So Far And Out Of Sight – chapter 2

I really need someone to talk to, and nobody else
Knows how to comfort me tonight

Seconds tick by, but to Emma they seem like an eternity as she keeps staring at the figure in black, trying to process what's going on, but miserably failing. She can feel that her mouth is hanging open, but she can't seem to make it work, to form a coherent sentence, or even just words.

"Hook?!" she finally gasps, and she knows what's going to happen, because they've been in this exact situation only a few weeks ago, when he shattered her whole world and everything she thought she believed in. He's gonna be all smirky and cocky and Did you miss me? and she can't even answer that question, or maybe she doesn't want to. Dare to.

Instead of a smirk, though, a faint shadow flies over his face, and she asks herself why that is, because at least, this time, she's recognized him at once. He quickly covers it with a smile. "Like a déjà-vû, isn't it, Swan?"

Like so often, Killian Jones seems to read her thoughts, and it's unnerving, because obviously, some things never change. Instinctively, she takes a step back, putting some physical distance between herself and the unexpected visitor, and blurts out the first thing that comes to her mind.

"Why are you dressed like that?" she asks almost harshly, motioning to his definitely modern day outfit that somehow doesn't make him look very different from before. He's kept the eyeliner and the earring, and he's even wearing a waistcoat. Also, apparently his nonchalant attitude on buttons extends to modern shirts, because yeah, some things never change. She pries her eyes away from his chest hair she really has no business looking at and quickly adds, "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you," comes the prompt reply, "looking for a fresh start." Hook tilts his head, and she's appalled to realize she's anticipated the familiar gesture of his. He gestures with his hand along his body, "Hence the new attire."

"A fresh start?" Emma frowns and shakes her head once. "I don't understand. Why? And why here?"

He shrugs. "My business with the Crocodile is done. I have no further connections to Storybrooke, and I thought it was time for me to open a new chapter."

Crossing her arms she eyes him with a suspiciously cocked eyebrow. "And you come here of all places?"

He raises his hands in a gesture of innocence – yes, hands, plural, and she notices that his metal attachment has been replaced with a prosthetic, covered by a thin black glove, and one that looks far more realistic than the last one she saw him with. "Here's as good a place as any."

She snorts. "And you really expect me to believe that has nothing to do with me?"

"Of course it has to do with you," he tells her nonchalantly.

Emma is taken aback. "So you admit it?"

"Admit what, love?"

With annoyance, she registers that it doesn't bother her at all to hear the familiar address. Actually, she might even have missed it, and that annoys her even more.

"That you're here to talk me into going back to Storybrooke," she tells him and narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Did my parents send you?" she wants to know.

He might not wear his ridiculously enormous silver belt buckle any longer, but he can still hook his thumb in his belt. "I don't take orders," he replies smoothly, "I'm here because I want to be, just like you." Her super power tells her he's not lying, her parents don't have anything to do with him being here, and now she's curious. He adds, just as sincerely, "When I told you that I hoped you'd find what you're looking for, I meant it."

That softens her a bit. "Then why did you just say it has to do with me, you being here?" she asks.

Hook shrugs again. "I've been to the Land Without Magic only twice, briefly, as you know," he explains, "I thought seeing a familiar face would make it a little easier to settle in."

"Hmm," she grumbles and then frowns when she suddenly thinks of something. "So you sailed a freaking pirate ship here, again?"

He shakes his head. "I came here by..." –he furrows his brow as he's obviously trying to remember something, "train, I think, they call it."

Emma narrows her eyes. "And your ship?"

He waves his hand and replies a little vaguely, "Was left behind. As I said, fresh start."

She's a bit unsure as to what to think of it; she can't really imagine Hook without his ship – honestly, she can't imagine him here permanently, in this world, and she's wondering if he has a concrete plan. "And what are you going to do now?" she wants to know.

"Oh, I'm sure I can find some occupation," he answers nonchalantly.

"Pillaging and plundering is as illegal here as it was in the Enchanted Forest," Emma comments dryly, "whether you have a ship or not."

"I'm well aware of that," he chuckles and rubs a spot behind his ear. "I've never been averse to hard work, you know." After pausing for a moment, he clears his throat and then continues, "I would ask you a favor, though, if you're so inclined..." She raises her eyebrows curiously, and he goes on, "As you're surely aware, I haven't seen much of this... modern world, and I know even less of it." He tilts his head. "I'll need some time to adjust, to settle in... and it would be a great relief if you could," he nods his head to her, "provide a bit of advice here and there until I get on my feet." He smiles disarmingly. "What do you say, Swan?"

She taps her index finger against her chin. "Do you have a place to stay, for starters?" she asks, somehow doubting it.

"I came directly here to see you," he confirms her suspicion and motions to the huge kitbag he's dropped on the floor behind him, "but I'm certain I can find some sort of inn here. Money is not a problem."

Somehow, she didn't expect that. "Oh?" She raises a questioning eyebrow, and he smirks.

"I might have given up my ship," he tells her, "but not the dubloons I'd stashed away."

Of course, she shouldn't have doubted his resourcefulness. "Good then," she says, "we'll find a decent place for you, I guess. In a few days," she adds.

Hook frowns. "In a few days?" he echoes.

"Yeah. You can crash here in the meantime," she tells him nonchalantly.

He narrows his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Stay," she explains, "sleep." A surprised, incredulous smile blooms on his face, and she continues hastily, "I meant, you can stay here for starters, until we find you something." She combs her hair behind her ears with both hands. "If money isn't a problem, you really shouldn't take the first available thing."

"Oh." He scratches behind his ear. "That's a very generous offer, Swan, and I'm really honored. But I wouldn't want to impose..."

She rolls her eyes and steps aside, briskly motioning for him to come in. "Come in already, before I change my mind," she orders grumpily. "But don't get in my way."

He tilts his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."

In a swift move, he bends down to pick up his kitbag and then enters the apartment with long, smooth steps. When she watches him saunter in, she's very vividly reminded of that morning (not so long ago) he came here to pick up her and Henry for their journey back to Storybrooke. She felt a mix of annoyance and absurd, nervous excitement then – she hadn't missed him, because she hadn't remembered him, but part of her was secretly glad to have him back. She's having very similar feelings now – except for the missing part. She hasn't forgotten him, and so, part of her did miss him, like she misses all her friends, and of course her family. She's an adult, she can admit that. Especially because it doesn't change a thing about her decision and the fact that this life she chose is the best for Henry, and for herself.

But yes, it is somehow... nice to see him again. On the other hand, somehow it also smells of trouble, because when has this man ever not meant trouble of some sort? So yeah, hence the annoyance.

She closes the door and risks another glance, and damn, she has to admit that he wears these modern day clothes really well. As impressive as his long leather duster was – the short leather jacket does have its perks, the exposure of his taut backside and the way he moves his long legs in those tight black denims being one of them. Emma frowns and shakes her head as she asks herself if it really was a good idea to act on her spontaneous impulse and invite him to stay with them... as if she needs any more complications distracting her from settling into their new life – and forgetting what she so desperately wants to leave behind.

With a sigh, she follows him into the living room where he waits for her further instructions.

"Make yourself at home," she says and licks her lips nervously, motioning to the couch. "I don't have a spare room, so you'll have to sleep on here. It should be comfortable enough. Food's in the fridge, bathroom's down the hall, you'll find towels in the bathroom cupboard."

He sets his kitbag down on the floor and nods with a smile. "Thank you, Swan. I didn't really expect–"

"It's fine," she interrupts, "the least thing I can do, after what you did for my family. Uh..." –she grabs her phone and her keys, "I gotta go to work now, we'll talk later?"

"Sure," he replies and raises his hands – it still feels weird to see him without his hook – "don't let me keep you. I'll be fine."

She nods curtly. "Good."

Emma is kind of relieved to get out of the apartment and to the bail bonds agency, as she feels kind of overwhelmed by the recent events. Her super power definitely told her that Hook was being sincere about his intentions – he isn't here to persuade her to come back to Storybrooke, and her parents haven't sent him here; it looks like he really has her best in mind and wishes for her to find what she's looking for. Still, somehow she has the feeling there's more behind it, and that's very confusing.

Also, his presence makes her feel... on the edge somehow. Yes, she's attracted to him, has always been, if she's honest, and yes, she does care about him. Somehow. She's a reasonable adult, she can admit that. And the fact that she admits it to herself now, is proof that she is reasonable, right? Which means that her other decisions are reasonable, too.

Actually, it might not be a bad thing that he's here.

For a few hours, she's catching up with what's been going on at the agency, and she takes a few files with her, to do some research at home, before she goes on an actual stakeout.

In the late afternoon, when she picks Henry up from the bus right around the corner, he's in a foul mood to see her. "What, am I under surveillance now?" he asks grumpily. "Afraid I'll jump on the the next Greyhound home?"

"You'd better not, kid," she replies lightly, as if he was making a joke, ignoring the edge behind his words. "Listen," she continues, "before we go inside, you should know... we have a visitor."

"A visitor?" he frowns. "But we don't know anyone here?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. We know a lot of people here." Henry presses his mouth into a thin line and looks away, feigning disinterest. She sighs and explains, "Not from here."

That surely gets her his attention. His eyes widen. "From back home?" he asks in a excited voice and wastes no time, running into the building and up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. "But how's that possible?" he wants to know, not even looking back over his shoulder to see if she's following him (she is). "Who is it?" He all but hops up and down while she's fumbling for her keys.

"Calm down," she tells him, "it's not anyone from–"

The moment the key turns in the lock, Henry pushes her aside and bursts inside, hurrying right into the living room. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Hook sitting there on the sofa, flipping through a magazine.

"You?!" he blurts out instead of a greeting, completely taken aback. "What are you doing here? And why–"

Hook closes the magazine and carefully places it back on the coffee table, then he rises from his sitting position. "Why am I dressed like that?" he interrupts Henry with a smile, and the boy drops his book bag on the floor.

"Uh, yeah?"

Hook throws a glance at Emma and, when she shrugs, leaving it up to him to explain his presence to her son, he says, "Well, I thought it a more suitable attire for my endeavor to", he waves his hand a little vaguely, "turn over a new leaf and start a new life. In this world."

Henry frowns. "Here? Why would you do that?" he inquires. "You know nothing about this world."

He tilts his head. "During my long life I've had to adapt to changes on many an occasion, lad," he replies, "and it seemed time for a new adventure." Motioning towards Emma, he adds, "Your mother was kind enough to offer me a bit of assistance."

"He's staying with us for a few days," she explains, "until he's settled in. That okay with you?"

Henry shrugs. "Sure, it's fine," he waves her off impatiently and turns to Hook again. "How is everyone at home?"

Again, he glances at Emma before answering. "Faring well," he says, "trying to get used to... a normal life without dangers."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Emma murmurs dryly.

Henry shoots her a glare and addresses Hook again, "So the Wicked Witch is safely locked up?"

"Oh, yes, don't worry," Hook soothes, "she's absolutely powerless."

"I doubt Gold's given up his revenge plans," Emma interjects.

"You could be right," he agrees, then smiles brightly. "Thankfully, that's not your problem any longer."

"Hm," Henry grumbles and picks up his book bag again. "I have homework to do." And with that, he disappears into his room.

Emma turns to Hook again. "Is really everything safe back... in Storybrooke?" she asks with only the tiniest hesitation in her voice. Yes, she almost said back home, out of habit. That means nothing.

"It was last night, when I left," he replies, "there's no need to worry, Swan."

"Good," she nods and then throws him a questioning look. "Have you eaten?"

"I had breakfast on the train this morning."

She shrugs. "Then I suppose we'll have dinner early. Are you okay with pizza?"

"Of course, love," he agrees quickly, "anything your heart desires is fine with me. But I wouldn't want to mess up your schedule."

"Don't worry," she waves him off, "I haven't eaten since breakfast either. I'm going to take a shower."

With that, she turns around and leaves him there, suddenly overwhelmed by her own swirling thoughts. The brief conversation with Henry brought it all back and showed her in an unwelcome way that she was far from being over everything she left behind. Hook's arrival in the morning already threw her off track, bringing back with might all the things she pushed to the back of her mind, swept them aside. But then it's normal, she soothes herself as she grabs a pair of comfortable sweatpants, a sweater and fluffy socks and heads to the bathroom. It's like she told Hook the day before she left: her parents, her brother, her friends, the little town that has been the center of her life for quite a few months – of course she cares. They're her parents, for fuck's sake, even if they barely ever had the chance to actually be her parents. She loves them, and she wishes they could have the opportunity to grow closer; it's not like she doesn't want to be close to them.

But her first and foremost priority is and has to be her son, his safety. She has given him up for adoption to give him his best chance all those years ago, just like her parents gave her up even longer ago – and now she has to make sure again that he has his best chance at a happy, safe and normal life. And while he may be happy in Storybrooke, she'll admit that, his life surely wouldn't be safe, let alone normal. And he was happy here, too, once – he can be happy again; they can be happy again. She firmly believes that.

She has to.

Oddly enough, the atmosphere at dinner isn't tense at all; even Henry seems to have lightened up a little. While he was rather tight-lipped over the last few days, when it was just them, he finally seems to thaw a bit while talking to Hook, asking him questions about his journey from Storybrooke to New York, and he even laughs at Hook's anecdotes about his little struggles with the modern world during his train ride, like that "blasted contraption that poured boiling water all over my hand instead of in my cup, fortunately it was the fake one."

Emma is a little disgruntled that Henry mostly ignores her while he's all chatty with Hook, but on the other hand it's great to see him smile after almost a week of sporting a woeful expression all the time. Even if it does frustrate her that she can't seem to get through to him, she also does understand that his struggle with their new life is harder than hers, because she has always been a nomad in her life, and he hasn't, and besides, due to his age he sees only what he wants to see, and that's the loss of his family and friends. She's aware that he needs time, and in a way it's good that Hook is here now, if it helps Henry to come out of his shell for a bit.

Henry sees himself to bed unusually soon, and after she has loaded the dishwasher, she sets up some tea.

"So, what are your plans?" she asks Hook over her steaming mug. "Do you even have a plan? For what you want to do with your life?"

He tilts his head. "First of all, I'm going to find some occupation to get into a daily routine, so-to-speak. Just... blend in, I suppose?"

She chuckles. "New York City is full of people who are a little... weird. You won't have problems blending in."

"Oh, so I'm weird?" he picks up her playful tone.

"Well, you call everything that has to do with modern technology a magic box or a bloody contraption, so yeah, maybe a little?" she teases.

He laughs, and she realizes it's the first time she's heard him do it, a deep and rich sound that makes her smile. "I suppose you have a point there," he admits, "although I'm probably not weirder than you making that face when you realized that magic beans are actually a thing."

"Probably not." Her smile freezes when he mentions actual magic, and she puts down her mug.

"Have I said something wrong?" he asks, worry on his face.

She shakes her head. "It's okay." Leaning a little forward, she scrutinizes him closely. "Are you sure you're just here for a fresh start?" she then inquires. "My parents really didn't send you to convince me to come back?"

He sets down his half-empty mug as well. "As I said, Swan, nobody sent me," he assures, "and I'm not planning to convince you to do anything."

After a probing look, she nods firmly. "Good, because I won't. We're staying here." His face bears an unreadable expression, and, feeling she has to make a point and convince him of her resolution, she adds, "This is our home now."

"Of course," he agrees in a serious voice. "You must have missed it so much these few last weeks when you were away."

Emma narrows her eyes, but his expression is innocent, bare of any sarcasm. Yet, she can feel the needling, God, he's so good at that. She glares at him and gets up. "I missed the peace and calm, yes," she stresses and adds, "And I did not have a déjà-vû this morning." He raises his eyebrows in question, and she points out, "Last time you found me here, I didn't know who I was, and I was here because I'd been forced to. This time I know damn well who I am, and I'm here anyway." Even if he tries to keep a steady face, she can see the faint shadow ghosting over it, and she finishes with determination, "I came deliberately, because I wanted to."

A muscle in his jaw ticks, and she knows that means he's not as calm as he seems. "Point taken," he replies in a completely nonchalant tone and raises slowly from his chair, but his smile is a little strained.

"Good," she says curtly and pours the rest of her tea into the sink. "I'll go to sleep."

Killian's gaze follows her calmly, before he plops down on the couch with a sigh and runs his hand through his hair. For a moment there, Emma allowed a connection between them, but then he had to go and ruin it. Of course, he immediately realized his mistake of mentioning magic beans – that made her shut down right away. And his dig about her surely having missed her "home" (which he's sure she hasn't) – no, she isn't there yet; he should have known. He'll make sure to be more careful with those things; he knows, if this is going to work, he must not pressure Emma in any way; that will most surely result in her shutting down and hide herself behind her walls even more, fortifying them, just to prove she's right.

Her reactions during his talk with the lad, her immediate concern... no, she isn't done with Storybrooke – something he secretly feared when he arrived, that she maybe had talked herself into really not missing anyone or anything she left behind; she would be stubborn enough. But apparently, she hasn't managed to brainwash herself into believing that, and that's a relief.

Suddenly, he feels his limbs grow heavy, and the tiredness of a long overnight train journey settles deep in his bones. He rises from the couch with a groan and shuffles over into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he stretches out on the couch, he falls asleep almost the same moment his head touches the pillow Emma provided him with.

The next morning, he wakes up with the sunrise, as usual, and by the time Emma and shortly after her Henry shuffle out of their rooms, both with with unruly hair and sleepy faces, he has gotten acquainted himself with the kitchen enough to have coffee, tea and hot cocoa ready for them, along with toast and some fruit he found in the fridge and chopped it.

"Breakfast?" the lad asks in an appreciative voice.

"I didn't know if you prefer eggs or pancakes," Killian replies in an apologetic voice, and Emma huffs.

"You cook?" She sounds almost offended, definitely grumpy, to say the least, as she shuffles nearer, obviously magnetically drawn by the smell of coffee.

He tilts his head. "Opening coconuts was only the tip of the iceberg," he comments.

"Hm," she grumbles, and he remembers that Emma Swan is not a morning person. She grabs a mug from the board above the kitchen sink and fills it with coffee from the pot.

"I'd love pancakes," Henry singsongs and disappears into the bathroom, and Killian chuckles.

"Slept okay?" Emma asks as she leans against the counter and takes a few sips of her coffee, closing her eyes for a moment, apparently savoring it.

"Aye," he answers, "your couch is very comfortable, really. I can't thank you enough for having me, Swan."

"Hm," she mumbles again and waves him off (which seems to be a synonym for 'don't worry' this time) before putting down her mug. "I wouldn't say no to pancakes either."

Half an hour later, they are sitting at the table with their breakfast, and Emma fills a to-go mug with coffee before she leaves for work.

"Hey kid, want me to give you a lift to school?" she asks, but Henry shakes his head.

"Class starts an hour later today," he replies and loads another pancake on his plate.

"Okay. Oh, Hook, by the way..." He raises his eyebrows in question, and she pulls something from her pocket and puts it on the table beside his plate. "Here, you'll need this."

Killian picks the small key up between thumb and forefinger. "What's that for, Swan?"

"A spare key to this apartment," she explains, "So you can go out and come back as you like. Just lock the door when you leave."

He nods. "Thank you. I will," he promises almost solemnly.

"Good." She slips on a dufflecoat. "And if you need help with anything..."

"I have a clever telephone," he replies with a slightly smug head tilt, "and I know how to operate it."

Henry giggles, and Killian isn't entirely sure about the reason. Emma's eyes widen in surprise. "You have a smart phone? I'm impressed," she comments, "Look at you becoming a 21st Century man."

He reaches in his pocket and puts his phone on the counter. "I told you I'm trying to adapt as well as possible to this modern world."

"Well, then, I'll give you my number," Emma says and takes his phone, lets her fingers fly graciously over the small screen and hands it back to him. "Now I have your number, too. If you need help–"

"I'll just press the Emma button," he interrupts with a smile.

Much to his delight, she blushes slightly. "Yeah, well, I filed it under Swan." She grabs an enormous red scarf and starts wrapping it around her neck. "Oh, one more thing," she remembers, "do you have real money? I mean, you can't walk around New York City and pay with gold dubloons."

It touches him that she seems to genuinely worry about him having everything he needs to make his way into this world unknown to him. "Don't worry, Swan," he tells her, "it's all taken care of."

"Good. Then just..." –she waves her hands vaguely in his direction, "just don't get in trouble."

"Trouble? I?" He puts his hand against his chest in an exaggeratedly theatrical gesture. "You wound me."

"The last time you were here I had to bail you out," Emma reminds him dryly.

He points his ringed index finger at her. "Aye, but you had me thrown in before, so that hardly counts."

Waving impatiently, she rolls her eyes. "Whatever, I gotta go. See you later."

"And they were roommates," Henry murmurs in a slightly amused voice after Emma has closed the door behind her.

Killian frowns and turns to him. "Excuse me, lad?"

The boy just shakes his head. "Never mind." Then he sets down his coca mug and leans forward expectantly, with an eager expression on his young face, as he asks, "So, what's the plan?"

"Plan?" Killian echoes in a confused voice. "What plan?"

Henry crosses his arms and grins. "What are we gonna do to get her to go back home?"

"Oh." Killian rubs his hand across his jaw. I forgot how smart the lad is. "Nothing," he then replies calmly.

"What?" the boy exclaims incredulously.

"We're not doing anything, lad," Killian confirms.

"But isn't that what you came here for?" Emma's son protests. "We have to try and persuade her..."

"I'm afraid that's not how it works, Henry." Killian's tone is apologetic; and it does hurt his heart to disappoint the boy that has been through so much in such a short span of his life. The hope in his eyes makes it even harder not to rush things, but Killian is convinced about his approach – pressuring Emma Swan never helps achieve the goal.

"But–"

"Oh, I'm sure we could persuade her to go back," he interrupts Henry's attempted argument. "But she would do it for you." He points his ringed index finger at the boy. "And if it's supposed to work out for good..." He lets his voice trail off, hoping Henry understands.

The boy nods slowly. "She needs to do it for herself," he finishes, sounding a bit deflated now.

"Aye, lad." Killian tilts his head, relieved that the lad indeed understands. "She has to want it. She has to realize that Storybrooke is also her home."

A worry is furrowing Henry's brow. "And what if she doesn't realize it?"

"She will." Killian leans forward, too, now, searching the boy's gaze. "You'll see. It won't be long before she'll start to miss her parents, her friends... and then she'll know."

"And that's all?" Henry asks doubtfully.

"No, of course not," Killian concedes. "It will take her a bit more to admit it, and perhaps another bit to accept it. Just like when you found her and brought her to Storybrooke for the first time."

The boy sighs and sways his head. "Well, I hope it doesn't take her that long again."

"Believe in her, Henry," Killian encourages firmly. "She has already come very far since then."

"Thanks." The boy beams happily. "I'm glad you came for us." Then he gets up from the breakfast table and grabs his book bag. "Gotta hurry, I'll be late for school."

Killian frowns. "But you said...?"

Pure mischief twinkles from Henry's eyes as he grins like the twelve year old boy he is. "I wanted Mom to leave so I could talk to you."

Killian raises his eyebrows at him. "I'll pretend I haven't heard that," he replies, attempting a severe tone, but not quite managing. He's glad to have an ally in the boy.

He clears up the table meticulously, and when he's done, he takes his phone and smiles when he sees the last call made (Swan) before he goes to his contacts to call said Swan's father.

"Hook! Finally!" the prince greets him – not unfriendly, but with slight impatience in his voice. He has only briefly texted him the day before to let him know he arrived safely. "How are they?"

"The lad's clearly unhappy and missing home," Killian says.

"No surprise there," David replies. "Poor boy has barely had a minute to breathe since the first curse was broken. And Emma?"

"She..." Killian tilts his head, "she isn't there yet."

David sighs. "No surprise there either," he comments dryly.

"And she's very adamant that their home is here now," Killian continues.

Another sigh. "Yeah, she's stubborn."

Killian smiles to himself at the irritated resignation in the prince's voice. He knows for a fact that Emma hasn't got just her gumption from her mother. "She just needs time," he tries to reassure. "Her heart isn't here, I can feel it."

"Did she buy your excuse?" David asks.

"She believes I'm here for a fresh start," Killian confirms, "which isn't really a lie, so that's probably why. She was kind enough to offer me shelter," he adds.

"You're staying with them?" David probes, and Killian closes his eyes, grimacing at himself. Even if there's no real necessity to keep that fact hidden, because of bloody course he isn't going to take advantage of it in any way, he doesn't want to alarm Emma's father.

He clears his throat. "Aye. Mate, I solemnly swear–"

"Don't," David cuts him off firmly, but not unfriendly. "Just promise me you'll do everything to make sure this ends with Emma finding her home and being happy," he demands and then adds, "whatever that might mean."

"You have my word," Killian vows, deeply touched by David's words and unselfish love for his daughter, basically telling him once again that he'd even accept her staying away from their family and dallying with him, if it meant granting her happiness. What a long way from You're nothing but a pirate. You're never gonna get her, I'll see to that.

For a moment, there's silence at the other end of the line, before he hears David's voice again, sober and serious. "That's good enough for me then." Killian clenches his jaw, and before he can find the appropriate words to reply, the prince adds, "Good luck" and hangs up.

It's a good thing that Emma is rather busy at the agency in the following time and even gets to go on a few stakeouts, because that keeps her mind from what else is going on in her life. Henry's still frustratingly skittish, his mood changes almost every hour, or so it seems, and the annoying pattern is that he's mostly monosyllabic (at best) or grumpy (at worst) with her, while he's his normal, chatty self with Hook, even laughs and cracks jokes sometimes. She keeps telling herself that he needs time, but it's nagging at her.

And Hook, he's... well, he's absolutely not what she expected him to be when he showed up at her doorstep. She half and half waited for him to start jibing and needling about their life here in New York City, especially after that dig on the first evening, about how she must have missed her life here (because you don't have a home until you just miss it, right, Swan? Isn't that what you said?). But that dig – that almost caused her to flip – remained the only one. He seemed even reluctant to bring up Storybrooke or anyone from their old life at all, when sometimes Henry tried to lead a conversation in that direction.

So, she allows herself to get used to his presence, even if she knows it's just temporary. But she knows that even when he'll move out soon, he won't be far away, and the prospect of having him near in the long run feels like... growing a root, somehow.

The first week goes by with them developing a surprisingly smooth routine, even sharing a bathroom doesn't present any difficulties – Hook is an early riser, and by the time Emma and Henry get up in the morning, whether it's on school days or on days when they can sleep in, he's already done and ready for the day. And he's very clean and tidy which, on second thought, really shouldn't surprise her – being used to living in the limited space on a ship probably teaches you to be tidy. It's also nice – especially for a morning grouch like her – to find the coffee ready, hot and strong, when you shuffle out of the bedroom with barely the ability to crack on eye open. In short words, he's the perfect roommate, even if it sounds absurd to her own ears that she has developed a comforting domesticity with Captain Hook.

And that's exactly what makes her feel on edge.

Because domesticity plus friendship – that's undeniably there between them – seems to be a dangerous mix that could lead to complications destined to make her life more difficult and not easier. It could forward the equally undeniable attraction that has been simmering between them for a long time, push her to do – to feel – things she better leaves buried deep and well.

Of course she cares. But that's already the limit of what she can allow herself to do. Anything else is just... not in the cards for her. She's seen it with Graham, she's seen it with Neal. Even with Walsh, although he hardly counts. Every time she allowed herself to get gradually closer to someone, she's been taught the same lesson: don't let yourself fall for a guy – they will die. Or betray you. Or betray you and then die. Bottom line: you'll lose them, so just... don't.

This is why she's actually relieved to be able to escape the domesticity for a bit when she has to head out for the evening to catch a perp. It's actually one of those she despises the most: the treacherous sleazeball who doesn't pay alimony. Even if these are usually easy catches, she doesn't like these missions.

Hook's eyebrows rise almost up to his hairline when she comes out of her room and looks a bit similar to when she had her date with Walsh that evening, a short black leather dress and dangerous looking high heels.

"What kind of mission is this going to be, Swan?" he asks suspiciously. "You look like you're going on a rendezvous."

"I am." She shrugs and adds hastily, "Well, kind of. The guy I'm after thinks it's a date. But it's just a honey trap."

He frowns. "Pardon, a what?"

"A honey trap," she repeats and explains, "I set up a date with him and lull him into a false sense of security, maybe have him drink a bit, and then I'll just... arrest him."

"You'll distract him with your charms," he states.

"Exactly."

"Hm," he grumbles, "is that really a good idea?"

"A honey trap always works, believe me," Emma assures with a chuckle.

"Swan, you don't know that man. Be careful." He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn't. Yet, there's an intensity in his eyes that makes her nervous suddenly, and so she tries to laugh it off.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous," she comments lightly, and a stupid little voice at the back of her head whispers, but you know it well enough.

Instead of a sassy reply, he just turns away from her and says, "I'll provide dinner for your boy."

Suddenly, Emma feels very awkward and wishes she hadn't mentioned jealousy, because she feels somehow guilty and doesn't know why; he seemed genuinely concerned, and she was almost flippant about it. On the other hand, she doesn't want to make a big deal out of it.

"Thank you," she murmurs to his back, "and don't worry about me."

Then she leaves.

A little later, Killian watches Henry intently and with concern across the table as he pokes around in his meal. The boy has been quiet during the entire dinner the two of them share; Emma has announced she will probably be home late from her stakeout, and they shouldn't wait up. The stakeout he isn't to keen on thinking about. Honey trap, she called it, and he doesn't like that name at all. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, but also dangerous in that black leather dress and those shoes with the murderous heels. He remembers the occasion when he saw her very similarly dressed... at her date with that hell beast, and how it felt like a stab to his heart.

But this is not the moment for reflecting on his own feelings, not if he wants to succeed in his mission to bring Emma home. He focuses on the boy again.

"You look vexed," Killian finally remarks. "What is it?"

Henry pushes the rest of his potato salad around on his plate and murmurs, without looking up at Killian, "We've been here for two weeks, and you came a week ago." In a sudden move, he almost slams his fork on the table and raises his head. "And we're still at the same point!" he then blurts out in an exasperated voice.

Killian tilts his head. "I know it's frustrating, lad," he tries to soothe, "but it takes time..."

The boy snorts. "Yeah, you keep saying that, but... will she ever understand?" He throws his hands in the air and adds, "I mean, something's definitely changing, but not for the better."

Killian narrows his eyes at that cryptic statement. "What do you mean?" he inquires.

Henry leans forwards, as if he's telling him a secret, and suddenly he looks like the pre-teen he is, with his I'm-glad-you-asked face. "At the beginning, when we got here, she was just pretending," he explains, "All her 'New York is home', 'this is the best life for us' crap was her trying to convince herself." Killian nods slowly in acknowledgment; the lad has always been very quick-witted and mature for his young age. With a sorrowful face, he continues, "But now... I don't know..." He shrugs and lets his voice trail off.

Killian frowns and guesses, "You're afraid she's starting to actually believe it?"

Henry shrugs again, and this time he looks really worried and childlike and kind of... at a loss. "Maybe," he agrees, "Maybe she's managed to talk herself into it." He cocks his head to the side and scrutinizes Killian thoroughly, before he admits, "You know, I'm not so sure anymore if it was a good idea, you coming here."

Killian raises his eyebrows in surprise. "My lad, have I done anything to–"

Henry shakes his head. "It's not that. I like having you here." That admission surprises and embarrasses Killian at the same time and finally puts a brief, bashful smile on his face before the boy goes on, "But it also makes it so much easier for her to tell herself this is home."

Killian swallows and nods once. "You mean, because I'm a link to her old life, somehow," he assumes.

Henry rolls his eyes in a way that would make his mother and his grandmother proud, and replies vaguely, "Whatever you want to call it."

Killian isn't sure what to make of that remark. "You know, you might have a point," he says.

"So?"

Pensively, he thrums his fingers against his glass. "Well, my staying here was only meant to be temporary anyway," he thinks out loud.

"What?" Henry gasps in alarmed voice. "Are you saying you're giving up?"

"Give up?" Killian echoes and leans forward, boring his eyes into Henry's almost solemnly. "Never, my boy."

The lad breathes out in relief and wants to know, "Then what do you mean?"

Killian purses his lips thoughtfully. "I think it's about time I found an occupation and made myself scarce." He tilts his head. "With the option of moving out soon."

"Hmmm," Henry murmurs, "you know, this could actually help."

Three hours later, the table is cleared, the boy's asleep, and Killian has settled down on the couch with one of the many books from Emma's shelf. He hasn't laid down with his blanket and pillow yet, because he knows he won't be able to sleep anyway before knowing she's safely home.

Then finally, shortly before midnight, he hears the sound of her keys being turned in the lock before she stalks along the corridor.

Rummaging in her purse she murmurs, without looking at him, "I told you not to wait up."

"And I decide for myself when I wake or sleep," he replies dryly and puts his book down. "Were you successful?"

"Yeah, I caught the perp," she replies and continues rummaging, "even got to have half of the main course."

Killian narrows his eyes, as her behavior seems a little off. "Everything alright, Swan?" he asks.

"Sure," she answers quickly and makes a beeline for her room, and that's when he knows something's wrong.

"Emma." His voice is serious and low, and maybe it's his tone or the fact that he used her first name, but she stops dead in her tracks and turns around with a slightly annoyed huff. He notices immediately the red bruise under her left eye and jumps from his seat. "Bloody hell, what happened to your face?!"

"Relax, it's nothing," she tries to wave him off, "skin's not even broken."

"Are you serious?" he growls and is beside her with a few long steps. "Let me take a look."

She rolls her eyes. "I said it's nothing," she almost snaps, "and I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," he replies calmly and raises his hand to brush her hair away from her face, secretly glad that she allows the tender gesture. He sees the delicate skin is indeed intact, but there's already a slight swelling. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he slowly breathes out through his nose. "But letting someone else help doesn't make you less of a... how do they say it? Bad-arse."

That makes her smile involuntarily. "Did Henry coach you?" she suspects.

"Don't change the subject," he admonishes gently and motions to the couch. "Come on, be a good girl and sit down, I'll get you some ice." He looks at her almost pleadingly, and thankfully she doesn't protest. "This needs to be cooled."

Surprisingly enough, she caves. "Yeah, that would be really good," she admits and walks over to the couch while he fetches an ice pack from the freezer. Emma groans and flops down, kicking off her heels and throwing a sideways glance at the blanket he uses to sleep, neatly folded at one end of the couch, the pillow carefully placed on top. Somehow, the sight is calming to her, but she decides not to explore that feeling any further.

Handing her an ice pack before he sits down beside her, he asks, "So, what happened?"

With a hiss, she places the ice pack on her bruise and, after the few moments it takes for the cold to soothe the pain a bit, sinks back against the sofa cushions with a relieved sigh. "The usual," she replies almost curtly, and he bites back a remark that he has no idea what the usual might be in that case. "I revealed myself eventually, he tried to run," she continues in a pointedly bored, there's-nothing-to-see-here tone and shrugs. "I got him in the end."

"And your face?" Killian prompts patiently.

"Collided with his elbow when he was trying to get away from me tackling him," she finally capitulates and adds a little smugly, "I broke his nose."

He tilts his head. "Well, I can tell from experience that you do have a mean right hook."

She throws him a sideways glance and chuckles. "To this day, I don't understand how I was able to land that one," she muses, and before she can delve deeper into that subject, Killian quickly changes it.

Motioning to her heels, he asks, "And you ran after that miscreant? In these?"

Emma waves him off. "Don't worry, I've done this for a living for years," she tells him, "I can deal with bad guys. Even in heels, if I have to."

"Again, I can attest to that," he comments lightly.

She presses her lips into a small smile, a rare one, not sarcastic and not to hide some hurt. "You're not a bad guy," she replies with a softness in her voice that makes his heart stutter, and for a moment, their stares lock. Somehow, it feels like they're in some void, with everything else completely blanked out, and the only thing they see are the other one's eyes. But then, in an almost brusque move, Emma looks away, and the undeniable spell is broken.

Killian, too, averts his eyes, even though she isn't looking at him anymore, and offers hastily, "Would you like me to make some tea?"

"No, thanks, you already did enough," comes the immediate answer, and she puts the ice pack on the coffee table. "I'll just crawl between the sheets, I'm knackered." She rises from the couch and picks up her shoes. "Wouldn't want to keep you awake any longer," she throws over her shoulder as she's already heading towards her room.

Killian nods and murmurs, "You just did."

He waits until he hears the muffled click of the door when Emma closes it behind her, before he slightly shakes his head to clear it and gets up. He isn't sure what just happened, but that small moment, what transpired between them, has filled him with warmth. The softness and sincerity in her smile and her words when she told him that he wasn't a bad guy touched a string deep inside him. He knows this is not the right moment to let his mind wander and ponder over what that moment of closeness meant or could mean, not the right moment to get distracted from what his mission really is here; but he can store it away for later.

When he finally falls asleep an hour later, knowing that Emma is safe and separated from him only through a door, he does so with a little smile on his face.