also no prompt for this one, just bumped into me and said hey

.

.

—but whatever my heart needs around

.

Emma cursed under her breath, running a hand through her hair as she looked around for a quick, surreptitious way to get the hell out of the situation post-haste, but even in New York City in broad daylight, when the streets were packed with people, running from the NYPD was a terrible idea.

She tried to think up a story — she still had her bail-bondsperson ID from Boston, she could claim that Hook was — no, that would get him arrested, and then they'd see through it when they didn't find any record of him. She could say that he'd left his ID somewhere else, that the outfit was… a costume? Or maybe —

"Who are they?" Hook asked in a low voice, and she determinedly kept her eyes in front of her.

"Police," she replied, and at his blank look, went on, "the law," and he caught on, sucking in a deep breath through his teeth.

"They spotted us?"

"Apparently," she muttered. "Or someone tipped them off."

"Let's hope they merely saw us," he said darkly. "If someone told them, it would mean we're being followed."

"Not necessarily," she whispered. "They could have just — "

"Sir? Ma'am?" one of the cops said, tone clipped and barely civil, catching Hook by the arm to stop them. Emma debated the merits of calling in the 'manhandling of suspects' thing, but decided against antagonism. Yet.

"Yes?" she asked innocently; Hook glared at the officer's tone, but kept his mouth shut.

Small favors.

"Couple matching your description was spotted on A and East 5th near an apartment that showed signs of a break-in," he replied, glancing at Hook with a critical once-over.

"Must be a pretty deserted street," Emma said, raising an eyebrow, and the cop turned back to her, his expression, if possible, souring further.

"Surveillance footage," he explained, hands on hips, "from the lobby. Your boyfriend here… well, he stands out a bit, don't you think?"

Shit.

She glanced at Hook, trying to work out some story on the fly, but he wasn't looking at her. Instead, he took a deep breath and looked up, scratching the back of his head, wincing as he turned back to her.

"I… might have lied," he said, cringing convincingly. "About where I live."

"What?" she asked dumbly, not sure if he was doing what she thought he was doing — and if he was, she had to stop him right now.

"Go on," the other cop said, finally speaking up.

He sighed, still wincing, and pulled a pocketwatch out of one of his apparently-infinite pockets — she'd seen it before, he'd taken it off his ship because he'd noticed she didn't have one and this mission was time-sensitive. "It looked valuable," he explained apologetically, handing it over and holding out his hands, surrendering without a fight. "I'm not exactly… swimming in gold."

"So you were gonna sell it?" the second cop asked, raising an eyebrow and taking it from him, catching him by the wrist and bringing it around his back to cuff him; something in Emma twisted and cut her through as it hit her in a rush — a watch.

He had no way of knowing, he'd probably just grabbed the first semi-valuable thing he had on him, he couldn't know — a watch — it was just a small thing.

"No, this is — " she started, choking harder on the words than she wanted. "Killian, don't, it's not like that, he didn't — "

"Emma," he snapped, cutting her off and shooting her a beseeching look with a warning in his eyes. "Thanks for the attempt, but I'm the one who stole it," he sighed. "I'll not drag you down with me, love." And then, pointed: "You need not worry over me."

"That's arguable," the first cop said, pulling him away from her and into a car, and he just — he went, he went with them because she needed to take the potion and get this settled before nightfall and she couldn't afford the time it would take to deal with the police and he wasn't strictly necessary and he was taking the fall for her for a crime he didn't even really commit and it was so sudden and it was a watch.

She couldn't breathe.

The officer shut the door on him and the other looked at her, at her stunned face, and misread it — in her favor, at least, assuming that she obviously didn't know a damn thing about this, or about him, and that questioning her would be a waste of time a busy cop didn't care to bother with.

"He's a pretty one," she said, making for the car. "But look up your dates before you go out with them, jeez. You're lucky he's just a thief."

They drove away and Emma fingered the potion in her pocket.

It was a watch.

And she got away scot-free.

.

She had managed to compose herself and prepare by the time she got to the precinct, card in hand — as a bailbondsperson, she'd been paid on commission and, even this far removed from that time, hadn't had much occasion to spend the money in her bank account, so she figured that, unless they were asking an illegally-obscene amount for bail, she could pay it. They'd be back in Storybrooke before the court date, and she honestly didn't care if they charged her for the other half.

He was not going to jail for her, end of story.

This was such bullshit.

(The anger helped.)

"He doesn't have any identification," the officer working the desk said, leaning back in her chair. "No records, nothing. He's lying about who he is, and we're not going to release him until we get the truth."

Emma had expected this, and had pulled a few tricks from her dusty bag to get a fake birth certificate for him, with a faxed-over ID, that she'd called in a (weak) favor with Gold to produce, to sell it, at least for long enough to get him out of custody; it probably wouldn't hold water, but it would suffice for now.

"I have his identification," she explained, handing over the copies. "He left it all in Boston, we came here in a bit of a rush."

She prayed to every god she'd ever heard of that he hadn't tried to make up his own story, or, if he had, that it didn't contradict with hers in any inexplicable way.

"Why didn't he just say so?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "He didn't want to get me involved," she sighed, and didn't have to fake the annoyance. "I'm on a time-sensitive thing here, I guess the idiot thought I should just leave him here until it was over."

"Nice girlfriend you are," the cop mused, glancing over the papers. "He lies to you, steals to impress you, and here you are, all sweetly paying up to get him out." She looked up over the desk in distasteful pity. "He must be something else in the sack," she added in a mutter.

Emma smiled tightly.

"Just let me post bail, please."

"You'll have to wait a bit," she replied. "Gotta confirm everything and set a price. If you're on a time-sensitive thing," she went on, sweetly mocking in a way that made Emma want to leap over the desk and beat the holy hell out of her, "you should probably get on that."

"Thank you for the advice," she said coolly. "I'll wait."

The officer left with the papers and Emma sank into one of the chairs, burying her face in her hand. Awful as the cop was, she was right — they didn't have time for this.

But she couldn't leave him here. It wasn't practical, it wasn't smart, but it wasn't about him — she owed it to herself to do this.

She had thought all the resentment was behind her, they'd dealt with it in Neverland, they'd dealt with it on the beach, it was over,it was in the past… it was still boiling under her skin now she was standing on the other side of it because she wasn't even — she and Hook weren't even really a thing but he'd just offered himself up to help her and — and she was better than that, better than leaving him here because there was something more important at stake — she wouldn't leave him alone to deal with the police and face the consequences for a crime he didn't commit so she could get away.

Emma was better than Neal had been then.

Emma was better.

The sun had already set well before they came back with a price and she handed it over — too late to get anything else done today, too expensive to justify keeping two rooms for another night in a city hotel — and he was led back out.

And he had the nerve to look annoyed.

"All right, Mister Jones," the cop holding onto his arm said, sounding and looking sullenly bitter. "If you're not there on your court date, your loving girl here will get charged for the rest of the bail, understand?"

"Understood," he replied tightly, jaw clenched almost as tight as hers. "And how much is that, by the way?"

"It doesn't matter," she cut in, taking him by the arm and leading him to the door. "Thank you, officer."

He stayed quiet for about a block and a half, keeping up with her sharp, agitated pace.

"Why did you do that?" he asked finally, voice carefully even.

"I'm not leaving you to rot in jail, okay?" she snapped, and her irritation just provoked him further.

"To the point that you'll compromise this mission?" he replied, almost accusing. "It warms my heart to know you care so much," he went on sarcastically, a bit nastily, "but we're here for a reason,and it isn't to waste all of your money getting me out of a trivial situation."

"Trivial?" she shouted, starting to draw attention; she sucked in a deep breath and jerked him into an alley. "Trust me, jail is not trivial, especially not for Captain goddamn Hook, you have no ID, that crap I just handed over won't hold up. They'll interrogate thelife out of you, and if they find footage from Neal's apartment, with you stabbing Gold? They'll lock you up for — forever! It's not trivial, it's a goddamn nightmare, and you should have let me handle it!"

"You think I've never dealt with the law before?" he snapped back, and she cut him off before he could go on.

"Not like this! You're in a world you know nothing about, you have no idea what you're doing!"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry for trying to help you accomplish your goals," he snarled. "You had the damn potion, you could have gotten whole nonsense finished with, you didn't need me and you didn't need to waste your time and money fighting with the law. Now what do you plan to do? Waste more time? Every day we're here is another day everyone else is at risk — "

"Since when do you care about everyone else?" she yelled, blinking hard and turning away in frustration, more with herself than with him — he had the higher ground in this argument, and they both knew it; he was angry because he was confused.

And she couldn't explain it to him. It was a story she'd never told, words she simply couldn't force past her lips, now or ever.

"Honestly?" he laughed harshly, with a sort of bright contempt. "I don't. I don't give a damn about the rest of them, I care about you, and you will suffer if anything happens to them. I will not stand here and have you suffering because of me!"

She felt like she'd been stabbed in the chest, and reacted in the only way she knew how: with a frustrated growl, she whirled around and slapped him in the face.

It was a huge mistake, and she knew it immediately — he was still furious, but now increasingly wounded, reaching up to touch his cheek in a pain that wasn't entirely physical.

But she couldn't stop.

"I did not ask you for help," she hissed, clenching her fist and shaking with what she desperately pretended was anger. "I did not ask you to sacrifice yourself for me, and I do not want you to. What the hell does it even matter to you, you're a pirate, what do you even care?"

For a moment, neither of them breathed — shit, she had screwed up, and badly, and the look on his face said she might not be able to come back from it — until his jaw clenched and mouth twisted into a sneer.

"As you wish," he said softly, tone belying his expression. "I apologize for the presumption that I might be welcome in your life."

And, without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

.

She was numb we she got back to the hotel over an hour later, hands shaking so hard she could barely slide the keycard into the lock and walk — calmly, breathing shallow, fragile serenity plastered unconvincingly on her face.

Henry was already asleep. She wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

God, she had messed up.

He was probably already gone.

She covered her mouth with her hand and stared up at the dark ceiling, leaning against the door and trying not to let it all sink in — the one person who had come back for her, supported her when she so desperately needed support, risked everything he had for her without question or hesitation, helped her and protected her and sacrificed himself for her the moment he thought she needed an out, the one who had been instrumental in saving her son — she'd driven even him away.

Even Hook — even Killian.

The one person she had finally let herself believe wouldn't leave her… and she'd made him leave her.

Tears were hot in her eyes and she tried not to let them fall, biting her lip until she tasted blood; without thinking about it, in a blank, agitated despair, something between hope and self-loathing, she rummaged through her pockets until she found the key to his room.

She needed to see it for herself, the empty space where he should have been, needed to kill that tiny, irrational hope that maybe he'd stayed.

But when she stepped into his room and closed the door quietly, the lamp was on and his coat was slung over a chair, a half-empty bottle of rum on the desk; the shower was running; she couldn't breathe.

Dimly, she walked over to the chair and touched the coat, hands still shaking.

Why was he still here?

Emma sat heavily on the bed, facing away from the bathroom door and staring, sight unseeing, at the curtains.

She'd lashed out, overreacted — and how! — and struck him as hard as she could, physically and verbally, pushed him away with everything she had… and he was still here.

She swallowed thickly and turned her eyes to the floor when the shower cut off, sitting absolutely still as the door opened and he stopped in the threshold.

"Swan," he said dispassionately, and she flinched — he sounded almost like she was leaving Anton's castle all over again. She tried to find her voice, some explanation, some sort of conversation, but her voice stuck in her throat just like she knew it would.

There was only one way to fix this — he would understand. He would — he would probably forgive, if she could just find the words to explain.

She stayed still as he moved around behind her, apparently dressing but otherwise silent; when he stopped moving entirely, she closed her eyes.

Just say it.

"It was a watch," she croaked, and clenched her fist into the comforter.

"What?" he asked incredulously. "That's what — "

Emma swallowed hard and bit her lip again, and repeated firmer, cutting him off, "It was a watch. A high-end watch, there was a whole set of them," she said tightly, every word cutting sharper than the last. "Twenty grand, easy." She looked up to the ceiling, blinking several times to draw the tears back in, with little success. "We were gonna sell them and start over, go to Tallahassee, get real jobs, a real home, a real — " she choked and swallowed " — a real family."

It took a moment to gather the rest of the story.

God, she wished he would say something.

"He gave me one of them, said we'd keep this one, it looked so — good on me," she went on haltingly. "He said he'd be back later that night, meet me at a parking garage, and then we'd — " she blinked and clenched her jaw. "'Tallahasse, baby,'" she whispered. "That's what he said, Tallahassee, home."

"But the lawmen showed up instead," he inferred warily, and she looked down.

"I thought — someone had called in an anonymous tip, it turns out it wasn't him, but at the time — " she bit her tongue and tried to take a steady breath. "It wasn't even really my crime, I'd — he'd stolen them and hidden them in a train station, and I went in and got them because the police would recognize him, but the tip — told them to check the surveillance footage." She paused, taking several deep breaths and turning back to the ceiling. "I put myself on the line to get him out of trouble, and I took the fall when he disappeared, and he just… left me there, in jail — I hoped it was wrong, I thought… maybe he'd find a way to post bail and get me out before the trial, but he never came and I went to prison.

"I lost everything," she said softly, barely above a whisper, "I lost a year of my life, I had to give up my — " she took in a sharp breath through clenched teeth and looked back down, closing her eyes and finally losing the battle with the damn tears. "I lost everything because I loved him and wanted to help him."

He didn't reply for a long time, so completely silent behind her that she almost thought he'd never been there at all, that this was all a hallucination or a dream; after a few moments, it was suffocating.

"I'm sorry for hitting you," she said evenly. "It was uncalled-for."

"Water under the bridge," he replied — finally, finally, finally — and walked over to the bed, around to her, but she didn't open her eyes, even as his hand brushed her hair from her face and settled low on her cheek, fingers in her hair and thumb brushing through the tear tracks she refused to acknowledge.

She didn't look up or speak or even move; the moment was fragile, and she was brittle like diamond, always had been — unbreakable except that one weak spot that would shatter it completely and this was that spot, and she couldn't do this in front of someone, she couldn't — she wasn't the girl who buried her face in anyone's shoulder and cried about things she couldn't change — she wouldn't, couldn't give in to it like that.

Maybe he knew (he probably did), because he didn't try to drag her to him or try to make her 'let it out' — all he did was lean up and press his lips to her forehead, fingers tightening against her cheek and around the back of her head. He lingered there for a long moment before pulling away and resting his forehead on hers; the tiny intimacy drew a single sob from her throat that she swallowed before it could grow, and his fingers tightened further, drew her a little closer.

It was such a small thing, but the gaping maw in her chest closed up at the motion.

Finally, she took a deep breath and sat up, away from him, bright like nothing had just happened, like she hadn't just fallen, the one sudden moment the stories talked about —

"Anyway," she said hoarsely, and his expression was unreadable, tense in a way she didn't want to think about (like she wasn't the only one in pain over this), "tomorrow is — gonna be a long day." She stood up and turned away before she could make the mistake of looking him in the eyes. "We should get some sleep."

"Of course," he replied, hand having fallen from her face but lingering on her shoulder; she swallowed against the desire to fall into him like he clearly wanted her to — he clearly wanted to comfort her as much as she needed and didn't want to need him to — and walked away. But then, just as she was at the door — "Emma."

She paused and turned slightly, indicating that he could go on.

"Thank you."

A beat passed before she could reply. "Yeah, well," she breathed, deliberately misunderstanding, "funny as the thought of Captain Hook being interrogated by the NYPD is, I think it would end badly for everyone."

She expected him to play along, but he didn't, instead saying in a low voice, "You know that isn't what I meant."

Without looking back, hand clutching the door handle for dear life, she whispered, "I know," and it took him almost too long to respond.

"It won't happen again," he said; Emma tried to think he was talking about the arrest or the fight or anything else, but he wasn't and it was too late to pretend.

She took a deep, shaky breath. "I know."

"Good."

It took an unreasonable amount of time and effort to turn the handle and open the door. "Get some rest," she said lamely, the bizarre need to hear his voice again rising up inside her. "It's been a… day."

"It has," he replied, matching her careful tone. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight," she whispered, and left.