Chapter 2: Faces of the Façade (That time she didn't think he could be vulnerable)
Emma awoke the next morning from a fitful sleep. The pajamas Henry found her remained untouched by the made-up couch. She lifted her head just as blue light tumbled in through the blinds. She stood up from the chair that had been her bed; the wooden rocker perched next to the window. She wasn't sure how long she waited for a shadow, but it wasn't enough to shake the feeling someone was still watching her, from some corner of the room she couldn't find.
Emma gathered her holster from the ground and strapped it back to her waist. As she slipped her leather jacket back over her shoulders, she noticed the bed that looked far too tidy to be believable. With a quick glance upstairs and a hot rush of embarrassment, Emma flopped down onto the couch, mussing up the old sheets and comforter placed there by Mary-Margaret. She smelled David's shampoo in the pillow and caught of a whiff of perfume from the comforter. This is where she felt safe, and protected. Comfortable for the first time in six hours, Emma rolled to the side and surveyed the quickly lightening room.
This is where her family lived. This is where she could relax. This is where—
—This is where Hook stood and threatened to ruin everything.
Emma sat bolt up right and grabbed her phone from the table. Without a second look back, she stormed out the front door (as best she could without dismantling it again) and made a straight line for Granny's diner.
She half-expected him to be sitting there, looking as smug as ever, knowing she couldn't kick him out without causing a scene. Emma swallowed the knot in her throat when she saw the diner nearly empty at 7:15 in the morning. Relief felt heavy in her heart as she sat down at the bar. It wasn't long until Red— the only girl Emma honestly felt physically inferior to— strutted in on her mile-long legs.
"Good morning, Sheriff. What'll it be today?"
"Actually, could I see your grandmother?" Emma asked. Red was wearing a plaid, red shirt today, her hair done up a cute messy bun Emma's hair never could agree on. Suddenly, it was then and there that Emma decided only Granny needed to be aware of the possibly dangerous pirate running around Storybrooke. Red was just too young and inexperienced to deal with information like that. "I need to talk to her, alone, actually."
Red frowned, her lovely mouth turned down, before she shrugged and pointed with a pen to the back of the diner, where they kept their inn. "She's doing some accounting work. She get's pretty into it."
After a quick cup of coffee, Emma wandered to the back and found Granny seated at a table, her nose in a big thick leather book and receipts in organized stacks around her.
"Granny?"
The old woman looked up, her face crinkled in a concentrated frown, but as she spied the young girl, the frown lifted and she broke into a wide smile.
"Emma! Please don't mind the mess! Sit down!" Granny shuffled some of the receipts but Emma waved them away.
"No, it's fine, I can't stay for long. But there something you should know— well, it's more like a favor."
Granny nodded and put down the pen in the big book, giving Emma her full, undivided attention. Emma sighed and glanced back through the door to Ruby, who was leaning against the bar to tell one of the dwarves a clearly hilarious joke. He would kill everyone here if given the chance, Emma thought sadly. The things he would do to Red—
Oddly, her brain took a sharp left in her train of thought, prompted by her own phrase. Images involving Red and Hook that she never wanted to have were suddenly plastered on the inside of her brain like hideous wallpaper.
"Emma, are you alright? You've gone bright red! Now you're kind of pale! Is everything alright?"
Emma cleared her throat, internally clawing at her cheeks to bring down the red. She turned away from the door, her entire body warm.
"Y-y-yeah, I'm fine. But, look, this is serious." Emma stepped forward towards Granny, determined to focus. She put on her best "I'm the Sheriff, so don't ask questions" face. "Captain Hook is in Storybrooke. He doesn't mean us any harm. He's just here to deal with Mr. Gold, something I think we can all appreciate. But he has a reputation of . . . well, being a pirate so it would be stupid just to let our guard down." Granny nodded, her hand tightening around the pen. "So, I'm asking you if he comes in here, please just call me. And do it discreetly. I don't think he'll cause a scene, but I just need to be there if he does."
"And I'm guessing he'll be pretty obvious, with a hook for a hand. And you know, the scent of evil following him around."
Emma grinned. "Nothing gets passed you, does it?"
"With a werewolf for a granddaughter," Granny smiled, her eyes warm and years of battle-experience reflected there, just for a moment. "You've got to be ready for anything."
There was a clash of sound outside— something colliding and possibly breaking. Emma, fearing the worst had come in pirate form, bounded out the door to the diner. Grumpy stood there, looking frantic.
"Where's the sheriff?"
"I'm here! What's going on?"
He was visibly shaken. "You've gotta come quick, miss! Something's happened!"
She had never seen Grumpy so cryptic, almost as if he couldn't find the words. And that, coming from the loudmouth dwarf, meant something was truly amiss. He gave one more wide-eyed stare to the diner before hurrying out the door. Emma threw a glance over her shoulder to Granny. She read I'm going to find my crossbow in the old woman's eyes before racing after Grumpy.
He was silent the whole way there. Emma never realized how quiet her old Bug was until nothing was there to fill the void. Grumpy grunted whenever they were supposed to turn and after several painful minutes of worry, he brought them to the edge of town. Cars were lined up, as if half the town decided to pack up and leave, but something stopped them.
Emma glanced at Grumpy as they began walking towards the edge of the town line. But still he was quiet. A grumble of voices started up as they got closer, and before they reached the edge, Blue appeared from behind the trees, the rest of the dwarf family following her, all looking worried.
"Emma! I'm so glad you're here!"
"Why? What happened?"
"It's Rumplestiltskin!" Blue cried and all the dwarves shuddered. "He's somehow left town!"
"Wait, what do you mean? He's gone? He got passed the barrier?"
Blue looked moments from tears. "I don't know how but yes, Emma, he got out! Last night he came to the nunnery and gave back a fairy wand. He said he wouldn't need it any more. When we asked why, he said, he'd be leaving town soon and out there, there's no need for magic! It got out that he had figured out a way to leave and suddenly everyone came to see if he could really do it! But Emma—,"
The fairy suddenly turned pale and swayed as if she were about to faint. The dwarves huddled around her to keep her upright. Blue swallowed, her tiny hands wringing together.
"And then, this man showed up. And Emma, he was horrible."
It was Emma's turn to break out into a cold sweat. "What did he do? Did he hurt anyone?"
"He appeared out of nowhere just before Rumple crossed over. They started talking about revenge and a hand and a crocodile and someone named Milah— but then, the man swung forward and he had a hook for a hand!" The dwarves nodded in united horror. "Rumple pushed Belle behind the town line and said something about giving up, and then he followed her. And they were both fine!"
"Did Hook follow them?" Emma's heart sank in fear for poor Belle.
"No— well, he tried," Blue frowned, her big eyes fluttering as she tried to remember. "Something happened— to his hand— it looked like magic."
Emma swallowed. "So where is he now?"
"Everyone started running and screaming after they began fighting. Mostly everyone just left, their cars included. But I think he's still down there. We left to go find you, so I don't really know."
Emma looked beyond the blue fairy, into the woods. She nodded. "You all head back to town, get people to move their cars. I'll go see what I can do about Hook."
She moved forward, but Blue grabbed her arm. "Hook? You know this man?"
"Believe me, I wish I didn't."
Emma trudged over roots and bramble, vaguely wondering how all her parents' stories could be true: how in the world did they run through the forest with their giant fluffy capes flapping around?
As she moved onward, her skin began to prickle, as though a cool wind blew down her neck. She shook it off, this feeling of misplaced elation. She was much too focused on not falling flat on her face to understand these feelings of excitement.
After a while, she wondered if she had not walked straight passed him. She was not from her parents' land and could walk right through the barrier with no fear. But her skin had yet to settle and for some reason, she knew she was heading in the right direction.
Soon, she found the road again. And there, sitting with his feet nearly touching the orange town line, was Hook. He had his back to her and he was completely still.
"Oh good, you're alone." Emma said by way of greeting, as she picked herself over the last of the roots and climbed up onto the road. "I kind-of expected I'd have to call a tow truck to pick up the bodies."
He was silent for a moment before sighing. "I told you, I came here to put only one body in the ground, and obviously, since there isn't one—,"
She stood next to him as he stared out down the road. Realistically, there was nothing spectacular about their view, just an empty wooded road, one of thousands in Maine. But Emma knew he wasn't really staring at nothing.
"I heard you caused a scene. Really scared some people. Strike one, Hook."
He acted like he didn't even hear her. He was breathing softly, his eyes watching something Emma couldn't even begin to imagine. He sat hunched, his good hand clenched into a fist. Emma didn't like this side of him, this quiet, pensive man who looked, with every fiber of his being, completely and totally . . . defeated. Emma looked away, something hot rising in her cheeks. She was about to speak again when he did instead:
"For three hundred years, no one ever dared tell me where I can and can't go. No one dared to keep me from my quest, from my revenge. No one, not a single living breathing entity has ever told me no. Because I'm Captain Hook. And now, I'm cursed. I am cursed by my very own enemy. I am told, despite my name and my ship and my thirst for revenge, I do not exist."
Emma frowned, oddly enthralled by his speech. "Wha—,"
Without letting her finish, he took off one of his rings and threw it forward into the barrier. The magic snapped and popped, the ring covered in electricity— and then it was gone. From existence.
"What was that?" Emma took a step back.
"I did not come from your world." Hook said quietly, his voice raw. "Nor was I sent here by Regina's spell. Outside this land of magic, I am not real. That's why I cannot follow Rumplestiltskin. I am nothing but a figment of a child's imagination. And if I am not real, how can my revenge be anything more than a bedtime story? What do I do now, Emma?"
He looked up at her from the gravel road, his blue eyes imploring her. Captain Hook was entirely lost.
Emma swallowed. This was not the type of conversation she was expecting to have with anyone— especially not him.
"I—I don't know."
Hook blinked, shaking his head as if he suddenly realized the vulnerability on his face. "Right, right— obviously— of course, you don't."
"So you're not going after him?"
He scowled. "I thought the ring disappearing made that abundantly clear."
Something dawned on Emma that she hadn't considered before. She took a step away from the pirate, her hand slowly retreating to her gun.
"So with Gold gone, does this mean our deal is over? You're coming after my family now?"
For the first time all day, she saw him become truly angry. He scoffed and looked at her indignantly.
"Blimey, Emma, no! I'm not out for you, or your family, or this sodding town. You have to learn that not everyone aims to hurt you!" He attempted to stand, but he wobbled, as if there was something wrong with his leg. He grunted as he stood, his stance wide, almost like he was trying to balance himself. He adjusted his jacket, still not looking at her. "Especially not me."
Something about his phrase made her heart skip a beat. "What the hell does that mean?"
He froze momentarily, his eyes skirting the ground. But he jerked his shoulders as if to throw off something uncomfortable. "Nothing, you wouldn't understand."
Hook took a step away from her, to head back into town but he stumbled. She rushed forward to prop him back up again. Her hand pressed to his chest and her other was around his waist; their foreheads were close. She smelled leather and salt, and his breath smelled like mint. She smelled open-water and adventure, the kind she wanted when she was seventeen and wide-eyed, the kind she thought were just limited just to this world. It was all clogging her brain like fog and her knees shuddered under the confusion.
"I'm sorry, about Milah, and your hand. Gold, he deserves to pay."
Hook nodded, watching her beneath his shoulder. His blue eyes roamed her in ways some part of her knew was wrong, but at the present moment, she couldn't stop him.
"Aye, lass, that he does." His breath was like a whisper, a spray of the salty sea on her face.
Emma felt a sharp pain in her chest that finally cleared her head and she stepped back. It was only then did she realize that it was her heart that caused the pain, as it rammed itself forcefully against her ribcage. She felt nearly faint. When she looked at Hook, he was breathing hard, as if he had just run a mile. They were both staring wide-eyed at each other.
It was the stress of the day, the lateness of the (ten o'clock in the morning) hour, that forced Emma to roam him with her eyes. A different jacket, this one dark, but oddly more formal, as if he planned to kill in style. She noticed something about his good hand.
"Hook, what happened?" Emma stepped forward, but he pulled back. The movement caused him to step back and his knee gave. Emma grabbed him and righted him again. She took his hand. It was blistering red, a welt already growing on his palm. This close again, she noticed blood seeping through his pants over his knee.
"Jeez, did Gold do this?" Emma asked, turning his hand over. Hook watched her with a smile that snowballed into a smirk.
"Not worried about me, are we, Emma? Seems you're not scared of the big bad pirate after all."
She looked up. His blue eyes were light, taunting her, begging her to play. In every way, he was the old Hook, the one she first met. The one who tried to double-cross her. The real Captain Hook. The sad, lost man— the one with a heart too big for his chest— she met on the road was one she'd probably never see again. The disappointment must have shown on her face because the smirk on his face fell and he took back his hand as he cleared his throat.
"I tried to going after them, pushing my way through, but my skin— well, it ended up much like that ring."
"It disintegrated?" Emma asked, appalled.
"Seems a plausible explanation." Hook said with a lopsided grin. Emma felt heat rising from her cheeks so she looked down.
"That doesn't explain the blood on your leg."
Hook scowled. "That crocodile took more than a few bites out of me than I would have liked. I'm sure I'll feel the rest of them in the morning."
"The rest?"
Hook opened his mouth as if to answer, but his eyes flitted up to her face, as if he realized she had taken an interest in his state of being. But he let it go and simply nodded.
"For an old codger, he's unfortunately quite agile with that blasted cane of his."
Emma sighed, already regretting the decision she was about to make. But this was the only way she could keep everyone safe. She straightened up, attempting to look very formidable. Hook's mouth threatened to jump in amusement (because of course the bastard saw right through her) but he waited for her to continue.
"I—I—I have . . . a healing potion from Gold. Henry burnt himself once and Gold made him drink this potion and he was better in a second. He gave us the rest, of the potion, just in case."
"Why are you saying it like that, love?" Hook couldn't contain himself. He was grinning far too widely.
"Because it sounds ridiculous," Emma said quickly, looking away in order to keep a lid on her rising embarrassment. "And I'll show you where it is, but you have to promise me something."
It was easy to be formidable, now that she knew exactly what she was fighting for. Hook nodded, all traces of humor leaving his face.
"You have to leave this town alone. You can't hurt anyone in Storybrooke, especially my family. No danger can come to them while you're here. Got it?"
Hook watched her with careful eyes before nodded. "I'd shake your hand, but considering both mine are out of service currently . . ."
But she couldn't let him go this easy. "I'm serious, Hook. Anything happens and I will lock you away."
His mouth a fine line, and his eyes— she didn't like staring this long into such an abyss— she could fall right into them— they were dark like cold water. Gingerly, with the fraction of his unburned skin, he pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear.
"I swear to you, Emma Swan, nothing will happen to this town while I'm here."
Emma swallowed. "Good. Then let's get you that potion, alright?"
Her room at Granny's was bigger than the one she was originally given. After the curse broke, it seemed ridiculous to have David find another place, so Emma happily moved out— there were traumatic childhood memories she would gladly miss even if that meant finding a place of her own. And of course, Granny refused to let her search for more than hour before demanding she take the family hostel in the back of the inn. It was smaller than a regular apartment— there was no divisor between the living room and kitchen— but at the rate Granny offered, there was no way she could say no. And as more time passed, Emma more and more frequently referred to this place as home— even if only in her head.
Emma stood fiddling with the keys as Hook stood behind her. She felt his heavy eyes resting on her back, like the pressure of being underneath warm sand. When the lock gave way, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him staring vaguely at the doorbell, as if he hadn't been looking at her at all. Maybe she was wrong.
They entered and immediately she went for the small hutch outside of the bathroom where she kept her medical supplies— cough syrup, gauze, head ache medicine, the like. She felt a void behind her and when she turned, Hook was lazily following up, looking around the room, studying as if to memorize. She was still living partially out of boxes so she wasn't exactly sure he was looking for. His eyes skirted up the walls, glancing into the living room. He turned and saw the cracked door to the bedroom. He grinned. Emma fought the distinct urge to slap him and hide her face. And he had been so decent on the way over . . .
Emma rolled her eyes— she was an adult, she had nothing to hide from the likes of him— and turned back to the cabinet. She was searching, pushing back pills and tape. It was such a distinct bottle. Where was it?
"Aren't you going to offer me a drink, love?"
"No." Emma growled, her hand in the far corners of the cabinet. "You're not staying here for long."
Hook shrugged and continued into the living room, still assessing. "Your loss. I'm a wonderful houseguest."
It suddenly occurred to Emma that she put the potion on top of the cabinet, out of sight and out of mind. She had figured that would have been safest place for it— even, apparently from herself. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a chair. Hook was lounging on the couch, quite pleased with himself.
"For someone so alone, you really have a home for two here." He said, shrugging, noting the two chairs at the table, the two-cushion loveseat, the tiny kitchen. Emma frowned, still dragging the chair into the other room.
"It's for Henry, when he comes to visit," she invented. Leave it to the far too perceptive pirate to pick up on things even she didn't realize about her lonely life.
Hook raised his eyebrows, glancing around once more, but his tight mouth said his mind was elsewhere. He stood up again and followed her into the other room.
"And where is young Henry right now?" He leaned against the doorframe as she set up the chair to stand on.
"1400 Not telling you street."
Hook sighed behind her. Emma was suddenly intuitively aware that he was staring at her butt as she climbed up to reach the top of the cabinet.
"Do you ever get tired of fighting me? Wouldn't it just be easier to talk to me?"
Emma scowled into the wood of the cabinet. "He's at school, okay? And for the record, you could be helping, you know?"
She could imagine the smirk in his voice. Thankfully, her hand grasped the vial and she turned to come down.
"Actually, love," his eyes traveled up and down her body in ways she knew were wrong— there was no doubt about it. The same images of him and Ruby that had infiltrated her brain earlier than day flashed again. Only this time, Emma was on top of him— and they both loved it. "The view's fine from right here."
At that time, three things happened all at once: heat rose in Emma's head, making her faint; she tried to take a step forward but the heat caused her to misstep; Emma fell from the chair.
But she never hit the floor. She smelled the sea again and immediately fought every urge within her to sigh happily. He was padded and warm, and the fog began to take her brain again, stripping away every inhibition one by one.
The vial felt hard in her hand. "But your leg," Emma said, trying to right herself, "doesn't it hurt?"
She looked up and found sadness in his eyes. They searched her face, much like he searched her house— as if seeing it for the last time.
"Believe me, I am truly in pain," he murmured.
At that moment she realized she wanted nothing more than to be consumed by him, in every sense of the word. She was tired of fighting, of talking, of doing anything but kissing him like they both wanted her to do. She straightened up, but he wouldn't let her go, his hand around her waist, tight and firm, claiming.
She put her hands on his chest, his breathing turned hard and rapid, and his wonderful eyes shuttered close. He titled his head towards her—
But bad things were down that road. Bad people. Bad feelings. Things you couldn't take back. Things you couldn't get back.
She pushed him away. He stumbled.
"I'm sorry . . . I can't." She slipped the vial into his jacket pocket and pushed him harder, towards the door. "Get out, Hook."
"Emma, wait, can we talk?" He turned the moment he was out the door, begging her. She moved to shut the door but he stuck his foot in the crack.
"I can't do this— no, we can't talk. I don't trust you." She leaned harder on the door, but his eyes froze her. His knuckles were wrapped around the frame. He was desperate to break down her door.
"Emma, we can't keep doing this forever."
She swallowed, sharp pricks biting the corner of her eyes. She felt anger bubble in her fingers. She wanted nothing more than to rip open the door and bury her face in his chest.
"No, Killian, please—," the plea sounded like a sob. It was disgusting to her ears. "Please, just leave me alone."
She pushed him again and he fell back, his blue eyes curious and hurt. She slammed the door after him.
He didn't knock again.
*A/N Ha, this chapter is at least 1000 more words than the other one and you can't hate me for it. I'm writing this at my pace and because it feels good so all the voices in my head can just zip it!
Thanks to those who read and reviewed! You'd know I'd love more of that!