Author's note: Hey guys! Glad you're liking so far. To clear up two questions: Thank you for pointing out that Hook's eyes are actually blue. In my stories, I made them green—my little way of acknowledging this is not canon material. Plus, I do like green eyes. :D Also, these events are indeed a continuation of "That Sinking Feeling," which tells the story of Hook nearly drowning at the hands of Greg and Tamara on behalf of Henry. They threatened to erase Emma's memories of Hook to cover up the murder, but she thwarted them and saved Hook before that happened. Thanks for reading! Four days until 3B! Here's hoping Captain Swan becomes a thing . . .

A few days passed after Emma's conversation with Henry. It was a particularly cool October afternoon in Maine. Emma glanced at her watch.

4:50.

"What?"

She abandoned the rest of her paperwork to the desk. She didn't even bother to put it away. The office door shut behind her as she jogged down the hall to Henry's room.

"Hey!" She poked her head around the corner. Henry looked up from his bed, where he lay reading a book. "Hook will be here soon. Are you sure you don't want to come?"

He shook his head. "You guys go. This will mean a lot to him. Besides, I'm going over to Mom's for dessert and a movie when she finishes up for the day."

A few months ago, it was weird to hear "Mom" come from his mouth in reference to her. Now it was weird to hear the same word applied to Regina. But Emma wasn't about to complain. So the kid had two mothers, a dad, a set of normal grandparents who happened to be her age, and a slightly redeemed grandfather.

At least he would get lots of Christmas presents.

Emma nodded. She pulled her head out of his room, but a second later, she poked it back in. She frowned. "Your bed is made."

Henry looked down at it. "Yeah?"

"Your bed is never made."

"I remembered."

Emma moved closer. She lifted the comforter, only to find creases in the sheet corners sharp enough to cut bread with. "You made your bed military style. Where did you even learn how to do that?"

Henry smiled. "Hook showed me. Day before yesterday while you were gone getting ice cream for dessert. We set the table and then I took him to see my room. He saw the bed and made me make it. But it's not military style, Mom. It's navy." And with that, he went back to his book.

Navy?

Emma almost couldn't puzzle that into her understanding of the man. Former naval officer. In the service of her parents' neighbor kingdom, no less. She closed her eyes.

Lieutenant Jones.

Uniform. Hat. Shiny sword. Clean boots. Buttoned-up coat. Clean shaven. Following orders. Yes, sir. No, sir. Come about, men. Look tidy now. A beaming little brother.

She could see it. Barely.

I wonder if he ever battled another ship. Legally.

She tried to imagine him as the rising star among officers, the kingdom's best and brightest. Patriotic. Facing risks in the name of a king. Fighting the kingdom's enemies alongside his brother.

Emma's eyes bulged at a thought. Rum less!

The knock at the door interrupted her mental efforts. She opened it to find the man in the pirate clothes.

"Afternoon! Sorry I'm late. Had to stop for a refill." Hook smiled his easy smile and wiggled his canteen in the air.

Emma stared at him, projecting. Uniform. Hat. Patriotic. She stared at him as if she could peel away the pirate to glimpse the officer underneath.

Hook tilted his head. "Not that I'm complaining, love," he purred in that way of his, "but if you've invited me over for the sole purpose of staring at one another, perhaps we'd be sensible enough to do it indoors. Your land is bloody freezing."

"Killian Jones," Emma murmured, almost under her breath but not quite.

Uniform. Hat.

Respectable. Beaming little brother.

Lands and stars above, she could see it! (Did she really just say that? Now she was talking like him.)

Emma saw green eyes and dark hair under a crisp white hat—or so Mary Margaret had described the kingdom's uniforms. A double-breasted jacket with gold buttons. Square shoulders. Long gait. Expectant gaze cast to his older brother. Sea breeze in his hair. The railing of the kingdom's ship beneath his hands.

Hook blinked. "What did you just say?"

Emma stood there, staring. It was like standing in a dark room and somebody had flipped on the lights. How could she not see it before?

Killian Jones, dressed as a pirate.

Hook shifted closer. His eyes stared right back at her, and suddenly he looked afraid. "What are you doing?" he whispered. He looked like he wanted to run.

Emma shook her head. She blinked. He was a pirate again, staring at her like she was going to break him into little pieces.

"Sorry," she smiled quickly. "I was, uh, thinking. Come inside."

She nudged the door shut behind him and hurried to the closet. "I just have to get my coat. It's in the low forties today."

Hook grunted. He removed the phone from its base in the kitchen and ran his fingers over the rubber buttons. "I believe I shall be unimpressed with your winter, here." He turned it over, frowning. "What is this?"

Emma took the phone from his hands. "I'm ready. Let's go." She paused in the doorway, appraising him. "You're wearing a leather coat."

The corners of his mouth lifted. "I do that, occasionally."

His hands were bare and his neck was exposed by that ridiculous collar that definitely did not accentuate his cheekbones. Definitely not.

"We're going somewhere outside. I don't want you to be cold."

Hook stepped into her space. He held her eyes with his own and reached his fingers to just brush hers at her side. "I've a solution for that."

She always backs up, she realized. Always shuts him down. He never shows it, but how does that hurt him, she wonders. Does she leave tiny cuts in his heart when she brushes him off?

She didn't want to hurt him. She wanted to stay where she was. So, she did. She stood her ground long enough for him to realize she hadn't moved, and when he did, a smile tiptoed onto his face that was all surprise and a little hope.

"I have a solution, too." Emma slipped her red scarf off and looped it twice around his neck. She fluffed it so it brushed his cheeks, and then she slipped her right glove off and stretched it over his good hand. "A little small," she smiled, "but it is black leather. Call it a welcoming present." Carried away by sheer impulse, Emma slid to her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. The scruff on his cheeks was scratchy and so okay.

Hook looked afraid to speak, afraid to move.

Although her heart was already hammering away at her ribcage—gosh, she cannot believe she just kissed the man without thinking twice—Emma sucked in a deep breath and grabbed his hand as she turned towards the door.

It was a little sudden, at first, but based on his slack-jawed expression, she didn't think he noticed.

Emma led him outside. She turned to lock the front door, and then they stepped down the three porch steps to the sidewalk. They walked in the direction of the town outskirts.

Not once did she let go of his hand.

By the time they reached the end of her street, his fingers curled around hers. She may never let go.