Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your patience and all your kind words! I'm sorry about the delay on this chapter; my computer had issues, and it erased everything I had written, so I had to start from scratch. But this one is extra long, and full of feelsy, CS goodness, so hopefully that makes up for it :)

And, as I said, this will be somewhat of a turning point chapter, so stay tuned!

"So you're telling me that that man who was here earlier is supposed to be Captain Hook?" Henry cocked an eyebrow, a slice of pizza held halfway to his mouth. "As in, Captain Hook from Peter Pan?"

Emma winced. The words only sounded that much more ridiculous in her twelve-year-old's skeptical tone. "That's what he claims," she hedged.

Henry dropped his pizza down to his place, mopping up a generous helping of marinara sauce before taking another bite. "And you believe him?"

She sighed, reaching up to rub at her temple—an action that had become much more common over the past four days than it ever had been before. She thought about the long afternoon that she had spent parked on that old country blacktop, listening in equal parts disbelief and awe as a lilting voice spun tales that were actually true. Snow White and Prince Charming, the Evil Queen, Robin Hood and his Merry Men, Rumplestiltskin, Cinderella for crying out loud—

And Captain Hook.

He had believed every word of what he'd told her. She hadn't needed her so-called "superpower" to come to that conclusion; the conviction in his voice and the burning desperation in his eyes had been enough to convince her that he truly believed.

But did she?

Her head gave a painful throb.

"I don't know," she finally answered, taking a swig from the nearly overflowing wine glass in front of her. "But I don't get the feeling that he's lying to me."

Henry gave her a pointed look. "He could be a psychopath. Or a serial killer. Or a serial rapist."

She rolled her eyes. "Henry—"

"I still can't believe you left town with him. Stranger danger, hello."

"Last time I checked, you weren't the parent here, buddy."

A beat of stubborn silence passed as they stared at each other across the table, neither one willing to back down. Henry set his jaw and tilted his chin, and she felt herself soften just the slightest bit as she recognized the expression that she'd seen light her own face many times.

With a sigh, she buckled, picking up the crust of her pizza and giving it a halfhearted nibble. "Nothing happened, did it?" she mumbled around her mouthful. "I'm fine. He brought me back in one piece."

He still looked unconvinced, but at least he didn't argue, instead giving her one last look before taking another bite of his food. She pushed herself up from the table, carrying her plate over to the sink, and as she watched her picked-over dinner disappear with an angry growl from the garbage disposal, she thought about the very valid point that her son had made.

This man had appeared out of nowhere, literally dropping out of the sky and onto her doorstep. She had never seen him before, but there was some unexplainable part of her that knew him—the smell of his skin and the taste of his lips and the brush of his fingers on her cheek. She knew the sound of his voice, and the feel of his heart, beating sure and steady, against the palms of her hands.

He claimed to have known her before, didn't question the fact that she had no memory of him in her life, but was so secure in the belief that he belonged there.

I hate to disappoint you, Swan, but we make quite the team.

She set her plate down in the sink, taking a moment to lean over its porcelain depths, fingers gripping the edge of the counter. Pulling in a breath, reigning back in her heart and her mind, she straightened, heading back through the kitchen towards the living room. She ruffled Henry's hair as she passed him, setting in on his fourth slice of pizza.

"C'mon kid. It's your turn to pick the movie."

When she finally slips into slumber, after hours of tossing and turning, there is no ship.

There is no ship, and there is no Killian.

She is standing on a white sand beach, a stunning expanse of turquoise water spread out before her. There is not a soul in sight, not even a bird circling in the sunset-sky, and she drops down onto the pristine beach, pulling her knees to her chest.

It's the first night she's been alone in a long, long time, and she feels the telltale burn of tears at the thought.

A warm breeze washes over her, and she closes her eyes, leaning into it. The air is heavy with salt, rough like calloused fingers when it traces down the curve of her cheek. It fans down the side of her neck, lighting shivers in her spine, and she swears she hears a whisper.

"Open your eyes, love. It's there you'll find me."

She woke slowly, floating down into consciousness, and when she opened her eyes, it was to blink away the moisture collected there. She rolled to her side, cushioning her head on her forearm, and stared out the window at the inky expanse of black sky.

Her body felt heavy, tired, and she didn't try to fight the tears that rolled down her cheeks and landed on her pillow.

When it became obvious that no more sleep would come, when a faint pink tinge had appeared on the horizon and the clock at her bedside read a quarter after six, she pushed herself up and headed for the shower.

She was not at all surprised by the knock that came promptly at eight o'clock.

She rose from the couch, tucking her still-damp hair behind her ear as she padded softly to the door.

She found little comfort in the fact that Killian looked just as worn and weary as she did.

He followed her silently back to the living room, sinking down into the couch as she nudged a steaming mug of coffee towards him.

His lips quirked up in something that vaguely resembled a wry grin, one of his eyebrows edging up on his forehead. "Been expecting me?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "Doesn't look like I was wrong to."

Her words seemed to spark something in him, and when he turned to look at her, she found herself on the receiving end of yet another penetrating gaze.

"No," he murmured after a moment, dragging his eyes away from her. "No, you weren't."

She studied him as he lifted the mug to his lips, taking a long draw, eyes closing with a contented sigh. She watched the way the muscles in his throat contracted as he swallowed, caught a peek of his tongue as it darted out to trace over his bottom lip.

"You haven't been sleeping," she stated, and his body tensed, eyes reopening. With a chuckle, he leaned forward, placing his mug on the table next to hers.

"There are quite a few things at which I excel," he replied, though she hadn't necessarily been asking. "Sleeping is not one of them."

"Why not?"

The question popped out before she had a chance to censor it. A long moment of silence stretched between them as he stared down at the scuffed wood of her floors, and when he finally looked up, his expression was unreadable, carefully arranged neutrality.

"I don't know that you're ready to hear that quite yet, love."

Her breath caught in her throat at his words, and she realized exactly how much she did want to know, and how terrified she was of what she might find out.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, shivering, and caught his humorless smile out of the corner of her eye.

Long seconds, minutes, passed between them, and neither of them spoke, choosing instead to stare in opposite directions. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, and she tried to tamp down the panic that tried to rise from her gut.

He had told her magnificent tales of far off places and people she'd only dreamed about, read about. He'd told her of battles and journeys and everything in between, but there was something missing, something he'd left out.

He'd told her of actions. She wanted to know of feelings.

She wanted to know why this man had come for her, this man with the haunted eyes and her namesake inked into his skin. If what he'd told her was true, and she had all these people in another land who loved her and cared for her and wanted her back, why had it been him that had come?

Deep down inside, there was a part of her that knew, a part that dreamed of nights spent at sea with a pirate in a long leather coat, but she needed to hear.

She needed to know that there was someone out there, not just someone who loved her, but someone who came back.

"You told me we were acquainted," she finally said, and she tried to ignore the way her voice seemed to tremble as she kept her eyes firmly trained on her bowl of long soggy cornflakes. "How close were we?"

She heard him shift, the rustle of fabric and the creak of rusted springs as he settled farther into the couch. "Not as close as I'd have liked," he said softly, and she nodded at the admission.

"Were we ever…?" She let the question trail off, unsure of how to phrase it, and hoped that he got the gist of what she was trying to ask.

"We shared a kiss," he answered, and she felt her breath rush out of her lungs at the thought of, okay, maybe she wasn't crazy, maybe she really did remember what his lips felt like against hers, the way his hand liked to come up and fist in her hair—

"We knew each other a very short time," he continued, voice strained, and she chanced a glance over at him. His head was back against the cushions, eyes closed, but his jaw was set, tensed. "When we met, I was so consumed with getting my revenge that I gave nothing else a second thought. And then you left me on top of that bloody beanstalk." He chuckled, and his eyes opened to reveal affection and admiration and that something else that she had never before wanted to explore, but now found herself craving.

His hand came up, fingers playing in the ends of her hair, settling the waves against her shoulder, and it wasn't until he pulled away that she realized she hadn't been breathing.

"You snuck up on me, Swan. Took this old pirate by surprise. And let me tell you darling, as someone who's seen just about all there is to see, that's rather difficult to do."

She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to respond to his declaration. She had had an inkling, some idea of how he'd felt, but easily chased away thoughts and confirming words were entirely different things. She pulled in a slow, steadying breath, and it was ripped right back out of her when his fingers skimmed along her back.

"You're not the only one who's scared," he murmured gently, and she felt herself sink back, just the tiniest bit, into the soothing warmth of his hand.

"What do you have to be scared of?" she asked, not daring to look over at him.

He shifted again, his hand spreading farther across the small of her back. "You're no stranger to loved ones leaving you," he said, and it wasn't a question. "Neither am I. I've already watched you walk away from me once before."

His words pained something in the pit of her chest, made her stomach twist guiltily. He had been burned before, too. She didn't know how or when, but the scars he bore were easily recognizable when she knew what to look for. And yet—

He had supposedly travelled across realms, laid everything out on the line, bared himself to her, even after her initial rejection.

She thought about that first morning he'd appeared on her doorstep—had it only been four days ago?—thought about the way his eyes had lit up and his face had cleared, and the way he had said her name, softly, reverently, Swan.

"The potion is the only way to get back, isn't it?" she asked, finally mustering the courage to glance back at him.

His answering smile was devastating—sad and small and gentle, it lifted the corners of his lips, but darkened the blue in his eyes. "It does indeed seem as if that is the case."

His gaze dropped from hers, but not before she saw the self-depreciation there, and she remembered his lips, rough and desperate against hers, the fingers of his good hand digging into her hip as he tried to make her remember.

She knew there was weight there, something that prickled in her mind and made her think of fate and happily ever after and True Love's Kiss—

She firmly rerouted her train of thought, unwilling yet to walk down that path. "And what happens after I take it?"

She felt rather than heard him shrug beside her. "I'm to give you a piece of paper with instructions. Apparently, it's up to you after that."

The new knowledge should've surprised her, but she merely nodded, because of course, of course, it would've been left up to her.

She was the savior, after all.

"And you just went along with all this? Jumped through a portal with no idea where you'd end up, unsure if you'd even be able to find me, without any definite way back?"

That same soft smile lit his face again, and she felt her chest clench painfully at the sight. "I didn't have anywhere else to be, love. I've nothing left for me back there. Not without you."

And his words were so earnest and he was so breathtakingly honest and he was so, so beautiful when he looked at her like that—

It was too much. It was too much, and it was not enough, and she felt her heart swelling in her chest, pushing a lump into her throat, and the only thing that anchored her down to the earth was his hand, still warm and rubbing circles into the spot between her shoulder blades.

She had never meant so much to one person, not to anybody other than her son, not ever.

Making up her mind, she turned bodily to face him, crossing her legs on the couch. She knew that her eyes were red-rimmed, and she could feel her bottom lip quivering, but he said nothing, instead fixing her with another one of those blazing, devastating looks, and for the first time, she didn't look away.

His hand moved up her arm, traced across the skin of her neck, brushed her cheekbone, so tender that it made her ache.

"You'll be there with me?"

She hated the fact that she had to ask, hated that her voice wavered, but she needed to know.

"Every second," he swore.

She nodded once, firmly, swallowing back her tears as she straightened her shoulders. She held out her hand, palm up, fingers stretching towards him. "Give it to me."