"Sit!" Emma barked. She pointed at the couch.

Instead of following instructions, Hook sashayed towards her. He hovered in her personal space, but she held her ground. She stared at him with all the glare power she could summon. Hook didn't flinch. He only smiled.

"Do you intend to release my hands?" Hook kissed her cheek. When that didn't get a response, he kissed her nose, then lightly on her lips. Then her jaw. Against her neck, he whispered, "I'm rather hoping you say 'no.'"

That's it. Emma grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him into an armchair. She released his hands with the key Gold gave her. "Sit. Down."

Hook looked taken back by her tone. "Don't fuss so, love. It's all in good—"

"Shut up." She put her hands on either arm of the chair and leaned close to his face. He smiled, but it faded when her glare remained in place. "I don't know what your issue is," she said, "but you shape up right now before I make you."

The smirk was back. He leaned towards her, breath ghosting across her face. "Is that a promise?"

"What's wrong with you?" She wasn't shouting now. She wasn't giving him the death-glare, either. She rocked back on her heels just a little, shaking her head. "You nearly drown to protect Henry. Three days later you're the town despot? I'm not buying it." Her hand pressed against his forehead. "Are you sick?"

Beneath the drunk stupor, something lucid flashed in his eyes. Pain. He dropped against his chair, eyes anywhere but hers.

He needs a minute.

Emma left him alone, hoping he'd pull it together if given some privacy. She brewed black coffee. Returning with the largest mug she owned, she almost dropped it onto the living room carpet when she saw Hook with his head thrown back, canteen emptying its contents into his mouth.

He protested when she ripped it from his hands. "No more alcohol, Hook!"

"You are not my mother—"

"Drink this." She shoved the coffee into his hands.

"What is it?"

"Now."

He tasted it. "This is bloody awful."

"Finish it."

"Give me my rum back."

Emma snorted. "You are not having rum for the foreseeable future, pal."

The scowl on his face gave her pause. "I'm not playing games, Swan. Give it back."

"You have to listen to me. It's for your own good." She capped it and started to walk away.

Hook stood. Swiftly. The coffee cup hit the floor. Emma took a step backwards.

"You do not tell me what is for my own good, savior." He growled. Emma couldn't look away from his eyes. He backed her against the wall. His hooked arm snaked behind her body to capture her far wrist, keeping both arms pinned down. He pressed his good arm against her throat.

Emma swallowed. "You need to calm down—"

"Stop telling me what to do," he hissed. His breathing was heavy and uneven. Puffs of exhalation blew from his mouth, and Emma blinked when they hit her face. Hook suddenly winced, then groaned. Under his breath, Emma heard, "Liam, I'm so sorry." Hook pushed his forehead against hers. "Save me from the voices, Swan."

"What voices?"

When Hook opened his eyes, the lucid flicker was gone. He dragged a lingering gaze up and down her. She shifted her shoulders, trying to free a hand, but he had her too tight. His eyes glazed. "Oh, I like this."

Emma tried again. "What—"

"Ssshhh." Hook pressed a calloused finger to her lips. "I like my pets silent." He smiled then, but it wasn't him. It sharpened his features and matched the hard look in his eyes. "That's what you are now. You are my little pet swan." He fondled her chin and tapped her on the nose. "You must obey me, little thing, or I'll have to discipline you." A laugh rumbled inside him. "Won't that be fun?"

"This is not you." Emma murmured. "You're out of control. Step back."

Hook tutted and pinched her lips shut.

"Ah-ah. Silence, I said." He trailed a finger down the side of her face. "This is me, darling. I am the villain. With a dark, black heart. I don't get a happy ending." His gaze dropped to her mouth, and that smile was back. "But I do take what I want."

"You're drunk." Emma winced when he pushed more pressure against her throat. She wiggled her shoulders again. He pressed his body against hers, driving her into the wall. "You are drunk and upset. This is not who you are."

"Let me show you who I am." Hook pressed his lips to hers and kissed her. She squirmed, she grunted, but he didn't stop.

This will kill him when he snaps out of it.

After a time, the panting pirate released her lips long enough to kiss along her jawline and down her neck. With eyelids pressed shut like he was in euphoria, he moaned against her skin, "Delicious."

He'll never forgive himself.

"Hook," Emma said. "Back off. Now."

"Make me." He tilted his head sideways and went after the soft skin under her jaw. She caught her breath, lifting her chin even higher. Hook murmured his approval as he pressed in.

"I don't want to hurt you, but I will."

He was working himself into a frenzy. His breath came faster, ragged. Like his mind spun somewhere a million miles away, he kept whispering, "My pet swan." He went after her lips again, hard. Emma winced.

"Last chance—"

She couldn't even finish.

"What's the matter, savior?" he said, once he'd come up for air. He chuckled against her mouth, tickling her lips. It was a horrid, disgusting sound. "Can't you save me?"

Okay. That was his last chance.

Emma tried to knee him, but he must have felt her tense because he pressed his boots against her feet, spreading her stance just wide enough so she couldn't move. He smiled into her neck. "Shall we play rough?"

"I'm not playing."

Emma knocked her forehead into his. He stepped back, and up came her knee into his gut. His head flew downwards. It cracked against the knee it found there. She wrenched a wrist free and slapped him so hard the sound of skin on skin echoed into the kitchen. He stumbled backwards. Her opposite hand swung back and slapped his second cheek. Hook fell to the floor.

Emma didn't realize how fast she was breathing until Hook remained motionless and she could hear her own snorting in the quiet living room.

"You," Emma said to the outstretched body, "need to calm down."

Voices danced in Hook's head. He groaned and rolled over. He saw ocean, and stood on a ship that rocked wildly from one side to the other. Every time he tried to stand, he fell back on his face.

The voices hissed louder when he fell. The words were not distinct, yet he knew what they said.

He failed. Three hundred years later, and he still failed.

Milah and Liam frowned down at him from the sky like gods casting curses.

Why had he failed them so?

Hook dropped to his knees. "I'm sorry!" He clutched his head in his hands and pressed his forehead against the deck. It felt strange—soft and feathery, not wooden.

He looked up at the sky as tears slipped from his eyes. Milah was gone, but Liam still frowned. Black tendrils climbed across his face as the nightshade set in.

Hook's shoulders shook as he sobbed against the deck. "Brother, I'm so sorry."

Liam reached a god-sized hand and seized his shoulder. Hook pressed his eyes shut. Liam shook his shoulder, shouting his name.

"Hook! Hook!"

Hook? Liam never called him that. He was still Killian, then.

"Hook!"

Liam's voice morphed into Milah's. Smaller, but just as sharp.

"Hook, wake up!"

"I'm sorry, Milah," he whispered, eyes shut tight. He saw nothing but blackness. The hand still shook him. "Forgive me."

"Killian! Wake up or I'll hit you again."

That sounded like . . . Swan.

Hook's eyes sprung open. He blinked. Indeed, Emma Swan's face was above him, frowning. Her hand was on his shoulder.

Emma.

"Hey!" She looked at his eyes in turn. "You with me?"

Hook closed his eyes. He dropped his head back into the full embrace of the pillow. The corners of his mouth lifted, and he hummed. "Forever and always, love."

Emma seemed relieved. He reached for her hand, but he couldn't find it. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that she had withdrawn a pace from the bed, with her arms crossed.

Hook struggled to sit up. "What happened?"

"You tell me."

"I . . . I don't remember."

"There was alcohol. Lots. And lots. Of alcohol."

Hook pressed his good hand to his forehead. "That would explain this bloody headache." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned over. Blood rushed to his head in pulsing, throbbing waves. "I've never failed to hold my own rum."

Emma snorted. It was not a friendly sound. "Yeah, well. Trust me. This time, you failed."

Failed. Failed. The words echoed in his mind, and for a moment, he saw the open blue ocean with the two scowling god faces in the sky. He groaned into his hands.

It was quiet in the guest room of Swan's apartment for some moments. Amid the buzzing, Hook remembered a bar.

"I went out for a drink," he said at last.

"That, I assumed."

"I went to that establishment by the docks. I wanted to try some of your native rum." Hook searched her face for something.

She seemed so . . . cold. Like the old Swan. The one he met in the Enchanted Forest, when she pulled him from the rubble and then pressed a knife to his throat. Where had his Swan gone?

At the native rum remark, her face softened into what counted as a smile on the old Swan. "Apparently, it has more of a kick than what you are accustomed to."

"Indeed. I hope I didn't say anything foolish." Again, he searched her face.

Emma bristled, but she tried to hide it. "Context is everything. Let's get your system recovered." She brushed past him to the guest bath, where she summoned forth the hot water from the closet with the clear door.

Hook knitted his brow. Something was wrong. He stood, approached her from behind. "Emma?"

She jumped when his voice hit her ear. He saw a hand as she spun and then felt the smack against his face. Emma gasped as he stepped back.

"I'm sorry!" she said.

Hook held his hand to his stinging cheek. Under the soft sound of the falling water, he whispered, "What did I do?"

"Nothing."

Emma tried to step past him. He stopped her by taking her hand, sliding down until he held on by grasping only a fingertip or two. "Please tell me."

"You were not yourself."

"Did I hurt you?"

"Hook—"

His heart beat faster. "Did I hurt you?"

Emma gave a long blink, during which she whispered, "I don't want to talk about it right now. Take a shower."

Hook's insides gutted. "I did hurt you."

"No. You didn't. I swear."

"Then what?"

"You just—"

"Yes?" Hook took a step closer.

"I don't know."

"What?"

Emma threw her hands. "You just scared me! I'm fine. We don't need to talk about it. Now would you please just drop it and take a shower?" She stomped out of the guest room.

And when the water hit him and his mind cleared and the world came into focus again, he remembered.

He remembered everything.

Hook stumbled out of the shower, dressed in his layers and leather, and hurried, almost tumbled, down the stairs. He paused when he saw her in the kitchen. His words—his nasty, untrue words—came back to him.

A villain with a dark heart. I take what I want.

"Emma," he whispered.

She looked up from the bread she was buttering.

He was so distraught, his knees buckled. He caught the edge of the kitchen table to stay standing.

"Sit down," Emma hastened to pull out a chair. "You're dehydrated after all that alcohol."

Hook ignored it. He stared into the depths of her green eyes and held her arm. "Emma, I beg your forgiveness. I am ashamed at my actions."

Emma looked at the ground. "I, uh, was really hoping you wouldn't remember."

Hook glanced past her to the wall, and he remembered holding her there. You must obey me, little thing, or I'll have to discipline you.

He shuddered. Never had he spoken to her that way. What dark place in his heart could store such thoughts?

Failed.

Hook dropped to his knees. He hung his head and clutched his hair. "I've never done this before."

Emma squatted in front of him. "I know."

"I hear the voices."

"What voices?" When he didn't answer, she lifted his chin with two fingers. "Hey," she whispered, searching one green eye then the next, "talk to me."

Hook trailed his eyes over everything he'd done a few hours ago. Her lips, her face, her neck and jaw. Her lips in particular still looked a little swollen.

He hung his head again. "I am so sorry. It's best that I leave."

When he tried to stand, Emma took his arm and sat him back in the chair. "You're not going anywhere until we figure out what happened."

"I already know what happened, Emma!" His voice quivered. "I conducted myself with great dishonor. I am only thankful I did not hurt you further. I—I need to go."

"Look, just relax." Emma ran a hand through her hair. "It's not like you've been an AA success story ever since I met you."

Hook frowned. "What?"

"Never mind. What I mean is, I'm used to seeing you on a steady rum intake. And while the alcoholic level of ourdrinks is higher than what you're used to, I don't think it's enough to make you come unhinged like that. So what else happened?"

Hook shrugged. "Nothing. I just drank."

Emma sat down with him. "Why?"

Hook rolled his eyes, and small smile eased his face. "If I have to explain that, love, you don't know me as well as I thought."

"No, I mean—why did you go out last night? What made you decide to try our alcohol last night? Why not a different night?"

Hook looked away.

"That's what I'm talking about." Emma shifted in her chair. She wasn't going to let this go, he realized. "There's something you're not telling me. What's wrong?"

Hook looked at the floor. He wanted to take her hand, to hold her, but after that morning, he would never touch her again.

So when her hand reached for his and her fingers threaded through his own, Captain Killian Jones "Hook" had never felt so alive. He raised his eyes to hers, surprise written all over his face.

"Tell me," Emma whispered.

And in that moment, Hook knew he would tell her everything.

"Last night," Hook's voice sounded hoarse in his own ears, "was the night that Liam died—so, so long ago. After I goaded him into testing the poison. Several years later, Milah died on my ship because of my actions. And ever since then, when I am alone, I hear their voices." His voice caught. He waited a moment. "I've tried every vice available to man to take the pain away: Rum. Opiates. The rush of battle. Plundering." He glanced at her eyes, then away. "Women."

Emma squeezed his hand, but she said nothing.

"They work for the night. Then morning dawns. Sunlight comes through my cabin window, and I want to crawl to a corner." Hook swallowed. Something wet slipped out of the corner of his eye.

Emma rubbed it away with her thumb. "Go on," she whispered.

"I realize . . . I don't know the face of the woman stirring next to me. I couldn't find her in a crowd, haven't the slightest notion of her name. The rum has worn off, leaving a headache in its place. The bag of opiate is depleted, but I long for more." He closed his eyes. "Countless are the mornings I stood before the mirror and despised the creature looking back." Hook dropped his face to her hands. "I'm so weary of the pain, Swan. I am desperate for peace."

He expected any number of things. A sigh, a pat on the hand, words of comfort—or awkward silence.

What he didn't expect was the softest whisper of his name, his real name, he'd ever heard fall from a woman's lips, followed by Emma's arms around his neck and her hair against his cheek. He caught his breath as his mind registered her body, warm against his, as she pulled him into her.

When was the last time someone had embraced him like this?

A portion of his will panicked. He should extract and run. No one could see him like this.

But Hook had no intention of leaving her arms. He collapsed against her strong frame, head safe on her shoulder. They sank out of their chairs to the floor, and he didn't care. He didn't realize he was sobbing until he felt his chest shaking against hers. Her hand drew soft circles into his back, alternating a light and firm touch.

Emma rocked him—for how long, he couldn't care. In that kitchen, time became meaningless.

He clutched her to him like she was the last real thing in the world. And then he said what he'd carried inside him for centuries but never spoke aloud for lack of one person to listen. "I miss him so much, Emma."

And that's when he realized she was crying, too.

Hook pulled back far enough to brush her tears away with an embarrassed smile. "Lands, lass, I didn't mean to make you cry, as well."

"You stupid pirate," she whispered, "don't you dare ruin this."

Emma took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. She kissed his cheek, and his nose, and his eyes.

He remembered that morning, and a flush burned up his neck. "Please," he murmured. "Stop. I don't deserve—"

"You are not alone, Killian." Emma's voice was strong, although her face was as wet as the sea. "This place is about rewriting the story. You can belong. You can feel loved. You can find peace. But if you want to heal, you have to let go of the past."

Hook tilted his head down until their foreheads met. "Do you know," he whispered, "how long it's been since someone has held me like that?"

Emma pulled him close again, resting her head against his. Hook closed his eyes. "I will do this as often as you want."

When she could see his face, he smiled with a raised eyebrow.

"As a friend." She punctuated that with with her own raised eyebrows. "You need to belong to something again, Killian. I'm here to help you."

Hook brushed his knuckles against her face. "Trying to save me, savior?"

"I'm helping you save yourself." She kissed his cheek, and then she stood. She held out her hand.

When Hook took it, he gave himself time to enjoy the feeling of his fingers curled around hers. She pulled him to his feet and sat him down at the table. He watched her rummage through the cold box.

"Now, we're going to plan the fun things we have in store for the day while I make lunch."

Another heavy knock on the front door interrupted them.

Emma groaned. "Now what?"