Disclaimer: I do not own the show or the characters of Once Upon A Time. There's no profit except writing practice being made here.

"I know you want to get ..."

He would have said 'home' and he could see Emma's face solidify like blown glass or molten silver as she waited for him to pierce the peace between them with the wrong word. What Killian wouldn't have given to backtrack all the way and return to that moment right before his heart truly stopped that day at the hospital, that moment when Emma had been smiling at him and gazing at him in what he had thought, for that wonderful, spectacular minute, was an expression of unguarded relief and happiness and surprise that she had not made her true emotions clear to him. Was it too much to ask that he live in that blissful naivety for one more heartbeat?

"But I haven't seen you eat since at least this morning."

"I've never seen you eat except for fruit and fish in Neverland." She chuckled, "And rum."

He ignored the jibe but sent her a smile. She was a clever lass, observant and knowledgeable but she always put herself last on a list of priorities. It infuriated him to no end and Killian was terrible at keeping his frustration to himself, clenching his fist so he didn't completely bite his tongue off.

"I simply mean," he exhaled the words, "We could sit for out meal before we head out again."

Emma shook her head. "I'm not wasting time sitting down."

Rolling his eyes and his shoulders as one, Killian sauntered forward, happily observing Emma rip off the metallic lids from the packaging and pouring the boiling water from the electric jug into the paper cups, proud to find he'd done exactly the right thing according to her actions when he'd been making the soups for himself the last time he was here. Yes, the packet explained how to prepare the meagre meal, but he was pleased to note strict adherence to the instructions was the common method of preparing the meal and there was not some secret step he would have known had he been naturalised to the modern conveniences of the realm.

"Rest is not a waste of time," he implored, knowing before he even made his argument that Emma Swan was not going to pause long enough to take a breath, let alone take a proper break.

"We're not going to have lunch together like some damn couple in a movie."

She was angry.

"I wasn't suggesting-" But she cut him off before he could elaborate that he wasn't pushing for her to look at him and really see him. Just once it would be nice to know Emma was even aware that he was Killian Jones, just an ordinary man, who had grieved for far too long, who was only looking for a single moment of peace and hoping that it might be with her. Nothing more if she wasn't open to it.

"There's something a little intimate about sharing a meal though, isn't there?" Emma snapped. "And we'll not be taking a reprieve like that when there is certainly no need to."

Despite himself, Killian chuckled bitterly. It was so easy to slip back into the mask of bravado and nonchalance but with it came bitter loneliness and a full-body fatigue that crept into his bones like a cold rain.

"I meant nothing by it, save for a moment to sit and recuperate and plan our next steps," he was careful to not let his tone drip with sarcasm or drop to a lower, more dangerous, octave.

"Hook, I-"

Back to Hook, then, Killian sighed. Back in Storybrooke, even after the curse broke and her parents insisted he not be trusted, he'd stayed as 'Killian' when she spoke of him. A small blessing, but a choice Swan was making, a minute signal that she could still trust him if she was asked.

"But I'll do well to remember eating and courting are as one in your mind from now on."

"That's not what I meant," Emma sneered, "You know that."

"Then what?" he wanted clarification. Why would they not sit and sip their soup? Why did she insist on leaving Neal's apartment as soon as possible and continuing on their quest?

Oh.

Killian bent his head, his chin almost against his necklace charms.

Emma was silent too.

"I didn't realise. We can leave, if you like," he said.

"We can find a park bench or something, I didn't realise."

Killian reached out for the paper cup, knowing from experience that - in this time - he didn't have yet, but Emma swatted his hand away.

"What didn't you realise?"

Emma lifted both cups, holding one in each hand and indicating toward the door. "Get the door for me."

He did, trying not to sway toward her as her pretty perfume wafted to his nose as she walked by him.

Killian was mildly amused that the door was unlocked, Emma's skills having picked the bolt but without a key there was no way of securing the apartment back up. Hook, of course, couldn't have known this was the case. So in a day or two he'd arrive, muttering frustratedly when he couldn't hear the telltale signs of the lock clicking open until he gave up and shoved his shoulder into the wooden door, tumbling inside as it fell open for him.

"What are you laughing at?" Emma's eyes narrowed but not with a lack of trust. He explained.

"Will you let me take that from you?" Killian asked after he'd opened the last gate into the building and Emma had passed beneath his arm. There was nothing else for him to hold open for her, so he decided he should take his cup from her.

"No," was all Emma said until Killian levelled her with a look.

She still hadn't explained what she had meant earlier. but Killian got the feeling she was about to. As sure as he was about incoming storms and the swell of the currents, he could read Emma Swan. She was lending him a boost so that he could see over her walls.

"I wasn't thinking. Sometimes I don't even see it, but it must be something that haunts your every movement," Killian frowned at the way Emma rambled. She hardly ever did so, but she was clearly trying to apologise for some lapse in her behaviour, something he hadn't noticed. "Especially in a place like this, where you're confused and probably a little scared and not sure what you need to defend yourself against."

"I'm not sure I follow," Hook said simply, poised to rebuke her statement about his fear but more interested in what Emma was thinking.

"Your hook," although it was a fake hand again now, something she knew because Killian had seen her glance at it when she said 'hook.' "You can't carry your lunch and defend yourself at the same time if someone attacks us. Not when you're wearing your fake hand instead of your hook. That's what you were hesitating about, right?"

"I quite like that you hold me in such esteem you don't assume I'd throw the hot liquid at our hypothetical attacker," Killian told her. There were plenty of other ways to harm and maim a person should the occasion call for it, even without a blade, although Emma was correct, having his hands free and his hook on would certainly make him more comfortable in the foreign city.

"Ouch."

"Aye."

Emma snorted.

"Interestingly," he admitted to Swan, "Granny's cups fit my hook perfectly."

"They do not!" Emma's laughter was melodious and wholly unexpected, the shock of it forcing Killian to watch the way Emma's eyes crinkled at the edges and her cheeks tried to dimple. She was as beautiful in reality as she had been in his dreams.

Her giddiness was infectious and Killian dared not fight his matching smile, glad to have been able to produce such a response from her over something so menial. "Aye, they do. If I had my hook on, I'd show you."

Emma snickered in disbelief although clearly amused by this new development. So long as he could procure that smile from Emma Swan, Killian Jones needn't want for anything else, her whole face seemed to shine, her skin radiant with her joy.

"How do you even discover something like that?"

Killian shrugged. "There's quite a bit more time between witch hunts than one might expect."

Emma's smile dropped at that. Oh, she didn't like it when he mentioned all the quiet moments that were readily available to her, it did not fit with her understanding of the world, her experiences as the Savior. Still, Killian continued, knowing one day she'd have to concede that so long as she made time, she would find it.

"No, really. How'd you figure that?"

Killian sighed, "Late night at Granny's," he explained. "Henry wanted cocoa and he hadn't liked it the day before when I only filled the cups halfway to carry them by the looping stem."

"He made you carry two things at once?" Emma baulked at the implication, as though offended on his behalf by her son's lack of manners. Hook shook his head to dissuade her of the notion but she didn't see it. "Granny and Red didn't lend you a hand?"

"The business was quite crowded at that time and Henry was procuring us a table." He made no mention that not three days later Granny had provided him with a plastic tray when he'd ordered his food, and later again had fashioned a carrying device for the multiple mugs out of paper the next time he ordered. "It took a few tries to find the perfect fit."

"Like Cinderella," Emma was laughing again.

Hook scratched behind his ear. He didn't know what that meant but could tell from her tone she was mocking him fondly. The dread pirate might not have approved of the slur, but Killian found he'd allow almost anything from Emma Swan if her voice was that soft and her eyes that jocund.

"Here's a good spot," she sat on a wooden bench, just like the ones in Storybrooke, but already occupied by another woman dressed similarly to the way Swan had on their trip into Storybrooke all those weeks ago. Because of that other occupant, when Killian sat, although he tried to remain on the edge, he could not stop his thigh from pressing against Emma's. Back in his original time, such a touch would be highly improper and a princess such as Emma - whether he'd been a slave on Silver's ship, an officer, or a pirate - could have justifiedly called for his execution. Killian had been around for hundreds of years since, watching the Enchanted Forest's morals loosen slightly, and been to plenty of lands with different and sometimes opposing views, far more open and less damning. Nevertheless, his mother's words and his upbringing was where Killian's morals spawned from. He blushed at the touch.

"There you go."

"Thank you." He sipped the beverage. It had cooled significantly from how Killian remembered taking it, but was still far hotter than anything he'd eaten before; ensuring the flames of a fire were correctly put out often took a moment and in doing so, food tended to cool. Meat took forever to cook, and was often left what Emma referred to as 'medium, he thought in reference to its medium temperature.

"Now," Emma started. Killian could not help himself. He leaned close to her to hear every lilt and vibration of her whispered words and grinned widely when he realised she'd listened to his reasoning for wanting her to sit ad rest. "Here's the plan."