Chapter 4

I won't be happy till I see you alone again
Till I'm home again and feeling right

Emma's mind is racing as she stares at the key in her hand, the key Killian left on the coffee table near the couch he used to sleep on. Where he deposited it before he stuffed all his belongings in his kitbag and walked out of her apartment. Out of her life? Just when she was about to tell him that she was ready to go home?

Then a thought hits her, and she calls for Henry, panic obvious in her voice.

Almost immediately, the door to his room is thrown open, and he bursts out, startled. "Mom! What's wrong?"

"Did you talk to Killian?" she asks in an urging tone. "He must have been here not long ago!"

But Henry shakes his head. "No, I didn't see him. I heard the door, but I thought it was you." He frowns. "What happened?"

She licks her lips and swallows, her mouth is so dry. "We... we had a fight. I said something... hurtful, and God, it's not even true." She runs her hand through her hair in an almost desperate gesture.

"You had a fight?" Henry echoes in an alarmed voice. "About me?"

"What?" Emma's eyes widen. "No, not about you," she assures. "About... about everything."

"I'm sorry, Mom."

The guilt pierces her heart. "Henry, it's not your fault!" she clarifies firmly. "It's mine."

"No, I mean..." –he looks a little sheepish, "I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time. I... I know you think you're doing what's best for me."

Emma sighs and takes a step nearer, daring to put a hand on his shoulder, endlessly relieved when he doesn't shake it off. "Actually, no," she finally admits and shrugs. "I... I'm just scared."

Henry frowns in question. "Of magic?"

She shakes her head and slumps down on the couch. "No, kid," she tells him and explains, "Of... of losing what I love." She looks at him with a plea in her eyes, a plea for understanding, hoping that a twelve-year-old is able to grasp the concept of her abandonment issues, her ever-present fear of loss.

"Look, for as long as I can remember," she continues, "every time I found a place – people – where I thought, maybe this is it, maybe this could be home... I lost it. Every time." He sits down beside her, for the first time in three weeks a sympathetic expression on his face. It gives her hope. "This is why I was scared of accepting... but no more of that now." She straightens her back. "I don't want to run anymore," she declares firmly, and it's meant as much for Henry as it is for herself. "I don't wanna be scared anymore."

Hope glimmers in the boy's eyes. "Does that mean..."

Emma puts a hand on his arm, and again, he allows it. "We'll talk about that later, okay?" she pleads, when she suddenly remembers her current predicament. "First, I need to find Killian." She jumps up from the couch again. "God, I really screwed up, and he left, and I don't know where he went..."

"Mom! Don't panic." Henry raises his hands. "We'll find him. Have you tried to call him?"

Emma whirls around to him, and she almost wants to slap her forehead for not thinking about the obvious. She snatches her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and selects Killian's icon from her contact list. Her heart beats frantically as she's listening to the dial tone, but then she hears the computer voice of the mailbox. She shoots Henry a desperate glance. "Mailbox. Looks like he doesn't want to talk to me," she says and throws her hands in the air. "God, I can't even blame him." She starts to pace back and forth, at a loss for what to do.

Henry sighs, apparently not half as much in panic as she is, which surprises her somehow. "And you call me stubborn," he remarks, a faint hint of sarcasm in his voice. "But don't worry, thank God you have a smart kid," he informs her a little pompously.

She frowns. "What?"

He pulls out his phone and all but waves it in her face. "I installed a tracking app on his phone," he reveals nonchalantly.

"You what?" she gasps.

He shrugs. "I did it when he asked me to show him a bit what he could do with his phone." He can't help but wink at Emma with boyish glee. "I thought it could come in handy."

"I'm... I'm pretty sure that's illegal," she tells him half-heartedly, but actually she can't hide the relief she feels.

"Yeah, so is locking up people and stealing their ship," Henry remarks casually and starts to type on his phone, "But sometimes it's necessary."

She doesn't really know what to reply to that. "I... okay." She combs her hair behind her ears with all ten fingers, trying to rein in her nervousness. "What if he turned off his phone?" she asks. "What if he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore?"

"Mom." Henry lifts his head and gives her a reassuring look. "Does that sound like Killian to you?" he asks back, a rhetorical question. "Look, he's probably upset and maybe not ready to talk right now, but I'm sure he doesn't intend to stay away for good."

Emma sighs doubtfully. "How can you be so sure?"

Henry rolls his eyes. "Because he isn't the type who is easily pushed away," he explains, and she remembers that this is Henry, the truest believer of them all. He hasn't been wrong often. "You tried that already, and it didn't work, remember?" he reminds her cheekily. "So, before we panic, let's just see if..." –a wide grin splits his face. "Ah yes, there he is."

Her eyes widen, and she can feel the excitement bubble up in her throat. "You got him?"

He grins and presents her his phone. "Here you go. You're welcome."

She's already heading for the door. "Kid, I–"

"Mom, you need the phone," he stops her, "and leave me yours, in case you want to reach me."

"Oh... of course." Hastily, she hands him her phone and takes his. "How–"

"Just follow the dot," he ushers her, "now go!"

Twenty minutes later, she parks her car at a big guarded parking lot in South Street Seaport and hurries along the street, her eyes scanning the pier as she keeps checking the blinking dot on Henry's phone. Finally, she sees a lonely figure in black on a bench looking out on the water. Emma closes her eyes for a moment in endless relief and slowly breathes out. Then she straightens her back and slowly walks over to him.

He seems to be so lost in thought that he only looks up when she's standing right in front of him; a slight annoyance creasing his forehead when his lifts his gaze to her, but that's quickly replaced by almost shock-like surprise when he sees who is disturbing his quietude.

"Swan?"

"Killian! Thank God I found you," she blurts out, not even trying to hide her relief.

He frowns in confusion. "How did you know–?"

"I'll explain later," she replies and motions vaguely towards him. "How did you even get here so fast?"

"I took one of the yellow carriages," he explains calmly and leans back, scrutinizing her in quiet astonishment.

She smiles at his description of a cab. "Of course." Throwing a look over her shoulder, she takes in the scenery; she can't remember that she's ever been here. Even though it's rather picturesque, a cold dread grips her heart with bony fingers. "Were you planning to–" she hesitates and motions her head towards the harbor area, "–to find a ship and..." She lets the sentence hang unfinished in the air, just can't bring herself to say the words.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Run away?" he asks, a bit of a sting in his voice, and shakes his head once. "No. I just needed to see the horizon. It calms me."

"But you weren't planning to come back either," she says, deliberately keeping any reproach out of her voice, and points at his kitbag lying beside his feet.

He averts his eyes for a moment. "To the apartment? No," he replies flatly, and her heart sinks. "I was going to ask the proprietor of the tavern if I could find shelter in some back room for a few days, until the apartment was ready."

"I see." Emma decides not to further comment on it and motions to the bench. "May I?"

He just tilts his head in a nod, and she sits down beside him. Trying to figure out his mood, she finds he doesn't seem angry, but more broody. Anyway, she's nervous about his reaction; not because she's about to apologize, she doesn't have a problem with that, but because she's about to talk openly about her feelings, her fears and insecurities, she's about to open up and lay her heart on the line, and that scares the shit out of her.

She licks her lips. "Killian, I... I'm sorry," she begins, because yeah, first things first. "I truly am."

His lips pull into a smile, but it's a melancholic one, on the brink of sadness. He shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize for how you feel, Swan."

"But it's not–" She raises her hands in defense. "What I said isn't true," she points out. "It's not what I feel." He doesn't reply, he just looks at her, eyebrows raised in question. She draws a deep breath, trying to gather some courage. "You were right."

"About what?"

She shrugs. "Back in Storybrooke, you said to me, I was afraid of staying, because I could see a future there, a happy one." She looks down at her hands. "And that was true. Still is." She swallows and raises her head again, firmly and deliberately looking into his probing eyes, and confesses, "I'm scared."

He cocks his head to the side, his searching gaze resting on her. "Why?" he asks gently.

She sighs. "Look, for most of my life I was alone. And all I ever wished for was... for that to end." She crosses her arms, almost wrapping them around herself in a protective gesture. "And then, suddenly, I had a family, friends..." She shrugs, and it gives her a very girlish, vulnerable air. Then she adds, "People who care about me. And that's terrifying!"

Killian nods slowly when he understands – because he's been there, too. The moment when he turned his ship around to try and be a part of something, allowing himself the thought that maybe, just maybe he didn't have to be alone and miserable anymore... it was a crucial moment. And to let in hope again, it felt good... but at the same time also utterly terrifying.

"Because you're afraid to lose it again," he murmurs, speaking to himself as much as to her.

"That's what happened every time before," Emma confirms. "Every time I started to feel like I... I could truly belong somewhere, with someone..." She has to pause for a moment, because fuck, it still hurts, reminiscing all those occasions when she has been screwed over by fate or by people, left behind, pushed aside. Yes, it hurts. But she feels instinctively that it's important to admit that now, especially to herself. Only that way, she understands now, she'll ever be able to shake it off and overcome her fear. "I lost it," she finishes her sentence. "Them."

"So, by not allowing yourself to belong with someone," Killian concludes, "you're just protecting your heart."

She nods. "I know what you're gonna say."

"Really?" He raises his eyebrows in question. "And what's that, Swan?"

Emma shrugs. "My wall can keep out pain," she says, "but it's gonna keep out... everything else, too. Happiness."

"Hmmm..." He purses his lips and lets his gaze sweep over the horizon for a moment before he rests it on her again. "Whoever told you that, seems to be very smart... and the owner of a very big heart."

She huffs a little laugh. "It was my mother."

"Ah." He smiles and tilts his head. "Well, I have to say, I'm not surprised, and she's not wrong."

Emma licks her lips as she tries to find the right words. "I told myself, I could make a happy life here, with Henry," she begins, "and pretend to be somebody else, but... it's not working." She shrugs and confesses, "I... I miss it." Nervously, she searches his eyes and finds them resting calmly on her, while he's listening intently. "I miss my parents," she goes on, "I miss my friends. I miss being the sheriff, and Granny's grilled cheese, hell, I even miss Leroy!" She shakes her head, as if she's appalled by the absurdity of her own words. "And I realized one thing: When Henry brought me to Storybrooke, and he told me I was the Savior... I didn't see what he was really doing." For a moment, her gaze is drifting somewhere else, lost in the past, as another piece of puzzle suddenly falls into place. "He was not bringing me back to break a curse. He was bringing me home. And I wanna go back." She looks at him almost pleadingly, and Killian gives her the tiniest, encouraging nod while the skin around his eyes creases in a barely perceptible smile. She draws a deep breath and raises her chin. "I wanna go home."

Killian swallows and nods. "That's good to hear." He rubs his index finger lightly over an imaginary spot behind his ear. " I had faith you'd realize it eventually."

"I think realizing it was not really my problem," she comments dryly.

He acknowledges her self-irony with a little grin. "No, of course not. But I also had faith you'd accept it eventually."

Emma nods and looks down at her hands, resting in her lap now, with her fingers knotted together. His gaze follows hers, and from the tension in her fingers he can tell there's more weighing on her mind, maybe also on her heart, and he can feel his own heartbeat in his throat.

"I accepted something else, too," she confesses after a moment of silence, her voice a little nervous. Killian hikes his eyes back up to her face, and slowly, she lifts her head again to let her eyes meet his, and to answer his unspoken question. "If you weren't here," she continues, "I would miss you, too."

Without realizing it, he swallows and forces himself to breathe in and out calmly and slowly, which suddenly has become very difficult; this is the first time Emma Swan seems to be hinting at her feelings for him, and in a very tangible way. He knows that she's been having them, but she's also been denying them for a long time. Now she chews on her lower lip and lets her gaze sweep through the air restlessly, as if she can't think of the right words and tries to find them somewhere written in the clouds.

Then she blurts out, "Of course you're part of my life, you have been for quite some time now, and I can't imagine..." She lets the sentence hang unfinished in the air and draws a deep breath before she finally fixes her gaze on his again. "When you left earlier, I thought I'd... I'd lost you."

Her voice sounds a bit strained now, like she's desperately trying to keep calm, obviously just as nervous as he is, and a warmth blooms deep in his chest when she reaches out for his hand and slips her fingers inside, their cold tips curling against his palm. Without thinking, he brushes his thumb over her knuckles, her gesture encouraging the minute caress.

He shakes his head. "Emma, you could never–"

"Look," she interrupts, "I don't... I don't need you. But I... I..." She seems to stumble over her words, maybe surprised by her feelings, maybe afraid of her own courage. He waits patiently; somehow, he has the feeling he's got all the time in the world now. Then Emma takes a deep breath and finally gets the words out, "I want you."

She falls silent and watches him searchingly, and Killian senses, hopes with every fiber of his being that with her declaration she means more than just finally giving in to their mutual attraction. Her careful, tender touch and open, almost pleading look surely insinuate so. But his own heart is battered and raw, maybe as raw as hers, and he needs the reassurance, needs it desperately.

"What does that mean?" he finally asks in a rough, yet hopeful voice, his eyes searching hers, his thumb never ceasing to caress her fingers. Her fingers that are holding on to his hand, as if she doesn't want to let go.

"What you said to me, in Neverland," she replies, and his thoughts are racing, trying to get what she's talking about, because there are so many things he has said, and so many things he hasn't. Emma chews on her bottom lip for the tiniest moment of hesitation, but then she says it:

"You won my heart, and I want you. I want to be with you."

At first, he still doesn't trust his ears. I want to be with you. He tilts his head in some sort of incredulous wonder and replies almost solemnly, "You want to be with me?"

She smiles nervously and shifts nearer, leaning a little forward, while he remains motionless, breathless. Carefully, she raises her hand to his face, almost like she's afraid that touching him would break the spell. He throws a brief sideways glance at her hand, but then he locks his stare with hers again, and maybe the quiet warmth in his eyes gives her that little extra courage, so she finally lays her fingertips almost shyly against his scruffy cheek. The moment he feels her touch on his skin, he can't help but briefly close his eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, even if very little has happened – yet so much. When he opens his eyes again, he sees that she is slowly coming closer and closer, and his lips part automatically a little, all by themselves. The instinctive gesture isn't lost on Emma, and for the fraction of a second, she glances at his mouth.

Then she's here, and she closes her eyes before she closes the final distance between them and touches her lips to his, leaning into him, her cool palm flattening against his jaw. At first, he remains passive, motionless almost, as if he's afraid to make her shy away if he moves. But she gravitates impossibly closer, leaning heavily into him, her other hand coming up to lay against his chest. This is not the composure of a woman likely to shy away because of a response from him; on the contrary, she seems to be seeking it.

So, he wakes from his immobility and pushes forward carefully, only with the tiniest pressure, to show her he's here, and he's heard and understood what she just said to him. Her mouth opens under his, and she sighs when he kisses her back and brings his hand up to cup the back of her head and hold her safely.

When their lips finally part, the anxiety hits him again immediately, and he's half expecting her to pull away, to tell him it was a mistake, or another one-time thing, or...

But then she smiles. Bashfully, chewing on her lower lip again, as if she's the anxious one, but she doesn't avert her eyes, and so he's privy to seeing sparkles in them that let every star he's ever navigated by pale in comparison. He returns the smile, mesmerized, because what else can he do? Bringing his fingers to her jaw, he mirrors her tender gesture, his thumb stroking her cheek, while he's trying to process that this here is happening for real, and not just another one of the countless dreams he's had about her.

No, this is real: Emma Swan just kissed him, and she does not regret it. Emma Swan wants him. She wants to be with him, and she isn't afraid to admit it. With a little tilt of her head she bumps her nose against his, delighting him with the playful, tender gesture, a display of casual intimacy that would blow him off his feet if he weren't already sitting.

Finally, he breaks the silence and asks, "So... how did you find me?"

Emma grins and puts her left hand over his right still resting against her cheek, her palm suddenly warm now. More casual intimacy. "With something that Henry did with your phone." When he raises his eyebrows in question, she explains, "He installed an app that... allowed him to track your phone."

"Ah." He lets his fingers slip from her cheek and curls them around hers. "Sort of a locator spell, then?"

She huffs a little laugh. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Hmm." He tilts his head and teases, "Sometimes magic does come in handy, doesn't it?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "That's not–"

"I'm just joking," he interrupts with a smile. "I know it's one of those modern things I still have to learn about. I'm glad you used it to find me." He gets up from the bench and pulls her up with him, thrilled by how eagerly and naturally she follows. "Come on, Swan, let's get you home."

They don't talk during their drive back to the apartment, but neither of them feels it's necessary; partly, because both are lost in their respective thoughts, and partly, because it's a comfortable, companionable silence. From time to time, Emma throws a sideways glance at Killian and finds his eyes quietly resting on her, the tiniest smile shining in their corners. Then she presses her lips into a little smile of her own and looks back at the road ahead, eager to get them back.

When they arrive and enter the apartment, Henry is awaiting them anxiously, and she could slap herself on the forehead that she hasn't thought of letting him know that she found Killian. But it looks like he doesn't mind; the obvious change of atmosphere between the two of them seems to be enough to relieve him, and he just greets Killian with a nonchalant wave, his eyes fixed on hers expectantly.

"Come on, kid, pack up your stuff," she tells him right away. "We're leaving for Storybrooke tomorrow."

Henry's eyes widen, he throws Killian a quick questioning glance, but he just raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. Henry looks back at his mother and asks, "What now, are we visiting?"

"No, kid." Emma combs her hair behind her ears with both hands and licks her lips a little nervously, then takes a deep breath. "We're going back for good." She, too, glances at Killian who gives her an encouraging nod paired with a proud smile, and she adds with emphasis, "We're going home."

"Awesome!" Henry blurts out and, without further ado, disappears into his room fast as lightning to start packing.

Killian drops his kitbag on the floor beside the couch, where it has been for the last two weeks, and turns to head to the door again.

"Where are you going?" Emma asks, with only little alarm in her voice.

"Telling the tavern owner that he has to look for someone else to tend bar." He tilts his head. "I could use my telephone, but it's good form to tell him personally, I think." Emma nods with a smile, and he offers, "Do you want me to bring something for dinner? The pizza the lad loves? Something else?"

"Actually, I bought everything for making tacos," she answers and grins brightly. "There's no reason why we can't make them."

"Whatever your heart desires," he replies, and even though it's probably just his typical pompously gallant way of talking and not meant to have any double meaning, Emma feels her cheeks warm up a bit.

Quickly, she turns around to the kitchen counter and just throws over her shoulder, "Doesn't take more than half an hour."

"I'll be back on time," he promises, and that's exactly what happens.

They have a really pleasant dinner with a lot of laughter and easy-going conversation, nothing like the days before with their strained, uncomfortable silence and the tension, especially between Emma and Henry. But none of that is left now.

They take their time without haste, and after they're done, Henry disappears into his room to make a few goodbye calls (because yes, he does have some friends here) and to call Regina to share the news, and Emma goes packing her stuff while Killian loads the dishwasher; he has nothing left to pack, all his belongings are already safely tucked away in his kitbag.

He settles down on the couch and pours himself a decent amount of rum – he hasn't had any in days, and he hasn't missed it; and now he plans to enjoy and savor it, as for once it's not bound to be a means of distraction, to forget his problems or drown his pain. That doesn't seem necessary anymore.

Killian allows himself a few moments of revisiting the events of the afternoon, of processing what has happened. He still almost cannot believe it – but he's been replaying the scene again and again in his head, and it definitely happened: Emma Swan misses Storybrooke and wants to go home. And Emma admitted to her feelings for him. He isn't sure what the outcome of this will be, and he doesn't want to get his hopes too high – but one thing is clear, she made a huge step forward. She took a leap of faith, just when doubt started to slowly trickle into his heart.

Half an hour later – he's almost dozing off – Emma comes out of her room and flops down on the couch, beside him. She reaches for the tumbler of rum in his hand.

"Can I have a sip?"

He smiles. "Of course, love." How could he deny her anything?

She takes a sip and hands the glass back; when his fingers close around hers, she doesn't let go of the glass immediately, and he strokes his thumb across hers. She smiles and averts her eyes for a second, and he detects the faintest blush in her cheeks.

"I called my parents earlier," she then tells him, "and they didn't know we were coming."

"Well, how would they?" he asks, frowning.

Emma shrugs. "Obviously, I thought you'd told them."

"That's not my place to do." He tilts his head. "Besides, you deserved to share the news, and they to hear it from you."

She stares at him for a moment with her mouth hanging slightly open before she presses her lips into an incredulous smile and shakes her head. This man is really something. But she doesn't comment any further.

"You ready to go?" she asks instead and motions to his kitbag.

Killian nods and puts down his glass. "I didn't have much to pack."

"Yeah, me neither," she replies with a nod. "I've always traveled light. I found it makes for a quick and easy escape."

He raises a questioning, slightly alarmed eyebrow. "Are you having second thoughts?" he probes.

Without hesitation, she shakes her head. "No," she replies firmly and adds, "Now that I've accepted my fate, nothing's gonna hold me back."

He frowns. "Whoa, Swan, you sound like you're heading for your own execution." He tries deliberately to keep a light and playful tone to his voice, but a little cloud of worry briefly shadows his face, she can clearly see it.

She huffs an apologetic little laugh. "No, I'm just kidding," she assures and looks at him very seriously, almost solemnly. "Really. I want this," she confirms with utter conviction, but without a more detailed specification, and shifts a little hearer, until they're sitting so close that their thighs are pressed together. Then she leans forward in clear intention and clarifies, her voice not more than a husky murmur, "I want... this."

This time, after only a very short moment of hesitation, Killian gravitates towards her as well, more confident and less shocked than earlier at the docks. Her eyes glitter and her mouth curves up when she notices his move, and they are both smiling when their lips touch. They share a very soft and tender, almost chaste kiss at first, but soon they seem unable to pull apart, their mouths inseparable, as they get lost in exploring each other with slow and thorough kisses. They aren't exactly of that feverish, almost frenzied kind like the one they shared in Neverland what seems like ages ago; but the way their lips move against each other is languid and sensual and toe-curling in the best way. Killian's hand cradles Emma's head, and as he isn't wearing anything with lapels, her fingers curl into the fabric of his henley while she molds herself into him until she's so close that she's almost sitting in his lap, his left arm supporting her back.

At some point, they have to pull apart to get some air, and after a few deep breaths Emma moves to dive right in again, but Killian gently stops her with his fingers at her jaw and his thumb on her lips.

"We should," he murmurs in a hoarse voice, barely more than a breath, "get some rest." There's clearly regret in his tone, and that soothes Emma's disappointment a bit. His thumb softly caressing the dimple in her chin while their foreheads are still leaning together might soften the blow a bit, too.

She understands why he's holding back, because he sort of doesn't want to take advantage of her current, obviously emotional state, and because he wants to get her home first. Also, it might be a bit much for Henry if he came out of his room and saw them making out, even if she suspects he isn't oblivious to the development between them. Somehow, Killian's thoughtfulness is very heartwarming and makes her feel safe – like he's really looking out for her and her needs, and also her son's. Although she would love to stay like this for a long time (if not forever), kissing him and feeling his gentle touch on her, she knows this is not the time and place for that. So she nods.

"Do you mind if I sit here for a bit?" she asks.

His immediate reply gives her an inkling that he would love to continue, too. "Of course not."

She waits a bit, looking at him expectantly, until he understands and averts his eyes in an embarrassed smile for a second before he lifts his arm so she can properly slip into his embrace and put her head on his shoulder. Killian leans his scruffy cheek on the crown of her head, peace and warmth settling into him as he slowly dozes off.

When he wakes up in the middle of the night, she isn't there anymore, has obviously retreated into her room, but his blanket is draped over him to keep him warm, and he can still smell her scent on his shirt where she had rested her head. With a smile, he stuffs his pillow under his head and settles in for the rest of the night.

The next morning, they all rise and shine early, and an excited buzz seems to hang in the air as they have their breakfast. It gives him another déjà-vû of a morning a few weeks ago, of a very similar, yet so different occasion. Emma was reluctant then, still shocked by the realization that her life had been a lie, not really wanting to go back to face another magical threat to her family; Henry, like every teenager, wasn't averse to an adventure that regaled him with a few days away from school, but other than that, the trip meant nothing to him. And he, as the bearer of bad news, did his best to keep the mood light, but with Emma's obvious grudge the whole thing was a bit awkward.

But not today. He watches quietly as Emma and Henry finish the pancakes he made for them, their favorite breakfast, as he has learned, and they keep exchanging almost conspiratorial glances, their eyes full of smiles and anticipation, both obviously eager for what lies ahead of them.

After they have gathered all their stuff – not that much, really – Emma locks the apartment carefully and without a single hint of regret. They manage to fit everything in the trunk of the yellow bug, and Henry climbs into the backseat, leaving the passenger seat to Killian.

The drive is long enough, but they aren't in a hurry, taking their breaks to stretch their legs and get some food, and when they finally cross the town line hours later, it's already dark. Emma pulls over and stops.

Killian throws her a searching look. "Everything alright, Swan?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," she replies and turns a little in her seat to face him. "We're really back."

He nods. "That we are."

He isn't taking her statement as some declaration of doom or something like that, because he has already taken in the soft and almost incredulous expression on her face, mixed only with the slightest nervousness. She might need just a little push of encouragement, he thinks, and Henry has dozed off in the backseat a few miles ago. So he reaches out for her hand on the gear stick and briefly gives a reassuring squeeze. He can practically feel how the grip of her fingers on the stick loosens just a bit, and she draws a deep breath and smiles.

Killian nods again, returning the smile, and suddenly looks down at his prosthesis, as if he just remembered something. After a brief pensive moment, he grabs it with his hand and twists it until it clicks audibly and detaches from its brace.

"What are you doing?" Emma asks with a frown.

He looks at her again and tilts head. "You know, Regina made this for me before I left. I like what this thing can do," he then says, "but it's just..." He stops and licks his lips, a little unsure of how to explain that strange notion, hoping she might not think he's out of his mind.

But she smiles in understanding. "Not quite right?" she guesses, and he quickly scratches behind his ear, a little embarrassed but also sort of thrilled that she seems to read his thoughts so clearly.

"Aye." He fishes deep inside his kitbag, and after a brief search, he pulls out the shiny, metal object that's been missing from him for the last two weeks, the familiarity of it making Emma smile – his hook. He holds it up between them and throws her a questioning glance. "Unless you mind?"

"I missed it," she simply replies much to his joy and wets her lips, only slightly nervously. "May I?" She motions to the hook.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise and looks down at the sharp steel in his hand. "Of course," he then says and holds it out to her, but she doesn't take it.

Instead, she draws a deep breath and flicks her wrist tentatively in a fluent move of her hand, and the hook is gone from his grip and safely attached in its place. Emma bites her lip and grins like a mischievous child and looks up at him, her eyes sparkling with girlish joy, like a few weeks ago when she was practicing her magic and tampered with his hook, too; only now, he isn't weighed down by a dangerous secret and can rejoice in her pride.

His lips pull into a wide smile that shows off the dimples in his scruffy cheeks. "Your magic," he states almost solemnly.

"Yeah," she replies, "looks like you were right, you and Henry."

"And how does it feel?" he inquires, and she shrugs.

"Quite right."

"Mom?" comes Henry's sleepy voice from the backseat. "Where are we?"

"Just crossed the town line, kid," she informs him and adds matter-of-factly, "my magic's back."

"Told you," comes the prompt, only slightly smug reply, and she rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah." She starts the motor again and warns him, "Stay awake, we're almost there."

"You know they're expecting us at Granny's, right?" Henry tells her.

Emma sighs. "Too late to turn back, I suppose?" she jokes.

"Way too late," Killian agrees.

"Well, then."

Ten minutes later, Emma parks in front of the diner, and they get out of the car. Henry does his best not to hop up and down like some undignified fourth grader while Emma needs a moment to brace herself.

"You alright, love?" Killian inquires and resists the urge to take her hand. This is not the moment to distract her; besides, he quietly and somewhat reluctantly admits to himself, he isn't so sure if she would be comfortable with such a move, or would rather see it as boundary crossing at this point.

She chews on her lip for a second and throws a nervous glance at the door. "So, this is it?"

"If you want it to be," he replies gently, and she turns around to look at him just when he raises his hook to smooth out her hair, the familiar gesture she's missed, and just like that, everything falls into place and feels right.

Yes, two weeks ago she left Storybrooke for New York, left her family and her friends behind, not because of a curse, but because she chose to. And now, for the exact same reason, she returns – to a little, not even particularly picturesque town in Maine that shouldn't even exist, to her parents and a agglomeration of weird extended family and friends. More than that: Emma Swan returns home. Not because of a curse in need to be broken or a realm to be saved, but because she chooses to.

She smiles at Killian and grabs his hand with her left, and Henry's with her right. "Alright, let's do this," she says firmly, and she doesn't have to tell them twice; Henry is pulling at her arm like an excited young dog on his leash, and Killian is following eagerly and with a smile that's equally proud and happy, the warmth of her fingers against his making his skin tingle.

When they enter the diner, there's loud cheering, and Killian half and half expects them to be pulled apart by the various members of the welcoming party, but somehow everyone seems to be willing to give them time to adjust. Finally, Regina takes one step forward, and Henry throws himself in her arms. Emma's parents are slowly rising from their seats, their baby sleeping in his carriage.

Killian lets her fingers slip out of his, and she walks over to them. He can see her mother's eyes glitter suspiciously, and even the prince's seem of a more glistening blue than usual.

"Mom, Dad..." Emma murmurs as she stands in front of them, and then she finally throws her arms around them both. "I missed you!"

The three of them hug tightly, and Killian feels a smile pull at his lips, nothing could make him happier than seeing this Lost Girl finally find her home. He feels only a little melancholy pull at his heart, but after a few moments David, who is cradling his daughter's head in his hand, throws him a glance and a barely perceptible nod, and somehow it feels like he's welcomed, too. Almost like he... belongs.

He scratches behind his ear and averts his eyes, and that's when he sees the transparent hung from the ceiling, obviously hand-painted, that says "Welcome home Emma and Henry", and someone has drawn two little, slightly crooked hooks to the left and right of the letters, and yes, he's a pirate, and he's never in his long life aspired to be liked by people, but this... this is making him feel ridiculously warm and fuzzy inside.

Emma's mother lifts the baby out of the carriage so that Emma can say hello to her brother, and her father makes his way over to Killian, wordlessly holding out a glass of beer to him. Killian takes it and acknowledges the gesture with a nod.

"How did you do it?" the prince wants to know right after clinking their glasses together.

Killian tilts his head. "I didn't do anything, mate," he clarifies and adds, almost proudly, "She came around all by herself."

David shrugs and takes a gulp of his beer. "Yeah, well, I'm sure you had something to do with it, even if it was just your presence." He's clearly giving him credit, where Killian isn't sure it's deserved, and he sways his head in a doubtful not-quite nod. The prince clears his throat, apparently looking for the right words to say what's on his mind. "And did you... could you... clear things up between the two of you?" he finally asks.

Killian eyes Emma's father warily. "I think... I think we made progress," he then replies carefully, choosing his words with caution. Suddenly, under the prince's scrutiny, he's not sure if they were careful enough, and hastily adds, "I mean, I don't mean–"

"Please," David interrupts and raises his hands. "Whatever you mean... it's good."

Killian swallows and decides to push his luck a little further, given the obvious momentary leniency of the prince. He probes, "Then you're not opposed to...?" He lets his words trail off and braces himself for the response.

David sighs, and for a moment, it seems a bit like he's in pain. "She's still my little girl," he says. "Of course I'm opposed to..." –he pauses and crinkles his princely nose in disgust, "knowing... things about her that are not a father's business knowing about his little girl." Killian glances down into his beer and feels the tips of his ears grow warm, but then he forces himself to look back into David's eyes, because the father of the woman he loves deserves to look right into his. "But I'm not opposed to her finding happiness," he continues. "You told me how you feel about her. And if you're the one to make her happy, how could I not approve of you, after everything you've done?" Killian feels the muscles in his abdomen relax a little as he lets out a breath of relief. David raises his glass to him again. "I'd be crazy not to."

Killian nods, a sincere smile crinkling the skin around his eyes. "Thank you."

"Killian." He turns around when he feels a firm hand on his shoulder and finds himself face to face with Emma's mother. The princess bandit smiles openly at him. "I'd like to thank you," she tells him sincerely. "You brought my daughter back to me, for the second time."

He tilts his head in an almost apologetic way, trying his best not to cringe at her praise that is utterly and completely undeserved. "As I already told Emma's father, milady, it wasn't really my merit," he objects. "Emma just needed the time to realize where she belongs."

She rolls her eyes in that typical way that always made him fear they'd get stuck in the back of her head somehow. "Yes, and she also needed to see that there are people who care for her and stand by her side," she insists and pokes his chest with her index finger. "You were that person, when David and I couldn't." Her green eyes are of an intensity that reminds him of Emma in a startling way, and after he reacts with a reluctant nod, she adds, "And... you could really call me Mary Margaret, or Snow, if you prefer."

Relieved that the conversation is navigating to lighter subjects than him being called almost something like a hero (even the thought seems absurd), he tilts his head in a bow. "I'm honored by the offer," he replies, "but if you don't mind, I like milady." His lips pull into a teasing grin. "It suits you."

Mary Margaret raises her chin in that stubborn way he he has seen Emma do a few times, too, and glares at him for a moment, as if she's contemplating whether she should take his words as an insult or a compliment, but he has a feeling that she isn't actually contemplating it; she's just teasing him back. Finally, she purses her lips and nods. "Fine then."

In the following hour, it seems like everyone is stopping by at least briefly to welcome back Emma and her lad, and Killian receives surprisingly many smiles and – sometimes shy – welcome-backs, friendly nods and back slaps, and the grumpy dwarf even shoves another glass of beer into his hand. Most of the time he's watching Emma soaking up the crowd and the words of welcome, and not once does she look uncomfortable to him. More than once, he thinks he notices people ask her if she's really going to stay for good, and most times she confirms with a nod and a smile. His heart swells with pride and happiness at how natural and content she seems as she moves among the people who are her friends and her family, and also her home now – and she doesn't seem to mind.

And indeed, she doesn't.

Emma is slowly getting the hang of it, being a part of something, but this time really being a part of it – like being part of a puzzle that makes the whole picture complete. She makes it complete, because she belongs here, and crazy as it is after it took her so long to realize and accept it – she can't believe now that she refused to see it for so long, when it was so clear all the time. Her eyes scan the room for the person who, for the longest time, was both the thorn in her side and the support in her back.

When she spots him sitting at the bar, toasting his beer glass to Leroy of all people, she finds that his eyes are quietly resting on her. The moment he notices her glance, his lips pull into a smile, an almost bashful one, which she returns.

She can admit it now, she was a little nervous about how it would feel to come back, to see all the people she left behind without hesitation mere two weeks ago, to be sucked into this microcosm, absorbed by it. For a tiny moment, when she got out of her car, she was afraid it could scare her, bring back the urge to run away and be on her own again, but that fear lasted only for the fraction of a second. No, she's finally truly a part of something now. And it feels good.

When Henry asks her if he can go home with Regina for a few days, she can't do anything but hug him and assure him again that she will not change her mind and that she's well aware now that this place, these people are their home.

Not much after that, her parents – who have admirably kept themselves from monopolizing her – seek her out as she's just finished talking to Belle, still stunned about the news that she and Rumple really tied the knot.

"Emma?" She feels her father's firm hand on her shoulder, realizing once more how much she's missed him and his reassuring touch.

"Yes?"

He motions to the baby carriage. "It's time to get your brother home."

"Oh. Yeah, I..." She pauses, for a moment unsure what to do, but then her mother interrupts her thoughts.

"Here," she says and puts a key in her hand. "I brought your key."

Emma looks down at it. "Right." She hesitates and throws a glance over her shoulder to the booth where Killian is sitting, without even noticing it. "Uhm, I... I'm not sure when..." Her voice trails off, and she feels like a teenager, and that is something she could do without, but she guesses there's a first for everything.

Mary Margaret smiles. "It's okay, Emma. You're an adult." She motions her head to her husband. "We all are. And we know you're..." Mischief lurks in the corner of her eyes as she briefly glances over at Killian and finishes pointedly, "in good hands."

Emma blushes and huffs a nervous chuckle, and David crinkles his nose in annoyance. "Yeah... that was uncalled for," he grumbles and presses a quick kiss to her temple.

Then they leave the diner, and Emma turns around, her eyes searching for Killian again. He hasn't moved from his spot, like he's waiting for her, and she thinks he's been waiting long enough. They've been waiting long enough.

She walks across the room and slips into the booth beside him, stealing his beer glass and taking a sip. He grins at her cheekiness and asks, "So, how do you feel? Any regrets?"

She smiles and nods slowly, pensively, struggling to find appropriate words for this new feeling. "It feels... right," she finally says and thinks it might be a bit lame, but a look at his expression tells her that he understands exactly what she means. "And no regrets yet," she continues and shrugs. "But who knows, when I get back to being the sheriff and have to break up the first bar brawl with the dwarves, I might feel a little regret."

He reads it on her face that she's just joking and that she's at ease and relaxed and at home, and he thinks she doesn't look like someone who's about to run, and that makes him feel at ease. Breathing seems a lot easier since they arrived here; he has to admit to himself that for a moment he was worried she might shy back from the overwhelming feeling of finally finding a home (because he knows how truly overwhelming that an be), but that feeling disappeared as soon as he saw her fall into her parents' embrace without hesitation.

Emma's smile turns into a quiet, serene glow, and for a moment, there's an unreadable expression on her face. "I'd like to get out of here now and be alone," she says.

He raises from his seat immediately. "Of course, Swan." Offering her his hand, he asks, "Allow me to walk you home? Or at least to your vessel."

She takes his hand and slips out of the booth, too, and replies, "No, Killian."

His smile fades a little, and a trace of hurt surprise ghosts over his features. "No?" he echoes, his confusion evident.

She presses her lips into a smile and shakes her head once. "No," she repeats. "I'd like to be alone... with you."

Killian's eyes widen, and he stares at her in disbelief. "You mean..."

"Take me to your quarters," she clarifies, and he doesn't reply at first. His unexpected reaction leaves her perplexed... or the lack thereof; she has to admit she surely expected more enthusiasm from Killian about-bloody-time Jones. Or hasn't she made herself clear enough? "What's wrong?" she wants to know, suddenly feeling insecure.

He seems to sense that – and why is she not surprised? – , and as if he wants to soothe her inner Lost Girl, he reaches for her hand. "Well, actually I was hoping you'd allow me to..." he pauses for a moment and swallows, obviously nervous, before he finishes, "to court you properly."

Brushing his lips over her knuckles, he searches her gaze, a little insecure himself now, because in spite of her development over the past two weeks, he'd be a fool to pretend her issues have vanished just like that. And Killian Jones is no fool. He knows that part of her will always have difficulties letting other people come close, letting herself grow close to them, making herself vulnerable in doing so. And yes, she has told him that she wants him... wants to be with him, he hasn't forgotten that, he will never forget that... but maybe she still isn't ready for a relationship out in the open for everyone to see.

Her eyes have a barely decipherable expression, and she's chewing on her lower lip. "And by courting," she interrupts his thoughts, "you mean... dates, flowers, romantic strolls in the moonlight, holding hands... the whole thing?"

"Aye," he replies slowly, carefully, "but, of course, if you're opposed to any of this–"

She pulls her fingers from his hand and lays them against the side of his neck, right above the collar of leather jacket in a tender gesture that takes him by surprise. Leaning forward, she brings her mouth to his ear and whispers, "I insist on every single sappy thing, and you better get me the biggest heart shaped box of chocolates you can find for Valentine's Day."

Killian is thrilled to feel her lips graze the shell of his ear, and even more thrilled by her words. And even if he isn't sure about her remark about some special day for chocolates, he gets her message loud and clear: she wants the real thing, is ready to embrace it with everything that comes with it. He has to wet his lips before he can answer her, because they're so dry.

"I don't know what that is," he replies smoothly, "but sure."

"Take me to your quarters now, Captain?" she asks with a soft tease and a cheeky glint in her eyes.

He tilts his head and cocks his eyebrows, easily slipping into their banter. "If the lady insists."