written pre-finale; Emma has a question for Hook about why he helped her family.
"I wanted to talk to you about something," Emma says, hesitantly taking a step up the helm of the Jolly Roger. His eyes are cast out at sea, but flick to hers as the stairs creak with her next step.
He looks as though he wants to throw out a quip, but as if thinking better of it, he nods and gestures her forward. He is noticeably tired, his shoulders caved, his weight supported by the wheel of the ship.
Emma joins him on the helm, but keeps her distance. "I was thinking about something." She looks at her hands. "When Rumplestitlskin and I…when we went to New York…you followed us. You were never trapped by the curse."
"Thank you for the reminder, love," he sighs shortly, like he's bored, but his eyes have widened slightly, waiting for her to continue.
She pauses. "You could've left any time today. You didn't need to risk your life, you didn't need to fight with David, you didn't need to…stick around." She says it like a statement, but they both know it's a question.
"Aye, I could've left. And I would've lived while Rumplestitlskin died. But," he inhales sharply, quickly glancing up to the sky before darting his gaze back to her, "I would've been alone."
He licks his lips, straining to will the words forward. "I've been alone for longer than you've been alive, Emma. Rumplestiltskin took from me my happiness, but revenge has kept me from ever getting it back. I've felt vindication, when I thought I'd killed the crocodile, and it's emptier than you'd believe. It left a hole wide enough to swallow the sea. I realized that I have nothing, Emma—nothing to lose."
Emma takes a step closer, both seemingly unaware of her movement. She wants to say something, and her hands dance at her sides, but she can't find the words. He continues, "If I stayed and we lost, then at least my misery would end. If I stayed and we won…even if only some lived, well…perhaps…"
He trails off, looking down, as if ashamed of the word.
"Perhaps there's hope," Emma finishes for him, her neck arched, looking at him in a way that she wasn't quite before. He meets her gaze briefly, before turning his eyes back out to sea. For someone so old, he suddenly seems so young.
"Yes, love," he says, "perhaps there is. I felt more alive, fighting today, than I have since—" He abruptly cuts himself off, and stares down at his right wrist. Emma follows his eyes, and they both glance up into each other's at the same moment, remembering their climb up the beanstalk.
"Than I have in a while," he quickly amends, smiling softly.
Emma too is smiling, the first time in what feels like forever. Perhaps even since her welcome home dinner. He stares at her as if trying to memorize the moment, an intense and white-hot fire behind his eyes.
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Emma mumbles an excuse and thank you and begins descending down the stairs. He watches her go silently.
Halfway down the helm, she pauses and glances back over her shoulder, meeting his eyes. They both want to say something, but there are no words for the moment, so she slips back down to the deck, back to her parents.
The only confirmation that she was ever even there is the gentle beat in his chest, a quiet hammering he hadn't known in so long that he'd forgotten what it sounds like. But he knows it when he hears it. And so does she.