The ship swayed, and Milah's face contorted. Her blue eyes shrunk, sunk in, and began to turn a deep shade of brown; so deep they could almost be mistaken for black. Her long brown hair, which he loved so much, also started to shrivel up, morphing into a murky grey colour just as the smooth complexion of her skin and the dark red of her lips were replaced by swampy, mustardy green scales. Fingernails became painted claws; hands, their equally rough counterpart. Hook took a disbelieving step back: before him stood Rumplestiltskin. The Crocodile.

"What's the matter, dearie?" his sworn enemy delighted, shifting from foot to foot. "You don't want me?" he continued, his high-pitched childish sing-song voice ringing out as he feigned disappointment.

Hook's expression hardened and a burning desire for revenge took over. To be able to penetrate his scaly armour, to reach in with his hand – no, his hook – and rip the crocodile's heart mercilessly from its shell; there was nothing he wanted more. It was the moment he lived for, the moment he breathed for; waited for. This was the creature that'd killed his true love and taken away his hand for good measure. Many a time Hook had dreamed of the light in the crocodile's eyes dying as squeezed the life out of his heart. Hook would be cruel, to be sure, and for the trouble the coward had gone to in removing his hand, Hook would repay the favour by keeping just one of his; a memento of his successful revenge; a gift bestowed as a parting gesture. The rest of The Dark One could be fed to the sharks. But even they may not want him.

Hook gripped the hilt of his sword, pulling it from his belt. "You are not her," he said through gritted teeth, any traces of sadness now overcome by a dangerous anger. He had saved the magnitude of his true feelings for this opportunity, but now they burst forward, unchecked, yearning to attack and destroy the enemy which stood before him. Sword first, the pirate made for the crocodile, seizing his opportunity while it lasted. But just as the tip was about pierce, Rumplestiltskin vanished in a puff of red smoke, leaving Hook to thrash blindly in the darkened corner.

"Over here, dearie" the crocodile teased behind him.

Whipping around and simultaneously jabbing out his sword in the hopes of catching his foe off-guard, Hook was frustrated to be met for a second time by thin air.

"Caaap-tain!" Rumplestiltskin sung out from behind once again, his face changing as another manufactured voice took the vocal reigns, "at least make this a little bit more interesting for me!". And just when Hook was about to let his blade do the answering, the sword poised high above his head, he faltered, unconsciously lowering his weapon and furrowing his eyebrows in confusion at the familiar way the crocodile had said 'interesting.'

"Interesting?" he questioned before he could stop himself.

"Yes –" the crocodile spoke slowly, frozen mid-dance. And before Hook could blink and place the unsettling de-javu feeling, Rumplestiltskin crossed the space separating them to stand mere millimetres away from the pirate, their faces almost touching. Only, it wasn't Rumplestiltskin now. It was Cora, whetting her lips delightedly. "Interesting" she drawled out, finishing the crocodile's sentence. The room swayed again more violently and everything went black.

Hook's eyes flew open and he bolted upright from the hard floor he'd been lying on. His head pounded in a disorientating, incessant way, but most uncomfortable was the aching pain in his chest that had awoken from seeing Milah again. She had worn the same worried expression in the dream as she had before her heart was mercilessly ripped out by his foe. Chills ran down his spine and Hook barely supressed a shudder as the worst memory he held resurfaced once again, parading itself around his mind, refusing to leave him in peace. As always, the memory brought up two opposing emotions – the former, unsurprisingly, being the empty space within him that had formed from the burden of losing his one true love and the accompanying longing to be with her; the latter being his all-consuming and unavoidable hatred for The Dark One. And hatred was only the beginning of it; from there stemmed as many possible ways of enacting his revenge as the number of voices the crocodile possessed; each being slow and carefully drawn out with torturous precision. Hook would make him feel it, the way he felt when he had to endure through the years without Milah. Rage, he found, was all-consuming, but not always without clarity: no, Hook could see, the way one would if they looked through the opposite end of a telescope – emotion narrowed down to a purpose – the exact expression on the crocodile's face when he realised that the pirate he so easily dismissed would be the last one to best him before his perfectly-timed destruction. Feeling suddenly reinvigorated by thoughts of revenge, Hook attempted to stand up and ascertain his surroundings. Sweat blurred his vision, but the swaying of the room immediately allowed him to deduce that he was on a ship. And by the looks of it, the room didn't belong to just any ordinary ship, but to his.

"Hook?" not realising there was someone else in the room, Hook turned to the hand that was placed comfortingly on his shoulder. The voice was all too familiar, the last time he'd heard it being when she walked away from him, having just left him for dead in the lair of a very big, and very angry giant. This voice belonged to Emma Swan.

"Well, if it isn't the charming Swan girl" he said, turning to her and sweeping into an exaggerated bow. "Here to double cross me again?" he added, straightening up. Each word was drenched in bitterness.

Emma jerked her hand back into now folded arms, her mouth hardening indignantly into an expression which, quite frankly, screamed that she was pissed off. Wonder what that must feel like, Hook mused sarcastically.

"I told you," she began, "I can't take a cha –"

"– chance that you're wrong about me? Yeah, yeah. I've heard it before, love," he cut her off angrily, striding past her and resenting the fact that she felt the need to say it again. He tried the door, which was unsurprisingly locked, and rattled it anyway as if his anger would be able to do something his hands couldn't.

"I've already tried that, it's locked" she spoke from behind.

"Yes, thank you, I gathered that" he responded sarcastically, turning around as he said it to see her eyes roll and her mouth twitch up at the ends. Well at least someone was enjoying themselves. Disheartened, he walked back, avoiding her eyes as he did so, and leaned sidelong against the wall. "So," he spoke tiredly, "how did Emma Swan come to be aboard myship?"

She snorted derisively, "This is your ship?". Then, noticing his expression, she quickly recovered. "Same as you, I assume."

Hook remained passive, waiting for her to continue. In truth, he had no idea how he'd come to be locked on his own ship; whatever had happened in the past couple of days – or was it hours? – seemed to be eluding him.

"Cora?" she tried, realising that she would have to remind him. Cora. Of course, who else? And that was when he remembered their last meeting, everything flooding back in a rush of fear, anger and incredulity. His eyes widened as a distressing realisation dawned on him, his hand immediately flying to the skin protecting the space where his heart should be. Fingertips determined a definite scar and, to his horror, no heartbeat could be traced. For a second, Hook felt an unbearable uncertainty take hold as he was suddenly faced with the very real possibility of dying at any moment. But it passed as quickly as it came, only to be replaced by a maddening hatred and a blinding redness. Red. It would be the colour Cora would see when he got her back for this. It would be the colour of her heart as he ripped it from her chest, and the colour of the dust it crumbled to when his fingertips dug in, his hand squeezing without so much effort. It would be the colour of –

Whack!

Startled out of his reverie, Hook focussed on Emma as her face contorted in pain, clutching her hand and then shaking it a few times to quell the sting.

"Did you just hit me?" he looked at her incredulously whilst rubbing his cheek. The lass was certifiably crazy.

She rolled her eyes, and spoke breathlessly from the adrenaline, "Well… I've been… calling… your name… for the past… minute!"

He chuckled, fully recovered from the little slap. "Sweetheart, if I had known that was the way to get your attention," he began suggestively, stepping forward to close the distance between them, "I'd have tried it a long time ago." Now face to face, Hook leant down until their eyes were level. Blue met green, and Emma took a cautious step back; his proximity raising the hairs on her neck and her heartbeat audibly picking up as she gulped nervously. Hook grinned at her reaction; an expression which seemingly inspired the opposite effect in her as she recovered to deliver the same exasperated expression she usually gave, the walls going up again.

"Enough with the suggestive lines, Hook. This may come as a shock to you, but pirates aren't my type" she quietly condescended, adding interest to his usual aloof demeanour. He'd like to say that her cool attitude gave the impression of just that; tough and unconcerned. Nevertheless, the more time he spent around the Swan girl, the more he could pick up on her façade. And it was amusing – to say the least – that he could so easily work his way under her skin, but also frustrating, in that she refused to let herself trust anyone; refused to give in to his wicked charm. It made the challenge that much more difficult, but oh so much more fun. Still watching her closely, Hook couldn't repress the slightest concern for her when she turned around and surveyed her hand, it clearly still giving her grief as she muttered under her breath about how they made it look 'deceptively easy in the movies' – whatever that was.

He didn't doubt that she could take care of herself, but the gentleman instinct within him was too strong, he fancied, and so, without a word, he took her good hand in his own and dragged her towards the barrels stacked at the other end of the room. "What are you doing?" she said, immediately resisting his pull, but apparently giving up when no reply seemed imminent. Having determined which barrel was best for the job at hand, Hook opened the lid and pulled out a bottle.

"Oh no, you know what, rum isn't going to work this time," she paused, holding up her hand as if to state the obvious when she realised what he planned on doing. "See? No cut, just a swollen hand" she added, giving him a smug smile and pulling away.

"Shutup Swa –" he broke off whilst attempting to retrieve her hand and then, thinking better of it, he amended "sweetheart." Flashing a devilish smile and looking up at her from beneath low eyelids, Hook went on, "Do you honestly presume to know more than a pirate when it comes to rum?" Silence pervaded the room as he held her gaze, and he took her passive expression as affirmation of her co-operation: "Just as I thought, now give me your hand and stop pouting."

She placed her hand in his own, a small smile making its way to her lips as she relaxed a little. It was different to the last time when she'd stayed tense, Hook thought, and he found himself wishing that she'd wear the expression more often, though he'd never admit to that out loud. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell she was looking at him in a dazed sort of manner, the way one does when their eyes glaze over after looking at something too long.

"Do you like what you see, love?" he spoke, breaking her from her thoughts and causing her cheeks to flush in embarrassment.

"Just get on with it" she returned, pursing her lips and looking away.

He grinned. Oh the satisfaction to be had in seeing her wasted attempt at pretending she was unfazed by him. "I'm done, Swan" he countered.

"What?" She turned back quickly, retracting her hand and raising her eyebrows in surprise at the apparent lack of pain she now felt.

Hook let out an amused laugh at her expression. "Never underestimate the power of cold-stored rum, lass" he said gently, quietly. "Oh, and by the way," he started, patting her alcoholic hand dry with some material from his tunic, "Pirates are everybody's type" he finished, winking arrogantly.

A moment passed before she breathed her thanks, exhaling as she did so like it was a struggle to concede that he'd been nice in helping her.

"It's no problem, love. Because, see, now you're going to do something for me" he returned, a plan forming in his mind as he folded his arms triumphantly and a lazy smile found its way to his lips.

"Well, you're even more delusional than I thought" she said, refusing out of instinct to indulge his request.

Unfazed, Hook continued, "The way I see it, the tally board now stands at Hook: three favours, to Swan: zero" he finished, waiting for her to rebuff him again. Oh, how he enjoyed their little games. He was surprised, then, to be met with silence and furrowed brows.

After a while of patiently waiting for a smooth retort on Emma's behalf, she spoke, voice monotonous and hard as an equally stony expression graced her face; "What do you want me to do?"

"Oooh, always so serious!" he spoke mockingly, feigning shivers, and continued, "don't be so tense, love, it's nothing too difficult – just a few questions I'll need you to answer for me." His tone was light and reassuring, but her eyes narrowed shrewdly, no doubt thinking it must be some kind of trick.

"Fine" she began, "I'll do this, but on one condition."

Then it was Hook's turn to narrow his eyes in suspicion. What gave her the right to impose conditions? He folded his arms, lowering his head and pressing his lips against one of the many rings on his fingers, deliberating. "Not that you've done anything to deserve more favours, but I am a gentleman, so, pray tell, what is this condition, Swan?"

She raised her chin confidently, in a way that would suggest she'd done it many times before. "You want to destroy Rumplestiltskin, yes?" she began.

Well, this is going in a surprising direction, Hook thought, but nodded nevertheless.

She nodded along with him, having expected the reply, and then paused, unsure of how best to proceed. "So, I know your kind. I've seen Regina do everything in her power to take down Mary Margaret, and I've witnessed the pain of the people she's hurt along the way in her… her blind quest for vengeance" she went on, fumbling through her words as she did so. But her expression changed then, and she walked forward intently to where he stood leaning against the wall until they were face to face. "In light of that, and given your former association with Regina, I'd hedge my bets that there is always collateral damage when it comes to you. My condition is that you ensure there won't be, whatever your plan. Because if there is," she said carefully, her quiet voice full of menace, "and you hurt the people I care about," she paused, "I will have to hurt you back."

Hook did not laugh, and he did not smile. He could respect her request, but he could not guarantee that he would remain faithful to it, much as he might want to for her sake. And, if managed, it would be for her sake, because something about her touched what little moral conscience he had left inside; made him want to be better. But he could not fool himself into thinking that it was possible to avoid harming people in the process of achieving what he wanted – indeed, his plan already involved the unavoidable harming of an innocent, though an argument could be made that any considered to be stupid enough to fraternise with the crocodile deserved what came for them, the way he saw it. He'd declared to Emma that he was a gentleman, but the hand of chivalry, of respect, only extended so far. Unfortunately for her, the condition she'd set was reaching just beyond that, crossing into pirate territory where he was only so eager to betray her as his title and reputation would dictate. And for that reason came his regretful reply, and a lie that it was in being delivered without a hint of dishonesty.

"You have my word, Swan, that no harm at my hands will befall your family, friends, nor any other associated with the crocodile" he said smoothly, looking her straight in the eye as he placed his palm against his chest in honour.

She stayed in her position for a few more moments, eyes boring into his, searching for any traces of deceit. Satisfied but still wary, she nodded and backed off a few steps, then turned away in thought. As she did so, Hook was suddenly reminded of her special 'talent' and could not stop the flicker of fear he felt next from trespassing across his face. What if she already suspected he was lying? What if this was all a ruse in order to lull him into a false sense of security; let him feel like he was in control? Such questions were better suited to another time though, away from her prying eyes.

"Sweetheart?" he spoke searchingly, breaking her ruminations after having recovered from his moment of doubt. She turned around as he went on, "time to make good on your word."

Pursing her lips in annoyance, she raised her arm with her palm facing upwards, gesturing for him to continue.

"Now, where to start?" he taunted, his lips stretching into a wide grin.

"Try the beginning" she replied sardonically, her arms having reverted to their perpetually folded state again.

"Too right, lass" he said after a moment's pause. "So how did you come to be aboard my ship?"

"I already told you – "

"Yes, I know, Cora. What I meant was, how did she find you?"

Sighing, she continued "Well once I came down from the beanstalk with the compass," – you mean, once you'd double crossed me, Hook thought, noticing her deliberate avoidance of the elephant in the room – "we set off to find the place which would allow us to return to Storybrooke. And after you'd mentioned the stolen ash Cora possessed, the second half of the puzzle became clear, so all we had to do was make our way back to the castle and retrieve the remains. I had estimated that we would have, more or less, a ten hour window until Cora surmised your betrayal and you returned from the castle" she began, now pacing back and forth. "But it turned out I was too generous in that allowance," she went on exasperatedly, clearly annoyed at herself for having underestimated her enemies' time management skills. "Because by the time we reached the castle, Cora was there waiting for us, one step ahead. And, as you've probably guessed, swords and arrows don't do much against the likes of magic."

Even though he had no sympathy for her – after all, she only gained the compass through screwing him over, to put it eloquently – he did find it hard not to empathise with her resent for Cora.

"We put up a good fight, but when it was clear we were going to lose, Mary Margaret – " she broke off with a sudden intake of air, looking down sadly, worrying Hook for a moment that she was about to cry. But she recovered quickly with a shake of her head, and went on; " – she stabbed the compass with her dagger, figuring that if we weren't going back, then she wasn't going to let Cora get there either and destroy the town." Hook had to hand it to the princess, she had guts to ruin her only way of returning to her family in order to protect them and guarantee their safety. But more pressing now was the fact that he'd lost his route back to the crocodile. He'd been so damn close!

"Wait," Hook spoke, his thoughts blurting out loud as another thought crossed his mind. "Why not kill you then? Why bring you here, but not the others? Seemingly, you pose no advantage without the compass, so why keep you alive when you're more likely to hinder her plans than help?"

"I don't know!" she yelled in frustration, as if this question, more than anything else he'd asked so far, was something she wanted to avoid, leading Hook to believe she'd already been struggling with the same issue since she woke up on his ship. "I have no idea! She got really, really angry after Mary Margaret did that and, next thing I know, she's performing some kind of immobilising spell on us," Emma spoke very fast now, pent up distress rushing out of her, as if the imaginary barrage which kept her emotions at bay had just broken under the pressure, and everything she'd been feeling for the past few days had just been given free reign over her every action and word. She went on: "And I don't remember anything after that because I blacked out! So don't ask me anymore questions because I have no idea where Mary Margaret is, I have no idea if she's okay or if I'll ever see Henry again, and I am stuck! I am stuck in this stupid room, with your stupid barrels of rum, and all I… I can think about is getting back to Storybrooke!" she finished, well and truly shouting by the end, clutching her stomach as she shifted on her feet, her mouth downturned like a scared child.

Hook marched up to her without a second thought, any problems he had with Rumplestiltskin now temporarily non-existent. His shock at her outburst had initially rendered him immobile, but now that the tirade was over and he could process the memory of the way her eyes had pleaded with him for understanding and, yet, had been so angry at the same time, he felt spurred into action; determined to retrieve the strong, smooth talking Emma he'd only known for a few days, but had already come to feel for.

Whilst she continued to hyperventilate, he stood in front of her, as close as he could without physical contact, and placed his hand against her cheek. He stared down at her intently then, removing an unruly strand of hair off her face so he could see her better. "Emma, love," he spoke softly but firmly, "Look at me."

Breathing heavily, she reluctantly met his gaze, their faces inches apart. "I am not going to tell you that it'll be okay, because neither of us know that" he began. "But," he paused, making sure she understood him, "I promise that I will help you find Mary Margaret."

Their eyes held and she nodded slowly, calming down at his gentle touch. Her cheeks, still flushed, sent hot tingles through his hands, ignited first by the smoothness of her skin against his fingertips. As her breathing gradually slowed and she relaxed slightly, Hook waited for the inevitable moment when she'd indicate that his comforting was no longer necessary; when she'd look away without feeling the same sensations as those coursing through his body in that instant. But the moment never came, and for every second that passed, it became increasingly obvious to them both that she'd recovered. Their gaze lingered on until it surpassed the boundaries of social etiquette, and Hook found himself instinctively pressing his body against hers, drawn in by her green eyes which still glistened and burned with tears that had refused to fall. Tension between them simmered dangerously, threatening to boil over at any second and catalyse a moment they'd both regret later. But in the slightest of movements – as Hook's fingertips inched upwards to her hair – Emma became suddenly, soberly aware of their position and spoke without thinking, her voice breaking the silence and simultaneously invoking a sense of foolishness within him at what almost happened.

"Cora took your heart, didn't she?"

It was phrased as a question, but the tone of her voice told him she already knew the answer. His hand fell lifelessly from its position against her cheek, his jaw clenching as he looked up, avoiding her gaze.

"I'm sorry" she said. There was no softness in her voice, but there was also no patronising pity and it was the single-most genuine thing he'd heard from her all night. He looked back down and was just about to say something when there was a creak to the right of them, and they both turned towards the sound.

The door flew open, and there, summoned from hell itself by the mention of her name, was Cora.

As they registered her presence, speechless, her expression of barely concealed hatred morphed into one of utter glee.

"My, my! What have I stumbled into?!"