A/N: I think I left my muse in Montenegro when I took a very short trip there last week. Still, I tried my best with this chapter, it's more talky than actiony but I figure we could all do with a breather after Dracula (: Thank you for your feedback, it is as ever welcomed and appreciated! Any fans of The Borgias here? Come and squee with me over the (completely unrelated) perfection that is Cesare and Lucrezia once you've read the chapter. Enjoy!

"Did you slay the demon?" Mother Elena asked, torn between caution and hope.

It might as well have been a rhetorical question. The small group had returned to the gypsy camp blood-spattered and with a weary pride reserved for victors.

"Demon has been slayed," Emma affirmed, before frowning to herself. "Slain? Slain. Demon has been slain."

A roar of celebration went up among the waiting gypsies

"Don't think they care much about grammar, love," Hook murmured in her ear.

She shot him what had to be her first ever I care about grammar look over her shoulder, all the while conscious of their proximity.

"You have our gratitude," Mother Elena said above the noise, her toothless gums on full display as she smiled widely.

"We have more than that, I hope," Hook said. His smile did not reach his eyes.

Given that the hint carried a weight similar to that of an anvil, Mother Elena did not fail to catch it.

"Yes, of course," she said, graceful despite the Captain's rudeness. "The potion will be ready tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?" Emma echoed, dismayed. It was barely evening, much too long to wait for a mother to be reunited with her son. Visions of hugging Henry faded, replaced by another night of uncertainty.

Mother Elena's voice was tinged with an apology. "It takes time to brew enough to transport two people." Her eyes flicked over them. "Perhaps we could wash your clothes for you in the meantime?"

Emma, only vaguely aware that she appeared as though she had taken a shower of blood, almost fell over herself to turn the offer down.

"Oh, no, that's really-"

"Probably a good idea," Hook interrupted, casting Emma an amused look when she scowled at him. "You don't think your lad will be ever so slightly disturbed to see his mother running towards him covered in blood?"

"It's not like it's my blood," Emma muttered, though she cast a dubious glance at the sleeve of her jacket.

"Spectacularly missing the point there, darling."

After a prolonged moment of deliberation, Emma nodded and gave a tight smile of thanks. Might as well at least try to relax now that they were delayed.

"Don't try too hard to find replacement clothing, love," Hook called as Emma was led away to bathe by a young girl.

Emma turned back to scowl at him and he grinned.

Leave it to Hook to break out the innuendos in front of a camp full of strangers, Emma thought, shaking her head. Nineteenth Century strangers to boot, who probably thought that a woman flashing her ankle was the height of scandal. Well, any delicate souls would receive a rude awakening if they happened to be within earshot of the pirate Captain and his unique way of conversing.

She followed her guide in silence as they weaved around the wagons. News of Dracula's downfall had spread quickly throughout the camp given the shouts of celebration ringing through the night that followed the two women as they ventured out towards the forest.

"Don't be frightened," the girl said, glancing back at Emma with a smile. "There is a spring through these trees."

Emma was not frightened. Emma was on edge and cautious of a trap, but not frightened. She stumbled through the dark forest, always keeping an eye on the dim outline of the girl in front of her and praying she wouldn't trip over any roots. After a minute (which seemed far longer in the darkness) lit lanterns appeared in the trees, guiding the way and giving the scene before her a dreamlike, ethereal quality.

Sure enough, the efforts of a distant spring had collected into one small bathing pool. Its black surface reflected the lanterns dangling from the tree above, and though Emma knew she should be suspicious of not being able to see what could lurk beneath, her eagerness to feel refreshed outweighed this.

"The water is warm," the girl assured her, averting her eyes as Emma began to undress.

Emma, who had been the victim of many involuntary cold showers in the past, stared into the water as she noticed for the first time how steam rose from it.

"How warm?" she asked, dubious.

"Mother Elena keeps the temperature steady."

"How does Mother Ele…" Emma trailed off, realizing the foolishness of her own question. "Right. Magic."

Stripped bare, she eased herself into the water with a hiss through clenched teeth. Everything ached and the water scalded.

"I will leave you alone to bathe, my Lady, just beyond these trees," the girl said, hurrying away before Emma could reply.

My Lady. It sounded strange, although in another life Emma would have been called Your Highness. It would be a life so different from her own that she would be Emma in name only; no abandonment issues, no Henry, nothing of what made her who she was. She pondered these things as she soaked, slowly relieving her muscles of their tension and bordering on sleep a dangerous number of times. The water stayed hot, with sorcery or science Emma did not want to know. Just as she was considering making the spring a permanent home, the girl cleared her throat and reappeared next to the spring.

"The women are scrubbing your clothes," she said, carrying a bundle in her arms. She nodded to it. "In the meantime, we offer you these. They are humble, my Lady, but they will keep you warm."

She draped the garments over a low tree branch and Emma could see that 'humble' was an apt description. The white shirt, worn with age, was functional enough but the long skirt would restrict her if she needed to run or fight. Thank God there was no corset among the pile; Hook would have a field day with that.

"I appreciate it," Emma said, ringing out her damp hair into the water which was no doubt filthy with dirt and blood. All of a sudden squeamish, she rose from the water and stepped back onto the grass.

"A blanket," the girl said, holding out said garment. A blush crept up her neck as she tried valiantly to avoid Emma's naked form. "To dry yourself."

Emma covered herself, vaguely amused at the girl's mortification. She felt a distinct lack of shame when it came to the human body, although this would be the last thing on earth she would ever tell Hook. She wondered how much havoc he had caused in the minutes she had been gone and, after drying and dressing at a rapid speed, asked to be taken back to the camp.

Though he was missing his signature leather, it wasn't difficult to find Hook again. He sat alone on one of the logs arranged around a roaring bonfire, just far enough away to avoid any wayward sparks. Gypsy men and women wandered around him, throwing him many glances but seemingly too in awe to actually approach. For his part, Hook didn't seem to notice or care. He stared down at his hook as it glinted with reflected fire, picking at the tip as though fragments of stake still remained. He looked so pensive that Emma almost didn't want to interrupt him, but her feet carried her over regardless.

Hook looked up as she approached, taking in her new attire.

"I see you found some clothes," he said, his eyes lingering.

"A sad day for perverts everywhere," Emma rejoined.

Hook shuffled along the log, leaving a wide space ready to be occupied. His unspoken request was clear: sit with me. Emma complied, too weary to remind him of his manners. She may have sat a little closer than was strictly necessary, just to stay warm (as though the roaring bonfire in front of them was not already accomplishing that task admirably. Still, she felt like she needed an excuse). She felt Hook's eyes on her and twisted around to face him.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, though something had clearly amused him. "Just…Emma Swan the peasant. Hm."

Emma raised an eyebrow. The clothes she had been offered were humble, yes. They were too tight in some places and too loose in others and nothing she would ever pick out for herself, but they had been offered in the spirit of generosity and Emma didn't like to see that ridiculed. Seeing Hook in something other than his pirate regalia was a new and interesting experience, something she might be tempted to make fun in different circumstances. Yet he was still a pirate by nature if not by uniform; there existed an air of power around him, a latent threat that warned he was not to be trifled with regardless of his underwhelming attire.

"You've adopted the peasant look yourself," Emma said, half-lying. " Besides," she added with a self-conscious tug on her sleeve, "it's just until my regular clothes dry. Think vampire blood is harder to get out than normal blood?"

"I'd wager it leaves one hell of a stain," Hook said, lifting a tankard that had been resting by his feet. "Drink?"

"Sure." She took the tankard and raised it to her lips, taking a gulp of whatever fiery liquid was inside it.

"Don't you want to know what it is?" Hook asked, amused.

"Don't care," Emma answered. She took another, less ambitious draught and then handed the tankard back. "Thanks."

Hook took a drink of his own before glancing across the bonfire where Van Helsing, Jonathan and Arthur sat. Van Helsing seemed perfectly at ease but the other men sat on the edge of the log as though they were preparing to flee at any moment.

"We all need a drink after the day's exploits," Hook said, raising the tankard in a salute which Van Helsing happily reciprocated.

"Either that or a reality check," Emma muttered.

"Reality? What a concept."

A smile touched Emma's lips. Perhaps reality had no place in a conversation with Captain Hook or in the presence of an increasingly merry Van Helsing.

"Look at them." There was a weary affection in her voice that she hadn't expected. "In a few days they'll be back in England like none of this ever happened."

Hook's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "You envy them?"

His genuine lack of understanding was evident, as though it had never even crossed his mind that these men were people to model oneself after.

Emma shrugged. "I guess. They get to go back home to their uncomplicated lives."

Hook's laugh was unkind. "Of all the synonyms for 'boring', 'uncomplicated' is by far the kindest." At the face Emma pulled, he gave another derisive laugh. "Come on, lass, you don't want uncomplicated." He spat the word out like its mere presence was a poison on his tongue. "You want adventure and passion. You want danger to spike your blood and make your heart pump faster. You want…"

He trailed off, almost hoping that Emma would finish his sentence and clue him in to the inner workings of her mind. Emma drew in a small breath but didn't speak, and the thought occurred to Hook that he was in the perfect position to kiss her. It would take the slightest shift, and gods knew he wanted to, but he held back and waited for her to make the move. He had this stupid idea stuck in his head that if she kissed him rather than the other way around, it would prove that she was genuinely interested and genuinely attracted to him rather than simply succumbing to his (considerable) charms.

It was with disappointment but not surprise when she moved, almost imperceptibly, away.

"That pretty face is going to get you into trouble," she said, a rueful grin hiding how close she almost came to leaning in.

"I'm already in trouble."

Emma frowned. "We've just defeated Dracula and we haven't found the next obstacle yet…if anything we're between trouble."

"That wasn't what I meant."

The low insinuation was not lost on Emma. Her smile was almost cautious.

"I don't want trouble," she said in her best Sheriff voice. "At least," she amended, "not until we've found the way back to Henry."

Hood nodded with an air of infinite patience that was only half-mocking. One day, but not now. He could deal with that. One of the many (many) things he was good at was waiting.

"What about your lad, does he want an uncomplicated life?"

"No, he wants to be a hero." Emma's smile slipped. "And one day I'm going to have to let him."

"We all have to let go of our children at some point, love." Emma shot him a curious glance and he shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "I would imagine."

The corners of Emma's mouth turned downwards. "But I've only just found him."

Hook had no words of comfort to offer. He was well-practiced in losing those he loved, and yet he didn't know how to reassure and console. How could he promise that it would get better when here he was, three hundred years later, still in pain? He lifted his tankard, took a drink and then passed it wordlessly to Emma.

They lapsed into silence, taking in the atmosphere around them. Lively celebrations had struck up, with whooping and laughing and singing breaking out spontaneously. Men juggled and women danced and dogs ran around joyfully, yet through all this Hook's interest remained fixed on the woman beside him.

Emma was beautiful in the firelight. She garnered many admiring glances from the young gypsy men, though none of them were brave enough to ask her to dance. Hook could pretend that it was down to him looking manly and intimidating and putting off any potential suitors, but in honesty Emma exuded a warning to anyone who wanted to get close to her. Her smiles were almost always accompanied by a guarded film over her eyes and she turned down advances barely a moment after they were intimated. Genuine smiles were given as a reward more valuable than gold, silent praise for breaking through her walls long enough for unregulated amusement. Hook coveted those smiles.

Later, as the night swallowed all but the bonfire's light, the gypsies gathered around and told their guests stories of the lands they had traveled to and the monsters they had found there. Emma listened, her wide eyes lending her a childlike innocence that Hook had never seen from her before. She loved stories, this one.

Hook did not speak, afraid of breaking the spell of wonder that had overtaken Emma, but soon enough her trance was interrupted by the arrival of food. Emma accepted the stew with a grateful smile towards the gypsy man who delivered it. The man bowed his head in acknowledgement and, after giving Hook a bowl, left without a word.

"Chatty bunch," Hook commented dryly, balancing the hot bowl in his lap and waiting for it to cool.

"Back home, there's a book about Dracula," Emma said, letting surplus soup drip over the edges of the spoon and back into her bowl. "I wish there had been more in it about these guys, about their kindness. A story that dark should have heroes."

She took a sip of the stew. It was thick enough to coat her lips and it was hotter than hell but it tasted good. Her tongue flicked out to lick what remained on her burning mouth. She would wait for it to cool before trying again.

"What about the men who defeated the Count?" Hook asked, his own stew untouched. "Aren't they heroes?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah, but those guys are three in a million. Stories need more everyday heroes. Good, decent people who can't swordfight but can still make a difference." Her eyes swept the clearing, around the laughing men and the women admonishing them for sneaking tastes of their food before it was ready. Emma found herself smiling. "Mother Elena could have just sent us away and told us to come back in the morning, but instead she opened her home to us."

Hook's eyes stayed on her, slightly narrowed in thought as he discovered more pieces of the puzzle that was Emma Swan.

"No everyday heroes in your world, I take it?" he asked, bringing her attention back to him.

Emma thought about the adoptive parents who had sent her back into the system, about Neal who had betrayed her, about her own thieving ways.

"No," she said with a shake of her head, her smile fading. "Not many."

Hook nodded as though he had expected that answer. They fell into silence, the singing and loud conversations around them filling the air. Emma's thoughts were with Henry, promising herself for the thousandth time that she would be a better person in the name of her son. One day she might have to tell him the truth about her past, but she wouldn't do it until he could no longer reconcile seventeen year old delinquent Emma with older, more mature Emma.

"What was the book like?" Hook asked after a moment. At Emma's questioning look, he elaborated: "The one about Dracula."

"Long." Emma blew on the stew again and took another gulp. "But it's got a lot of movie adaptations."

"Movie?"

"Yeah, uh…" Emma tried the best way to describe something that had always been a part of her world. "Moving pictures with sound."

Hook considered this for a moment. "That seems terrifying."

Emma had read somewhere about the curiosity and the terror that faced the first people who had witnessed a rudimentary movie and grinned at the thought of Hook's own reaction.

"There's more than one movie about you."

Hook frowned, clearly trying to decide whether he liked this new piece of information.

"I didn't know my notoriety was quite so widespread," he settled on saying.

Emma shrugged. "My world writes stories about the people who live in your world. Kids grow up reading about the heroic Peter Pan and his nemesis Captain Hook."

Emma expected fascination or smugness from Hook when he discovered he was infamous. Instead, he gave the tiniest scoff and stared inscrutably down into his stew.

"Pan is the hero of the tale? Interesting choice of characterization."

"Oh, come on," Emma said with a laugh. "I know Peter Pan is annoying and all but you can't call him a villain. He spends his days running through the forest with a singing group of Lost Boys…I think the worst thing he did in the movie was steal your hat, which it turns out you don't even have!"

Hook did not smile or sulk, the two reactions Emma expected to rise from her teasing. Instead, he stared into the flames of the bonfire.

"Tell me something, darling. When you were left alone by your parents, did you go on merry hunting trips and sing the day away?"

Emma was taken aback by the quiet intensity in his voice. It sobered her.

"No, of course not."

Hook looked up at her, his face grim and more serious than she had yet seen it.

"Then what would make you suspect the same of the Lost Boys? They have all the pain of being abandoned but they lack the capacity to understand why. The hurt festers in them and becomes anger. Time turns anger into darkness, and unfortunately for the Lost Boys, time is all they possess." A memory flashed through his eyes and he looked away. "They have black hearts, and don't let any jaunty children's story tell you differently."

It was a low admonishment, telling of his disgust that the storybooks could have twisted the tale into something so unrecognizable from the horrors he witnessed in Neverland. Emma was silent as she thought through all the implications of this new knowledge. She was almost afraid to ask her next question, but curiosity burned.

"And Peter Pan?"

Hook's serious gaze dropped back down into his bowl of stew. When he spoke, he spoke through barely moving lips.

"Pan has no heart, blackened or otherwise. The Lost Boys inflict pain because they enjoy the knowledge that it's wrong. Theirs are the deeds of naughty children. But Pan…Pan has no understanding of morality. He doesn't grasp the concept of right and wrong, he simply acts on impulse. He is completely innocent, and that makes him the most dangerous thing in Neverland."

The idea made Emma uneasy. A sociopathic Peter Pan? That sure as hell hadn't been in the Disney movie. Was anything the same way it was in the stories Emma knew?

"So you're the hero?" she asked, trying to wrap her head around it.

Hook attempted a smile that was more of a grimace. "I didn't say that, love. I'm as bad as Pan, if not worse."

"How can you be worse?" Emma asked with a frown. "You have a heart."

"And yet I still do terrible things."

Emma opened her mouth to speak and Hook quirked an eyebrow, daring her to tell him otherwise. She couldn't deny his more-than-unfortunate choices but she wanted to soothe some of the self-loathing in him.

"You do good things, too," she said, a tentative half-smile on her lips as she remembered the way he fought to separate her from the painting. "You're not as bad as you think you are."

His eyes searched hers, looking for (and expecting to find) signs that she was placating him, that she didn't really believe what she was saying. He was met with sincerity and warmth.

"You could have left me with that painting," she continued, firmer now that she saw his uncertainty. "We'd already defeated it, it was just taking its time to chip away. You could have left me stuck there to face whatever would've happened, but you helped. You risked your own safety to help me."

The words were a deliberate echo of his pleading words to her on top of the beanstalk, only now she understood the weight behind them and trusted their truth. Hook still tried to fight against the hope being instilled in him.

"Anyone would have done that."

"Anyone? Cora? Regina? Rumplestiltskin? No." Emma reached out a hand and placed it gently under his chin, lifting it up so that he would meet her eyes. "You're different from them. You're better."

The last of his resistance melted away and his eyes softened.

"Careful, love," he said, his voice somewhat hoarse. "You're starting to make me believe that I could be."

A/N: Don't kill me for lack of kiss, there's a reason. Next chapter we are outta Transylvania and into [spoiler]!