodded; looking at her with a tight, but friendly grin.
She returned it, letting her eyes crinkle a bit, before she stood up and made to leave.
She brushed the invisible dirt off her pant legs (or possibly the feel of him onto her pants), and walked towards the ladder out of his cabin.
He watched her the entire time, admiring everything he could, before he realized that she was on the third rung and almost gone. He hadn't thanked her yet.
"Wait, Emma!" he called, far too loudly, and far too dramatically for the quiet environment they had just exited. He cringed at his own voice, and her climbing stopped, but she still turned her head to look at him.
As soon as he was sure she was looking at him, and the echo of his desperate voice had left their minds, his eyes filled with softness and gratefulness.
His brow furrowed, and he cleared his throat a bit before he gently said, "Thank you."
She smiled - truly smiled, saying, "yeah," and turning once again, but then cocking her head as if in deep thought.
Her mind wandered back to early yesterday when Neal had asked her to join in at Granny's for coffee, and then she reminded herself of the unresolved issue of him avoiding her, and quickly a plan had formed in her mind.
"I haven't really talked to you in a while, not counting this," she started, and he cringed internally while thinking about having to explain his admittedly rude behavior.
He wasn't doing that to win her heart, or to hurt her feelings. It was a favor to Bae, Emma, and Henry that he'd stayed out of their lives - to help them rebuild their family. Nothing meant to be noticed by her or affect her.
But she went on, interrupting his thoughts.
"So, I was wondering if you'd like to meet me for coffee tomorrow?" she asked, squinting her left eye a bit as a small bit of shyness peeked through.
His eyes widened as he looked at her, awaiting his answer with a crinkle in her nose, and her face half in the light from above, half in the dark from below.
He could have grinned from ear to ear at her offer, holding back because he knew it went against his promise to stay away.
It would be bad form to break his promise - especially after already having ripped apart Bae's past family. He couldn't do that again.
However, as he looked at her - waiting and maybe even a bit hopeful - he let the smile loose as he decided that it wasn't breaking the rules if she pursued him.
Though, of course, that's never how he'd planned it would go. (Not to say that it was an unpleasant surprise. He couldn't have been happier.)
After several moments of him staring at her with one of the biggest smiles she'd ever seen gracing his features, he quickly cleared his throat, toned down his smile, and responded.
"I'd like that, Swan."
She slowly smiled back at him, a bit smugly, as she nodded and said, "Alright, four o'clock tomorrow sound good?"
"Aye," he replied, no need to even think about doing anything else at that time. He wasn't a very popular pirate in the town of Storybrooke, and even if he was, nothing would be of more importance to him than being in the company of Emma Swan.
She smiled, satisfied.
"Okay, see you then."
She turned to climb out again and he fell back onto the bed, a smile plastered on his face.
His thoughts were filled with juvenile things like what he would say, and what he would wear, and how it would go, but he couldn't find it in himself to mind.
After weeks of avoiding her, and several bruises on his forehead after running into signs, he felt that a few moments of childish thoughts about a happy afternoon to come would be permitted.
He sighed for a moment before he looked down at his stump and grinned a bit.
He would deal with phantom pains every day for the rest of his life if it meant spending time with Emma Swan.
Emma, standing by the bench she had originally started at, and feeling the slightest bit cocky, smiled too; her thoughts every bit as childish as his.
(Maybe even a bit more as she basked in the glory of getting him to stop ignoring her.)
(She didn't even have room in her mind for the thought that that should have scared her that she wanted him to notice.)
(Outside of her son she had never cared about that sort of thing for a long time.)
(Maybe caring wasn't so awful, though, she thought)
She began to walk to Granny's, determined to find Neal and finally end the part of her life that involved feeling broken over him.
She had her parents, she had her son, she had friends. She wasn't a lost girl anymore, even if she still felt the effects a bit. She could still learn to make herself open, happy.
And if that started with saying goodbye to Neal, than she supposed she could live with that.
What she didn't say in her speech to herself, but most definitely thought though, was the part about also saying hello to Killian Jones.
She still didn't know what she hoped for or expected when it came to him, but it was fresh. It was another new beginning that she wanted to experience.
If she was going to stop running, why not make a show of it?
(She wasn't the only one who stopped doing something they'd promise to themselves they would keep up. Hook never ignored her from that point on; caring for her, helping her, and making sure she was comfortable as often as he could.
It made her heart swell with something akin to care - love - with every minor act of decency that he'd show her.
And this time, after enjoying being seen and known by those who loved her, she couldn't find it in her to force herself to stop caring.)
(It was after about four months of being together - after he'd ordered her favorite meal from memory when she said she'd be late - that she first told him that she loved him.
It was open, and free, and not just because she felt a need to protect, and help others, but because she did. She wanted him to know her love for him, because it made her feel just as good saying it as he did hearing it.
And he accepted it, not just because he loved her back, and because he would most-likely agree to anything that she said, but because he felt he deserved it - her love.
And after years of either being far too giving, or selfish in the wrong way, it felt so good for both of them to finally be selfish and wanting with each other.)
(These ghosts from their past would still haunt them at times, threatening to rip them apart as they protected and gave too much, but it was this selfishness, and the other's need to give at the right times that would keep them standing. And with the other in their arms, phantom pains, literal or metaphorical, could suck it.)