"You bloody kept it?" Hook nearly shrieks, a look of rage washing over his face as he too recognizes the object. "After all this time? As some sort of sick trophy?"
"Here we are," Hook whispers, more to himself than anyone, but Emma glances over, just close enough to hear him. Sensing her gaze, he flicks his eyes to her, a thin, almost uncomfortable smile pulling at his lips. "Storybrooke," he says to her, his voice forced.
And she knows why, in the way she inexplicably always seems to know with him.
In Neverland, on the Jolly Roger, on the search for Henry, he had a place. He had a purpose. Now, with Henry safely woven underneath her arms, the wind kissing his forehead as the ship descends from the skies, Hook is back at square one, staring down an empty road.
"Home," she replies encouragingly, allowing herself to give him a soft smile. Hesitation—an unfamiliar look on the pirate—flickers over his face before he returns the smile, albeit nervously.
She'd be lying if she said things weren't different now between the two of them.
Somewhere between him saving her from drowning at the webbed hands of a hungry mermaid and her protecting him from a deranged nine year old with a short sword—something shifted.
His teasing became gentler, her laughter more common, his stares, already always charged with desire, took on a whole new intensity that she didn't quite know how to describe—maybe even longingly was the word—but she also certainly didn't dislike.
But Henry was the focus, and he knew that, no matter how long his eyes lingered on her lips. And he wasn't going to instigate anything while she was still in mourning of Neal, but she was glad he didn't—it was as if waiting for her to be ready.
Ready for what, she isn't sure. She has asked herself that question every day in Neverland, and she still doesn't have the answer.
She almost wishes to grab his hand just to soothe his nerves, but he's standing to her right and his hook juts out from his sleeve rather than his hand. She stares at it for a moment before turning her gaze back to the docks of Storybrooke, now just below them.
A silhouette stands waiting at the docks, as if somehow expecting them, russet hair billowing in the wind. She glances over at Gold, still pale from his brush with death. Hook, of all people, had been the one to save his life back there, having seen the threat first and nearly died himself in the attempt to stop it—a fact which neither man seemed comfortable admitting or addressing.
"Belle," Emma says softly, recognizing the figure, then repeats it louder, over her shoulder to Gold. He straightens, rushing to the railing of the ship, relief flooding over his face in the form of a wobbly smile.
By the time the ship touches the water, most of the golden pixie dust has fallen off the wood, a few blinking yellow specks remaining in the swollen sails.
Hook leaves Emma's side to dock the ship, his motions terse and tense as he brings them to port. As they all descend the gangplank, Emma motions Regina to take Henry. She wants to wait for Hook, if only to make sure he doesn't disappear the moment they all step on dry land. She can tell he's thinking about it.
"Are you coming?" Emma asks, the last one on board.
He only looks at her, giving her the same restrained stare he's been gazing at her with since he pulled her out of the clutches of mermaids. Emma raises her eyebrows, and for a moment, she's afraid he will say no. She's had enough people leave her, and he's the only one who's come back. He can't go now, not after…
"Aye," Hook replies after a beat, as if reading her thoughts. Her heart slams against her chest so loudly she thinks he might hear it.
The minute they step onto the dock, Emma is greeted by a forceful hug from Belle. Emma stumbles back a bit, surprised. "Thank you," Belle breathes, "for bringing him back to me."
Emma smirks. "It's actually not me you should be thanking," she says wryly, glancing over her shoulder at Hook. "He's the one who saved his life."
Belle's mouth drops open, glancing between the pirate and Gold. "Rumple, is that true?"
Both men emit a terse huff of agreement, looking off in other directions. Emma spares a glance at her parents and Regina, waiting on expectantly. Mary Margaret sends Emma a knowing smile, to which she frowns at.
Belle crosses the dock to a rather exhausted looking Rumple, and puts her hand on his shoulder. "You know, in my time as shopkeeper, I happened to notice something in the back room that might serve as a 'thank you'—something that doesn't quite belong to you. " she says softly, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, that is the nature of a pawn shop," Rumple replies smoothly, a condescending smile inching up his lips.
"Rumple."
His face drops, and after a moment of glancing around at the curious faces of those around him, he sighs audibly. "Very well. Hook, I may have something of yours that I expect you'd like back."
Hook opens his mouth likely in protest, his eyebrow already raised sarcastically, but Rumple cuts him off. "Trust me when I say, you're going to want this." He then swivels to face Emma. "And Miss Swan, you may want to send your boy home with your parents or Regina, as I expect you plan to join us whether or not I invite you along."
"Damn straight," Emma smiles mirthlessly. She nods to her parents, crossing to Henry. She drops a kiss onto his forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow, kid. Get some sleep." Exhaustion sweeps over his face and he nods sleepily as Regina steers him off.
Emma watches the four of them slip off before turning to the remaining group. "Now what?"
"Wait here," Rumple instructs the moment they step foot into the pawnshop, slipping off behind a dark curtain beyond the register. Hook glances around, his fist still balled at his sides, clearly uncomfortable.
"Interesting collection," he murmurs, eying an amber pendant in the display case the way a child eyes candy.
"So," Belle hums eagerly. "Where'd you go?"
"Neverland," Emma replies, only barely stifling an eye roll.
Belle gasps excitedly, her face lighting up. "Oh, I've read all about Neverland! Was it as—"
"No," Emma immediately interrupts, exchanging an amused smile with Hook, "no, it was not."
Rumple then emerges from the back room, carrying a glass terrarium on a wooden pedestal. Emma strains her eyes to see what's inside, widening as she realizes what it is.
"Is that—"
"You bloody kept it?" Hook nearly shrieks, a look of rage washing over his face as he too recognizes the object. "After all this time? As some sort of sick trophy?"
Rumple only smiles thinly. "Well, aren't you glad I did?" He hisses in a restrained voice. "Was I right in expecting this is something you'd want back?"
The anger drops from Hook's face, his mouth abruptly shutting. Emma glances between him and the object—His fucking hand, she thinks to herself, here, the whole time—eyebrows high on her forehead.
"As a show of thanks," Rumple says lowly, still begrudgingly, giving his hand a flourish. A plume of purple smoke envelops his left arm as the crash of metal clanks to the floor. Emma's eyes follow the source of the sound; the hook sits at his feet, suddenly just…an object. Gradually, she raises her gaze to his left hand—his left hand.
Hook—Killian—raises his hand in front of him, flexing it, clenching and uncurling it slowly with his mouth agape. Belle beams at Rumple, who stands impatiently, but the ghost of a smile traces his lips. "Holy shit," Emma murmurs, staring at his hand.
Her voice seems to break him of his thoughts. He turns to her, a wild and unreadable look on his face, causing Emma's heart to jump. It's as if all the ways he's ever looked at her have found their way into one expression.
"Emma," Killian breathes, his voice soft, "may I have your permission to do something I never thought I would do again?"
She tries to speak, but finds her throat dry, so she just nods, her eyes wide as he closes the distance between them. His right hand reaches up to her face, and slowly, after a moment's trepidation, he raises his left hand and cups her cheek with it.
His fingers ghost around her ear as his thumb traces circles on her skin, causing her eyes to flutter closed. They stand like that for a moment, and when she opens her eyes, he's staring at her with an unrestrained and undeniably…hopeful look. Her heart skips again.
"May I do the other thing I never thought I would do again?" He whispers hesitantly.
Emma's face breaks into a smile, and she laughs softly, almost deliriously, nodding yes nearly imperceptibly. He scans her eyes worriedly, as if giving her an opportunity to run, before dipping his head down, his lips brushing against hers.
The kiss is gentler than she would've expected. But then again, so are they; two soft, broken souls encased in hard, protective shells.
She doesn't know how long they stand entwined, as if it's just the two of them alone in the room. She doesn't care if Belle and Rumple see. Hell, she doesn't care if anyone can see.
His left hand only leaves her face to run through her hair, never breaking the kiss. He plays with it for a moment, bunching it up in his fist before returning it back to her skin, tickling her neck, shoulders, back, waist—everywhere his hand can be, it is.
When they finally break for air, they truly are alone in the pawnshop, Belle and Rumple having slipped off. "Home?" She breathes, their eyes still glazed over and foreheads beaded with sweat.
He pauses, but only barely. "Home," he agrees. Emma takes his left hand in hers, and squeezes it as if to remind both of them it's still there.
They step into the moonlight, their fingers laced.