A/N: Well, here we are at The Lovers. I don't think anyone will be disappointed with this — this is my favorite chapter, thus far (I have another favorite already outlined, a bit further down the line in this fic, but for now, this one wins). It's not THAT kinda chapter, though, guys. ;) Come on, it's wayyyy too early for that!

The Lovers in the Tarot symbolize a LOT of things … the major ones being temptation, and the point of no return. From this point on, things are going to start to change. Enjoy!

Chapter Six
The Lovers
"If I fall for you, I'll never recover. If I fall for you, I'll never be the same … "

Emma went to the sheriff's station first, her pride not allowing her to immediately go to the bed and breakfast. And she knew that was stupid, because Gold knowing that Killian was in Storybrooke was way bigger than her ego.

But it didn't matter. She needed time to think, time to figure out what the hell she was even going to say to him, after … well, after their fight.

What had that even been about? What did it matter where he stayed? He was still in Storybrooke, after all. What had he been so mad about? And why had she taken the bait? She'd yelled at him, and it had been awhile since she'd been angry enough to yell.

Oh, she got plenty angry. But never that much.

It was all his fault. Fucking pirate.

But there had been sincerity there, too. He'd wanted something from her, something that she refused to acknowledge was there. She couldn't allow it, not again, not after everything. That way lead to madness, and Emma was no longer a young girl who could take such risks with her heart.

Emma, I'm not the only one who's fall —

He hadn't finished that sentence, but the words, his voice, still rang in her head. How that sentence ended was something Emma was too afraid to contemplate.

Not the only one who's … what? Fallen? Falling? Or maybe she'd misheard him altogether. All she knew was that her stomach was in knots at the idea of facing him again, terrified he'd want to finish that conversation, and terrified of what she might say if he pressed too hard. She still couldn't shake the fear that this was all just a game to him. Lead her to the edge and then push her off, pointing and laughing and stupid Emma, falling for the pirate's tricks.

Part of her really didn't want them to be tricks though. Every time her mind wandered these days, she found herself thinking about him, about his cocky smirk, and his laughter that came just so easily. The way his too-blue-to-be-real eyes lit up whenever he looked at her — or was she just imagining that? The way he talked to her, the way he listened. The way he could look at her, and just know what she was feeling — she'd always kept herself so guarded, no one had ever managed to see past her walls, except him.

She blew out a frustrated breath, her hands splayed on the top of her desk as she tried to steady her nerves. When was the last time anyone had made her feel this way? Not even Graham had …

No. She didn't want to think about Graham right now. Whatever she had had with Graham had been short, and sweet, and over too soon, and it most definitely hadn't been love. They'd barely known each other. Maybe it might've been, given more time, but in the end, he had left her, just like Neal had, just like everyone else in her life had.

Just like Killian would, once he finished what he'd come to Storybrooke to do.

Why did the idea of that make her heart wrench in her chest? She'd gotten through everyone else leaving her … why should Killian doing the very same thing be any different?

Because you …

"No," she said, shaking her head, not allowing that thought to finish. Her eyes landed on the top drawer of her desk then, and she sighed. "Make it right," she muttered to herself, unlocking the drawer and taking the hook from inside, placing it into her bag.

With one last deep breath, she headed back out into the night, pointing her feet in the direction of the inn.

She made her way to the bed and breakfast, finding Granny Lucas at the front desk. "Emma!" she said, surprised. "I suppose you're here after our newest tenant?" She raised her eyebrows, giving Emma a look. "He was in quite the snit when he got here."

She frowned, hating the nagging, guilty feeling she felt in her gut right now. "I need to talk to him, yes," she said. "What room?"

"The same one you had when you first showed up here," Granny said, nodding toward the stairs.

"Thanks," Emma said, turning and heading upstairs then. She took a deep breath when she reached the door, before raising her hand to knock. She blinked when the door opened before she even touched it.

"Ah, here she is," Killian said, his expression bored, his voice droll. "Come to further ruin my night."

"I'm not here to ruin your night," Emma said, reaching into her bag and holding up his hook. "Peace offering?"

He cast a glance to his hook, then to her, then back again, before he reached for it. She pulled it out of his reach. "May I come in?" she asked.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Well, well, I do like the way you apologize, love," he said, his smirk back in place.

Emma shook her head, biting back her own grin. "Get over yourself," she snapped. "You letting me in or not?"

"That's pretty rich coming from you," he said. "Talk a big game about letting you in, but when do you ever let anyone in?"

Okayyyy, so. Apparently he was still sort of pissed off.

"Damn it, Killian!" she snapped, frustrated. "Will you just talk to me?"

That got his attention. The strangest expression came over his face then, and Emma didn't know what to make of it … what had she done wrong now?

Then it hit her.

Killian. She had called him Killian.

The realization caused all the anger to leave her. Her expression changed then, to one that was imploring. "Please," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He nodded without a word, pushing the door open wider and beckoning her inside. Once she was inside, and the door was shut behind them, she turned to face him. She tried to ignore the rapid beating of her heart, the way the room seemed like it was too small for the both of them to be occupying at the same time, the way everything about this moment felt too oppressive, too tight. He was all-encompassing, everything in her was screaming out for him.

But she couldn't.

Instead, she handed him his hook, watching as he reattached it … it was all kind of fascinating, really, in a morbid sort of way.

"You shouldn't be here," she said after a long moment of silence, of the two of them just looking at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to speak.

"You think I don't know that, darling?" he said, and his voice was very soft as he leaned in then. He brushed a bit of her hair off her shoulder, then placed his hand on her cheek, his thumb lightly caressing her cheek. "I should be at home with you."

Emma felt her breath catch then, her heart leaping wildly at the heated look in his eyes. The air practically sparked between them right now, and his lips were so very close …

But the moment was all too short. "Alas, you saw fit to kick me out." He tapped the tip of her nose before straightening to his full height and giving her an almost malicious smile.

Emma blinked, snapping back to reality like a broken rubber band. "I'm not going to apologize for that, if that's what you want," she told him, her walls going back up almost immediately. She knew better than to let people in, damn it.

"Then why are you here, Emma?" he asked, the frustration in his voice evident. "Is it to bloody torture me, is that it? You can't sleep unless you've come and ruined any chances I might have of a peaceful night?"

She frowned. "What? I … "

"Oh, that's right, I forgot, you have to play the innocent here, don't you?" he snapped. "As if you haven't a sodding clue what you're putting me through."

"I really don't know what you're talking about," Emma said, even though she was afraid that she did know, and she wasn't sure she was ready to hear it … or that she'd ever be ready to hear it.

"Emma," he said, and his voice was heavy with exasperation. "You're a smart lass, why play the idiot now?"

"Hook, I didn't come here for this," she said, trying to keep her voice firm.

"Are we back to Hook again?" he asked. "A minute ago I was Killian … the walls have snapped right back into place then, haven't they?" His eyes roamed her face, his expression earnest and searching. "Emma, Emma, please. Let me in," he breathed.

His hand closed around her wrist, and he pulled her closer, and Emma found that despite everything, she didn't have any desire to move away from him. Her eyes flicked up to his, and she couldn't look away, even as his other arm went around her waist, pulling her against him. Her eyes stayed locked with his until his lips were on hers, and only then did she let them fall closed.

She was surprised at his gentleness. The kiss wasn't eager or desperate or hungry, but soft, like a whisper, his breath mingling with hers. Her hands moved to his chest, fingers curling in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as her lips parted beneath his, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Killian gave a soft sigh of pleasure, and Emma moaned, shivering, as his tongue slid over hers. His hand moved to her hair, his fingers threading through her blonde tresses, as his other arm stayed at her back, keeping her against him, as though she might bolt at any second, as though there were anywhere else she would possibly want to be right now.

It was that realization, the realization that this was all too perfect, too good … that made Emma pull away.

"Emma," he breathed raggedly, his hand still in her hair, his lips still inches from her own. "Emma, don't … "

She shook her head, pulling back, and he released her, his eyes pained as he looked at her. "I … I can't. I'm sorry, I … "

"Emma, look at me," he implored her, and she did. "I am not going to hurt you."

"I've heard that before," she muttered, her body trembling with all the things she wasn't allowing herself to acknowledge right now.

"I am not everyone else," he told her, and he sounded offended that she would even think so. "I don't know what's happened to you before, but Emma … "

"I want to believe you," she said. "But what if I'm wrong?" She shook her head.

His hand was on the side of her face again. "You've got to take a chance sometime, darling," he said softly.

"I'm not ready," she said, though her hand did move to wrap around his wrist as it rested on her cheek. "Killian, I … "

"I'm not going anywhere," he said earnestly.

She smiled sadly. "Yet," she finished for him.

"Emma," he said, "I don't know what's happened to you, love, but I'm not the one to blame."

She sighed then, taking another step back, releasing his wrist and moving out of his reach. "You need to be careful," she said, deciding to try a less terrifying conversation route. "Mr. Gold — Rumplestiltskin — he knows you're in Storybrooke."

He blinked, looking a little deflated at her sudden change of conversation. "That's what you've come for, then?" he asked, as if it was all making sense now. "Well, good. It's about bloody time we had this over with, me and him."

"No, Killian, he is dangerous. You need to be careful," she told him, her voice serious, her eyes locked onto his beseechingly.

"And why's that?" he asked her wryly.

She took a deep breath. "Because I want to trust you. And I can't do that if you leave me too."