lol. this chapter is almost as long as the whole story itself. ;)

thanks so much for the faves and follows and reviews! hope you like this next one!

~cosette141

Emma ran, ripping open the door and slamming it shut behind her. She heard his surprised shout of her name, but she didn't stop.

A monster had attacked her.

A monster.

She could still feel the sting of cuts from its talons and her head throbbed.

This was crazy.

Or, maybe she was.

Maybe this was all a nightmare, and she'll wake up in a few minutes to Henry telling her she overslept and he was going to be late to school.

But for whatever reason, she wasn't waking up and she was still in the dream, so she kept running.

Her stalker—Captain Hook, as he believed himself to be—apparently took her to some abandoned apartment building. Briefly Emma wondered what an abandoned apartment building was doing in New York—the demand for real estate was too grand to leave anything empty—but the scent of smoke and the blackness staining the walls was enough explanation. There was fire damage.

It reminded her of their Boston apartment.

Shoulda stayed in Boston.

"Swan!"

"Great," muttered Emma, finding a door at the end. It led to a stairwell, but so much debris had crashed in front of the exit that led outside, it would be impossible to reach the door. Emma cursed under her breath. Hearing the so-called pirate's footsteps, she took the stairs two at a time.

Emma burst into the second floor hallway, racing down toward the next stairwell.

Halfway down the hallway, she heard the stairwell door open behind her. "Swan! Bloody hell—stop!"

But just ahead, through the floor to ceiling window at the end of the hall, Emma saw it—the looming figure of the beast that Walsh had turned into.

She froze, and the flying beast crashed through the glass.

Shards went flying, but it didn't even slow the beast down.

It tackled her in seconds, moving to grab her with its sharp claws, but something shifted beneath her feet. Not a moment later, the ground caved in, collapsing from fire damage.

A scream rose in Emma's throat as she fell, her hands scrabbling, barely managing to catch hold a pipe to halt her fall. She hung on, even while the beast grabbed at her waist, trying to yank her away from it. Emma kicked out at it, trying to get it to let go, holding desperately onto the pipe, the only thing keeping the beast from taking her with it. Her heart pounded, and she couldn't remember ever feeling so scared.

But just when she felt it start to pull her from her grip on the pipe, a toaster was thrown at it, clanking the monster hard in the face. It released her in an instant, the impact sending it to the first floor, nearly twenty feet below her, and it dissolved into a burst of white smoke.

Emma stared in shock, breathing hard.

She gasped suddenly, her hand slipping.

The twenty foot fall might not kill her, but she'll break something for sure.

"Swan!"

Emma whipped her head up.

The man—she refused to call him by what he'd said his name was—was leaning over the destroyed ground, extending his only hand to her.

The amount of fear in his eyes nearly gave her pause.

He was looking at her with a sort of desperation she's never seen anyone direct at her before.

"Swan," he panted. "Take my hand!"

Emma hesitated.

"Emma!"

She swallowed.

Fear paralyzed her.

He could turn out to be just as bad as the thing that just tried to kill her—

"Please," he said heavily. "Trust me, love!"

She stared at his outstretched hand.

Emma shut her eyes, and reached her free hand up toward him.

She felt his hand wrap around her wrist. She gasped as her other hand slipped free from the pipe. But he was holding her now, his grip firm and unrelenting.

Clenching his teeth, he pulled her up, and Emma did her best to help, trying to use her free hand to grasp at the jagged edges of the destroyed floor even when it cut into her skin.

He held her wrist tightly until she was well over the edge.

Then, he practically crushed her in an embrace. "Thank the bloody gods," he whispered, so close to her ear it made Emma realize just how close she was to him.

A new fear broke through Emma's shock, and she fought his arms, shoving against him until he let her go, stumbling to her feet.

The look on his face looked nothing more than heartbroken at her blatant rejection, but he pulled himself to his feet as well. He looked from the place the beast dissolved back back to Emma, taking a step toward her. "That was bloody close. Love, are you all right?"

Emma felt her heart beat loud and fast somewhere between her ears.

A monster.

A monster.

Was this even really happening?

"Swan?" He looked like he was genuinely concerned for her.

Emma shut her eyes briefly, trying to calm down.

She was attacked by a monster.

A monster, that had been her boyfriend.

Her eyes snapped open, and she spun on her heel, kicking open the closest apartment door and running to the window for the fire escape. She broke the glass with a sharp kick.

"Swan!"

She heard him follow her, and she quickly climbed through the broken window and ran down the rusty, metal stairs to the street.

His footsteps pounded after her. "Swan! Wait!"

She didn't.

She kept running, heading down an alley that was a shortcut to her building.

"Emma!"

The use of her name through his voice—like he's said it before, so many times, so familiarly—almost made her pause, but she didn't, only running faster.

"Emma," he said, voice giving into something that almost sounded hurt, his footsteps catching up to hers. Something cold and metal circled around her wrist, pulling her to a stop halfway through the alley, the dim streetlight and the moon lighting them in the semi-darkness. With a spurt of fear and something she couldn't identify, she realized he'd used the hook to stop her. When her eyes widened at it, he grimaced a little, letting her go, and slipping it beneath the folds of his jacket, as if he assumed it scared her. He stepped toward her, then paused when she went rigid, and it looked like it was taking everything in him not to touch her. "Where are you going?" he asked breathlessly.

In truth, she had no idea.

She was very, truly freaking out, and when she freaks out, she runs.

"Emma," he said in that pained voice.

Emma held his gaze.

He did save her.

Twice.

She sighed.

"Okay," she huffed, keeping a few feet distance between her and the so-called pirate. "You're not with… with that flying thing," she concluded shakily.

"No," he confirmed. "I'm not."

"So why the hell was he—it after me?" she whispered, remembering it grab her, about to take her god-knew-where. Her heart was still pounding so hard it hurt. "What the hell even is it? God—" Emma leaned against the wall, rubbing her eyes, begging herself to wake up. "I've done it. I've gone crazy. Totally, completely crazy."

The distinct scent of salt air and—was that rum?—approached her. "You're not crazy, love."

She looked at him.

Donned in everything leather.

A costume that screamed pirate, down to the freaking eyeliner.

"Forgive me if I don't believe the man who thinks he's Captain Hook," muttered Emma.

A pained exhale.

She opened her eyes.

The man's sigh sounded like it carried a lifetime of hurt.

Emma looked at him.

Really looked at him.

Past the clothes and the… metal appendage.

His eyes were on hers, a mix of unreadable emotions in his eyes that settled on something sad.

"You said I have some sort of amnesia," she said, though she still didn't believe it. "How do you think you know me?"

The hint of a relieved smile crept over his face, but he seemed to physically resist his own hope. "We met in the Enchanted—"

Emma held up a hand. "Without the whole storybook thing this time."

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, with a little heat of his own, "Well, do you want the truth or not?"

"You're not Captain Hook," said Emma bluntly.

His brow raised. "What makes you so sure?"

"He's a storybook character," said Emma, feeling exhausted by the charade. "Plus, you look nothing like him, so this whole..." She gestured to his clothes. "…pirate getup isn't even accurate."

He briefly shut his eyes, as if searching for inner strength, then opened them. "Swan, you just watched a man turn into a flying monstrosity. And you're telling me you can't even consider my story might be true?"

Emma hesitated.

He had her there.

He took a step toward her, the moonlight casting over his face in a way that Emma desperately tried not to call attractive. "Where do you think my story came from, love? It was based off of me. Though from your comments on the subject, not well, I might add."

"So a crocodile bit off your hand?" asked Emma.

He sighed. "In a manner of speaking."

"Pretend I believe you," said Emma. "Captain Hook is real, and I'm talking to him," she said with a roll of her eyes, trying to ignore the frustration in his. "Why did he come here to save me?"

He looked like he had an answer on the tip of his tongue for that one, and he even opened his mouth to say it.

But he seemed to think better of it, holding the words back and choosing different ones instead.

"Because my story isn't the only one you said you knew, but currently believe to be untrue." he said. "Your parents," he said carefully, making Emma tense at the words, "are Prince Charming and Snow White." Before Emma could interrupt, he went on— "They, and I, lived in a different realm than this. They sent you away to this land when you were born to protect you from a terrible curse. Two years ago, you found them and broke it."

It was practically the same story he'd told her in Central Park, but this time he had an ounce of credibility. Flying beast, and all. Even still, Emma felt anger heating up at how easily he was manipulating her desire to know her parents.

But there was no lie in his eyes.

Not even a spec of doubt.

And as much as she wanted to hold onto the crazy stalker theory, he was seeming less and less crazy despite the more outlandish his claims became. The emotions in his eyes—Emma knew how to read eyes.

You can't fake emotions like the ones in his eyes.

Definitely not over and over and over.

And she's met plenty of crazy perps—stalkers included.

This man didn't strike her as crazy.

"You and I met… during interesting circumstances," he went on unevenly, seeming to take her silence with her thoughts as a sign she was listening this time. "The long story short is that that is your home, Storybrooke. Your family never meant to abandon you, and the reason you can't remember is because you have been given false memories."

Emma couldn't find her voice.

"The… beast," he said, seeming just as unsure as she was of what to call it, "was probably after you because, in the world you come from, you're quite special, love."

That made Emma practically snort. "Yeah, right," she said, writing off the story completely now.

He looked puzzled. "That's so hard to believe?"

He sounded so… sad.

Emma tried not to feel the old pain when she said, "Well, if you did know me," and he flinched a little at her tone, "you'd know that there's nothing special about me."

That sadness in his eyes only deepened. "Swan—"

She smiled, but it held no warmth. "If there's anything I've learned in my life, it's that I'm nobody, and I've made my peace with that."

Lie.

He seemed to catch the lie, and it made the hurt deepen in his eyes. "In reality, Swan, you're a Savior." His lips hinted a smile. "You're as rare as you are powerful. But what makes you special has nothing to do with your magic."

Despite the idea that she had magic was ridiculous, his words tended to still-bleeding emotional wounds that never healed from her past.

She shook them off, not letting them linger.

The pirate sighed, watching her dismiss his words. His voice softening, he said, "I want to bring you home, Emma. To your family. They need you to save them, but… you need them just as much."

Emma blinked.

The story sounded utterly insane.

And yet, based on the look in his eyes, the twitch in his jaw, she had a feeling there was more to the story. Something he wasn't adding, some motivation he had that was underlying his true reason for being here.

But it sounded so completely crazy that she quickly found she didn't care.

She found herself shaking her head. "Monsters and storybook characters—this is all Henry's fault." Emma rubbed her temples. "He keeps playing those damn Disney movies, for whatever reason his favorite character is an evil queen, and all of a sudden I can't stop thinking about my parents, and I haven't done that in years—"

The pirate's face lit up. "Don't you see? Your memories are there, Swan!"

"Or I'm suffering a mental breakdown after a proposal from my boyfriend and my mind is giving me a Disney filter to make it interesting."

His hand was suddenly on her face, and her eyes snapped to his. For some reason, she didn't move away.

Something fluttered in her at his touch.

Blue eyes burning into hers, he whispered, "Do I feel unreal to you?"

Unreal.

That certainly was the word for it.

But his hand, his fingers felt real. Solid. Warm. Comforti—

Emma shook herself, pulling away from his touch, even when it sparked pain in his eyes.

Emma shot off the wall, stumbling a few feet away from him.

She hasn't felt this antsy since she'd lived in the foster homes.

Normally her armor took care of her. It shielded her with what everyone else considered confidence and strength, but was really just the enforced-steel wall she hid behind.

And all of a sudden…

The whole damn thing was tumbling down.

It was like this man was unraveling all of it at once.

She was just attacked by a freaking monster, she was talking to supposedly Captain Hook, and her parents lived in a storybook.

She was certifiably insane.

But his touch.

His fingers on her face.

It felt so real.

Surely if she was going insane, it wouldn't feel so real…

Right?

"Swan?"

He was looking at her with a different sort of fear, and Emma wondered if her mental shutdown was as obvious on the outside as it was on the inside.

"I can't…" She took a breath.

Why did he look at her like he cared for her more than anything or anyone else in the world?

No one has ever looked at her like he looked at her right now.

Not Walsh.

Not even Neal.

Maybe Henry, but this, what was in this man's eyes—

It was so, desperately strong.

And it was for her.

Emma took a shuddering breath. "All right. This isn't a dream," she said unevenly, like she was trying to believe it at the same time the words came out. Hope danced in those blue eyes of his. "That was a freaking monster," she breathed. "But even if I believed that you're…" She can't say it. She just can't. "...who you said you were, and… all that other stuff," she finishes with instead, "how can I remember none of it? I have memories for all that time!"

"False memories," he said, taking a step toward her, hesitantly, like he desperately wanted to be near her, but just as much didn't want to scare her. "The truth is that up until two years ago, you believed your family abandoned you for no good reason, and you were working as a… bailperson?" he tried, eyebrows furrowing.

In another situation, Emma might have smiled at the way he attempted the word. "Bail-bondsperson," she corrected.

"Yes, that," he said, still looking like he was unsure of what the job entailed, "but you came to Storybrooke and ended up finding your family and living there." Then, a smile. "You and I met. Henry was kidnapped by Pan, and I offered my help to save him. You and I…" Something seemed to get stuck in his throat. "We became… friends." He took his time settling on the word, like it wasn't exactly strong enough for what they had supposedly become.

"Friends," echoed Emma suspiciously.

"Aye," he said, a little of that smile back. "And we saved him. Right after, Pan threatened the town. You and Henry were spared. But the price of the magic was to take your memories. Another friend of yours gave you new memories in an attempt to bring you happiness."

Emma listened to his words, trying to fight the logical voice screaming that magic wasn't real.

The logical voice won.

She shook her head. "That… this is all…" she said, smiling a smile that held nothing but a touch of hysteria. "How could I forget something like that?" She huffed out a breath. "Maybe you and that flying bastard got the wrong person," she muttered.

Something unreadable passed through his eyes. "I most definitely don't have the wrong person." he told her, voice so sure it gave Emma chills. But his face fell, though not in sadness—more in thought. He was quiet for a moment, as if thinking of something, before his head snapped up, and he gave her a smile that he must wear often for how comfortably it fit his features. "Your arm," he said suddenly.

Emma's brows shot up. "My what?"

"Your arm, love," he said, taking a step forward, close enough that he could touch her, but he didn't. He gestured toward with the… metal thing she refused to call a hook. "Your right arm. There should be a scar on your forearm. A burn."

Emma felt her jaw drop.

She instinctively looked down, but she was wearing a jacket; how could he have…?

"Walsh and Henry never even noticed that," she whispered. "How did you…?" The stalker theory flashed a little frighteningly through her mind, but there was no way he could have seen it.

It was naked to the eye; she only still felt there was a scar there.

He smiled a little, hope burning in his eyes. "Do you know how you were injured?"

Emma paused.

She'd simply woken up one morning, almost a year ago, and noticed it was… there. Granted, then, it showed a little more. It looked like it was between a burn and… something identifiable. "I—" She began. "I thought I must have gotten it in the fire of my last apartment," she said. "I tried to save some of Henry's things before the place went up, but…"

"But?" he prompted.

"I was wearing this exact jacket that day. I know I stayed away from the fire and… my sleeve was untouched," she said, biting her lip. It was a mystery that had haunted her for weeks after she noticed it, and she eventually chalked it up to something she'd gotten without noticing.

The so-called pirate smiled. "Regina left the lot of us in Neverland to find Henry on her own before you were injured," he mused softly. "She wouldn't have known to give you new memories of that."

"New memories of what?" asked Emma in a pained voice. "And who the hell is Regina?"

He ignored her second question. "That injury you sustained is from when we were in Neverland," he said. "There was an acid flower that I explicitly told you not to touch." A little smirk at his lips. "You touched it."

"I… what?" she stammered.

"And not that you offered me gratitude," he said wryly, like it amused him more than upset him, "but you were bloody glad I pulled you out of the way before that acid hit your face," he said, brow lifting. Then, his face softening, "That would have been a bloody tragedy."

Acid?

"But… how…?" Emma couldn't find words.

"I learned the details of that plant the hard way," he explained. "I have scars of my own from it. They took years to heal completely."

Emma gaped at him.

Her mind raced for a reason that he could have known about that scar.

The pessimist in her was still attempting the stalker theory, with a heavy dose of imagination.

It was seeming less and less likely.

And she knew she hadn't been anywhere near the fire that day their apartment burned. Even if she had been, how do you get a burn beneath an untouched sleeve?

But the stories he was telling her seemed even less believable.

Emma sighed, wishing she would just wake up.

"Do you believe me?"

His words were painfully hopeful.

She looked up, seeing what had to be the eyes of a puppy.

"I don't know," she said eventually.

He stared at her for a long moment.

A mix of emotions battled in his eyes, each one landing on hopelessness.

Then, slowly, he reached for her face.

Something froze her instincts, the ones that would normally have her pulling away.

His fingers touched her cheek.

An intense emotion burned in his eyes.

And then…

He kissed her.

Surprise shot through her the moment his lips touched hers, but it mingled with something…

Familiar?

His kiss was fueled with something so passionate, so desperate, like he believed it would be the last time he would be able to do such a thing.

And only shocking herself more, she felt herself kiss him back.

It was like an instinct; her hands moving to grab the lapels of his jacket, her eyes shutting, as if her body was acting of its own accord.

It surprised him just as much.

So much so, that he pulled away in shock.

Eyes boring into hers, a wild, desperate look in his eye, he whispered, "Emma?"

The look in his eyes, it was so heartbreakingly hopeful.

He searched her eyes, looking for any ounce of the recognition he so wanted from her.

But she knew he wouldn't find it.

He was a stranger to her, even if, somehow, his kiss wasn't.

His eyes clouded with something horribly sad, and he dropped his hand from her face. He stepped back away from her, looking numb. "You don't remember."

Emma, very slowly, shook her head.

His eyes shut for a long moment.

He looked like he was in physical pain.

"Emma," he said thickly, opening his eyes. Moonlight reflected in the sudden moisture in his eyes. "I don't have any more memory potion," he said, desperation so clear in his voice. "I tried…" Agonizing pain flickered in his eyes. "I tried everything to bring back your memories. I don't know what else to do," he said brokenly, that awful pain in his eyes. He gently took her face in his hand again, thumb brushing over her cheek as a tear slipped down his. "Please remember me."

She held his gaze.

"Perhaps there's a man you love in the life you forgot."

The heartbreak in his eyes.

The way he looked at her, held her, like no one ever has before.

Like she mattered.

A tiny part of her suddenly wished she did remember him.

But a horrible screech shattered the thought completely.

Both of them whipped around, seeing the flying beast flapping wings in the air behind them, glaring its red eyes at them.

"I thought you killed it!" exclaimed Emma breathlessly.

"I bloody thought I did!" He took a steadying breath, moving to stand in front of her. "Swan," he said in a low voice, lifting his left arm, moonlight glinting dangerously off the metal appendage. "Get behind me."

Emma didn't like anyone telling her what to do, and liked even less the idea that she was a damsel in distress.

But the flying beast was terrifying and she was more than happy to step behind him, fear making her heart pound.

"I think it needs to be impaled to be killed," said the man—Hook.

Emma's eyes darted around; the only things in the alley were a dumpster and some old, broken pieces of wood. Nothing she could use as a weapon.

"Oi!" called the man, waving his arms to get the beast's attention. When it made to swoop toward him, he shouted, "Swan, run! I'll hold it off!"

One more look at the slobber dripping from the razor teeth, and Emma ran.

Only for the man—Hook—to cry out, making her freeze.

She spun around, seeing Hook slammed against the brick wall, face in a grimace. He was trying to stab the beast with his hook, but it seemed the beast had some intelligence. One of its talons was pinning his left arm to the wall.

She suddenly locked eyes with the pirate—the man—Hook—seeing his resigned gaze meet her terrified one.

The beast reared back its other claw for a strike that would be fatal at such close range.

It was going to kill him.

Emma froze, a horrible feeling in her chest.

And it hit her.

All at once.

Henry.

Storybrooke.

The broken curse.

Her parents.

Hook.

Hook.

Emma's heart stopped beating.

Hook's eyes were shut, his face turned away from what would be his death.

"Killian!" screamed Emma.

His eyes snapped open.

Emma was already running.

She grabbed the broken plank of wood off the ground, and swung it hard.

It snapped the beast's head around with a resounding smack.

It fell back, releasing Hook from the wall, and he drew in a sharp breath.

Not a moment later, he buried his hook in the downed beast's chest.

It screamed, and exploded in a mass of black mist, with a sort of finality that Emma knew this time it was dead for sure.

Silence, save for hers and Hook's panting breaths, spread.

Then, he looked at her.

"What did you call me?"

He was staring at her like he couldn't believe his ears.

Emma couldn't help her smile. "Killian." Smile growing, she said, "Your name. I recall hearing it when you were tied to a—"

For the second time that day, she was crushed in a hug.

Hook held her tightly, every bit of his desperation and relief in the embrace alone.

Emma found herself hugging him back just as fiercely, tears stinging her own eyes.

"There won't be a day that goes by that I won't think of you."

"Good."

"Thank the gods," whispered Hook over her shoulder, a smile in his voice. He laughed, a touch of relieved hysteria to his own voice. "I was out of bloody options."

Emma laughed a little, losing herself in the familiarity, the scent of him, the memory of him.

Shutting her eyes, sinking into the memories. Realizing for the first time in so long that she had a family. Had a home.

Perhaps there's someone you love in the life you forgot.

Emma smiled.

She played back the day, seeing the events clearly now. Seeing Hook clearly now. She could place it all. His panic. His desperation.

That kiss.

Their first kiss in Neverland sprung to mind.

She smiled to herself a little; her body, her instincts, her lips remembered him, even when she couldn't.

Well, that moment would be hard to completely forget.

More memories rushed in; the damn acid flower that she'd only touched by accident.

Emma shut her eyes, the sheer amount of memories overwhelming her.

Hook pulled away, and she opened her eyes to see him grinning at her. He shook his head a little in awe. "How…? How did you remember?"

Emma swallowed. "I… I don't know. I just saw you…" She looked at the wall, where Hook had very nearly met his end. "I realized you were going to die. And then I just… remembered."

He smiled, something touched in his eyes. "Bloody mystery."

Her brows kneaded. "I remember my parents mentioning once that my mom took a potion to forget my dad. He tried to kiss her to get her to remember him but it didn't work." At that, Hook's eyes widened a little, something unreadable in his eyes. Lost in her own musing, at the rush of memories flooding her, Emma didn't notice. "They said the Kiss doesn't work if someone doesn't remember," she mumbled, looking back at him. "But she saw David's life at risk and it all came back to her. I guess the shock of it was enough somehow."

Hook, for a moment, looked speechless.

"What?" asked Emma.

He cleared his throat a little. "Nothing, love." Though, clearly it was something. Smiling like he had some sort of joyous secret, Hook said, "I'm just bloody glad to have you back."

Emma smiled. Then, she winced a little, playing back the day. Seeing it from a new perspective, the wild panic in his eyes, the hurt every time she didn't listen to him. "Sorry about all the stuff I said—"

He was already shaking his head. "I'll have none of that. Emma, you had no idea who I was. It's I who should apologize for scaring you, acting like a… what was the word you used?" His brows kneaded.

Emma winced. "Stalker. Right. I…" She hesitated, feeling something stir in her chest. "I appreciate you not giving up on me," she said quietly.

He shifted a strand of her hair with his hook. "I never will."

Warmth spread through her entire being.

Emma tried her best not to let it reach her cheeks.

Emma met his eyes again.

She let herself look at him for a moment.

Hook.

Hook.

Standing in the middle of New York City.

For her.

He came here—god knew how, Beans weren't easy to come by—for her.

The last time she'd seen him was a year ago.

He'd left whatever swashbuckling life he had gotten back to…

...for her?

The stark image of him pinned to the wall.

He would have died protecting her.

Emma felt a strange feeling take her over.

Something warm.

Something she usually fights to the death.

That feeling overrode her every instinct, and had her step toward him.

He tilted his head a little, confusion in his eyes, like he was trying to read her, but suddenly couldn't.

She took another step toward him, now inches away.

He swallowed.

Did he look… nervous?

"Swan," he murmured, "what is it?"

Emma just let a little smile grace her lips. "Nothing," she said. He came back for her. Her smile reached her eyes. "Just wanted to offer my gratitude somehow. For..." Coming back. Saving me. "Helping me remember," she ended up with.

Something like disbelief danced in his eyes. He hesitated, like he wasn't sure he wanted himself to believe what he gleaned from her words. "I thought that's what the 'thank you' was for," he said slowly, with the smallest smile—such a hopeful tilt of his lips.

Emma stepped closer. "That's not all it was worth to me."

And, like a mirror of their moment in Neverland, she slowly took the lapels of his jacket and pulled him to her, meeting his lips with hers.

This kiss was different from the one he'd given her minutes ago, and from theirs in Neverland.

It wasn't desperate.

Those kisses had been fueled by two people who were so terrified of the moment slipping away, they didn't give themselves a chance to savor it.

He met her energy, and his tenderness surprised her.

His hand held the back of her head, and she smiled in the kiss.

Never in her life has a kiss felt like this.

Never had she felt so… wanted.

They both pulled away simultaneously.

They looked each other in the eye, blue searching green, green searching blue, as if with the slight worry one of them thought it a mistake.

But all Emma could think was that her only mistake was not doing this a year ago at the town line, when she had to say goodbye to him.

And the look in his eyes now, it was something so soft, Emma felt warmth in her chest slip through her whole body so completely she was certain she'd never be cold again.

The moment broke, Emma's instincts kicking in, as if they'd been held forcibly back but had finally managed to break through.

They had her stepping back, pulling her eyes from his.

She swallowed the sudden vulnerability, letting her armor slip back over her.

Just a little.

But he didn't seem perturbed by it; he still had that soft look in his eyes. Like he finally knew the answer to something that had haunted him for ages.

Emma suddenly looked off to where the flying beast—Walsh—was killed.

She felt a dark feeling creep over the warmth Hook had given her.

He'd used her.

Walsh was from a different realm, and had been sent here to keep an eye on her.

Not only had she—and Henry—been in danger for all this time…

He'd used her.

He'd somehow known how badly she wanted to be wanted.

And he'd used it against her.

And she let him.

"Swan?"

Hook moved into her field of vision, concern in his eyes.

Emma tried to smile, but it didn't quite form. Her eyes settled on the ground where the lie of a man had died.

First Neal, and now Walsh?

Was she simply cursed to trust the wrong people? Neither Neal nor Walsh raised blatant red flags with her—Neal's excuse be damned.

Hook looked from where her gaze was fixed on the ground, back to her, realization in his eyes. Hook's fingers on her chin gently tilted her face to meet his eyes. "Not everyone will disappoint you, love."

Emma blinked, not realizing she'd been so transparent. Or perhaps she really was an open book to him.

Won't they? she thought in response.

Who has ever truly been there for her? Without fail? Has never left and never would?

Emma found herself looking at Hook.

Neal didn't come back for her, not after she got out of prison, not when he knew she broke the curse. He'd been too afraid of facing his father to care what happened to her.

And yet…

Hook had given up his centuries-long quest for revenge, and gone back to a land that terrified him. A land he spent hundreds of years trying to leave.

For her.

And now, here he was, having given up whatever life he'd gone back to.

For her.

"Not everyone will disappoint you."

He'd said it simply enough, but something about it sounded like a promise.

Her trust was currently in pieces, but for the first time in a long time…

She wanted to trust someone.

Emma smiled a little to herself.

Her eyes caught the ground again, the remnants of the last time she let someone in, and that smile faltered.

She sighed.

"Let's go to my apartment," said Emma, breaking the silence. "Henry's not there; we can talk."

"Talk?" echoed Hook with a suggestive raise of his brow, easily slipping back into their familiar banter.

"Talk," repeated Emma flatly, though she had to work hard to keep the smile out of her voice and the flutter out of her stomach.

"As you wish," he said, trading the flirty look in his eye for the sentimental one that was far more rare.

They started walking to her building, Emma unpacking memories with every step, feeling Hook follow closely at her side.

"Swan?" asked Killian suddenly.

"Hm?"

"What is a restraining order?"

a/n: I think I am planning to continue this to include Emma and Killian (and Henry) from this point until they get back to Storybrooke, because I feel like we totally missed out on Killian riding in a car for the first time, for starters xD But I'm going to take a break from this story for a little while until my muse comes back to it :)