A/N: I'm back! A huge thank you to all you lovely readers reviewing, favoriting, and following, as well as the thousands (I know, I can't believe it either) who've been taking a chance on my humble story. Thanks and credit again to Yettoseeyoufail for the continued support and excellent ideas (you get to enjoy a few of her lines in this one, too!). Be sure to check out her new fics; Trickery and Bases Loaded.

So, I know the last chapter left us all a bit down, but this was always intended to be an exploration of Emma first learning to let herself love, and then letting herself trust. Chapter 9 was the turning point. As this is told from her POV, we only get to see her observations and inferences, which are not always correct. She (and I) thank you for your patience as we follow her emotional transformation with a certain blue-eyed pirate. This chapter is full of family feels and introspection. Killian is here, just not in the way you might expect.

Chapter 10

Mixed Messages

My eyes opened to the soft rays of early sunlight, the false cabin-like surroundings of the dream dissolving away with the shadows of the night and the past. Sorrow gripped my heart and sweat beaded on my forehead. I blinked furiously, trying to erase the image from my mind and fight back the tears threatening the corners of my eyes, but the young man's pained face lingered. His labored breaths still rang in my ears, and the tang of salt and sea clung in my nostrils.

I'd caught a glimpse of my dream persona's reflection as I'd collapsed by the mirror in the cabin. The face was younger – more rounded – and the hair was longer. But it was still a face I'd come to recognize almost as well as my own: Killian. I'd dreamed of the moment he'd witnessed his brother's death. Had he ever told me the details of that story? It felt so real. I looked at my fingertips, still feeling the rough woolen fabric of the man's coat tingling on my skin. He'd died in my arms. My chest felt broken. Not aching; completely shattered.

An incessant blinking light drew my attention to the cell phone on my night stand, alerting me to a message. All it would take was two flicks of my index finger and I could be connected to his voice. I so desperately wanted to hear that incredibly sexy coarseness he had when he'd first awoken. But then I remembered the night before. I had no way to know if he'd even made it back to his quarters. For all I knew, he could be shacked up with some barfly who didn't push him away every chance she got.

You know he wouldn't do that, Emma.

I reached over to check the message. As it turned out, I had two texts. The first: "My earliest memory is off standing onthe docks watching the ship's retyrn to their moorings." The second was sent five minutes later: "My brother pushed me inti the water when my back was tirned rather than Fear drownung i learned to fight for survivl. Ive loved the sea ever since."

They were sent three hours ago. I felt my pulse careen through my veins. What kind of coincidence was it that my dreams were filled with his brother at almost the same time he was apparently taking a stroll down memory lane? Clearly this was another consequence of the bond, but how exactly did it work? Was he sending these thoughts to me intentionally? By accident?

My ire faded almost as quickly as the dream. I'd felt his total devastation as he'd lost the two most important people in his life and how his existence had descended into a chasm of loneliness and hollow pointlessness. I'd had those exact feelings myself once upon a time. Why would he willingly inflict those upon me? For that matter, what memories of mine had our bond seen fit to show him?

My thumb caressed over the latest message and a tiny smile blossomed on my lips. I could only imagine his frustration with typing the few sentences letter by letter. Mistakes and all, I had to admit I was damn impressed with how quickly he'd figured out this function of his phone, not to mention touched by its message. The mental scene of him grappling with texting was replaced by a young dark-haired boy, beaming with amazement as he gazed out at a harbor full of ships. The smile on my face grew and warmth flooded my chest.

I considered what to reply. I was still torn after the events of our date. He'd won my heart, just as he'd promised, but my head and my heart had a history of not agreeing. Neal aside, I had meant what I'd said about not really knowing him. Was this latest message his attempt at letting me learn more about him? I had to admit, I loved that despite my pushing him away – again – I was still apparently in his thoughts even after he returned to the bar.

My face fell again as I remembered last night. Apparently, this was going to be an emotional whiplash kind of day. I'd hurt him; how badly, I wasn't sure. Getting these texts made me both hopeful and guilt-ridden. I didn't want him to stop fighting for me, but I did need space – at least as much as our bond would allow.

Since the Dark Hollow, everything had been so…intense. My heart was screaming to be with Killian, but my head was much more experienced and wanted to be sure before descending too far down the path to potential heartbreak. And Neal was right; I didn't have the luxury of thinking only about myself. Since offering his ship to help us save Henry, Killian had been dependable and honorable, but that was only a week. Seven days out of three hundred years. Had he really changed? Permanently? I didn't mind a bit of the pirate, but I had no place for the revenge-blind villain to return.

I focused back on the screen, index finger hovering over the keyboard. I honestly had no idea what to say. I neither wanted to encourage nor discourage him. The sudden sound of Mary Margaret's voice calling me to breakfast was my saving bell. I stuffed the phone into the pocket of my pajama pants and quickly ran a brush through my hair.

The scene in the kitchen was disturbingly domestic after the roller-coaster of emotions I'd endured over the past twenty-four hours. Mary Margaret was stationed at the sink, cleaning up some of the breakfast dishes while Henry sat at the table engrossed in his fairy tale book. I felt a momentary blast of panic as I considered what new story he might be reading.

I snagged a piece of toast and took the seat beside him. "How was your appointment with Archie?"

He shrugged, his eyes never leaving the book. "Good. He recommended that I start a journal to help process everything that happened in Neverland."

I picked at the bread in my hands, wanting to know more, but hesitant to push. "Do you think it would help?"

He shrugged again as he flipped a page in the book. "I don't know. I told him I was fine."

I placed my hand over his, halting his reading, or his avoiding…whatever it was he was doing. "And are you?"

His innocent hazel eyes were quiet and considering as he finally met my gaze. As it often was with Henry, I got the impression I was encountering a soul much older than his actual eleven years. A firm, resolute smile appeared on his face. "Yeah, I'll be okay. Don't worry." He leaned over to hug me before slamming the book shut and heading to gather his school supplies.

"I'm not so sure about that, kid," I mumbled under my breath as I stood and stretched. I wouldn't push – not yet – but whether he was aware of it or not, the subject of Neverland was far from closed.

The water cut off and Mary Margaret began drying her hands as she turned to face me. She wore a practiced smile meant to entice others to trust her. "How was your date?"

My date. How was my date? My date had been nearly perfect, and then it all went to hell in a hand basket. Do people even use that expression anymore, Emma? "Fine." I offered her a tight-lipped grin. "How did things go with Gold?" I returned fire. Deflection was always the best weapon.

Her eyes narrowed marginally but the smile never slipped. Damn, she was good. "Good! It was really good. He thinks he can have the cure done by the end of the week. I will be so relieved when all this Neverland business is behind us."

I whole-heartedly agreed with her, but I couldn't shake the paranoia I'd adopted since moving to Storybrooke that feared another new disaster would follow as soon as the most recent one was resolved. "That's great news," I replied. "So, where's David?"

"He's getting ready. He had a bit of a…late night." She cleared her throat.

I so did not want to further investigate that statement. Thank goodness for small mercies, but I'd surprisingly drifted off to sleep almost as soon as I'd gotten home. I moved to the couch and tucked my legs underneath me, reaching for the morning paper. As Sheriff, I tried to make it my regular business to know what was happening in town, at least as often as I could call my day 'regular.' The past few days had been slow, but it was only the third morning since we'd all returned from Neverland. Drama was bound to pick up again at any moment.

"I'm going to drop Henry off at school before checking in at the station." David entered the room, hair slightly damp. He stopped by Mary Margaret's side and offered her a quick kiss. "Pick you up in about an hour?"

She grinned and squeezed his arm. "I'll be ready."

I found it a bit odd when David merely nodded in my direction – almost purposefully avoiding eye contact – before escaping out the door. I wanted to ask what they were up to, but was distracted by Henry's return. He'd already put on his coat and backpack. "Hey, you sure you're up for going back so soon?"

"Yeah, sure. It will be nice for things to be normal again."

I smiled at him, though I suspected he knew it was just for show. I reached out to straighten the collar of his jacket. "Ok, Kid. Be good. Learn a lot." He grinned cheekily – showing some of that pre-Neverland spark – before following David from the loft.

Mary Margaret stepped into my field of vision and set a cup of hot chocolate with a cinnamon stick on the coffee table. "Thanks," I said as I picked up the mug. She assessed me silently. Waiting. I gave her a side-glance which more than implied I knew she had something to say.

"You know you can talk to me, right? I mean, we were good friends before the curse broke. I miss that." She sighed wistfully.

The cocoa mug made a dull noise as I set it on the coaster. "Sure. We're still friends."

"But it's different now?"

I exhaled and thought for a few moments. "It's never been easy for me to open up to anyone. When I found out that you're my mom, it didn't really change our friendship, except that now I sometimes feel like you'll be disappointed in the choices I make. And, with us being the same age and all, it is different."

Her hand came out to rest on mine. "Oh, Emma. I could never be disappointed in you."

I shook my head. "I know you think that, but I've already seen it when it comes to our views on relationships." I paused. "See, I want to be able to tell you about my date, but until I've figured things out for myself, I'm hesitant to discuss details of what I'm feeling because if I decide he's it for me, then the fact that you're my mom will play a role, and I don't want to say anything which might further hurt your perception of him."

She looked a bit shocked by my long-winded response. It was rare that I divulged so much. "Did he do something to upset you last night?" She finally asked with concern, likely responding to the end of my statement.

Shaking my head again I smiled a bit sadly. "No. Quite the opposite in fact."

"Then why…" Her voice trailed off and she pulled her hand back to her lap. I really had no idea what she was going to say. Hell, I didn't even know what I was doing. I picked up the cocoa again – more for a diversion than anything else – and felt my emotions spiraling into confusion once more.

We were interrupted by the soft ping of my phone alert. A new text message read: "The furst raid i led with the jolly yielded us four goats a stack if moldy blankets and one keg of rancid rum. Needless to say my pirate sjills increased tremendiskly over the years."

His texting was improving – somewhat – though someone needed to teach him the art of abbreviations. And lord help us if he discovered emoticons. I laughed sharply as a stab of bittersweet joy unfurled in my chest. Like the earlier memory he'd shared, this slice of his past would seem trivial to an ordinary observer, but to me, it was the true stripping of his soul.

"What's so funny?" Mary Margaret inquired.

I thought about brushing it off as nothing, but decided it could help her see beyond Captain Hook. "It's Hook. Killian. He's been sending me texts. Telling me stories about his early years."

Her eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. "Hook's texting?"

I laughed again. "Yeah. I gave him a cell phone last night and apparently someone taught him how to use it after I left."

She was quiet. Thoughtful. "You love him, don't you." It wasn't a question.

I shrugged. "I don't really know him yet."

Her hand covered mine again and I met her gaze. I'd inherited her eyes though hers had always been more hopeful. This time, her smile was genuine. "I know this isn't easy for you. The best things in life rarely are. I don't pretend to know everything you're feeling, but you owe it to yourself to go after happiness if you think you might have found it."

"But it's not that simple. I have Henry –"

" – who just happens to be the truest believer. I can't imagine there is anyone who would be more willing to see the best in others than him."

My lips curved wryly. "So you're done trying to play matchmaker with me and Neal?"

She patted my hand. I expected her to laugh, but her eyes just grew more serious. "It was never simply about preferring Neal over Hook. I care about you. I will support what you want. Whoever that may be." She stood and took our mugs to the kitchen, leaving me with even more to think about.

My phone alert pinged again. "Despite clains to the contrary i have always preferred threats to outright violence. It is true that I took ruffios life but i nearly died from the wounds he struck first."

The tone of this message was different from the others. The first memories spoke of his humanity; that despite living for as long as he had, and crossing so many realms, he was still at his core just a man who made mistakes and once upon a time, an idealistic child. With this newest glimpse, he neither apologized nor bragged about one of his purported villainous acts. He was owning the fact that he had killed people. What did it say about me that were it not for having a son to think about, I wouldn't have cared in the least?

"So what are your plans today?" Mary Margaret asked. She was gathering her phone and keys for her purse.

"I suppose I'd better head in to work. You? Are you planning to keep teaching?" I realized we'd never really discussed if there would still be a Miss Blanchard. Our disasters had been non-stop since the curse broke, so it was the first chance to really consider what our respective futures might be.

"I haven't decided. I do love teaching, but I feel almost like I have a responsibility to more than just the kids of Storybrooke." She looked wistful. Even after spending weeks in the Enchanted Forest with her, I was still a bit shell-shocked when I saw her in her 'queen' mode. "But I don't have to decide that quite yet. Today, David and I are meeting with a realtor. We think it's best if we start looking for our own place."

"You don't have to – " I began but she cut me off graciously.

"We really do. We may be family, but you don't need your parents living with you. Not anymore." Her admission was noticeably sad, but I could see that she truly believed it. When she continued, her expression changed abruptly. "We'll find someplace close with enough extra bedrooms for Henry to stay over sometimes. You know, if you need some 'alone' time." She wiggled her eyebrows and waved as she left. "See you tonight!"

The loft was suddenly annoyingly quiet. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been alone. My attention drifted back to the phone in my hand. The debate over whether to respond reignited in my brain. He'd sent me four messages already and had received nothing but silence from me in return. Granted, he might not know that in texting culture it was hardly a good thing for messages to go unanswered, but I didn't want him to stop. Though, I still had absolutely no idea what to say. How 'bout I miss you, my thoughts supplied. True as it might be, it wasn't the mixed-message I wanted to send. What kind of woman would I be if I begged for space hours before, then turned around and played games like that?

I thought about his final message. Last night I had thrown his past deeds in his face, and yet here he was inviting more criticism. I'd give it to him; it took balls, or an immense amount of trust to open himself up to more judgment. And so far, I hadn't given him a lot of reasons for trusting me aside from the bond.

My hand moved to cover my heart, suddenly realizing the bond had been unusually tame that morning. Aside from the dream, I hadn't really felt any foreign emotions since I'd driven away from him last night. The tingle of anxiety creeping across my skin accompanied my confusion over what might have changed. Was he alright? Was the bond wearing off? Realizing I had the means of finding out, I carefully typed, "Are you ok?"

It was hardly poetry or a deep, dark confession of the soul, but it was an opening. I waited for five minutes, staring at the little screen before wondering whether whoever showed him how to send a message thought to show him how to open a message, too. I sighed and placed the phone on the coffee table before heading into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It didn't occur to me until much later that I could've just called him, though I'm not sure I would've had the guts to do it.

E&K&E&K&E&K

As predicted, the police station was almost as quiet as the empty loft had been. It was like déjà vu from two days before, only this time my body wasn't raging uncontrollably for the sex–on –legs pirate docked a few blocks away. That's not exactly true, Emma, that annoying voice supplied. Fine. I still wanted that dashing rapscallion, but I held the reins on my libido this time.

Killian had texted me three times since the confession about Ruffio. The tone of each had turned increasingly introspective. He'd never replied to my weak attempt at engaging him in conversation. I chose to believe that was because he was still unfamiliar with the phone's technology. Though, with practice, he'd apparently mastered the art of composing messages.

"Even in my darkest hours, I find a peaceful respite in observing the majesty of colors painted on the horizon before the first appearance of the day's sun."

"I believed I was truly prepared to be a father to Baelfire. I've never forgiven myself for the choice I made against him."

"I have dreamed of having my own child one day, but did not believe for the longest time that I deserved such a treasure."

My heart had clenched somewhat uncomfortably with the last one. Once again, he was giving me what I asked for. He was letting me know him through the only method I'd left him to use. And in spite of how impersonal texting usually was, this felt almost exactly like standing in the Echo Cave, stripped bare and forced to reveal secrets before we were ready. I wanted to text him back, to plead with him to stop, or at least slow down. But I couldn't. His words – his secrets – were addictive.

When the alert sounded again, I nearly leapt out of my chair to grab my phone, unashamedly greedy for whatever tidbit he would share next. When I read his message, a gasp escaped my lips. "I never felt entirely comfortable taking Milah away from her family. The first time I saw you, you made me revisit those feelings of doubt and selfishness. You are more a savior than you know."

Again, I considered calling him, but what purpose would it serve? Whatever words that came out of my mouth the next time we had a conversation were not things that should be said over the phone. I wanted to see his eyes when I asked him to explain these messages. I wanted him to see that no matter how afraid I was to let him in all the way, I didn't want to lose him entirely.

My feet seemed to make the decision for me. I'd put on my coat and walked to the door without even noticing the actions. I bumped into a wiry figure just as I stepped across the threshold. "Gold!" I exclaimed as I righted my balance. "Sorry, I'm in kind of a hurry."

"It's quite alright, Miss Swan." He cocked his head at me, assessing my obvious distress. "Is everything alright? No problems with the bond I hope?"

My eyes narrowed. How the hell did he always manage to hit the nail directly on the head? "What?" I tried for ignorance.

His eyes shifted to the pavement before meeting mine again. "I had quite the visit from Bae this morning. He rather believes I forged this union between you and the pirate on purpose. I must say I am somewhat disappointed that you haven't set the record straight yet, Sheriff."

"I told Neal it was my doing."

"But have you told yourself that, Dearie?" He grinned. "Tell me, have there been any unusual side effects? I am interested from a purely magical standpoint, of course." He waved his hand in emphasis.

"Of course," I echoed, not liking the sudden flair of my lie-detector. I considered answering him with a lie of my own, but I was curious about the dreams. "It seems in addition to sharing feelings we might be able to share memories, too."

"Fascinating," he replied. His grin widened. "Though, I can't say I envy the memories you might be receiving from the dear Captain."

I didn't respond. I felt my face shut down into my best poker face.

"Yes, well, I won't keep you. Do consider clearing up any lingering confusion with my son, won't you?" He continued on his way without a backward glance.

As I watched his retreating back, I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. Pulling it out quickly, I realized it was an actual call. My anticipation crested and fell as I recognized the number. "David, hi," I answered a bit breathlessly.

"Hey, Emma. It seems Snow and I will be caught up with the realtor a bit longer than planned. Will you be able to pick up Henry from school?"

"Of course. Are you having any luck?"

"Trying to get rid of us? I see how it is," he laughed. "Actually, we're looking at a place that's only a block from the apartment. It has four bedrooms and a yard. I'll let your mother tell you the rest of the details if we end up with it." I could hear him yawn over the line.

"Sounds like a plan. Hey, Mary Margaret said you had a late night, was there some kind of trouble?" My Sheriff side took over.

"Nah, not really. Got a call to come down to the Rabbit Hole to deal with a lonely drunk. You know how it is."

The Rabbit Hole? I immediately wanted to launch into questions about whether or not Hook was still there and what he was doing, but that wasn't the kind of conversation I had with David. With my dad. Yeah.

"Sorry they bothered you with it. I'm not sure everyone remembers they elected me Sheriff, what with me being gone in the Enchanted Forest for so long."

"Don't worry about it. Happy to help. But, I've got to go for now. Talk more at dinner?"

"Yeah, sure," I replied before we disconnected. I absently checked for more text messages and almost ignored the nudge of disappointment when my inbox was empty. Almost.

I looked toward the direction of the docks, making out the tallest part of the Jolly Roger's mast in the distance. I couldn't help but wonder what he was doing. He'd dominated my thoughts all day, well, the past few days actually. But my plan for ambushing him would have to be put on hiatus now that I needed to meet Henry. Perhaps this was fate's way of intervening. My feet had carried me out the door before I'd made the conscious decision of what I wanted to say to him, which could've ended in disaster.

I slowly made my way toward Henry's school. The weather was crisp and cool; perfect for walking and reflecting. Mary Margaret's earlier words replayed in my mind. She had a point about Henry. I wanted to protect him, but he'd be the first to give Killian a chance. Hadn't he already done that on the Jolly Roger as we headed home from Neverland? Not that Henry was always the best judge of character – Peter Pan sprung to mind.

I caught the sight of a familiar set of shoulders encased in black leather as I passed Granny's window and my heart literally skipped. Quickly, I stepped back so that my body was out of view, but I could still peek in. He was alone at the counter. A nearly empty glass of beer sat before him. A tremor of guilt mixed with despondency rippled across our link. His head turned marginally in my direction and I ducked completely out of sight.

What the hell are you doing, Emma? My inner voice raged. I felt like I was twelve years old again, hiding from my crush. But this was not a crush. This was a full-grown man who had shown me – somewhat painstakingly – that he was just as, if not more, invested in this as me. Why was I still afraid? True, I wanted to protect Henry, but I could still do that and figure out if Killian would be in our future. We'd have to do it together. There was no other way.

I took a deep, slow breath and turned back. Glancing at the time on my phone, I saw I still had twenty minutes before school let out. As my hand wrapped around the handle, I readied myself for a conversation which just might be the start of my future life. And what will your future hold? I wondered.

A/N: Hmmm, just what WILL Emma's future hold? This sort of feels like we are coming to the end, BUT, what if I told you we were only a little past half way? Let me hear you send Emma words of encouragement that she can trust our dashing rapscallion. :D

Apparently, the new special calls attention to the OBVIOUS feels directed from Emma to Hook in Dark Hollow. I knew I was on to something... ;)

Next update hopefully in a few days, unless of course I don't survive the CS feels during tomorrow's 3B premiere.