AN: This piece was inspired by a prompt from thescribediaries over on tumblr. She requested a fic where everyone but Hook and Emma made it back to Storybrooke. There was an unspoken demand for pr0n, but my brain failed me on that count.

In Good Company

The portal closed with an oddly familiar pop and hiss, and Emma found herself suddenly craving a can of coke. Soda was just one of the many things she missed about the real world, along with hot showers and cell phones and Henry's high, eager voice.

Henry.

Her son.

She would have sobbed if she had the breath for it, but those deadly vines (a favorite of evil sorceresses everywhere, it seemed) were still intent on grinding her bones into a lumpy paste, even though Cora had already passed through the gateway and slammed it shut behind her.

"Gods fuck all!" Hook spat out a string of vehement curses as he struggled to stand. There was a bloody lump the size of a goose egg protruding from the back of his skull and his legs felt like jelly, but when he looked up and met Emma's wide, frantic eyes across the wreckage of the room, he shot to his feet, concussion forgotten. His sword was buried somewhere in the debris, but the hook he wore was pointed and sharp. The cold metal sliced easily through the vines, and they fell to dust once the pirate pulled them away from her body.

That first gulp of air burned painfully down her throat and gathered in lungs that wanted to do anything except inflate. The strain of breathing was almost too much to endure.

Physically exhausted and mentally drained, Emma collapsed against the wall, sliding down the polished stone until her butt hit the ground. After a moment, Hook sat next to her, close enough that she could tip her head to the side and rest it against his shoulder, were she so inclined.

Instead, Emma closed her eyes and tried to shut out the pain and the memory of the past fifteen minutes and the sight of Hook leaning forward to look at her, concern and worry written all over his features.

"Sorry, lass," he said. It was the first time Emma had ever seen him subdued and serious, and she found herself missing his flirtatious drawl.

She let out a long, ragged sigh. "For what?"

In the silence that followed, she could feel Hook studying her, his gaze poking and prying, searching for all the places where she'd been hurt. Emma kept her eyes closed, afraid of what he might see there.

"For ruining your shirt," he replied, with such stilted lightness that Emma didn't need superpowers to know it was a lie. "Terribly inconvenient," he added, his voice returning to more natural cadences. "Seeing as how it's your only one. Even in the heat of the moment, I'm a very careful man."

"Ugh." Feigning disgust, Emma inched to the left, even though moving meant that their shoulders brushed and her fingers skimmed his thigh as she settled a hand into the empty space between them. Her other hand slipped through the new rip in her t-shirt. She pressed down, trying to gauge how badly her ribs had been damaged. The prodding was enough to make her gasp and bite her lip, but the bones were solid and whole beneath the skin.

Hook flinched, muscles tensing at the sound she made. "Did I cut you?" he asked, appalled by the possibility.

"No." Emma said, shaking her head for emphasis. The gesture made the room spin, and she quickly stopped. "No, I'm fine. Just sore, that's all. How about you? You're the one Cora flung straight into a stone column at full-speed."

"Oh, I've had worse," he replied, so flippantly that she laughed. It hurt, but the ache was surprisingly bearable.