The city wakes up with the sun, if ever it had been asleep in the first place. The bleary stare alights on a twitching, snoring figure tightly wrapped in a leather coat on a park bench. Early workers amble pass, some glancing at the body with disdain, others with gazes skating over quickly, too used to the homeless to give this odd-looking one a second thought. A tiny gray squirrel sniffs around the bench, looking for stray crumbs, its bushy tail trembling in interest. It jumps onto the wood, inhaling the strange smell of sea and magic that surrounds the sleeping man. Curious, it hops closer, jumping onto the figure's chest. His legs jerk and his arms flail in alarm; the squirrel leaps onto the ground, chittering angrily in dismay, and it skitters up a tree in panic.
Hook sits up quickly, looking wildly around for his attacker. He hears the bark of an animal and his eyes spy the squirrel in a low branch, and it is all but shaking its paw at him. He sighs in annoyance; it hadn't been the best night of rest, what with the ever-constant noise, the worry over Emma, and the dull ache of missing the Jolly. He had certainly slept in worse places, however, and he is certain this mission of his will not take much longer, provided Emma lost some of her stubbornness.
Running a hand over his face to wipe the grit from his eyes, he weighs his options. He could leave, but that isn't even something to contemplate. Not only would he never see Emma again, it would be damning all of the Enchanted Forest to the evil will of the green witch. Plus, since meeting Emma, running away had become a less tempting choice than ever before. He could trick her; after all, he is a pirate, and this wouldn't be too difficult. He could buy her a drink and slip the potion in; but how to get her to take anything from him, after he had cocked up all previous meetings with this forgetful Emma, is a mystery. He could kidnap her or the boy, force her to drink the potion; even if he was able to overpower her, she would probably not forgive him after she recovered her memories. The only option that is slightly feasible is to get her to trust him again. He did it once; surely he can win her over once more.
He spends the morning on the bench, watching the city bloom around him. About midday, he drags his sorry self from his spot, grimacing at the pigeons that fly around him and winking at the people that stare at him. He is just about to set off when he hears her tinkling laughter, and his eyes immediately find her. She's with the boy—Henry, Henry, must remember to call him by his name—holding his hand, laughing at something he said. He's smiling, she's grinning, and it is this image that keeps him from rushing towards her. She is clearly happy; she never smiled so easily before the second curse; but then, what with her son being kidnapped, nearly murdered, and body-swapped, she really had not had much to be cheerful about. Still…how could he take her from something good, and bring her to a land of such sorrow and misery? He notices, then, the quiet look of regret in her eyes, the look of a lost child—he had seen so many of those looks from the boys in Neverland—and he knows that he needs to do this. For her, for him, for the boy, for her family.
Taking a deep breath, Hook sets off towards her. He knows the moment she spots him in the way she stiffens; the grin fades from her lips and she says something to Henry. He is pushed slightly behind her, and Hook watches as Henry's head swivels from side to side. When the boy's gaze lands on the pirate, his eyes go wide with disbelief, but also a hint of recognition.
"Henry," she says, leaning towards her son, her eyes still watching the man walking towards them, "why don't you go to that playground over there? Hang out by the swings. I'll be there in a moment."
He wants to reply that he isn't a child anymore, that he's nearly thirteen, and swings are for babies. But he recognizes the urgency in her voice, and nods his assent. She watches her only son as his feet carry him away, and she bites back the taste of panic at leaving Henry on his own while there is a strange man who won't stay away and won't stop telling her that he knows her parents.
"Emma." Hook stands in front of her again, with a soft expression and dark eyes. "Emma, just—just hear me out. Give me a moment to explain, and if you still don't believe me, if you still don't remember, I'll leave. I swear. I'll go, and you'll never hear from me again. Just…p-please." Gods, but he is quivering, a shaking mass, nothing of the pirate captain in his pleads and stammers. She quirks an eyebrow, and he is desperate but says nothing further, waiting for her to make the next move.
She ends his suffering with a quick jerk of her head. "Fine. But make it fast."
Wasting no time, he reaches into his leather coat and draws forth a flask swirling with blue liquid. "What do you know about magic, lass?"
She scoffs. "Magic? You mean little twerps with sticks and wands?"
"No. Real magic, Emma. The kind of magic you once knew how to wield. The kind of magic you still have surrounding you, even if you don't use it." He is still focusing on the blue flask, its contents dancing and twirling enticingly. She must feel its power; he certainly can, and the spell contained within is useless to him. He has no lost memories, nothing to be recovered, save for the woman standing before him.
She follows his gaze, and while she knows, she knows that what he says can't be true, that what he insists is just the ravings of a lunatic, she still feels a pull, a pull that she can't explain, that she has felt for nearly a year. She can't remember having this feeling a year prior, or in the years before that. In fact, if she really thought about it, all of her memories between giving birth to Henry and a year ago are quite hazy, almost as if a dull film covered them, as if her memories were broken photographs of someone else's life. "Who are you?"
His eyes soften further, and he breaks his stare at the glass to look at her. "Emma. Darling. You know me. I helped rescue your boy. I protected you from giants and Pan. I came all this way, at the behest of your father, to bring you back to your home. Your real home."
Her brow narrows. "What are you talking about? I am home. My father…my father is dead, gone—he abandoned me. So did my mother." She starts backing away, and he reaches for her. "I don't—I can't—I know you think you know me, but you don't. I don't…and I just…I can't. I have Henry to think about, and we're in fucking New York, no giants here, and you—you're crazy, you are, so just stay away from me. Stay away from my family."
Stricken, he follows her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "Look, love, I'm certain this is all very strange for you, but it's the same for me. I don't enjoy this, you not knowing me. I missed you, and you can't even bloody remember how much I love you."
She inhales shakily and tries to move away, but the grip on her arm tightens, pulls her towards him. "You need to let me go."
"Emma." He pleads with her, and oh how he hates this weak, pitying creature he has become! Her bottom lip trembles, and he wants, wants her to remember, wants her to love him like he loves her, just wants. He does not even realize that he is kissing her until she shoves him from her, reminiscent of the last time his mouth touched hers (although lacking in the knee, thankfully). Becoming aware of her cries of alarm, he curses. Hands grab him from behind, force him away from Emma.
He sees remorse in her stare, and it is this that inspires him to break free from his captors, quickly placing the potion in her hands. "Drink this, Emma. Drink this, and I swear, I swear you'll understand. Try something new. It's called trust." She watches as the police officers wrestle him away, the cold bottle in her hand. She feels the pull again, but now it comes from two directions—towards the liquid in her palm, and towards the strange but familiar man being taken away.