jjxox8d: If all was equal, no, that's probably not the way Neal would choose to talk to Emma. But he is, after all, being manipulated by everyone's favorite charming, ruthless, and more than slightly jealous swashbuckler. Glad you are enjoying.

Chapter 5: In The Nick of Time

"Who is this sad pathetic creature you've attached yourself to?" Cora's azure skirts rustled over the wet grass as she drew closer, in that sinuous gliding bit she did where it looked as if she had no feet. "I told you to catch us a swan, and instead you're amusing yourself by tormenting that useless imbecile. Kill him and be done with it."

The witch was using magic to muffle their voices, but Killian still cast a glance up at the dark window of Granny's bed and breakfast. Somewhere within, Neal Cassady was either sobbing into his pillow or brooding into a large bottle of the yeasty piss these people had the temerity to call beer. "May I take this opportunity to point out," he drawled, "that you are, yet again, underestimating the breadth and depth of my ingenuity. That man, pathetic and imbecilic though he admittedly is, is also our princess's former amour. Their parting was painful and in unfortunate circumstances. Furthermore, said amour, under my influence, went faffing off earlier today to see her, in an attempt to plead forgiveness. It did not go well." He smirked.

"And?" Cora's voice remained cold and level as stone. "This has to do what with our plans? You haven't even paid a call on your former friend, sweet Belle."

"She lives in the crocodile's bloody den. I'm not diving in there until I'm quite sure what I'm doing. You see madam, I am a professional, and thus subtle. Whereas you, setting fire to your daughter's house like that. . . now that was not very subtle at all."

"Are you being insolent with me?" Cora's plucked eyebrows paid a visit to her hairline. "Captain, I regret to inform you, but subtle is precisely the last thing you are being. Very well, let me provide some inspiration. Don't you think that in default of acquiring the Swan girl's heart, it might work equally well for her murdered body to be tragically discovered outside of town. . . with the fatal wound made by this?" She reached under her cloak and held up something, metal gleaming in the moonlight. "The town would unite to condemn her killer. And emotions among all, not merely the unfortunate soul you are playing house with, would run very. . . high."

The night was chill, but Killian felt a deeper cold trickle down his back. "How did you get that?" he asked neutrally, resisting the urge to snatch his hook out of her hand.

"I get what I want." Cora smiled. "So, then. Shall we pursue this course of action instead? Killing her would be spectacularly unsubtle, indeed, but by then it wouldn't matter."

"Offing the Swan girl with my hook and framing me for the crime." Killian grinned fetchingly at Cora, hoping she found it disconcerting. "Why, you terrible old harpy, that sounds almost as if you still don't trust me. Firstly, it's far too excessive a move to make this early in the game, especially since there's no surer way to unite the whole bloody town against you. You may claim that you've nothing to fear, that you could take them on with your eyes closed and one hand tied behind your back, but that leaves out the fact that it's so much easier to get your enemies to destroy each other, rather than to fight them all yourself. You'll surely recall that we have to face your daughter and our crocodile at least, not to mention the blockheaded but devastatingly valiant Charming and his proficiency with large and pointy objects. There are so many ways to turn them against each other, play on their old resentments, the fact that your daughter cursed the lot of them in the first place, and you'd sacrifice me and Emma for a cause all of Storybrooke will support?" He shook his head. "Bad form. Very bad form."

"That's good, Hook," Cora said approvingly. "You sound so convincing, I almost forgot it's because the entire reason for your objection to it lies in your unwillingness to harm so much as a blonde hair on our princess's head. Me and Emma, indeed. And if that's the case, you forgot that I won't be the one blamed for it. They'll string you up and set you on fire."

"Unless I tell them everything, of course," Killian parried, more confidently than he felt.

Cora's eyes grew slitted. "In which case, I would be perfectly justified in getting rid of you. Remain this slippery, Captain, and you'll have no one to give you the benefit of the doubt. You were willing to abandon me and go over to the Swan girl, don't deny it, and now – "

"I gave you the princess' heart. I took you through the portal with my bean and on my ship. If anything, you owe me a favor. So, love." Hook stepped closer, until he was looking directly down into her face. "Do you really want to take the risk now, with all these enemies of yours so close? Do you really? You know how persuasive I can be, especially when it's my own neck on the line. If you landed me in gaol, I could sing songs like a canary, so that they'd vow to free me and I'd pledge to fight at their side. And if you killed the Swan girl with my hook. . ." He smiled at her again. "I'd mean it."

"So you do care for her." If his threat had rattled her, Cora wouldn't show it.

Hook shrugged carelessly. "She's a damn sight more diverting than the women I've had the misfortune to truck with in the last few centuries, I'll give her that. But more importantly, I just want to be sure that we're not forgetting that this isn't just about you. I have just as much power over you as you over me, should I choose to use it." He snapped his teeth. "Love."

"What was that?" Cora's lips pulled back. "Say that again, Captain. A bit louder. I didn't hear."

Killian opened his mouth, all set for a brazen rejoinder –

– then staggered, pain shooting through his chest like he couldn't believe. Worse still than the physical agony was the emotional insult: it was his own hook that Cora had just sunk into his chest, latching it into his heart, as the violet-colored magic crackled and seethed around the metal. He went to a knee, his hand rising in the desire to tear it out. He'd been stabbed before, in a few back-alley swordfights and tavern brawls before he became quite as handy with a blade as he was now, but nothing like this. Worse than when she'd done it in Wonderland, when she'd –

"Captain?"

It was the second time that day that Killian had been grateful to hear his first mate's voice – abjectly so, in this case. Cora jerked the hook out of his chest, mercifully without his heart attached, as William Smee hove into view, whacking through the overgrown brambles of Granny's backyard, flushed and panting. "Captain! What happened? Who is she? This can't – "

"Aye," Hook said through gritted teeth. "Me charming virago of a sidekick. We were just disagreeing on that, however. Whether it was her or whether it was me that was doing the kicking. She was inclined to the former, and was arguing most persuasive."

Smee's hand fell belligerently to his side, in search of a sword he wasn't wearing. "Well in that case, witch, you can just sod off!" He reached down and helped Killian up, then clenched his free hand into a fist. "We'll take her at the count of three. One, two – "

"Shut up." Killian snagged him by the collar, nearly launching Smee off his feet. "Bit more complicated than that. Just now, there's more important matters. Did you find her?"

Smee nodded lugubriously. "She's at the diner. Four sheets to the wind, poor lass."

"Who?" Cora disliked being left out of the loop.

Killian, after what she'd just done to him, intended to keep her there. "Who we've been looking for all this time, of course," he said, so virtuously that a whore might have asked for a prayerbook upon merely laying eyes on him. "Well then, Mr. Smee. You know what to do."

A slow smile spread over Smee's face. He had always had a gift for kidnapping defenseless young women. "Aye aye, Cap'n."

(8888888)

"Emma." Ruby put a hand on the prostrate sheriff's shoulder and tried to pry her off the counter. It was almost midnight, and all the diner's patrons had gone home, except for Emma, still clutching an empty glass. "Emma, come on. Wake up. It's late, and girl, you are trashed. Let me walk you home."

It took a few more shakes, but Emma's eyes opened. She stared up at Ruby through a baleful fog of alcohol, then shrugged off her hand and drunkenly got to her feet. "No," she said indistinctly. "It's not that far. I'll be. . . fine."

"Snow would kill me if I let you walk out that door alone right now," Ruby reminded her. "So give me half a second to grab my coat, and I'll – "

She was rewarded by Emma seizing the counter to prop herself upright, and pointing a finger sharply in her face. "No! Neither you or – or anyone needsh – needs to act like – like I am a little girl. . . like I need to be watched all the time, not after what just – what happened – no! Oh God, if you think. . ." Emma reeled sideways. "Sorry, you're not – not babyshitting me tonight. I'm not scared, I'm not – "

"Sweetheart," Ruby said. It sounded strange to call the older woman that, but she had very auntly feelings toward Emma. "You never told me what happened, why you came here falling apart in the first place."

"No, and I'm – not – going – to." It was some other person that was staring at her out of Emma's blue-grey eyes, somebody small and wild and desperate with pain, soused with vodka, out of her mind with fear. "I want to go home and I want to wake up and I don't care if I feel like – like h-hell, this had better be all a bad dream. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going home." She turned.

In an instant, Ruby was out from behind the counter, and had both of Emma's wrists in her hands. The sheriff was wiry, tough, and strong, but Ruby wasn't just a wolf by full moon. "Emma," she said evenly. "Listen to me, this is irresponsible. You have a duty to protect Storybrooke's citizens, and that includes yourself. Your parents – your son – everyone – we're counting on you. I know something happened to make you upset, but – "

"Yeah!" Emma's expression had turned crazed. "Everyone! Everyone needs me! I'll tell you what, you – you and everyone – don't know a thing about me! If you did, you would know why! Cora can't get my heart, I'm not frightened of her, I don't need you! Good – night!"

"Cora. . .?" Ruby stared, feeling her own heart seize up. "Emma, what do you. . .?"

Too late. The diner door slammed so hard that the bell rattled and fell, clanking, to the ground.

(8888888)

The instant she was outside in the frigid night, Emma felt horrible. Near-constant intake of strong alcoholic beverages over the last eight or so hours wasn't any excuse for that. Even the horrible shock that had prompted it – she twisted her face, trying to choke down a sob, because she wasn't entirely sure that her liquid medicine wouldn't come up with it – wasn't an excuse. She'd regressed, reacted exactly as angry, screwed-up eighteen-year-old Emma would have, shielded and defended and unwilling to let anyone anywhere near. She was trying to change, she was trying, and she should go right back in there and apologize to Ruby right now and let her give her a ride home.

But then pride flared up. Wouldn't let her come groveling back in. Wouldn't let her admit how much Ruby had seen into her soul, and couldn't breathe a word about – about him. If she didn't say anything, she'd have to wake up. Oh God, she had to wake up.

Quite abruptly, a few dozen yards down Main Street, Emma lost her balance, sitting hard on the sidewalk like some late-night wino chucked out of the bar at last call – which, to compound her mortification, was exactly what she was. The sheriff, the savior, and here she was on her ass on cold asphalt at 12 AM in this sleepy New England town, about to start crying and/or throwing up. Oh, Emma. I thought you were better than this. Was that her mother's voice, her own, or the voice of the foster care director, unhappily retrieving her from another failed placement? I thought you wanted to make this work. You're a bad girl. You're going to behave, or else.

With that, with barking, ugly sobs, her entire body shaking, she lost it. Oh God, oh God, could this be worse, could this be worse? He had succeeded, he'd reduced her to a blubbering mess, please could she just sit here and wait for the earth to open up and swallow her –

She was so involved in her emotional apocalypse that at first she didn't notice the figure that had appeared out of the shadows at the end of the street. It would have taken the Rapture or something similar to get her attention right now, but she became more aware of him as he approached. When he was closer, she saw that he was a concerned citizen, a short, dumpy guy in a red knitted hat and denim coveralls. He was curious, defensibly so, as to why one of his elected officials was having an atomic meltdown in public at an ungodly hour, but she still wasn't in any mood to deal with it. She drew up her knees, wishing more fervently than ever that she could turn invisible. Magic, if you're there, this would be a great time to kick in.

It didn't, of course. He reached her, did that worried face, and stopped. "Ma'am, can I help?"

"Noooo." Emma pushed herself to her feet, fast enough that her head started to swim. "I'm – fine." Yeah, he probably had never seen anyone who was less fine, but hell with that. "Just – going home now." She took a step, twisted her ankle, and almost took a facer.

In a blink, he was at her side. "No, ma'am. Let me help."

"Hell, no. I know – what guys do to girls – who look like they need a hand." Emma pushed him aside and wobbled determinedly past him. "You'd better – not mess – with me."

She thought she was walking faster than she was. It had been a long time since she'd been this drunk. And then, she felt his hand on her wrist, pulling her toward him.

"Sorry, miss," he said. "No choice."

No choice? And just what the hell did that –

A cloth clapped over her face. She tasted something sickly sweet and chemical up the back of her nose –

And then, nothing.

(8888888)

The first thing Emma felt was sick. Bile was coagulating in her throat, choking her, making her want to turn to the side and upchuck. She gave a few gurgling, drowning, retching coughs, but nothing actually came up. She was dying, oh God, Ruby and her mother and David and Henry, they were going to kill her anyway, an idiot, she'd been such an idiot, she'd lost it, she'd ruined it for everyone, she was –

– on her own bed?

Of all the outcomes that could possibly follow from being chloroformed by a creepy stranger at midnight while drunk out of her mind, this was the very last one she had expected. Unless it was even worse than she thought, and some pervert had been spying on her since she got back, knew where she lived and was going to shut them in together to do God knew what, oh Jesus her imagination was going to be the death of –

"Feeling better, sweetheart?"

Every inch of Emma's body shut off as if someone had hit the switch, as if she was a kitten and a mother cat had hoisted her by the scruff. She lay utterly motionless on her bed, dazed neurons careening and shrieking through her brain, panicking like someone had hit the fire alarm. Sunlight was driving into her eyes with downright personal malevolence, and she heard a dull thumping from somewhere. Like her heart pounding in her ears, like she was about to faint.

She knew that voice.

No. I will do anything for this not to be happening.

Barely lifting her head, she muttered, "You."

"Me." It was her imagination (please God let this all be her imagination) but the cocky bastard sounded almost genuinely concerned. She heard him moving closer – oh god he was in her apartment – and felt his shadow fall over her. "Surprised, love?"

"You – " That was too much. She bolted upright, gasped when the nausea hit her, and fell back onto the pillows, mashed with her sweat and drool. It wasn't possible, it was the least possible of all possible things, but Killian Jones, Captain Hook, Captain Insert-The-Insult-Here, was standing over her. He didn't look much like her last sight of him, in his swishy leather pirate getup with his eyeliner and his hook. He was, in fact, dressed in jeans, a jacket, and a slouch hat, and as for the trademark appendage, it had gone somehow absent. But she would have recognized him anywhere, in any world, in any clothes. Hook. He was a pirate. A villain. A bad man. He'd been watching her, he'd kidnapped her, and he knew where she lived.

"How long have you been here?" She shrank back.

"Wouldn't you like to know, love? Wouldn't you like to know so much about me?" He sat down on the foot of the bed, as utterly relaxed as if he was dropping in for tea. "But at the moment, you want to thank me."

"I do?" She glanced around in every direction for her phone. If she could just get hold of it for a second – hard to call the sheriff when you were the sheriff, but David would be over here on the double and the things he would do when he got his hands on this –

"Indeed you do," Hook repeated. "Because that – " he pointed with his handless left arm – "scabrous, villainous, barnacle-encrusted, turd-eating, rum-soaked seadog of a scurvy wretch decided to knock you out and attempt to abduct you when your judgment was somewhat. . . suspect? No, love, no need to apologize. Happens to the best of us after a long night sodding our miseries away. You're just lucky I was around to stop him."

Emma whipped her head around, then stared. Positioned a few feet away, tied wrist and ankle to one of her dining room chairs with one of her washcloths serving as a gag – oh god he'd been in her bathroom – was, indeed, the very same red-capped doughboy who'd attacked her in the street. Seeing her, he let out a pitiful whine, and wriggled energetically in an attempt to free himself, causing the dull thumping noise that she'd heard before. It went, predictably, nowhere.

This was all too much for her. Hook had – Hook had. . . saved her? Taken her home? But why had he brought the attempted crook into her apartm –

"I'm missing my hook, currently," the pirate captain announced, "but there are other sharp things which can serve just as nicely." With a fluid, dexterous motion of his only hand, he produced a knife from somewhere about his person, and laid it elegantly to the miscreant's throat. "Would you have me do to him as he'd have done to you?"

"God, no!" Emma blurted out, horrified. "Are you out of your mind? I don't know how you found me, I don't know what you want, but – " There was so much more she wanted to say, accusations to fling into his face, about how he'd brought Cora here and endangered all their lives –

– yet what if he hadn't?

Why did she want to believe him? Why was she attracted to this. . . this. . .

Her tongue was thick and fuddled. The hangover was killer. She still hadn't caught sight of her phone. She was going to have to think her way out of this one; somehow she didn't imagine he'd let her best him in a fight again. She steadied herself as much as was humanely possible in this moment – which was to say, barely at all – and drew herself up.

"All right, Hook," she said evenly. "I'm not going to pretend I understand any of your moves since the last time we saw each other, or even from the first time we met. But if this little act of kindness is a sign that you want me to trust you, why?"

"Oh, who said anything about trust?" Hook gave the knife a turn, and his prisoner whimpered. "I'm in no hurry to get chained up again, love, and I recognize the desire to do so most ardently in your eyes. But now that I'm here, the rules have changed a bit. Hey?" He gave her a smile that would have been flirtatious, if she hadn't been able to count all his teeth.

"You." She looked around for something, anything to use as a weapon. "In the cell, you said you were done with – "

"Cora happened to be standing not five feet away," Hook reminded her. "What else did you think I was going to say? I'm always available to the highest bidder."

"You're despicable."

"Careful, love." He raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't want my hand to slip. Dead man in your apartment? Very uncomfortable to explain away."

"Hook!" Emma felt like charging across the room and slugging him into oblivion, but the odds that she could carry out the former just now, much less the latter, were infinitesimal. "What do you want?"

He evaluated her, looking her over deliberately from head to toe, in a way that could have been more suggestive, and more inappropriate, only if he'd dropped trou and started into a Chippendale's dance routine. Then he smiled again. "A little gratitude would make a nice start."

"Grati – "

"This is the – what – third time I've let you off? Fourth? As a pirate, the goal is to get so much that you forget how many, so I'm afraid arithmetic isn't my strong suit. I let you get away from me, I let you get home through the portal, and now I let you get home again. Forgiveness isn't my strong suit either. But as it happens, love, I'm making you a deal. A one-time offer. Let's let bygones be bygones, you properly thank me for everything I've done for you, and I'll tell you everything I know about Cora, and how to defeat her. Savvy?"

Emma stared at him. "Yeah. Pull the other one."

"Not interested?" Hook tipped a shoulder in the masterpiece of a disinterested shrug. "Pity." He started to turn away.

"No!" God damn it, she was going to regret this. "I – just – wait. Wait, all right? Just. . . let's not do anything stupid, although I know that's a special ed class for you, and we can maybe. . . discuss it. You can be the first one to prove your sincerity."

That caught him off guard. Bloody bastard, served him right. "I can?"

"Yes." Emma stiffened her spine, eyes watering. She felt like seven kinds of hell, but no way she was letting on. "You better listen to me. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to go get the cuffs and gun from the station, and then I'm going to come back here and arrest our little friend. If you're still here when I do, we'll talk. If you've done a runner, we're over for good, and I will hunt your ass to every corner of this earth or any other. Got. It?" She stared him down, cold and sharp and dangerous as a vorpal blade. Or what she imagined a vorpal blade would be like. Even with Jefferson around, she'd never actually seen one.

"Aye aye." Hook grinned again. "I would despair if you didn't, darling."

"Bastard," she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear her. With that, trying desperately to think of anything except what her family was going to say, she swung around and exited.

(8888888)

"You didn't have to shave me so close, Cap'n," Smee fussed, when the princess had gone. He worked his jaw, with an expression of deeply wounded pathos. "Nor tie the gag so tight, neither."

"You didn't have to hurt her." Hook flashed his most serpentine smile. "I advise not to do so in future."

Smee blinked. "But – kidnap her, you said, and that you'd swoop in and foil – "

"That is neither here nor there. Do I hear you questioning an order, Mr. Smee?" Hook dug the tip of the knife into his first mate's chest, and twisted it just enough to raise a drop of blood. "Is that what that was, Mr. Smee?"

Sweat was starting to stand out on the other pirate's fleshy forehead. "No, Cap'n."

"Good. I would hate to think that crew discipline has gone entirely to pot in my protracted absence." Hook removed the dagger, blew on it, and thrust it back into its sheath. "And before you ask, no, I am not going to untie you. Aside from the fact that I am going to enjoy watching you squirm, you need to be intact when our lovely lass gets back."

Smee blinked, astonished. "What? You're actually negotiating with her? I thought all that was just a – "

"My dear Mr. Smee, you ran into the problem with 'I thought.' " Hook paced a few steps across Emma's carpet, glancing around interestedly at this space so fragrant with her scent, so filled with her things. "In the future, you'll be leaving that to me. But yes. As our favorite witch likes to say. . ." He smiled – achieving, at that moment, a remarkable resemblance to a crocodile himself. "The game is on."