She's almost running back into the apartment, even bringing her arms up like she's about to make a mad dash for it. Questions spin around in his head—why she'd been leaning over the roof looking down when no body lay splattered on the road, why in spite of an obvious altercation he hadn't seen that Walsh fellow...whom he hated a thousand times more than he ever hated Neal, but that was beside the point...bolt back down the stairs...

"Swan," he huffs, squeezing through her door that she just flung open. Taking a moment to breathe, he finds her guzzling down what's left in her glass. In seconds she's pouring herself more and chugging it down like it'll disappear on her if she doesn't.

"No, no, don't do that," he warns, holding out his hand and walking towards her. Face blood red, she sets the glass down so hard it's a wonder it didn't break.

"Goddamn flying monkey...goddamn flying monkey...just icing on the cake. One more lie compacted onto..." Taking another swig, she rambles on. "I almost married a flying monkey that could have thrown me off the roof! You give me one good reason I shouldn't!"

"Because you're the only one who knows how to operate your car and that's going to hurt like hell tomorrow if you're hung over," he offers, everything and nothing making sense to the point it sends shivers down his spine. He can't digest every little implication incoherently spewing out of her mouth, afraid he'll go mad if he tries, so he focuses on the facts that Henry is safely elsewhere and Emma is grabbing the neck of the bottle and shoving it back into her food storage box. He's made his point and achieved his goal in keeping her sober. Therefore he'll remain quiet while she stalks around the apartment like she doesn't know where anything in it is anymore, and, to be fair, if it were him, the apartment's very existence might be more than disorienting to him now. It's when her fingers start running through her scalp that he feels compelled enough to break the silence.

"You should try to get some sleep..."

"I won't be able to sleep," she mutters, settling on the counter as her destination. She heaves her folded arms onto it and lays her head down on them. "If I go to sleep, I'm afraid I'll wake up not knowing what's real and what's not...do you like ice cream?" Her head springs up and her eyes still shimmer with tears. "Do you even know what ice cream is?"

"Of course I know what ice cream is."

"Sit down. I'll get you some and, and..." she trails off, pulling bowls down out of the cupboards and spoons out of her drawers. She scoops the ice cream from her little stove top where she's hung a modest collection of cups overhead. He's still standing, torn between offering to help and simply complying for now. Handing him a bowl, her shoulders rise and fall as she collects herself. "Go ahead. Make yourself at home. I need, I need some background noise...you know about the TV, right?"

"I'm mildly acquainted with it." Emboldened by the day's news sputtering out from the machine, he slips his coat off and settles onto the center of one of the sofa cushions, finally taking a look at what she's prepared for him. Strawberries framed with little ice chips lay packed into the pink ice cream. He looks up prepared to ask if she would have preferred the sofa, in which case he could sit in one of the chairs if that was more to her liking, but instead she's holding her bowl in one hand and running her fingers over a shelf of items that look a little bit like books. Or at least they stand up like books with titles on their thin spines.

"You said back in Neverland you liked stories about space, right? Other worlds and stars?" She doesn't wait for him to answer, and truth be told he's a little too baffled by her right now to answer. Pulling out one of the things, she opens it like a book but instead of pages, she produces a shiny silvery disc. "We're watching Alien."

"On the TV?" Ah. Stories readily available without relying on what the information box gives you.

"Yeah, it's, it's kind of like a play, only it was performed a while back and you put this thing in and can see it whenever you want." She makes the necessary preparations for it and then takes a seat next to him on the sofa, and it's not until she gives him a reassuring smile that says, "Yes, I will be fine" that he leans back and, although their arms gently pressing against each other feels like opening the front door to one's home, realizes he doesn't want for anything in this moment. He will sit back and relax and be in love and nothing will interfere with that for the night.

Well...aside from an unmanly jolt here and there at some suspenseful moments, he supposes he's survived Alien unscathed, noting that Swan jumped here and there as well in spite of clearly having seen it before. A horror story isn't something he figured most people would want to escape into after what apparently was a flying monkey in disguise attempting to hurt them, but her breathing is steadier and calmer than it was earlier. Her legs curled around her so her feet shared the cushion with her, empty bowls on the little table in front of them.

"So that was nothing like any play I'd ever seen," he finally says when she pushes a button and the screen in front of them goes black.

"Going to have nightmares?" He mirrors her smirk and is so entranced by it he doesn't notice her picking up the bowls and heading toward the kitchen until she's halfway there.

"Let me help."

"I got it. I...I think I'm going to turn in. Uh, where exactly have you been sleeping since you got here? The ship?"

"No." It comes out a whisper, his heart pounding at how hesitant she is with her invitation, knowing all it would take would be her word and he'd have her wrapped in his arms and half naked by now...despite knowing the sofa will be his bed for the night. He won't sleep in Henry's room a second time without the boy's permission. She doesn't say anything, but goes into one of the rooms off to the side and returns with a blanket and pillow. Open book.

"I'm going to get us up pretty early in the morning. I texted, uh, sent Henry a message that I want him back at eight. We're going to have to leave at a good time since it's-"

"-a seven hour drive to Maine," he says with a bitter smile. "At least it will be a more pleasant ride this time."

"Yeah. Go in, clean up the mess, and come back here," she says to herself, looking around at her apartment. "Thank you."

"I don't need to hear that, Swan. I took some much-desired simplicity out of your life." He won't bring himself to mention happiness.

"Let's talk practicality. You really think if I'd married Walsh and then maybe got curious about who my parents were and started looking that he'd have let Henry and me live? You..." she sighs. "You found me."

And would again several times over, he thinks but doesn't say, not when the night's gone so well, not when she seems to be gradually weaning herself off the cursed life and rebuilding the walls she forgot she had. Not all the way up for now, he notices, gazing at her, but they're there. Giving him one last smile, she retreats back into her room, leaving him to wonder how he's supposed to get any sleep. He listens in the dark for a few minutes and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't hear any crying behind her closed door.

The sleep surprisingly is sound, out like a stone until he feels those fingertips running through his hair the way they did on his way to the hospital, reminding him he's alive.

"Hey, hey, wake up." Swan nudges him, and after a couple of blinks, he's up and refastening his doublet and throwing on his coat. "Sorry, but you got to get out of here. Henry's going to be on his way back in."

"I can at least help you pack his things..." he trails off, frowning at two unassuming suitcases near the wall. "How long have you been awake?"

"I'm rested, trust me. Now come on, you really need to get out of here. I'm going to be bombarded with questions enough as it is." She's all but dragging him to the door, pulling on his arm like he's going to be late for whatever once-in-a-lifetime occasion is going on on the other side. He braces himself, anchored well enough she can't pull him so easily. Cocking his head, he spies some eggs next to a pan on the stove before taking a good look at her, wearing the shorter skirts that are in fashion here, showing off her legs, and her blouse has some becoming material sewn into it that resembles ruffles.

"You're cruel, Swan, looking so beautiful and throwing me out without so much as a bite to eat. Here I'd thought you'd gotten dressed up for me."

"I'll wrap them up in a tortilla for you and you can eat yours on the way. Just..." She blushes, actually blushes, bottom lip dropping. "I'm not dressed up...shut up. Just, go outside until Henry shows up, give us about fifteen minutes, and then knock on the door. Okay?" Grinning out how flustered she's suddenly acting, he lets her push him further towards the door before leaving of his own accord.

He won't head completely outside. That would just be stupid considering he'd have to wait for someone to leave the main door open. He can sit on the back stairwell and wait for Henry to arrive, and something tells him the lad is punctual enough that he won't need to wait too long. Before he's with both of them. Before he's in her vessel with her helping her go home. Before he's next to her for seven hours and can stare at her as much as he wants since her eyes will have to be on the road ahead of them.

He doesn't understand how the car can run out of fuel if it had been at complete standstill for so long. Bumper to bumper, Henry called the endless rows of cars on the road. He kept his mouth shut when, after a full hour of just sitting and maybe moving an inch, Swan said she needed stop and put fuel into her car.

"Henry, why don't you run in and get us some snacks?" she asks, opening her door and handing him some money. She'd thought of everything, wedging something called a cooler down by his legs that kept sandwiches and oranges fresh...Henry didn't care for apples...and some bottles of water, but after falling behind schedule, he has to agree stocking up on provisions is a prudent idea.

"Mom, ten bucks is so not going to get you a Redbook, adult diapers, and a dozen packs of cigarettes. You're going to have to choose," Henry says with a straight face which soon widens into a grin and a laugh.

"Seriously? Redbook? You should know better."

"Southern Living. Got it."

Swan makes an exaggerated gagging sound that seems to crack her boy up even more and while he has no idea why a red book is so off-putting to her, Henry's reaction is contagious.

"You want anything special, Killian?"

"Oh," he says, peering into the building in hopes for clues as to what it contained. Utterly stumped and not about to act as if he's anything other than a native inhabitant of this world, he raises an eyebrow and smirks.

"Rum. Full bottle if they have it."

"Yeah, and I'll be needing a fake ID in addition to the money," Henry laughs, holding out a cupped hand towards Swan.

"Just something to keep me awake for the rest of the drive. You and Killian split some Funyuns or something," she sighs with a tired smile and straightens her son's scarf. "Going to get going, or do you need a refresher on not getting in cars with strangers?"

This is apparently a joke since Henry rolls his eyes at her and quips, "We just let strangers dressed like pirates into our car," before heading into the building. He watches him go and turns back to find Swan swiping a card into part of the partition she's stopped the car in front of.

"Want to learn how to pump gas?" she asks, pointing to a black nozzle with some unwieldy handle attached to it. He must have given it a leery expression, for she's smiling and assuring him it's easy. "Just stick it into this hole here in the car and pull up on the handle. I'll let you know when to stop."

Pressing his lips together in thought, he narrows his eyebrows at the nuzzle as he lodges it into the car and pulls back the silver handle on it, similar to the trigger on the gun, and hears a faint rushing sound like flowing liquid. There, he thinks, relaxing his stance a little. Not difficult at all, just fitting a rod into an orifice.

"A bit suggestive, isn't it?" he asks her with a grin. Hands on her hips, she rolls her eyes.

"Only you..."

"I still don't understand why it's run out of fuel if we didn't go anywhere."

"Well your body still needs food even if you don't spend the day walking, right?"

Before he can respond, she's held out her hand gesturing for him to ease up on the handle. Taking the nozzle out herself, she returns it to its spot on the partition, folds her arms, and places them on top of her car while she waits for Henry.

"Are we going to see your family?" Henry asks from the back. Killian had torn his eyes away from Swan just for a few minutes to peek out his window at the buildings giving way to farmland, more and more fields full of cattle on either side. This trip from New York to Storybrooke exceeded his previous one. For one thing, he hadn't been able to look out at anything.

"No, lad."

"Oh." He turns back to find Henry's propped his legs up onto the rest of the seat, placing a book with To Kill a Mockingbird on the cover in his lap, still opened to the page he'd last finished. "So then your family's still in England?"

"Uh...Henry, those are kind of personal questions," Swan begins.

"No, it's all right." He can do this. After all, he's not a simpleton and so much of this land is easy to adapt to once one gains his bearings. Surely geography will come second nature to a pirate. "I'm afraid I'm not from England."

"Sorry, just, your accent...I just assumed...Wales?"

"Well, if England has a coastline, I'm sure it has whales," he says.

Clearly this was wrong because Swan has just blurted out a loud laugh and then covered her mouth with her shoulder in an attempt to compose herself. He could listen to it all day.

The tail end of the drive consists of messy food from a place called Taco Bell, lettuce and tomatoes spilling out of the hard shell, the most impractical way to eat food. He should have had what Henry had, some flat thing in a container the lad finished off with a fork, but Swan had said tacos were the most basic of the food the place had and that everything had pretty much all the same ingredients anyway.

After that, Henry offered to play cards with him, but one-handed card-playing can be challenging on its own when not in a moving vessel and playing with someone who sits directly behind you, so, displaying a great deal of ingenuity, the lad had drawn two grids on pieces of paper and passed it off to him, telling him to shade in rectangles of certain lengths to be battleships. Splendid game, really, the players guessing places on the grid until the ships have been sunk.

At last, he looked back to find the boy sprawled out in the back with his legs up in the seat asleep, phone in his lap.

"What do you think he's telling whoever's on the other end?" he asks Swan in a hushed voice.

"Unless he's been on the thing for over half an hour, I don't ask anymore," she says, shrugging. Now with Henry asleep, it would be pragmatic to make preparations for arriving into the town, but neither of them know what to expect.

"Last time," he begins. "Last time, no one was supposed to remember their life before the curse. What was that like?"

"To an outsider brought in by a kid who was so sure everyone was from another world? Kind of boring at first," she laughs, her eyes on the road but now also drifting back into the past. "It was like a place frozen in time, just, just waiting for something to happen to them instead of making things happen. And no one stood up to Regina."

He laughs a little. "So if that is the case, your parents won't be much help?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I kind of restarted time or something and people started taking more chances." There's a pause and a rather mischievous expression comes over her. "David and Mary Margaret even had an affair."

"What? Those two?" True enough, his own opinions about love had varied over the years, but to even imagine what he had had no doubt of being a solid, mutually happy relationship...

"They had the affair with each other," she clarifies, rolling her eyes.

"You have to describe things with a little more care, Swan."

"It was part of their curse, David being married to someone else, or thinking he was married to someone else." Blinking, she tightens her lips at the memory. "It's not like that stopped them or anything."

What followed ended up a sordid, and yet classic, story of Regina's infamous hatred for Snow White, framing her for murder so convincingly her own lover, albeit not quite himself, fell for it. It might have damned the relationship permanently, had it not been for the original curse breaking when it did. The road ahead of them doesn't exactly seem promising, the realization that they have no idea what to expect upon entering the town growing headier with every mile. They recovered a compass without anyone's help, he reminds himself. They might be a little out of practice working together, and without any aid, but they've accomplished the impossible before.

He sits up at a green illuminated sign standing out amongst the darkness with "Storybrooke" in bold white letters.

"Emma."

"Oh, damn," she breathes, holding her breath as they pull into the town. She turns a knob that makes the already-muffled music from the car disappear. Not a soul is out walking and it's not even all that late, he thinks, peering out the window. He tells himself Storybrooke never quite had a rollicking night life, the streets deserted after dark not that unusual a thing, but his breath hitches anyway. Glancing back at Emma, her head bobs, trying to keep one eye on what's in front of them and the other on the window adjacent to her, scouting her surroundings for anything that appears out of the ordinary. It's more than a little unsettling that everything looks as it once did.

When she stops, he knows not to ask what the first order of business is, content to take it all one step at a time, starting with opening his door and standing out on the dark street, waiting to feel a chill in the air, an otherworldly scent or something indicating a change.

"It's really back. I'm really back."

"As quite at home as you remember?" he asks.

"As cursed as I remember." It didn't escape him she had put on that red leather jacket she's so fond of, the last thing she did before locking up her apartment back in New York and closing the door. He'd be amused in any other scenario that she treats it like a suit of armor, but he'll take whatever edge they can gain. Speaking of which... He produces his hook from his pocket and screws it back into place. He grins when she jolts at the click.

"That's more like it, isn't it, Swan?" Tugging at a strand of her hair with it lifts his spirits, as does seeing her feign exasperation.

"How are you going to explain that to him?" she asks, nodding into the car.

"That's more your concern. Perhaps it will jog his memory," he tries.

"Or give him nightmares. Last time this curse took away everyone's memories. This time?" He's aware she's not expecting an answer, more talking to herself than anything, an attempt to put her worries at bay, and he can't help her there.

"We don't know what it did."

"Then I'll find out. Stay here and watch Henry. Don't wake him, or scare him, just..." She can't settle on what she wants to say, wincing and forming a rather sour expression at her own words. "Just let him sleep."

"Aye. Where are you going?" Splitting up didn't sound like the best course of action, especially considering neither one of them know what to expect.

"To talk to my parents," she says, twisting around to look at him before she crosses over to the apartment, the old one. Leaning back against the car, he wonders what she'll say if she's an unfamiliar face to them, for it wouldn't even be like last time where she could just ease her way into the town all the way up to sheriff, knowing full well, even if she didn't believe it, who the enemy was. This time, everything seems to be hiding in plain sight.

A/N: Coming up? Anyone know a good vet?