My semester is over so now I just have to play wife, mother, and employee. I will try to have another update up in the next 48 hours, but no promises. I've got two holiday events, a kid with a fever, and husband who seems to be helpless with buying gifts for his family. Enjoy the Captain Swan.

A note for Gublers - (sleepwalking) - that's still going on...haven't resolved that in the story yet.

A special thanks to everyone who is reading, following, favoriting and reviewing. It is very encouraging to get reviews saying you like my ideas and writing. As someone who writes for a living and is going to school for writing, it can be hard to stay inspired and encouraged, but you guys offer me that. :)

His breath was warm against her neck, steady and sure in his sleep. Curled into him, she relished the moments of silence, enjoying the weight of his leg on hers and softness of his hair against her cheek as his face nuzzled into her neck. Despite the busy day on the slate for her, she kept telling herself that five more minutes would not be a bad thing.

She'd missed waking up in his arms, the lazy moments before the alarm sounded and late nights where they just enjoyed the warmth, comfort, and stability of being together. So for this morning at least, she was going to savor that time with him before work, responsibilities, Henry, and the rest of her family took her away.

"You're thinking again," he muttered against her skin, pulling back to grin knowingly at her. She half wanted to slap him and half kiss him for once again knowing what she was thinking. It had ceased to be annoying and was bordering on intrusive with the way he just knew. At the same time there was something comforting about it, that intimacy that had nothing to do with their physical relationship, but rather their emotional one.

"You going to tell me what I'm thinking about?" she asked. "Don't you already know?

"I'm not a mind reader," he protested. "I can just tell that you weren't the relaxed and calm Emma that fell asleep last night. The way you were breathing. The rhythm of the way you are running your fingers in my hair and that way you hold your mouth when you turn something over in your mind. You have tells, darling. I just happen to be the one to see them." He pulled her with him as he rolled to his back, letting her place her head on his chest – familiar position that she usually gravitated toward.

"Remind me not to play poker with you," she muttered. "You'd win all my money." She giggled. "Really, Killian, I'm not thinking about anything special. I was just going through my schedule."

"I see," he told her, the back of his hand caressing the side of her face. "You must have a busy day planned."

"Not a horribly busy one," she objected. "I'm just trying to enjoy this moment with you right now." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but she tried anyway. He watched her carefully and opened his mouth to speak. "Don't start," she warned.

His chuckle vibrated in his chest and made her laugh too with the feeling. "So why don't you tell me about this busy day of yours," he said. "Are you preparing to save the town and its inhabitants again?"

He had a way of teasing her that seemed less offensive and more congratulatory. For she knew if given the opportunity he would comment about her innate abilities and his complete faith in her. "Belle and I are going to finish searching the properties," she said softly. "And then my father and I have an appointment at the garage about the car that we think hit you. But all of that is flexible if any of the leads about Gold wind up coming through."

She could feel him tense at that comment, his face threatening to betray the emotions inside. "Can I dare ask what you plan to do to the Dark One once he is found?" Killian broached carefully. "Eventually you will find him, but what then?"

Propping herself up on one arm, she looked down at him, realizing it was truly the first time that he was talking about Rumpelstiltskin or the events of that night. Even if he was speaking in hypotheticals about events that had not transpired, he was finally acknowledging it. "We'll see when we find him," she said. "He needs to pay for what he's done to you."

"Love, there are many who have tried to make that man pay for his crimes," Killian warningly told her. "My own name is at the top of that list. But it can become an obsession that takes over your life and removes any possibility of happiness. He's a powerful man. Putting him in jail or even capturing him at all could prove a dangerous and impossible feat. That's why I am going to say this…" He paused, watching her confused expression.

"Killian, don't ask me to leave this be," she said. "He tried to kill you. He almost succeeded."

"But he failed this time," he reminded her. "He wasn't successful."

She growled out her response, anger bubbling from where she had pushed it away. "No," she said. "He wasn't successful, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to let him get away with it. I hate even thinking about what he tried to do…"

"Love, don't do this," he said.

"I want him to pay," Emma said firmly, pushing herself up to a standing position. She threw her robe on over her pajamas, tying the belt around her middle. "I can't let him win because we're all scared of him. I have to fight back."

He was still on his back, watching her pace like a caged tiger. "Emma…" He began, hoping that she would stop her incessant walking to look back at him. "Love…"

"Killian," she said backing up to the dresser across from the bed. Her hands gripped the edge of the wood tightly. "When I saw you there and thought for a moment that I might have lost you, I wanted to kill him. I wanted him to hurt for at least a few moments."

He pulled himself up to a sitting position, the sheet pillowing over his lower body. "Love," he began again. "You were angry. I understand that, but you can't live your life based off his code. You can't kill what frustrates you, angers you, and tries to destroy you. Don't you see, Emma? Once you give into that fear and anger so that you do kill someone, you're never the same."

She involuntarily took a few steps toward the bed, her head tilted and her eyes watering. "Killian?"

"Hatred like that eats at you," he said. "It echoes inside of you. It's always there, gnawing and bubbling below the surface. It takes away any bit of happiness and replaces it with jealousy, greed, and a hunger that isn't satisfied. That's not what I want for you, Swan. You are a beautiful and strong woman, but if you succumb to that, you'll change."

She sat down across from him, finally stopping her pacing. "Killian," she said. "I don't want to let it consume me."

"Then don't," he said. "I don't want you to become like me."

She smiled. "Is that such a bad thing?" she asked. She meant it as a joke, but the moment the words left her mouth, she could see the look on his face was more serious. "Killian," she said, "I'm the sheriff in Storybrooke. That is a lot of responsibility. What kind of sheriff would I be if I let a known criminal wander in and out of our lives? What will he do next? He could hurt you again. He could hurt more people. You can't really expect me to ignore that."

He sighed, rolling over on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. "Emma," he said. "I worry about you. If you put your mind to it, I have no doubt that you can find that Crocodile and win any battle you wish with him. But it doesn't make me rest easy to think about you doing battle with him. I've seen with my own eyes what damage that man can do. And the thought of him coming after you…Frankly it scares me to even consider the consequences. He's a man without a soul or a conscience." His eyes that had been so pleading and warm suddenly dropped. "If he hurt you…"

She sat back down on the bed, coaxing his face up to meet her gaze. "Don't you see," she said. "Don't you see that's why I have to be the one to find him and put an end to this? I'm so worried that he'll hurt you. And you're worried that he'll hurt me. We can't live like this." She leaned forward, placing her chin on his shoulder. "Trust me. I won't let him hurt anyone I love again."

***AAA***

Emma felt the cold blast of air as she entered the living room, her eyes darting about the once cluttered area that now seemed neater. Magazines and books were stacked in orderly piles, dishes put away, cabinets and drawers were shut, remote controls were lined up, and the shoes and jackets that seemed to grow were neatly hung and lined up in the coat closet. But beyond that the front door stood wide open, bits of newly fallen snow now melting on the wood floor of the entryway.

"What the hell?" Emma asked no one in particular as she padded across the room to shut the door. Looking at the sturdy but old locks on the wooden frame, she distinctly remembered turning each of them the night before, listening to the reassuring groan each one gave up at the end. There was no way that door had merely flown open with the force of nothing more than a sharp breeze.

"It's cold in here," Henry complained as he emerged from his bedroom, his sleep enhanced eyes blinking rapidly at the contrast. "Did the radiator break again?"

She shook her head quickly, trying to remove thoughts about why the door was open and reassure her son at the same time. "I must have messed up the thermostat," she explained in a low tone. "What do you want for breakfast?"

Henry climbed up on the barstool at the island and opened his geography book. "I need brain food," he declared. "I have to know every country in Europe by second period." Flipping through the pages, he stared down at the colorful map.

"I guess that means eggs," Emma decided, pulling out the ingredients and busily preparing the meal. In between stirs, she tried to quiz him.

"I'm never going to get this," he complained.

"Maybe you should try studying for more than a few hours before a test," Emma suggested, giving the scrambled eggs another stir. "You're a smart kid. I just wish…"

"I'd apply myself," Henry finished for her. "I know. I know."

Emma was reaching for plates when she heard the phone ring, sounding distinctly shrill in the quiet of the morning. Henry grabbed the phone out of his mother's reach and began talking lowly in earnest. His mother rolled her eyes at him, grinning as he cupped the mouth piece with his hand and said something that she could not interpret.

"Henry?" she half questioned and half commanded. "Breakfast."

Her son gave her another glance, whispering back in the phone and then laughing. "Gotta go," he said into the phone. He held it out to her. "I'll trade you eggs for the phone."

She was not about to negotiate it. Ripping the phone out of his hand, she saw her father's face on the panel. "Hi," she said. "What was that about?"

"Oh with Henry?" her father asked. "Nothing. Just chatting."

"Right," Emma said, pushing a glass of milk in front of her son and reaching for her own coffee. "And what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Just wondering when you're coming in," her father answered. "Got a lot to do today."

Thoughts?