Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own anything having to do with Once Upon A Time. If I did, Emma and Hook would be together and Neal wouldn't even be in the picture.


Chapter Four

An Undertaking and A Choice

"I go to seek a great perhaps."


Emma had never felt like such an idiot. She was standing on a raised platform in front of a tri-fold mirror dressed to the nines in an elaborate dress that she could barely breathe in. The seamstress scurried in circles around Emma, poking and prodding and pinning while her mother smiled on in the background.

The dress was beautiful. Floor length with delicate straps and tasteful beading on the shimmering silk, it was a sage green creation that everyone said would look wonderful in contrast with her fair skin and blonde hair. And of course, they were all correct. She was to wear this dress tomorrow evening.

Not only was tomorrow the night of the biggest, most extravagant ball the kingdoms had seen in quite some time, it was also her twelfth birthday. Her parents had planned the ball to celebrate her coming of age, so to speak; it was to be an introduction of her to the world. A whole evening dedicated solely to celebrating her.

Emma felt awkward already.

"Sweetheart, don't frown. It'll give you wrinkles."

She couldn't help the groan that escaped her. "Mom, why do I have to do this, again?"

"Because as of tomorrow you are officially a young lady and there's no better way to celebrate than with a ball. Oh, Emma, you're going to have the best time. You'll look like an absolute angel in that dress, every eye in the room will be on you. And there will plenty of handsome young princes to dance with."

Emma was less than thrilled. If there were anything worse than having to be paraded around in front of everyone in the kingdom, it would be her having to dance with all the princes in the realm in front of everyone in the kingdom. The uncomfortable embraces, the inevitable stepping on toes, the sweaty handgrips. Yes, true love in the making.

"Excuse me, milady." The seamstress' soft words drew her mother's gaze. "If you are satisfied with the gown…"

"Oh yes, Grace. Let's go ahead and get Emma out of it so you can work your magic." With the help of the two older women, Emma was able to shimmy her way out of the dress. "The dress truly is exquisite. I couldn't have dreamed up a more perfect and lovely piece."

The palace seamstress blushed under the praise. "Thank you, your majesty."

The rest of the day and most of the next passed in a blur of colors, music, fabrics, and instructions. Her mother busied herself with overseeing all of the last minute details of the ball, answering questions regarding things that Emma didn't even realize where even an issue. Lilies versus tulips; tapered candles versus votive candles; organza table coverings versus lace. All of the inquiries seemed so inconsequential. Did anyone truly care whether the tables were decorated with one larger centerpiece or balanced out with two smaller ones?

In the few moments that she wasn't preoccupied, Emma's mother shadowed her every move, following her from place to place and reminding her of simple things when they came to mind.

"Don't forget to curtsey when you're introduced to someone – remember to keep your eyes over his shoulder when he dances with you; don't look down at your feet – be sure to greet everyone in attendance; it would be simply horrible to forget someone and then they think us rude."

Before she knew it, she was being told to dress for the ball. Her mother deposited Emma in her room before departing for her own to get ready. The platform and tri-fold mirror had been moved into one of the corners and Grace stood meekly beside it, waiting to assist her.

Grace was a sweet girl, someone that Emma always wished she'd had more of a chance to get to know. She was dainty with light brown hair, a smattering of freckles, expressive eyes, and plump lips. She wasn't too much older than Emma, but the difference in their social standings prevented them from associating more than when the seamstress' services were needed. Grace was the daughter of one of the royal archers, Jefferson, and while his was an honorable profession, it was nowhere near a royal family.

"Are you ready, Princess?"

With a quiet sigh, Emma dropped her casual, everyday dress and stepped onto the platform. Grace pulled the elegant gown from its hanger and held it out for Emma to step into. With a hand on the girl's shoulder so as not to fall, Emma stepped into the dress and pulled the straps over her shoulder. As Grace moved behind her and began to lace up the back of the gown, Emma touched her fingers lightly to the delicate beading that adorned the front. Her mother was right; the dress really was exquisite. Then again, Grace never produced anything less than outstanding work.

"Princess, you look absolutely breathtaking."

She'd never been one to indulge and take pleasure from staring at herself in mirrors, but she couldn't help but admit that she looked pretty. Her hair had been styled in a simple chignon, the sweetheart neckline of the dress was perfect for showcasing the simple pendant that hung around her neck, and a coordinating bracelet decorated her wrist.

Emma felt the sudden very girly urge to twirl in a circle but resisted, opting to twist a few times so she could watch the dress flow back and forth instead.

"Oh, Emma!" She turned quickly at the sound of her mother's exclamation. She stood in the doorway in a deep purple one-shouldered gown and Emma was sure that she'd never seen her look more beautiful in her life. Her father hadn't stood a chance – one look at her and anyone would be a goner. Her mother came forward and embraced her lightly and Emma could tell how happy she was in that moment.

"Here's a little something just for you." She moved to stand behind her, their eyes connecting in the mirror. She was holding a delicate silver hairpin encrusted with small diamonds. "My mother gave me this when I attended my first real ball and now I want you to have it." Her mother tucked the pin gently into the side of Emma's chignon, smoothing down a few errant hairs.

Emma's father came to collect them, and before she knew it, they were in the ballroom and her mother was ushering her around, introducing her to a flurry of guests. There were so many people; faces blended together, their names forgotten as soon as she heard them.

"Emma, darling, this is Prince Phillip." This was the fourth prince she'd been introduced to so far this evening. He was handsome enough, but he had a nervous smile and slightly watery eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Phillip." Seeing her mother still watching her, Emma gave Phillip a tiny curtsey.

"The pleasure's all mine, Princess." He bowed and snagged her fingertips, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. A perfect little gentleman – his parents must have taught him well.

The evening dragged on and Emma wondered if her parents had managed to find a way to slow time for the evening. The only way to keep her sanity was to sneak out to the veranda every once in a while. With so many people talking and dancing, the ballroom felt stuffy, so the cooler outside air was a refreshing. She took a deep breath, leaning against the railing, and looked out over the gardens; her reprieve, however, was short lived.

"There you are!" Busted. "Come on inside, people can't meet you if you're hiding out here." Her mother dragged her back to the stuffy heat of the ballroom. "Oh, there's Prince Phillip – why don't you go dance with him, sweetheart."

"Can't I just visit with Cinderella? I haven't seen her in ages." She was immensely tired of dancing. Also, she believed her feet were completely ruined from Prince Adam stepping on them so much in an earlier waltz. It would be far more relaxing to sit and talk with one of the few friends she had that were in attendance.

"No, it's time for a dance. Go on."

"How about Prince Eric? Or Naveen?"

"No, I think Phillip will do just nicely. Now go." Her mother gave her a slight push towards the dance floor.

Emma had already danced with him three times, which was far more than any of the other princes. "Why do I have to dance with him again? There are plenty of other guests."

"Emma, you will stop this and go accept a dance with him this instance."

"But why?"

"Because he is your betrothed!"

All of the lights seemed glaringly bright and it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Betrothed? She couldn't breathe, just stared in horror at her mother. Emma finally understood why her mother had been insisting on so many dances with the young prince.

"But… but I don't want to marry him. I don't want to marry anyone!"

"Emma, you're only twelve; it's not like you'll be getting married tomorrow. The marriage isn't planned until your eighteenth birthday." Emma couldn't find the words to speak; her brain and her mouth refused to connect. "And you can't say you don't want to marry him, you barely know the boy. He is a wonderful young man whose parents are very excited at the prospect of your engagement. You'll be spending plenty of time together in the years to come and I'm sure the more you get to know him, the more you'll like him."

But Emma didn't want to get to know him. How could she grow to like – to love – someone knowing that the whole situation was forced, that it was the product of someone else's plans?

"After all your stories about how much you and Dad went through to be together, you would force me to marry someone I didn't love?"

"Love can take some time to develop, sweetheart."

"Yes, and it can also happen in an instant – or at least that's what you've told me."

Her mother refused to respond to the statement, just stared her down with a stern look. Emma felt the betrayal well up inside her and manifest itself in the form of anger.

"I can't take this! You plan everything for me; my whole future is like one big, strategic chess match and I don't even get a say in it. I don't want to grow up and be a queen, I don't want to run a kingdom, I don't want to marry Phillip or Eric or anyone else here, and I don't want to be your perfect little princess!"

The slap stung.

Emma brought her hand to her cheek, sure that it was flushed from both the slap and her prior anger. Her mother's face was twisted in a shocked expression; she'd never laid a hand on Emma in her life. The slap hadn't been hard, not even enough to turn Emma's head, but it was the emotion behind it that truly stung.

"I'm so sorry! I don't know… I can't believe…" Her mother took a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself. "I'm so sorry, Emma. I know that you don't agree with many of the things your father and I have planned for you, but we know what's best. You'll thank us one day."

But Emma knew she wouldn't.

Her mother reached forward to pull her into an embrace, but Emma pulled away from her outstretched arms. Shaking her head and fighting the tears she could feel burning in her eyes, she ran down the hallway to her bedroom. Slamming the door, she threw herself onto the bed. She hated crying, hated the way it made her feel, but she couldn't stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

Her mother's rise to the throne had been one full of adventure and romance. Snow had been constantly on the run from the Evil Queen, always trying to stay one step ahead, and had met Charming by chance in an attempted robbery that turned into one of the greatest tales of true love in the whole realm. That spontaneous, never planned, one-day-to-the-next kind of life was something Emma wanted to experience. The feeling of never knowing what's going to happen next, of being able to fall in love with someone you'd never expect.

But everything was out of her control here in the castle. Her parents wouldn't listen, didn't care about her hopes and dreams. They'd been living in times of relative peace for so long that the thrill for adventure had long left their hearts, which also prevented them from seeing that yearning that burned in Emma's. As she wiped the tears from her eyes, she spied her travel bag stuffed in the corner against her dresser.

Run away…

The words floated around the room as if the walls themselves whispered them to her, as if they knew of the sorrow and discontent she felt nearly every day within its confines. The stars above her head twinkled, calling to her to see them with her own eyes instead of through an enchanted ceiling.

Could she really do it?

Would she do it?

Thus far, her life had consisted of people making her decisions for her; the biggest choice she'd ever had to make was which pony she would like to take for herself from the city's breeder. This was so much bigger than that.

But if she were caught… if her parents ended up finding her…

No, she wouldn't get caught. She'd had a plan for years of how to get away and an idea of where she could go.

Run away…

The words lit a fire deep in her chest and she jumped from the bed, moving with purpose. She ripped the dress off and pulled her hair free from its updo, the diamond hairpin falling to the floor. She started to reach for it but then turned to the closet and dressed in her most comfortable pair of trousers and shirt instead. She'd have no need for elegant hairpins where she was going.

Grabbing her bag, she began to stuff it full of outfits that would be helpful on her journey and with a sharp movement, broke her piggy bank and stuffed the money she'd saved over the past few years into the bag. Moving hurriedly, she grabbed her bow and arrows from the corner and a piece of parchment before padding quietly down the hall to her parents' bedroom. There, she told them goodbye.

Dearest Mother and Father,

By the time you read this, I will be gone. I'm sorry because I know how much this will hurt all of us, but it is something I need to do.

I remember the stories you both would tell me before I went to sleep at night – tales full of adventure and romance. I fell in love with those stories and have spent my entire life wishing for one of my own. I can't bear the thought of never getting the opportunity. I need to be free to live my own life; free to make my own mistakes and experience my own victories; free to fall in love with whomever I choose.

I would ask you not to look for me, but I know that you will. You will not find me, but please know that I will be safe. You both raised me with the knowledge of how to take care of myself and now I go to put it to use.

I love you both so much and I hope you can find a way to forgive me someday. Know that wherever I am, I will always think of you both. Mother – look up at the stars and know that, wherever I may be, I do the same and think of you. Father – shoot your bow and know that I carry mine with me, a piece of you always by my side to protect me.

Love always and forever,

Emma

Tears stung in her eyes. This was so hard, but her words in the letter were true – if she stayed here she would surely drown. She would wither away until there was nothing left of her except the bitter shell of a woman that used to be full of hopes and dreams. Emma folded and sealed the letter, pressing a kiss to the note before laying it on her parents' chaise lounge. They would not find it until the following morning, by which time she would be long gone.

Emma grabbed her small pack and left the castle. Most everyone in the palace was attending the party and those who weren't were so relaxed and at ease that it was easy for her to slip out. She made her way to the docks; the plan was to barter her way onto a trading ship and then go as far as they could take her. Her heart felt heavy with sadness but she didn't pause to give a last look at the palace she'd grown up in, was born and raised in.

She never looked back.


When Emma came to, the first thing she thought was that she was never drinking again. Ever. This was by far the worst hangover that she'd ever experienced. Then she remembered that she hadn't had anything to drink the night before.

And that she'd been stabbed.

Her eyes flew open and she sat up so quickly that the blood rush to her head caused her vision to go black for a few seconds. When it cleared, she looked at her surroundings. She was in a bed in some type of cabin; there was an armoire, a large wooden desk strewn with maps at the other end of the room, shelves filled with books, a small sofa, and floor to ceiling windows along the opposite wall that showed a clear blue sky. Looking down at her body, Emma noticed that she was still wearing the same grungy clothes from the day before, the side of her shirt stiff with the dried blood. Curious, she lifted up her blouse to inspect the wound and found that it had been bandaged.

Where the hell was she? She closed her eyes, trying to place the events of the prior night in order but couldn't focus beyond the slight panic she felt at not knowing what was going on in the here and now. With a frustrated groan, she flopped back down onto the bed.

"Most women don't make such unpleasant noises while in my bed."

Emma hadn't even heard the door open, but there he stood. Hook.

"Your bed?"

"Aye."

Breathe, Emma… long, deep breaths.

She glanced again to the sunlight streaming through the windows; it had been night when she arrived here. "How long was I out?"

"About fourteen hours now." He moved to lean against the desk. "I didn't want to wake you."

After sleeping for fourteen hours, her head shouldn't be pounding the way it was anymore. But then again, she hadn't just been sleeping. She could distinctly remember passing out from the strange effects of the knife. Not exactly a formula for a restful night's sleep, no matter how comfortable Hook's bed might be. Speaking of beds…

"So if I'm in your bed, then I guess I'm on…"

"The Jolly Roger." He finished the hesitant sentence for her with a smile that quickly faded. When she'd felt movement earlier, she'd just attributed it to her headache. Now that she was aware of where she was, she noticed the slight swaying motion again and recognized it for what it was – a telltale sign of being on the water. "How are you feeling?"

"Aside from a headache, surprisingly well." The prior evening all blurred together in her mind, a dizzying rush of color. "Can you fill me in as to how I came to be in your bed?"

He chuckled, probably thinking along the same lines as her – that her being in his bed was the least important issue at hand. "How about you fill me in as to how you came to be aboard my ship covered in blood?"

How exactly had that happened? Focus… she sat up in the bed again, resting her back against the wall behind her. Hook pulled the chair from behind the desk, dragging it across the room to sit beside her.

"I was in the clearing; I'd been practicing yesterday afternoon." She left out that she'd also been thinking about him – a lot. "I realized that it was getting late and I needed to get to work, so I grabbed my stuff and was almost to the inn when this man came up behind me. I have no idea where he came from or who he was; he was wearing a black cloak, though, so he obviously didn't want to be seen. I wasn't even paying attention when I felt him stab me."

Emma had been staring down at her hands clasped in her lap. When she ventured a look at him, she was surprised by the outright fury she could see in the tense clenching of his jaw, the stormy expression in his eyes. He refused to look at her, though.

"Lay down, I need to change your bandages." She did as she was told and he reached forward to push her blouse up to her ribcage, exposing the wound. Using his hook, he sliced through the current wrappings, casually throwing them to the floor. Emma glanced down at the injury; it was a small hole, but there was an unsettling black color that spread out from the wound with her veins.

"Did he escape after stabbing you?"

She looked away from the wound and back to Hook. He had pulled a new set of wraps from somewhere and was slowly unrolling it. When he reached forward to start bandaging, his hand brushed against the bare skin of her stomach, causing it to twitch faintly in response. Under different circumstances, the position they were in – her shirt hiked up and him gently touching her bare skin – might have led to a very different outcome.

"No, I killed him… I stabbed him."

His eyes shot to hers for a second before returning to the work at hand. Sliding his hook under her, he pressed the flat part of the appendage against her and forced her to arch her back; with his other hand, he began to loop the wrappings tightly around her body. He was surprisingly adept at the task for having only one hand.

"I remember how angry I felt." She recalled the flash of rage she'd experienced as the knife had slid into her body. "I was mad at him for hurting me and mad at myself that I hadn't been paying enough attention to stop him sooner. I didn't even think; I just responded."

He was staring at her with an unreadable expression, but if she had to guess, it was a mixture of pride and concern. "That's what you're supposed to do, love. What I've been trying to teach you." His eyes lowered, returning to the task at hand. "Could it have been a random attack?"

"You are meant to die, Princess – and die, you shall."

"No."

"And what makes you so sure?"

Emma hesitated. To tell him any part of what made her sure that she'd been intentionally targeted would be to tell him about her past. Could she do that? Could she trust him with the truth of her heritage? Only Ruby knew of her past and, even then, she'd only told her because it had been necessary; that situation hadn't exactly been planned. No, she couldn't tell him… not yet.

"I just know."

He gave her a sharp look but didn't press her. "You said you were close to the inn… what made you come all the way to the docks?" He wanted to know why she'd dragged herself halfway across town when her friends were much closer.

"Some women were talking, they said that there was a handsome pirate captain in town and I had a feeling it was you they were talking about." Any bit of anger was quickly replaced by one of his trademark smirks. "Oh no, don't even look at me like that – those were their words not mine so don't go getting any ideas." She had to give him credit as he at least attempted to stifle the grin.

"Still doesn't explain why you came to me instead of your friends, love."

Emma frowned. She couldn't explain that because she'd wondered the same thing at the time. "I honestly don't know why. I tried to tell myself to go to the inn, but I just kept walking towards the docks. It was like my brain was disconnected from my body or something."

"Hmm…" It was a noncommittal sound that she couldn't read. "Here, tie this." He'd finished changing her bandages and now gave her the end of the wrapping to tie off. Once finished, she sat up and smoothed her shirt back down, sparing a glance once more for her dirty clothes. She needed a shower and a change of clothes desperately – she felt disgusting – but all her clothes were back at the inn…

The inn!

"Oh my god, Ruby's probably freaking out… and August too. I have to go; I need to let them know everything's ok." Emma threw the covers off her legs and stood up, but the room swayed and her legs felt like they'd collapse as they had the night before. Hook put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Damn legs… I can't even walk properly."

"Yes, well, most ladies do go weak at the knees after spending a night in my bed."

"Oh, please…" She brushed his hand away and tried to blow him off. "I have to go talk to them. They're probably worried sick."

"That's going to be a little difficult, love."

She didn't like the look on his face. "And why's that?"

"We've left Tortuga."

"We… left? As in we're not in the port anymore?"

He shook his head at her confused questions. "We left last night after you fainted."

"Damn it, Hook! You know that's considered kidnapping, right? You can't just take people without their permission." She ran a hand roughyl through her hair. "Do you have any idea how worried everyone will be about me? Ruby is going to kill you."

"In case you don't remember, love, a man tried to kill you. Not just a random attack on a helpless lass – he was after you, tried to kill you. Obviously, someone in Tortuga wanted you dead bad enough to resort to desperate measures and I, for one, wasn't willing to sit around and wait for them to return and finish the job when they discovered you had survived." He took a deep breath. They'd had somber conversations in the past, but Emma had never heard him speak so intensely to her before, with such obvious emotion. "I sent a note to your friend before we left explaining what little I knew of what happened."

Emma was relieved that at least Ruby would have some knowledge of what happened instead of thinking that she'd just been abducted or killed. Something about what Hook said, though, pressed at the back of Emma's mind, bothering her. Why was stabbing her considered desperate measures? That seemed a fairly routine way of assassinating someone. Unless…

"Why did the wound look the way it did, with the dark lines coming from it?" Emma could feel her stomach drop at the pained look on his face. "Hook?"

"It was cursed. The blade he used to stab you was filled with dark magic."

The words were like a punch to her stomach and she had to put a hand against the cabin wall to steady herself. Dark magic was a terrible thing; she could remember her parents telling her about it as a child, about the horrible things it could do, the horrible ways it could corrupt a person's mind. "What's going on, then? How am I alive?"

"By all intents and purposes you should be dead; the magic should have killed you within an hour. Thankfully, I had something on hand that stalled the curse. It didn't cure it by any means, just delayed the inevitable."

"So I'll still die?"

Hook looked far calmer than she felt. If only she could maintain that level of poise. "If the wound goes untreated, yes."

Outstanding.

"How long do I have?"

"A few days, a week at the very most." It was a staggering thought, to know you were only days from death. The expression on his face was unreadable, and she exhaled heavily, the breath coming out shaky from the weight of the revelation.

"You need help, love – more help than I can give." Thoughts raced through Emma's mind. The Blue Fairy was the only person she could think of that might be able to cure her, but that would involve returning home. "I know of someone that can help, though, but it would take quite a bit of effort to get to where she lives. And it would be dangerous – extremely dangerous."

"Well I'd prefer to live, given the choice." Apparently, finding out how close she was to death had given her a new sarcastic streak.

His lips twitched at her comment. "Yes, I'd prefer you live also." He paused. "She lives in Neverland."

As a child, Emma had heard numerous tales about the wonders of Neverland. It was a land where imagination ran wild, where adventures and dangers waited in mermaid-filled lagoons and Indian-inhabited plains, where one would never grow old. But that's all she'd believed they were – stories. Never in her life had she imagined they could possibly be real.

"A place that's only exists in bedtime stories."

"I assure you, it's very real. A whole colony of pixies resides in Neverland. Combined, their magic would be enough to heal the curse; the trick is convincing them to help. Lucky for you, they owe me a favor." His eyebrow rose suggestively. "I'm open to suggestions on a form of repayment, but if you need ideas I'd be more than happy to supply a few."

Emma cocked her own eyebrow, remembering the terms of her last payment. She was already indebted to Hook for him saving her life thus far; to accept his offer now would make her debt nearly insurmountable. She'd owe him for years to come. But then again, she couldn't repay anything if she was dead.

Leaning against the cabin wall, she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. How was this even possible? A mysterious man that knew her hidden identity… a cursed blade meant to end her life… a legendary land that held pixies powerful enough to cure dark magic… a pirate that had apparently been to Neverland before.

What were the odds?

Emma had a million questions but figured they could all wait until later. "It sounds ridiculous and unbelievable… but it also sounds like it's our only option."

"I must warn you, though, love." He turned to her then, cautiously snatching her gaze as if he really would prefer not to tell her. "I might not always be the charming pirate you're used to. Neverland does strange things to a person's mind."

Emma unconsciously licked her lips.

"How so?"

Did she really want to know?

"It can make a man feel completely carefree. Makes him feel like he could take on the world or jump off the highest cliff and fly. Like he could reach up and take the stars down from the sky or outrun the wind or move a mountain with his bare hands."

He stepped towards her until their bodies only inches apart, forcing her to mold her back to the wall. Lifting a hand, he ran it through her hair before curling it around the back of her neck, his thumb running across her jawbone. He lowered his head and pressed his forehead to hers; his eyes were closed, and his voice was low and husky as he whispered to her. "Makes him feel like he could spend a thousand lifetimes with a woman and never tire of her or want for anything more than the feeling of her skin against his… her lips on his body… her joined with him."

The words were like sin. Emma had closed her eyes at some point as he spoke – she didn't know when – and she found herself fighting to keep her breath steady. It was difficult, though, what with the way her heart was beating wildly in her chest and the spreading warmth that was building in her stomach.

"But it can also make a man feel helpless. Part of Neverland's power is that it causes you to forget everything you know. To know that you're at the mercy of the magic in the land… it can make you angry, and anger is a curse, a bottomless feeling that can grow and consume a person. Fill a person with rage. Make him dark."

They were quiet and unmoving; she had no wish to break the spell his words had cast over them, but she forced the words out.

"I'll take my chances."

He laughed, if she could even call it that. It was a hoarse sound that most definitely did not stem from joy.

"I wouldn't have you see me dark like that, Emma."

"I trust you." Even if he didn't always trust himself.

He raised his head and stared into her eyes. They were a less startling blue than when she first met him; now they were more like the gray-blue of a storm on the ocean. His hand shifted, giving his thumb access to glide across her bottom lip, and his eyes dropped to track its progress.

"I think I'd like to collect on your prior debt now."

The kiss.

His words were soft, much softer than the impossibly loud sound of Emma's heart beating that she was sure he could hear in the silence that surrounded them following his statement.

"A deal's a deal."

His lips turned up in a small smile. "You're much more than just a simple deal, love."

Then he dipped his head and kissed her, and it was everything she'd ever imagined it would be. His lips were firm, demanding, and she felt she would be burned with the heat of it. His mouth moved against hers, parting her lips. He was intoxicating. Their tongues intermingled, causing the scorching heat to travel through her entire body, and she distractedly thought that this was a kiss.

Her hands slid up his arms of their own accord. They ghosted over his shoulders to wrap around the back of his neck, her fingers sliding gently through the hair at the nape of his neck, caressing him. At her touch, he moaned and it vibrated through her mouth. He grabbed her chin and turned her head, creating a better angle, a deeper angle, to kiss her; at the same time, his hooked hand settled at her waist and he leaned into her, pressing her against the wall. His hips shifted against hers and the sudden increase in intensity left her breathless. Their kisses were hot and strong and wanting, and she could feel her long-standing resistance floating away like ashes on the wind, burnt and discarded.

If his words earlier were sin, what did that make his kisses? Because surely no man should be able to kiss as well as Hook did. The things he could do with his mouth caused her mind to spin, her stomach to flutter, and her knees to weaken.

Her hands ceased their caress, one grabbing a fistful of his hair, the other dropping to clutch at the front of his vest. He made another noise as his hand slid down her side and along to her back, pushing her forward and making her arch her body into him. He abandoned her lips, nipping at her earlobe before trailing hot kisses down the side of her neck. Emma's head fell back against the wall and gasped as he sucked at a sensitive spot near her collarbone. Fingers looped in his belt, she pulled his hips tightly against hers.

She couldn't get enough… couldn't feel enough.

That's why she was surprised when Hook was the one to pull away. He leaned against her, unwilling – or maybe unable – to move, his face buried in the crook of her neck; his breathing was heavy with what she assumed to be a combination of his desire and the effort it was taking for him to stop. With one last rough and jagged breath, he pulled back, pressing his lips to her forehead before stepping away and turning his back to her. His words were soft, only barely reaching her ears.

"You're sure?"

Oh yeah… Neverland. She'd almost forgotten what they had even been talking about. To be completely honest, it hadn't seemed important once he'd kissed her; especially since his kisses had easily been the most arousing and mind-blowing ones she'd ever experienced.

"Yes."

A soft sigh. He reached for her hand.

"Then let's go."


Hook makes me swoon. Seriously. It's kind of sad.

I know that Snow seems a little harsh – I was as shocked as you because that slap came out of nowhere – but you have to understand where she's coming from. A mother's love is absolute and Snow is one protective momma. She knows things that Emma doesn't and has said before that she'll do anything to protect her – even if her actions will push her only daughter away. She has her reasons so try not to be too hard on her, mmk?

Thanks again for the great reviews – you all seriously make my day!