"You."

Mary Margaret sat beside the pirate on the log by the fire. Her mother wouldn't be proud of the way she harrumphed down on the fallen tree, hunched and heavy.

"Aye." It was an idle response, meaningless in its brevity. Hook didn't even deign to glance away from the knot he was tying in his lap.

The man had become more of a shadow in the space of a day than she had ever seen. His eyes were lined with dark circles, not the smudged kohl but a lack of sleep. Emma had similar bags beneath her eyes but Mary Margaret knew for a fact they weren't chatting until all hours together, it was the mark of a different sort of sleeplessness.

Hook had said something about the cry of Lost Boys, looking pointedly at Emma on that first night in the dense jungle. Snow hadn't thought much of it at the time, perhaps it meant something more that the simple worry for a mother who had just lost her son.

But it wasn't just the sleep-deprived eyes. He seemed thinner, in the face at least, his cheeks hollow and sunken, sharp bones showing just above his beard.

His mouth was pulled into a tight line, hidden by the shadow his downturned head created. Constantly looking downward, shoulders hunched inward, every part of him was sunken and sallow. Even the vibrantly bright eyes that had even a happily woman like herself willing to compliment him were dull and distant.

Mary Margaret almost doubted her knee-jerk reasoning for such an expression on the pirate. It was only the fact-checking of the Echo Caves, natural proof he wasn't lying, that convinced her to believe the pirate felt more than lust toward her daughter.

She'd brushed off the kiss when Emma had informed her of it, assuming her daughter came to her feeling guilt, feeling ashamed. She'd never been so shocked as to learn the moment had meant something to Emma as when Hook had mentioned how much it meant to him and then proceeded not to talk about the kiss but a moment far earlier in their history as a catalyst for change. It's what the kiss exposed.

It wasn't just lust and fun and teasing flirting, staving off desire by giving in to it a little while they both waited for someone else. Not at all.

Mary Margaret wasn't sure why she had approached the man. He was centuries older than her, her motherly tone probably wouldn't be welcome, nor would her advice, and she didn't exactly approve of him - he was a pirate after all, Gold's nemesis. He was danger and darkness (more so now than three hours ago) and her little girl was all that is good and light in the world, a princess no less. She deserved a knight in shining armour with a glowing recommendation, a steed and army and a dowry.

(Nevermind she suspected a pirate would have treasure to spare and his ship was a swift mode of transport and a crew much like a band of men willing and ready to give their life to his cause).

So, instead, she asked something easier.

"Tell me the truth."

A heavy sigh escaped the pirate as he threaded his hook through the knot and pulled it undone, leaning against the felled tree Snow sat on. "You trust me to tell you the truth without the Echo Caves, or do you have a power similar to your daughter?"

Mary Margaret shook her head, saying "That skill's been known to fail more often than not" before she even realised what she was saying. She'd said something similar to Emma once.

"I've yet to see it fail."

Mary Margaret hummed at his quick response, ignoring it for the most part. He deserved the benefit of the doubt. He'd told them of Neal, tried not to tell Emma about Neal until they knew he wasn't dead so she didn't get hurt, and he'd done something to save David's life.

"You saved David's life." Why? "How?"

"He had as much a hand in it as I, on my honour," Hook assured her. "Much as he tried to resist it. I didn't give him much of a choice."

"Please tell me."

"He didn't want to tell Emma."

"Or me."

Hook hummed. Mary Margaret almost laughed. He was so transparent, whether because of his recent candour in the caves or an existing condition, she couldn't be certain, but she could read him now. Hook didn't spare a single thought to her.

He chuckled, "I suppose not."

"You wanted him to?" she asked, wondering why that was the first thing Hook told her about the endeavour.

The pirate evaded the question. "He wanted everyone to focus on finding your grandson."

Pointed use of the familial term was well placed, but Snow had years of diplomatic training. She knew that trick, it was one of her first lessons in speech making, always make it personal if you wanted someone to side with you or sympathise. She wasn't going to fall for it. Instead, she deepened her scowl and leant her elbows to her knees.

"Noble enough, but stubborn and foresightless." Hook hummed, "I had to trick him to take him to the peak."

Mary Margaret leaned away from the pirate. "You knew? Did he tell you he was struck?"

Something unsaid hung between them until Hook turned away from her, careful not to meet her eyes. She didn't understand until after he'd said his piece. "He was limping, favouring his side. I forced the confession from him."

And she hadn't even noticed. Mary Margaret scratched the wetness from her cheek, hiding it with the violence of the movement.

"There's a stream atop Dead Man's Peak."

"What a morbid name."

"It's a memorial," Hook snapped, scratching the back of his neck. "So I've been told."

"Surrounded by the poison, there's a spring, but it draws its power from the Isle. In doing so, those who drink it similarly become tied to the island."

There was no apology as Mary Margaret expected. Yes, she'd been preoccupied in the cave as her world crumbled around her but no she hadn't been so absorbed by her own pain that she'd missed the downtrodden expression and the guilt that passed over the pirate's face as David had told his secret.

"It saved his life." Her hand hovered for a second and then she let it fall against his leather coat, patting Hook's shoulder. "Trapped here is better than dead."

There were a few things she needed to yell at David about when her anger had dissipated a little, like how he hadn't had the faith in them that they could overcome this obstacle together and how he had trusted the pirate to be his confidante before he had trusted her.

But the man had put himself in harm's way just to fetch a cure, by his own account dragging a dying man up a mountain so that he might not abandon his family before his time was truly up.

No wonder the pair of them seemed closer the last few days, whispering behind her when she was five paces ahead. David would be a good influence on Hook, Snow realised, encouraging heroism in the villain. Perhaps he already was, Hook had been all too happy to approach David with Pan's message about Neal.

"Thank you, Hook."

The cocky pirate was back full force, a wide smile splitting his face for the words, "Pleasure, love," before his frown returned as he exhaled.

A moment of silence passed between them, the eerie soundlessness of the dark jungle making Mary Margaret's skin prickle. Full of life and danger one moment, absent of sound but just as danger-filled the next, the veteran of forests didn't think she'd ever get used to the duality of Neverland's environment.

"Earlier you said you lost half your crew."

A restless hand returned to the measure of rope in his lap, eager to avoid his own story. "It was a long time ago."

"I've had armies and friends that I've lost to evil, game-playing dictators too." You can talk to me about it if you need to.

Although Mary Margaret refrained from saying as much. Maternal coddling wouldn't be appreciated, she knew that much. But she'd seen the pirate in a new light as they had stood outside the Echo Caves and he had described how he knew of them. There'd been a loss in his explanation and a distance that could only be achieved by genuine grief and loss and a rank that disallowed the experience of such emotions lest the owner of them be perceived as weak.

It was that moment that Mary Margaret had realised this was not some dangerous pirate out for revenge or a dangerous man out for Emma. This was a man of war, who had seen too much bloodshed over the years, who had willingly and unwillingly sent friends to their deaths. This was a captain, stoic and strong by necessity not coldness, harsh and heady to perpetuate an image rather than his reality.

She saw every army general she'd ever known in him at that moment. She saw herself leading her own armies, remaining emotionless to keep everyone around her calm, or exaggerating her anger to incite rage.

"I'm sorry."

Mary Margaret stood to leave, hopping back over the log to walk in the direction she'd come, pivoting on her toes. The question she'd wanted to ask hadn't been voiced yet.

"Something else, Highness?"

"Yes, actually," Snow turned fully, eyeing the pirate once more. "How did you know the stream was there? The parameters of the cure?"

His voice was smaller than Snow had ever heard it when he whispered his response. "I knew the dead man."