Spoilers! This one shot (because my muse apparently refuses to work on any of my multiple chapter works anymore) takes place when Emma is on her road trip somewhere around 4x19. Reviews and prompts are always welcome :)

He hadn't slept well, not since she'd left. It was ludicrous. It wasn't as if they had ever shared a bed. And she most certainly had not spent the night. Not yet. She'd told him not to worry. Rightfully so; he knew the Saviour was more than capable of taking care of herself. But still, night after night, he found himself lying on his back in his bunk, staring listlessly at the ceiling. Thinking about her. Worrying about her. Missing her. The pull of sleep dangling just out of his grasp. The feeling was new to the Captain. And bloody frustrating. While a staggering number of actions during his centuries of piracy ought to have left him tossing and turning, for whatever reason it simply hadn't been the case. There'd been nightmares of course. Hundreds, thousands, of nights plagued by terrible visions, but sleep had never alluded him before. Not like this. Not until she'd left.

Despite the lingering chill in the air, he'd moved from Granny's back to his ship. He found that sleep claimed him more easily amidst the familiar, gentle rocking of the Jolly. Not much more easily, mind you. But it was better than nothing. Opting for sleep instead of warmth was a simple choice. Especially since he had a sneaking suspicion he'd need his wits about him once Zelena returned to Storybrooke. He had no intention of allowing that bloody witch to curse his lips again, or any part of him for that matter. Especially not now that Emma has finally started kissing him.

She'd been gone for almost a week when a shrill, foreign noise blared through this cabin. Startling Killian out of the fragile sleep he'd finally, finally, fallen into. With a low groan and some creative curses falling from his lips, he reached for his brace, unwilling to be caught vulnerable by whatever fresh hell awaited him. After a moment of disorientation, he realized the infernal noise was coming from the pocket of his leather jacket, hung neatly on a hook on the wall. Not a villain, but his talking phone, of course.

Realizing there was no pressing danger, he dropped his hook back on the low shelf beside his bed and flopped back onto his pillow. His arm slung over his face, as if it could block out the sound. The incessant beeping continued, despite his best efforts to ignore it. He shifted slightly and glanced at the small clock beside his hook. The hands indicated it was mere minutes until four in the morning.

He groaned again, more loudly this time, when he realized it was pointless to go back to sleep. Years at sea had left him an early riser. Something which he was learning did not change, regardless of how much, or how little, sleep he had gotten the night before. By the time he managed to fall back asleep, his bloody internal clock would wake him. He grit his teeth and threw back the thick blanket covering him with a long, drawn out sigh. While he may not be able to sleep, there was no reason he had to put up with the damned noise for another moment. He quite literally dragged himself out of bed and stumbled towards his jacket. The slats of wood cool against the bare soles of his feet.

He glanced at the contraption, turning it over in his hand as he pondered where in the realms the bloody quiet button was located. His heart skipped a beat when Emma's face shone brightly back at him from the screen. With a jolt, he realized she was calling him. Hastily, he flipped it open, furious at himself for having kept her waiting.

"S'emma," He mumbled into the phone, his voice heavy with sleep. He paced his cabin, suddenly filled with an impending sense of dread for her unexpected call. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Swan, what in the blazes is wrong?"

"You were asleep," She said. A statement, not a question. "It's late, of course you were asleep." Despite the nagging feeling of concern still prickling at the base of his skull, he couldn't help but smile at the sound of her voice. However far away it sounded. The late, early, hour and the feeling of exhaustion deep in his bones suddenly seeming trivial.

"S'all right," He replied, truly meaning it, as he lowered himself back onto his bed. He kept his feet planted on the floor and rested his forearm against his thigh. His brows furrowed, he leaned heavily on his blunted arm, his hand cradling the phone to his ear. "Is everything alright? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just, God," Emma paused and took a long, stuttering breath. "I'm sorry I woke you, it's stupid."

"Nothing that has to do with you is stupid, Swan," Killian replied. The shaky, unfamiliar lilt of her voice stoking the suffocating feeling of unease in his chest. He closed his eyes and wished he was with her. Imagined how he'd reach for her, tilt her chin up until her brilliant, green eyes met his own, imploring steely blues. Pictured how he would patiently, carefully wait until she saw the sincerity behind his words.

"No, believe me, it is," Emma said, with a short, humourless laugh.

"Tell me anyway," He said.

"I had a dream, and I just, I couldn't," She paused again, and sighed heavily. "I just, I just really wish you were here right now."

"As do I, Swan," Killian replied. So bloody much, he thought to himself. He swallowed thickly. There was no use in making this more difficult for her than it had to be. He dropped his voice an octave before he continued, his bravado back in full swing. "I think you'd be pleasantly surprised with the sheer number of distractions I'm intimately familiar with, love."

"Oh my god," Emma scoffed. "You're not gonna ask me what I'm wearing, are you?"

"Should I?" Killian asked, his smile growing. He leaned back against the headboard, his head resting against the arm slung behind his head, his legs crossed at the ankles. "Forgive me, love. This talking phone etiquette is unfamiliar territory."

"It's just called a phone, Killian," Emma chided and Killian could have sworn he heard her eyes roll through the device. He smiled to himself as she gave a weak laugh. Although the smile didn't adorn his face for long.

His stomach dropped like a rock and his smile quickly vanished when her flat laugh suddenly morphed into a choking sob. Inwardly, he cursed himself for clearly saying the wrong thing. Obviously, his ability to read his Swan was greatly diminished at four in the morning. Or perhaps it had to do with the fact that he couldn't read her body language and had only her voice to guide him. Regardless, he doubted he could have handled the situation any worse.

"Emma, Emma, sweetheart," He cooed into the phone. He clutched the phone so tightly, his hand began to ache. His shut his eyes tightly as her gut wrenching sobs cut through him like a thousand tiny razors. Gods, what he wouldn't give to be with her now. To take her into his arms and dry her tears. To whisper quiet words of adoration into her hair until she calmed. He supposed he would have to make due with simply his silver tongue. "Hey, it's alright. Talk to me, love. I'm here. I'm right here."

Gradually her sobs subsided, until she was simply sniffling loudly into the phone. It was likely only a couple of minutes, but it had felt like eons to Killian.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Killian asked carefully, for her benefit more than his. He didn't need her to tell him what she'd dreamt of. Of Cruella. And Henry. The Cliffs. Even heroes make mistakes. Though, if truth be told, he would hardly call her actions a mistake. Given the choice, he knew he would have made the same one, without hesitation. He wasn't sure if that would be a comforting thought to Emma or not, considering his past and his somewhat questionable status as a hero.

"No," Emma replied quickly, with a hard edge to her voice. Killian clenched his jaw, knowing she'd have to talk about it. At some point at least. If not to him, than to someone.

"Where are you?" He asked instead. There was no point in pushing her. His lass was as bloody stubborn as they came.

"In a hotel. In New York," Emma said, sniffling.

"Is Regina there with you?"

"She's with Robin and Roland, making sure they're safe," Emma said, quickly filling him in on the confrontation that had occurred between Zelena and the former Evil Queen.

"I wish you weren't alone, Swan," Killian said quietly. Images of her, red-eyed and alone in a strange city making his heart positively ache.

"Oh, God," Emma said, for a moment sounding like her old self. Like the Emma he'd climbed a beanstalk with. "Believe me, I would so much rather be alone than have to deal with Regina's sass about my scary dream."

"If I leave now, I can be there by morning," He offered. He fought against the lump that was forming in his throat when he considered that she'd phoned him when she'd felt vulnerable. That she really, truly was done running from him.

"What, Captain Hook is going to hitchhike to New York?"

"I'm not sure what hitchhike is, but you of all people should know by now that I am nothing if not resourceful," He said in mock indignation. "Have you forgotten? I've found you in the city once before already. Without the Jolly, no less."

"Like I could forget that," She said softly. Killian thought he could almost hear the smile in her voice. "No, we'll be home in a couple days, and knowing you're keeping Henry safe, that's more important. It's just, seeing Regina with Robin today… I don't know, it just made me really miss you."

"I miss you too, love," He said quietly. A pregnant pause drifted between them. The distance between them suddenly seeming almost overwhelmingly vast.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Emma said at last. Her voice still far too shaky for Killian's liking. "And for acting like a crazy person. I'll let you get some sleep—"

"Have I ever told you of the time I accidentally stole a horse belonging to a prince?" He interrupted. Telling himself that he simply selflessly wished to ensure she was alright before he ended their communication. That he wished to prolong their exchange solely for her benefit, not because he couldn't bring himself to part from the sound of her voice in his ear.

"How do you accidentally steal a horse?" She asked with a laugh. A real one this time.

"Well, I was but a lad—"

"So, what? Like three hundred years ago?"

"Something like that," He said rolling his eyes with a smile. "Truthfully, the majority of the blame rested with Liam."

"Oh, I'm sure."

He told the story slowly, careful to avoid leaving out even the smallest detail. A smile tugged at the corner of his lip as he realized the rich timbre of his voice was having its desired effect and slowly soothing Emma. He began to relax, slowly sinking further and further down onto the bed, as he heard Emma's breathing become more shallow and even. Her sniffling more and more infrequent until it ceased altogether and he was fully lying down.

"Emma," Killian prompted softly as he came to the end of his tale. With a pang of guilt, it occurred to him that it had been a while since she had spoken.

"Mhmm?" She sighed into the phone.

"As much as I enjoy the sound of your voice," Killian said. "Perhaps you should try and get some sleep, love. I daresay you'll want to be rested tomorrow."

"Okay," Emma said after a moment. More than a little reluctance in her voice. "Killian?"

"Aye, love?" He shifted on the bed slightly. The phone was hot against his cheek from its extended use.

"Thank-you," Emma said softly. "I'm, I'm not used to having people, to needing someone…"

"There's no need to thank me," Killian said. "And Emma, I can assure you that you most definitely have me. For anything. Always."

"I know," Emma replied, quickly. The last remaining bit of tension drained from Killian's body when he heard the utter confidence in her tone. He smiled when he considered that perhaps he was finally getting through to her. "Goodnight, Killian."

"Goodnight, Swan," Killian replied, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavier than they had in weeks. The screen went dark and he closed the device, reverently cradling it in his palm for a moment before he placed it on the shelf beside his hook. He fell asleep with a broad smile on his face, and for the first time in a long time, he remained asleep long after the sun rose.