A/N: I have big plans for tomorrow so I was not sure I could get this up for anyone to read. So therefore, I'm going to post a little early. Great guesses about what you thought Emma's magic would provide. Nobody got it - which makes me laugh in a very evil way right now. I hope you enjoy the twist.

Emma woke slowly, the watery light of morning warming her face. There was a freshness in the air after the rain subsided the next morning and sun began to shine in sharp rays through the dissipating clouds. Emma felt the warmth of Killian's breath on her skin and the tingling touch of his fingertips still absently touching her even in his obvious sleep. She stared out of the cave's opening and felt the flush of her skin grow warm as she considered what had transpired the night before with him.

There was a slight sense of embarrassment as she remembered her reactions to him, the way that she had thrown herself head first into this. Regret was too strong of a word for what she was feeling, but she also did not know what her first words to him should be when he finally did awaken. One of his legs was slung over hers and his arms had wrapped around her to hold her against him. She was not without blame, as the upper half of her body was splayed over his chest. There was no way she could remove herself from their tangle of limbs without alerting him. Where could she go anyway? It was not as though she had a plethora of locations where she would be able to sit and contemplate or decide how she actually felt.

That was part of the problem. She could name what she felt, knew the emotions just under the surface, but did she want to name them when she had no idea if he was naming them too. It was one thing to behave this way and feel those things when you were stranded on an island with someone, but what about when they escaped or were rescued. What would real life do to whatever it was that they had between them?

She stirred, stretching her arms and arching her back. Her body felt languorous, soft and pliable and oddly satisfied. Killian's eyes popped open when he heard her move; he had only dozed since their sexual encounter, opting to stay mostly awake and enjoy the sensation of her body against his. He knew she'd be confused when she woke up, and possibly even angry. But he was prepared to deal with whatever emotion she decided to toss at his head, as long as she promised not to regret what they had done. And maybe, just maybe, he could convince her that they should do it again.

She sat up, pushing his muscled arms away from her waist. She pulled her long hair out of her face, blinking to clear her vision. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

"Good morning," he said from behind her.

She jumped a foot, her heart racing when she realized he was awake, too. She was hoping for some time to prepare herself to face him, but that obviously wasn't going to happen.

"Um, good morning," she replied. "I…I hope I didn't wake you."

He smiled to himself, listening to the nerves that laced her voice. Here she was, so calm cool and collected to the outside world, but the minute she let herself go, the second she stopped thinking and started doing, she lost all control. Not that that was a bad thing, he decided. It had been absolutely wonderful to have her turn in his arms, hot and ready, her mouth and body giving him pleasure that he didn't realize existed.

Now, though, in the harsh reality of daylight, Emma was pulling back into her shell. She was probably busy mentally torturing herself for doing anything that wasn't thought out and planned. Didn't she know how wonderful surprises could be? Hadn't she ever just done something for the joy of it? Or had everything in her life always been plotted and researched? Thinking about what she had revealed of her childhood, Killian knew the answer to his questions. She had been an adult most of her life, even when it wasn't appropriate for her to be. Pampered as she might have been as a princess, she'd never had the opportunity to do or be anything that wasn't directly related to her kingdom and subjects.

"Emma," he said softly, sitting up and staring at her bare back, "please don't shut me out."

The blonde woman's body stiffened, the sound of his sleep roughened request rippling down her back.
She had been shuffling ideas in her mind, trying to decide what to do about the situation she'd gotten herself into. True, she was terribly attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? God knew, he wasn't perfect, and had the most annoying habits that drove her to distraction. He was stubborn, hot headed, high handed and, most of the time, obtuse. But at the same time there were things about him that melted her heart.

He was unbelievably kind, a fact he'd tried to hide from everyone but her, but a trait she'd seen nonetheless. He was loyal to his brother, but had chosen his feelings for her over his brother's reservations. He was skilled and dedicated to serving the crown. It was no secret that he could have been so much more than a naval officer, but he chose it and exceled.

Now he wanted her to face him, to admit what they had done together last night and discuss what to do now. She didn't know if she had the strength for it.

"Emma, stop dissecting everything we've ever done and said to each other," Killian said, reaching up to touch her shoulder. "Turn around and talk to me."

She knew there was no way out of this. Taking a deep breath, she turned slowly on her bottom until she was staring into his bright blue eyes. "Last night…" she began.

"I shouldn't have behaved so poorly," he interrupted. "I should never have allowed myself to take advantage of you on the ground like this. You should never be treated with anything other than love, respect, and honor, Emma. I apologize for violating whatever trust we had between us."

"You don't need to apologize," she said, staring down at her folded hands. "I don't blame you; you gave me a chance to stop. I'm the one who said yes, I'm the one who allowed it to continue."

"Allowed? You don't blame me? Emma, stop analyzing our sleeping together like some cold-blooded woman. We made love last night…" She groaned and buried her head in her hands. "We both enjoyed ourselves. It was incredible; I loved touching you, feeling you, and I loved your hands on me even more. You felt the same things I did; don't sit there and try to deny it. I only regret that it wasn't more romantic or special for you."

Emma said nothing, just shook her head slowly and removed her hands. She didn't want to see the truth in his words, didn't want to open herself up to something she knew would be painful. She'd never cared for anyone deeply before, she'd seen what loving someone had done to people she knew. Her parents were the only examples she could think of where they did not turn to a marriage of convenience rather than a real relationship. Every other marriage that she was privy to includes mistresses and tales of scandal that rocked kingdoms. And she was afraid, utterly terrified, that Killian Jones was the kind of man women fell in love with quite easily.

"Love…"

"Don't call me that," she bit out.

"I would think calling you that this morning was at least somewhat appropriate. Listen, I'm not declaring my undying love. What I am saying is that there is obviously something between us, and I think we both deserve the chance to find out what it is," he finished in a reasonable tone. "At least while we are…"

"Stuck here?" she asked, her own lips quirking up.

"Yes," he answered. "Look, the rain has let up. Why don't we check out this cave a little and then see about getting back to camp?"

"You want to check out this cave?" she said incredulously.

"Why not?" he asked, his eyes looking less serious and more mischievous. "We have a lantern, thanks to you. Who knows? There might be something useful in here."

Dressing quickly, the two began to walk toward the back of the cave. There was a slight incline and Emma's shoes slid on the cold rock of it. Killian reached out his hand to her, pulling her up as they went along. "Do you hear that?" Emma asked, her hand gripping his and pulling it back. "That strange sound?"

He shifted his head from her gaze to the dark path ahead. "I don't, darling," he said.

She frowned and followed him, still gripping his hand though the path flattened out quite a bit. There was now a distinguishable glow ahead of them and sound of wind was even louder. She could feel her hair blowing back from her face and the warmth of whatever the light was heating her skin. Killian stopped short, her eyes squinting into the light. "Perhaps we should turn back," he said, ignoring her pleading eyes.

"I want to see," she said, pushing forward. He walked next to her, still holding the lantern that was rapidly becoming obsolete as the light grew stronger. "What is that?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, gripping her tighter as he felt the strength of the light pulling at them. "Step back."

His words were too late as the whooshing sound increased and echoed in their ears, pressure building and lifting them up and toward the swirling vortex of light and confusion. Emma felt herself float through the air toward the unknown entity, Killian's hand still gripping her as he was being pulled too. The light that had seemed so bright enveloped them and turned into a dark nothingness until they were once again free from its grip, spitting them out unceremoniously onto the ground.

Killian opened his eyes first, the expansive night sky above him and the smell of car exhaust tickling at his nose. "Where the bloody hell are we?" he asked, looking over at the crumpled form to his left. Emma was practically curled into a ball, her dress and long blonde hair the only parts of her that he could see from his own awkward position.

Feeling as though he'd just been through the world's largest whirlpool, he groaned as he sat up and tried to stand. Muscles ached and his joints cracked with the effort, his right hand rubbing the upper part of his left arm with vigor. "Emma," he said, his tone as normal as he could make it. "Emma, darling?" He bent to shake her, touch her shoulder to awaken her if need be.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking just as perplexed as he felt. "And what is that scent? It is nauseatingly…"

"I don't know," he said, pulling her up to standing, he dropped her hand to put his arms about her waist. To his relief she did not pull away. "I've been looking at the stars and they are not like we were seeing on the island. I've never seen these patterns before."

She craned her neck back, staring up into what he was describing. "That doesn't make sense, Killian," she said, gripping his arms tightly when she almost tipped backwards from staring up. "If we're not home and we're not on the island – where are we?"

The sound of a van driving by grew louder and both of them jumped at the roaring noises. Wide eyed and confused, Emma tilted her head in the direction of the now gone van. "Should we follow it?"

"What was it?" he asked, nodding in agreement. "It moved faster than any horse I've ever seen."

Killian was no disappointed that Emma held to his hand and stood tight against him when she heard the odd sounds or saw the strange sights. They both marvelled over the things like street signs that were so thin and the roads that were harder than dirt and smoother than the stone paths of their homes. Not everything was unusual though. Their walk from where the portal dropped them to the actual town included passing by several farms and there were even familiar sights of birds and woodland animals that helped Emma realize that no all was foreign to them.

"Wow, cool costumes," a dark haired woman with red tints said as she jogged out in front of Emma and Killian. "There are a Ren Fest or something going on nearby because those almost look authentic. The tall, thin woman leaned forward and touched the fabric on Emma's sleeve. "Like I said, those are awesome."

"Could you perhaps tell us where we are?" Emma asked, eyeing the strangely dressed woman suspiciously. The woman's long legs were covered in a tight material that reminded Emma of pants that men wore only clingier. Her top stopped just below her breasts and left her arms and neck completely bare, and on her feet she wore some sort of shoes that were neither boots nor slippers.

"Storybrooke," the woman said, smiling widely with darkly painted lips. "You know, Maine?"