GOD ONLY KNOWS

...what I'd be without you.

I may not always love you

But long as there are stars above you

You never need to doubt it

I'll make you so sure about it...

God Only Knows, The Beach Boys

Emma feels like she needs about a hundred more years of sleep when she finally drags her eyes open. What is it about the Enchanted Forest that she can't get a proper night of rest? The last time she slept well was when she'd shackled Hook to her wrist. And that hardly sounds conducive to sleeping. Maybe it was the bed that had really done it. The head injury had probably helped her sleep, too. It certainly wasn't the warm body beside her.

Though, it doesn't take much in her vague-awareness to know she's in a bed now, and still feels exhausted. Emma forces herself up onto her elbows, squints about the room. It's rather bright, unfortunately. Daylight beams into the room creating what might be a pleasant atmosphere if she were not so exhausted. Leaning on one elbow she uses her other hand to rub the sleep from her eyes, as her brain slowly kicks into motion.

How the hell did I get here?

Things grew rather fuzzy when she tried to think back to what had happened the night before. She knew the wraith had attacked. She'd been quite certain it had gotten her too. Struggling to sit up she pushes down the fabric of her tunic. An audible gasp leaving her mouth at the marks that greet her, dark purple bruises in the shape of a ghastly, bony hand stretch across the skin over her heart. The wraith … she can remember had pressed against her chest, right there, as it tried to suck her soul out of her. Is she… dead? Was this some weird demented afterlife? Emma isn't even sure she believes in the afterlife. Her foggy brain rejects the bizarre notion that she's a ghost though before she can really entertain it.

No, she's alive, she has to be.

She remembers bits and pieces of the fight. Almost winning but then the wraith coming back and dousing every last bit of her fire. And… Hook? It seems fuzzy, almost like it hadn't happened, but the more she thinks about it, the more certain she is. He was definitely there. She could distinctly remember him speaking to her.

Don't drop me, you damn pirate.

Oy, princess. I won't.

She's almost ashamed of herself, that she'd been so out of it that she let Hook carry her. And bridal fucking style too. Though, if there's any excuse to be made for letting the pirate carry her in such a shameful way, she had it. Especially since the wraith had been dead set on sucking out her soul. She still doesn't know how Hook had managed to kill the fucking thing. No matter how hard she'd fought to get rid of it, it had still managed to overpower her.

It certainly annoys her that the pirate had been following her. She'd been quite clear when she'd told him to get lost. It only went to reason that he hadn't listened. Listening seemed to really be a struggle for him. He didn't listen to her most of the time, so she wasn't sure she'd been certain he'd left. The most grating thing was that she was probably going to have to admit she was wrong for sending him away. She'd needed him, rather desperately. And if he hadn't been stalking after her like a creep, she'd be dead by now and no one would be any the wiser.

He'd saved her, and as odd as that fact was to face, she couldn't deny it. She had never thought that Hook wanted to harm her, not really. But she also had never imagined that he was invested in her health one way or another, or that he'd lift one of his few fingers to assist it. Preserving his own skin seemed to be all that mattered. The fact of the matter was she didn't know why would he run into a fight with a wraith, putting his own life at risk, just to save her. It competed with almost every idea of him she'd built in her head. Knowing people and what motivated them and how they would react under pressure had been a part of her job for five years and she was fucking good at it. And the pirate from Peter Pan was going to be her downfall? No way.

Instead of just accepting the idea Hook had wanted to help her, she tried to figure out what motivation he would have had for doing it. He wanted something, probably. But she had no more to offer him now than she had when he'd left. She rubbed a temple wearily, before allowing herself to flop backwards onto the bed again.

Speaking of the pirate… He was nowhere to be seen. The room she was in was surprisingly well kept. The bedding seemed clean and not dusty. The room was bright and cheerful. It seemed more like a bed and breakfast than a small cabin in a world that was not her own. There set out on the table next her were her pistol, the knife Hook had given her, and her bottle of aspirin. She reaches for the gun, opening up the camber only to note that he has returned the bullets. He's given her back everything that he had stolen from her.

She tries to ignore the sinking disappointment that hits her as the fact the pirate wasn't there. After all, she'd sent him away, so she had no business being annoyed he didn't stick around a second time. Maybe his heroic gesture really had been to even the scales. She'd helped him with his arrow wound; he'd… killed a wraith. Okay, so it didn't seem super even, killing a wraith was a lot more labor intensive than fixing up an arrow wound. Yeah, sure he'd spent a little time fishing around in her chest cavity but hey, she was fine now, wasn't she?

They were even now in her book and back to as she had wanted it, each of them on their separate paths, operating towards their own agendas. There was no way he was coming back this time; of that fact she was absolutely certain. She couldn't have read him that wrong. She isn't sad about it, she tells herself. She might have liked to thank the douche bag before he gallivanted off to from whence he'd came, but he was gone and that was that. She literally couldn't comprehend any other solution.

Though Emma contemplated trying to sleep more, now that her mind was running it seemed uninterested in shutting back off. Dragging herself into a sitting position and throwing her legs over the bed, first thing was first – she needed to take a stock of her injuries.

She could see her green cloak hanging on the door, but the rest of her clothes were on, right down to her boots. Just as well, she didn't need Hook or anyone else undressing her while she was unconscious. Emma reached down to pick at her laces, before easing her boots off. With the leggings on, it wasn't going to be easy to take a look at her bad ankle. She easily could have just rolled them up, but instead she rose onto shaky feet and removed them entirely, before dropping back onto the bed with a pointed lack of grace.

Emma set her bad leg on the bed with her to inspect, leaving the other on the ground. Her ankle appeared darker in color than it had been the last time she saw it, but she had been running around on it despite Mulan's warnings. Not that she'd had a whole lot of choice in the matter. She winced looking at it, though the pain had surprisingly seemed to have lessened. All things considered, she wasn't that sore at all. Except for her chest, it was ached with a numb chill, especially over her heart.

Emma didn't have a lot of shame about being naked even in the best of circumstances, and she's alone so she doesn't hesitate to start plucking at the buttons of her tunic, before pulling the fabric over her head and tossing it to join her leggings. She's left in her underwear and a tank top. She's left herself pretty exposed but she has her gun and a knife if someone happens to wander into the room, and she hasn't even heard the slightest of noises outside so she doubts anyone will be happening upon her anyway.

The bruises seem to look even more ghastly then imagined now that they are uncovered. When she touches the mark, it is even still so cold to the touch it causes her to shiver. She hopes the mark will fade eventually; she doesn't need constant reminder of how close she was to losing her life to that wraith due to her own stupidity. She spreads her hand across the handprint, even though it's far larger than her own hand, but the warmth of it does nothing to counteract the chill her brush with death has left behind. She exhales slowly. Other than those two, she doesn't think she has other injuries to worry about.

Emma glances about the room again, wondering where the pirate might have stowed her bag, if it was even there at all. It may have been abandoned where she was attacked; it's possible she'll have to backtrack for it. If she can even figure out what direction that would be. It would be especially annoying, as she wanted to wrap her ankle before she walked on it again, but if she had to go without, she would. She looks around the place anyway, though, maybe she could find something to use as an alternative. Her good leg is a little shaky as she tries to stand on it, keeping her weight off of her bum one. She can probably bounce around the room, even if it'll look a little silly, no one will see—

"For fuck's sake, Swan. Would you sit down?" Sound from silence startles her; Emma gives a sharp gasp, hand moving to the mark on her chest. She nearly loses her balance trying to recover from the surprise of his voice.

She hates her heart for hammering so wildly at the appearance of the pirate in the doorway. Her mind is still sluggish but she'd been so certain she wouldn't be seeing him again. Not being able to get a proper read on him is going to drive her crazy. He doesn't give a shit about her, and he's just opportunistic, that Hook she could understand. Heck, she could even buy the reasoning that he felt obligated to help her after she'd helped him. But him still being here when he had no reason to be … it didn't compute. And if she focused much more on it, her head was going to explode.

Right. Think about it later. Sometime when she wasn't struggling to balance on one foot for the sake of an injury on the other.

"Fuck yourself, Hook, you scared me," She chastises instantly, a quick retort considering all the thoughts that refused to stop whirling through her head. His dark blue eyes don't look even remotely repentant, and he saunters into the room and drops her bag on the table with her abandoned clothing.

Oh shit, her clothing.

Emma was not a girl that blushed easily. Despite the fact she was a little embarrassed, she refused to be ashamed. So what, she's not wearing that much clothing. It's not like Hook hasn't seen a half-naked woman before. She tells herself she is not obeying him – it's just that she's choosing to sit, is all. She drops onto the bed again, trying to calculate her next move. As much as she wants to start spitting questions, she probably should see to her injury first. Her bag has bandages in it, so if she can get the pirate to give it to her, she can wrap her ankle.

Her brow furrows slightly as she watches him dig through the bag, procuring the bandages. Well, he at least was good at reading her mind. She reaches out for them, but he gives her a bored expression. He breezes over to the bed and sits down on the opposite side. Emma has kept both of her legs hanging over the edge, so she's not especially close to him.

"Come on, then. You're not the only one who gets to play nurse." Hook says, before looking at her expectantly.

"I don't need to play nurse, I need to wrap my ankle," Emma corrects. Hook looks uninterested. "You only have one hand; it'd be easier to just do it myself." Hook rolls his eyes this time, which is a look Emma hopes is more attractive on her, because it's certainly not a good look on him. Smug bastard.

"Any time, Swan. We've all day if you'd like to contemplate it further." Emma frowns at him, frustrated. She's more than capable of wrapping her own ankle. She surprises herself as she turns toward him, gingerly lifting her bum ankle and setting it on his expectant lap.

"If you stab me, I get that bottle of rum you've got squirreled away on you," She demands. The rough feeling of his fingers tracing across her skin sets her nerves screaming as his fingers run down her calf. She's never been happier that she waxes, though she's not even sure Hook is used to women with shaven legs. Was that a thing in the Enchanted Forest? Somehow, imagining all the Disney Princesses with hairy legs under their elegant dresses is really disconcerting.

"What do I get if I don't stab you, lass?" His voice filled with wonder, and he's looking at her with such a blank expression that she hasn't the slightest idea what he could want. Her eyebrows drop as she considers it. He's not going to ask for a kiss, or a blowjob, or something overtly sexual, is he? She doesn't know what to make of Hook when he's not being a gross sleaze ball. It's too confusing, brings up too many questions.

"If you don't stab me, I still get it," Emma tries, and it's worth a shot, isn't it? Hook chuckles at her, but seems to drop the subject of impaling her with his hook, instead moving his focus to wrapping her ankle. He moves slowly, but efficiently.

Hook was surprisingly deft with wrapping ankles, which she finds surprising. Emma had a bad habit of assuming that just because he had one hand, he'd be clumsy when it came to tasks that could have used a second. He moved with surprising fluidity. If he wasn't shitting her when he claimed to be three centuries old, maybe that explained it. He had a lot of practice getting things done one handed.

Her ankle wasn't as sore as she thought it should be. Considering the color of the bruise, anyway. She wondered what exactly was numbing the pain. Mulan had been quite clear that the herbal remedy she had provided would last 8-12 hours. Emma hadn't had another dose since noon the precious day. She doubted that Hook would have stuffed her Advil down her unconscious throat - it had been sitting in reach so she could take some without getting up. Which was surprisingly thoughtful. At any rate, its proximity probably meant he thought she'd need to take some. But besides when the pirate touched the rather inflamed bruise, she could hardly feel it at all.

Was that a side effect of the wraith? Seemed pretty strange, lose some soul and the feeling in your ankles went in solidarity. It certainly wasn't like she was numb everywhere. In fact, the idle brushes of the pirate's fingers on her calf sent electric sparks darting up her spine. Besides her ankle it seemed like every nerve she had was singing, and the sensation of being touched felt especially good.

The effect only seemed to intensify every time Hook's fingers grazed her skin. She didn't really want to let her mind go there, but it certainly felt like arousal. Kind of odd and a little foreign, but maybe because it had been awhile? Nope, she definitely did not want to go there. She was not aroused because Hook was not going to turn her on by occasionally brushing her bare leg. She was not that desperate, she refused to be. There was no way she was going there, just no way…

"Point your toes, darling," Hook's low timbre instructed. It would have been nice if his voice would snap her out of whatever was going on but it definitely didn't, it was making it worse. Why did he have to have an accent? Why did she have to like accents?

"I'm not your darling," She said, though what should have been a snap was breathier then she would have liked. Good god. How long did it take him to wrap a fucking ankle? She would be done by now! She straightened her foot obligingly and he continued his pattern down her foot and back up again. Thankfully he didn't need to touch bare skin to do that.

It looked like a pretty good job, all things considered. Once he was done, she figured that it would just be easier for her to tie it. Before she could lean forward to do just that, though, the pirate's head dipped down toward her leg. Emma's hand twitched, possibly with the urge to push him away. She really wasn't sure what to expect by his fluid motion, but it certainly wasn't for the pirate to use his teeth as an alternative to his missing fingers. His dark eyes watched her intensely instead of the knot he was tying; she refused by sheer stubbornness to drop his gaze until he had finished and sat up again.

Ankle wrapped, Emma dropped her head back with a large exhale. Well, she'd managed to make it without jumping the limey bastard and/or moaning. And she was pretty sure that was a feat in self control.

She hadn't even realized that she needed her self control around Hook, when had that happened?

When she sat back up, her expression was schooled into one of extreme disinterest. "You did not just do that," She stated, shaking her head. "Fuck, Hook, I could have tied that."

"You'd be surprised by the things I can do with my mouth," Hook replied seamlessly. Emma rolled her eyes.

"God, you're such a prick," Emma sighed. The pirate leaned in and opened his mouth, probably to feed her a line about his prick, so Emma took her newly-wrapped foot and placed it on the center of his chest to push him backwards. It should have hurt more than a tinge, but it didn't. "Don't even try it." She warned him.

The pirate gave a disappointed tsk. "Mm, darling, don't be so vanilla. There are so many things we could try." Emma narrowed her eyes, but at least when he was being a lecherous asshole, he was easier to understand. She pulled her legs back towards herself, before turning and setting her feet on the floor. She even goes so far as to distinctly move away from him, hoping that the distance will provide some much-needed clarity. She's not sure what exactly is wrong with her right now but the last thing she needs is to jump the pirate out of desperation.

For once, the pirate doesn't seem obligated to fill the silence. She kind of appreciates it. It gives her a moment to sort through her thoughts, and decide what she should do next. Emma stands and hops to the table to retrieve her tunic dress, because putting on more clothes couldn't be a bad plan, her company and her rather unpredictable reaction to his proximity considered. She pulls it on and turns to sit on the table, and starts to do up the buttons.

"Wait," Hook's voice is sudden, and Emma nearly starts again.

"What?" She snaps, somehow managing to sound annoyed now that the pirate was out of her personal space. However, the pirate doesn't answer, rising to stand next to her. Well, goddamn it. He really needs to start reading hints, because she'd moved over here for a reason. His eyes are on the skin above her tank, and for a moment she's sure he's staring at her tits and considers smacking him. But his dark blue eyes are on something in particular.

His fingers reach out and graze against the mark the wraith left on her. Her breath hitches, and she prays he doesn't notice. His fingers manage to be warmer than hers had been, somehow. Emma isn't sure why she doesn't follow her gut reaction of shoving him to a proper distance. She doesn't like being touched, does she? Maybe he's just impressed by the bruise. It does look rather gnarly, unearthly even.

"I've never seen someone survive being attacked by a wraith before," His voice comes suddenly, fingers shifting upward as he presses his palm to her skin. She resists the urge to shiver. She isn't sure what game he's trying to play now, but she looks at him with a wary expression painted across her face. The mark is a painful reminder of her stupidity. Setting off alone had been a shit plan. Not that keeping up with Captain Hook was better, but at least it was something, he was something. She doesn't know if she's ready to admit that she was wrong, but facts are facts. Without his assistance, she would be dead. Or soulless. And neither is preferred.

As much as it grates her, she has to say it. "Thank you," She tells him, managing to keep the begrudging tone out of her voice.

"For what, exactly?" Hook wonders, not even looking at her face anymore. He's absolutely fascinated by the dark purple staining her skin. Despite how strange and clearly inappropriate it is to have him touch her there, she doesn't push him away. She's not as uncomfortable as she should be. She's not uncomfortable at all, actually. She places her hand on top of his, and this is enough to get him to look at her.

"For saving me. From the wraith." It was hard to admit that she needed him but she could at least thank him for saving her. Hopefully he wouldn't rub it in her face, but that was a fact and even she couldn't ignore it. He had managed to kill off a wraith, something that even Gold had insinuated was impossible. So why shouldn't she be grateful? She wasn't ready to die, and she'd more or less resigned to it and yet here she was, still breathing, heart still beating.

Hook's expression is oddly unreadable. He doesn't wear that mask often, and she finds she hates it when he does. She can tell there's something he's not saying or at least, trying to hide. But he's good at this game and the man has a mean poker face. She has no idea what he's keeping from her, and wrenching it out of him isn't likely. There is a long stretch of silence between them, before Hook suddenly pulls his hand away. She pauses, but in the end she starts back on her buttons.

"I wouldn't be thanking me just yet," The pirate says, tone verging on simpering. Emma frowns, distinctly not liking where that was going.

"And why not? You did me a favor. So… thanks." She finished her buttons, feeling a little better with the telling mark covered.

"That's just it, darling. I did you a favor. So now…" Emma frowned, a cold feeling clenching in her stomach. She was right to be wary. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like what he said next. "You owe me one. And love, I have just the favor in mind."