A/N 1: Happy 2016! A couple of you pointed out that Fandral in the movie is played by Josh Dallas, who obviously plays David in OUaT. I considered having Emma make a comment on it, but to be honest the version of Fandral I see when I write is from Thor: The Dark World, where he's played by Zachary Levi. However, if I did write something on the comparison, it'd be along the lines of:

Emma: So, Fandral the Charming –
Sif: Dashing.
Emma: Right, Dashing, whatever.

A/N 2: This is more or less a filler chapter, picking up with Hook's POV, around thirty minutes before the last chapter ended. Thank you for your continued support! Enjoy (:

Hook watched Emma leave the clearing with Sif to go and spar. He was dying to make a comment about it, but while he knew that Emma wouldn't kill him for his innuendo, he had no such certainties about Sif.

He set to work on crafting the compass with some assistance from Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg. They etched unfamiliar runes into the ground, ignoring Hook's half-hearted protestations otherwise. Although he knew it could be dangerous to combine different forms of magic, he privately thought that the spell would need all the boosting it could get.

"So, they still speak of us on Midgard?" Fandral asked as they settled back down around the dying fire.

"In a manner," he said with a nod. "You're stories, I'm afraid. Don't worry though, apparently I am too."

He thought back on the gods he had heard about before and after Neverland (in Neverland, Pan had been the single closest thing to a god) and hoped that none of them also turned out to be real. He wasn't enthused about seeing Hades, or Anubis, or any kind of Death deity that would surely wag its finger at him before dragging him straight to hell.

"Unimaginative sort, mortals, aren't they?" Volstagg grumbled. "They look to our exploits for their tales instead of creating their own."

"We don't do too badly," Hook said, feeling defensive.

"He was not speaking of you, my friend," Fandral said, smoothing over any potential insult with his charming smile. "It has become quite clear to us that you and Emma are exceptional, as far as Midgardians go. It sounds as though the two of you have had quite an adventure."

"Oh, yeah," Hook said, taking a sip of the Asgardian mead and trying to stop his eyes from watering at its strength. "It's been great. Barrel of laughs."

"And yet your journey is nearing its end." Fandral accepted the offer of mead and took a long draught that did not make Hook feel inferior for his own weak stomach. "I imagine it will be pleasant to return home."

"For Emma." Hook tried for nonchalance to hide his uncertainty that Emma would keep her word about his welcome in Storybrooke. There was no promising that she would want anything to do with him once she was back with her family and friends. "Our homes aren't the same place. Her journey ends but mine may continue."

He didn't want it to. He didn't know what Emma wanted, but he was becoming increasingly certain of where his own desires lay.

"Which land do you call home?" Volstagg asked.

Hook raised his chin, echoes of his arrogance as a pirate captain shining through. "Any that I choose."

Far from being impressed, Volstagg chuckled indulgently. "Ah, I remember the desire for freedom from my own youth."

"I am three hundred years old," Hook said coldly.

Again, there was laughter from the Asgardians.

"Loki is the youngest of us," Fandral said, still smiling, "and he is over one thousand. You will forgive us for calling you an infant when you count your years in centuries rather than millennia."

It made sense, but that didn't mean Hook had to like it. It seemed as though he had lost most of his usual defining features on Asgard; he was no longer the oldest in the group, nor the most well-traveled. He was the Captain of a ship he didn't have in his possession, and he doubted he could best any of these gods in combat.

"My home is the sea," he said, trying not to sound petulant.

"Sounds unpleasant," Volstagg said, taking a drink.

"Rather wet," Fandral agreed.

Hogun chuckled along with his friends, almost making Hook jump. The silent man could blend into a background so easily that Hook had forgotten he was there. It was an admirable and dangerous quality to have, one which Hook – leather-clad, eyeliner-sporting, jewelery-wearing Hook – could admit that he would never possess.

"The sea is an admirable home, but you will make a base one day," Volstagg said, sounding confident. "You won't be able to help yourself; you will long for it. The passion for traveling and adventure and battle will remain, of course, but your motivation will no longer be glory. At least," he amended with a grin, "not just glory. You will think of home, of the wife and children who wait for your return."

"Or the familiar surroundings of taverns and banquet halls," Fandral added, sending a dry look towards Volstagg. "You forget, my friend, not all of us have succumbed to matrimony yet."

"Perhaps I am nomadic," Hook said. He didn't like the fatherly tone Volstagg took on to speak to him. It was too condescending, too I know what's best. "Why settle for one home when I could have hundreds?"

"Your philosophy towards women, Fandral, is it not?"

Fandral sent his friend another look, although there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "It is not quite as crude as you make it sound."

And now even Hook's reputation as a womanizer (deserved or not) came in second best to the Asgardians.

"Perhaps Emma's home could become your own," Fandral said to Hook once the laughter had died down.

Hook scoffed to hide his hope. "I doubt –"

He was interrupted by a burst of pressure shooting through the air, blurring everything in sight before easing away into a gentle fuzz. The men around the campfire stood as one, their hands on the closest weapon they can grab, but they relaxed when they heard voices from beyond the trees.

"You know I hate when you transport us like that, Loki."

"Forgive me," Loki replied, not sounding at all sorry. "This is a time-sensitive quest, is it not? We could ill afford to waste time riding the horses all the way out here."

Thor muttered something under his breath before trudging out from beyond the trees, carrying a sword that he had not had with him before.

"My friends," he greeted with a nod. His quick eyes flashed around the clearing once before he frowned. "Where are Sif and…?"

"Emma," Hook supplied, trying not to sound as though he had gritted his teeth together.

Thor waved away the name as he waited for his question to be answered.

"Sif is teaching Emma how to spar," Fandral said, much to the amusement of the brothers.

"Ah, I didn't realize she wanted to return home bloodied and bruised," Loki said.

Volstagg's smile was broad but not mocking. "Sif saw potential in Emma."

Despite his previous annoyance at the older man, Hook was grateful towards him for speaking up for Emma before he had the chance to.

"Sif is eager to have another maiden warrior," Loki dismissed. "She would train a hermit with one leg if it was female."

"She's more capable than you think, mate," Hook said, trying to calm the anger he could feel simmering. If these men had only seen what Emma Swan had done, what she was capable of, they would be on their knees before her.

"I'm certain she is," Loki replied with the kind of condescending diplomacy that reminded Hook why he had such a problem with royalty.

"Enough of this," Thor said, bored. "Loki, fetch them."

I am not your dog, Thor, Loki's withering glare seemed to say, although he didn't put a voice to it before slinking off between the trees.

"You were successful?" Hook asked, looking at the sword Thor held. It was a magnificent thing, painstakingly crafted and seemingly sharp enough to slice a man's head clean off.

"We were," Thor replied with a nod. "What little difficulty we had was soon solved by quick-thinking on our part."

Although Hook greatly disliked the man, he couldn't help but think that it had been Loki's quick-thinking which had saved the day. He had seen the kind of intelligence the younger brother displayed in many other people, and he had never trusted it. Still, if it helped him then he would turn a blind eye.

"Excellent." And then a slightly grudging, "I thank you for your help."

"No matter."

Hook had to temper the tiny leap his chest made when Emma walked back into the clearing, looking a little worse for wear but unharmed. He felt his own determination stir when he saw her features set; they were going home.

Emma's home.

Emma was going home.

He was going to Emma's home.

The corrections fell over each other in his mind until Hook gave an inward sigh and settled for watching the presentation of the symbols.

It was all going swimmingly until she took out the necklace and explained what it meant to her. Jealousy crippled him and it took all of his effort not to show it.

Maybe I was in love. Once.

He was petty enough to admit that there was a part of him that was pleased when it didn't work, if only because that meant that Emma's heart belonged to someone other than – belonged to someone else. As Emma's face crumpled at the failure, Hook looked away. The poppy he had taken from Oz weighed nothing and yet he could feel its presence burning a hole in his pocket.

They hadn't spoken of it beyond a few flustered moments in the aftermath, but Emma had kissed Hook and he had woken up from a curse. He was no expert in magic, but there was only one kind of kiss that could do that and it wasn't Grudging Acquaintanceship's Kiss. So he had pocketed the poppy without really understanding why beyond an instinctual knowledge that it represented something. Whatever he felt for Emma, and whatever she may feel for him, lay in those petals.

Now he was faced with a choice. He could offer it out in place of the necklace but that came with the potential for heavy penalties. If it didn't work, he had just made a fool of himself and, worse, revealed unrequited feelings for Emma. It might make her uncomfortable. She might wish to keep her distance afterwards. She would stop smiling at him, stop trusting him, stop kissing him. It wasn't worth the risk.

And yet.

And yet, if there was some small chance, or if by some divine mistake that the thing did work, then Emma could finally be reunited with her son. She would be happy. She would laugh all the time instead of the half-grudging moments Hook could sometimes coax out of her.

But it was a huge thing to ask. Hook could be risking everything for a chance at her happiness. A chance – nothing certain. He stood to lose his pride and his companion, with all that she entailed. Emma would be by his side but she would fortify her walls and leave him very much alone.

And bloody yet.

When he weighed it against Emma's happiness, potential or not, there could only ever be one winner.

Biting back a curse, he dug into his pocket and retrieved the damn poppy. His fumbled excuses for why he had taken it from Oz fooled no one but he'd had to at least try to give himself an out in the case that the poppy failed. Which it probably would.

For all that Emma was certain she kept her emotions hidden, Hook had always been able to read her as well as he could read the star charts back on the Jolly Roger. Her features were taut in a consternation that didn't ease out until Hook had straightened up.

For a split second there was nothing, and Hook remembered what true disappointment felt like. When the ground cracked open over a river of light, he thought there could be no one who was more surprised than he was. Then he looked at Emma, who stood slack-jawed in shock, and felt his cautious happiness ebb.

The poppy had worked, but Hook didn't know why. Did it mean that he loved her? Did it mean that she loved him? He hated the questions running through his mind, thinking them more suited to a blushing maiden, but an insidious hope kept pushing them forwards. He stole a glance at Emma, who still stood gaping at the poppy. It wasn't exactly the reaction he had been hoping for. Hook braced himself for a fresh wave of disappointment; Emma might be happy that the poppy worked, but she didn't seem thrilled by its implications.

The poppy had worked.

The poppy had worked.

Why had the poppy worked?

You know why, a voice in Emma's mind whispered.

Why had Emma's kiss broken Hook's curse?

Why had he been willing to stay behind so that she could escape Oz?

You know why, the voice insisted.

"You'd best be going," Volstagg said, breaking the silence that had followed after Loki's quip, "before the magic wears out."

"Right," Emma said, sounding dazed. "Yeah. Uh, thank you. For all your help. If there's anything I can do…"

"Your kind used to worship us as gods," Loki said with a silky smile. "Perhaps you could return to the tradition?"

Sif rolled her eyes as the others laugh. Emma would join her, except she had one more thing she wanted to say. She angled herself towards Loki but made sure to address her words to all of the Asgardians to as not to seem suspicious.

"You know, we have stories about you guys on Earth. Or, Midgard, whatever."

"Of course you have tales," Thor said with a grin. "All the Nine Realms know of the Odinsons' exploits!"

As the others jeered and smacked Thor on the shoulder, Emma pursed her lips.

"Maybe you wouldn't call them stories. Maybe you'd call them prophecies." She tested the warning on her tongue before deciding it was vague enough to stop her from getting into trouble. "You should be careful about who you trust."

Her eyes rested on Loki just long enough to see the flicker of unease in his gaze, so well hidden that a moment later Emma was half-convinced she had imagined it. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt given that he just helped her, but she privately sided with Sif in distrust and dislike.

"Thank you," Hook said, nodding to each of the gods in turn. "Truly. If you're ever on Midgard, I'll buy you a drink."

The Asgardian version of farewell was some kind of weird mix of a high five and a handshake. Emma underwent its awkwardness five times – Loki, mercifully, hung back – before she held her own hand out to Hook.

"You know how it works by now," she said, feeling the need to explain her way through something they had done many times without prior awkwardness. "We should be touching to make sure we travel back together."

Why did it sound so full of double meaning? Emma tried to convince herself that nothing had changed, but in truth things felt rushed, as though she'd been forced to put a label on something she was only just beginning to understand. It niggled in the back of her mind, urging her to run away before Hook could say anything that might complicate things further.

Hand in hand, they stepped into the center of the circle and felt the ground move beneath them.

(Which was not a euphemism for sex, Emma told herself firmly.)

"Keep your mind blank," Emma called over the noise. "Let me think of where we need to go."

God, she hoped that was how it worked. Next time, Hook should wait for instructions before double-crossing someone and then escaping.
Storybrooke, Emma thought, closing her eyes tightly against the bright shine of the light cracking through the ground. 5pm, September 30th 2012.

She repeated the thoughts out loud just in case, saying them over and over like a mantra or a prayer. She opened her eyes while still chanting to see if it was having any effect and almost lost her train of thought as she saw the light coil and begin to lift off the ground. They split and diverged, changing color as they twisted and climbed further around the pair, trapping them into a cage of iridescence. It looked as though blue, red and white flames spiralled around them but there was no accompanying heat. Emma shifted closer to Hook, forgetting everything except the evolutionary imperative of safety. Hook, for whatever reason, made her feel safe. He curled an arm around her shoulders and rested his head against hers as the lights swirled and sparked and, finally, converged in on them.