Hook enjoyed a few seconds of Swan gaping at him. She remained flushed as she seemed to remember why she had come to see him. "I want you to explain these," she hissed, shoving a stack of small rectangular pieces of paper into his hand and then ducking away with embarrassment.

"How did you find me?" he asked, but she didn't answer. He placed the papers on the table; it would be impossible for him to sort through them one-handed. They were what he understood to be pictures, moments in time captured forever and meant to be displayed. They were unbelievably common in this realm, but he was still getting used to them. There were several pictures of Swan and Henry in the stack she had handed to him, but also some of Mary Margaret, and plenty of Regina, frequently with Henry. He recognized several landmarks from Storybrooke, and Henry stood in front of some local businesses in some of the pictures.

The last of the pictures were very different. They showed Swan and the Dark One in a very strange setting, carrying luggage; the two of them sitting closely beside each other in a tiny, crowded room; Henry in front of a sign welcoming people to New York.

"Storybrooke isn't real," she said angrily, pointing at signs with the town's name in the pictures. "I Googled it as soon as I left yesterday. Why was my son's camera even in your apartment?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, genuinely confused.

She blushed. "Okay. I followed you back here yesterday, and while you were gone today, I might have broken in." She paused. "Sorry. I found a camera with Henry's name on it, and I brought the film to be developed this morning."

He hadn't noticed anything that might have belonged to Henry, but then again, he wasn't sure what a camera was either. It was probable that he'd seen the item but not known what it was. Either way, if it belonged to Henry, he had likely left it in the apartment last year by accident.

"We never took this flight!" she continued. "I don't know this guy I'm in photos with. And who is this woman hugging and kissing my son?" She pointed frantically at a picture of Henry with Regina.

"Swan, could you please calm down?"

"I haven't been 'Swan' in twelve years!" she shouted, not taking his advice. "I don't understand why you're doing this to me. First you tell me that you've found my parents, and then you give me these photos …" She trailed off. He was about to point out that he hadn't given her any photos, as she had broken into the apartment and stolen them, when she pointed to his arm. "You only have one hand," she observed.

"I had indeed noticed," he said, not bothering to hide his irritation. He missed his hook, which he'd stashed in his leather satchel, and did not appreciate that she had made what he considered to be a rude observation. "If you'll pardon me, you interrupted me while I was bathing. Had I known you'd be dropping by at this hour, I would have made sure to be ready with my prosthetic so as not to alarm you with my deformity."

She flushed again. "I'm sorry. That was really rude of me." At least she had the guts to admit it.

He shrugged. "I accept your apology. Besides, you are clearly very upset right now, and I am the person who's introduced all of this stress and uncertainty into your life."

She looked at him for several long moments, not speaking, as if to assess him. "What was your name again?"

"Killian Jones," he said, willing her with all his mental strength to remember.

"Okay." She sat down on the sofa. "And you want to bring me to my parents?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Did—" but something on the low table in front of her caught her eye. "What the hell is this?" she asked, her anger returning quickly. She stormed over to him and shoved a piece of paper in his face. It was an envelope that read, "Neal Cassidy" on it, and had the apartment address listed underneath.

"How is this possible?" she demanded. "Neal's never lived in this apartment. Are you trying to steal his identity or something?"

"Why on earth would I do that?" He didn't mean to spit it out so disgustedly, but he was a little offended at the insinuation that he would want Bae's identity. Of course, he was jealous that it was Bae who got to live happily ever after (at least for the past year) with Swan, but it wasn't as though the marriage were real.

"Listen, Killian Jones," she said, her voice low. "I want an explanation for everything. I want to know how you know who my parents are. I want to know why they need me. I want to know how you got a camera that belongs to my son even though he's never owned such a camera. I want to know why there's mail here addressed to my husband, who's never lived here. I want to know why there are photos of me and my son in this town that doesn't exist." She crossed her arms. "And if you don't tell me, or if I'm not satisfied with your answer, don't think I won't call the cops."

He bit back the challenge that was sitting on his tongue, which was that he hadn't broken any laws, but he didn't know what the laws here were like. Perhaps he had broken some laws. And from what he'd gleaned, Swan was still a bail bondsperson, so if she was threatening to have him arrested, it wasn't necessarily an empty threat.

But what could he say to convince her? There was no explanation, at least not one he could think of, besides the truth. And he was unshakably sure that the truth wasn't something she'd accept.

He had no choice, though. "The only explanation I have for you is the truth," he said. "And I don't think you'll believe me. So I suppose I've wasted your time."

"Then I want the truth," she said. "I'll be the judge of whether or not it's believable."

He clenched his jaw. How would she react to the truth? She hadn't responded very well when he tried to prove that he knew her. Why would this go any better?

But she was staring at him, eyes filled with desperation, mistrust, and … perhaps hope.

"Your son's camera," he said, trying to get the pronunciation right, "was probably left here when you were here a year ago."

"I've never been in this apartment before," she immediately responded.

"You have. You just don't remember."

"Why wouldn't I remember?"

He licked his lips nervously, feeling simultaneously as if he were drowning and dying of thirst. "Because you—both you and Neal—had to give Henry his best chance. You had to start a new life with him, and all that you remember … it's just a story to give you a good life."

"Why would we need to start a new life with him? How could our whole lives be just … just a made up story?"

"It's a spell," he admitted. "It's complicated, I assure you."

"A spell," she said slowly. "Like, a magic spell. You think we've had a magic spell cast on us." She wasn't asking, but she clearly didn't believe him either.

"Aye," he said anyway. "And you need to remember what really happened. Your parents, they need you." He needed her, too, but that seemed unlikely to convince her.

"Why do my parents need me?" she asked.

"I don't actually know why," he admitted. "But I know them well enough. If they need your help, it's for good reason."

"Wait, you actually know them?" She stood and approached him, poking him in the chest with her finger. "I thought you just had information. You know my parents? You're friends with them?"

"I mean, well, I suppose we're friends." He wasn't sure that was really true. He and David had begun to get along in Neverland, and the prince and princess did seem disappointed that he wasn't going to stick around when they returned to the Enchanted Forest. And, if he were allowing himself to be honest, he did miss some of the camaraderie he'd felt with them, before Pan's curse had destroyed everyone's happiness. "But that's not why I agreed to help them."

"How do you know them anyway? Why would you agree to help them?" He sighed and backed up a bit, but she moved in again, backing him up against the door.

He was sick of this. There was no explanation that would satisfy her. Indeed, none of what he'd said had convinced her of anything besides his own insanity, ill intentions, or both. She would stay here, in her fake life with her fake husband and her son, and she would never return to Storybrooke. David and Snow, and who knows who else, would suffer an unknown fate now that they'd been re-cursed, and he himself was doomed to forever wander the Land Without Magic, without friends, without family, and without a home.

"I know them for the same reason I know about your superpower," he said angrily. "The same way I know about your tattoo and the bootlace. I know all this because I know you."

"I've never met you before in my life," she retorted.

He laughed madly, exhausted from the emotional ordeal. "Oh, you've more than met me, love. You've fought alongside me. You've shared a drink with me. And one time, you did this." And before he could stop himself, and more importantly, before she could stop him, he grabbed her by the collar of her coat and pressed his lips to hers.

To his surprise and (he had to admit to himself) pleasure, Swan didn't immediately resist. Her lips were just as he remembered, and he deepened the kiss, pulling her into him and running his tongue against her bottom lip. Almost automatically, her mouth opened for him, and he felt her tongue against his as she leaned into his bare chest. He had forgotten that he was nearly nude, and the reminder sent a flood of sexual scenarios into his mind.

And then it was over. She seemed to immediately come to, as if she hadn't realized until that second that she'd been kissing a man who wasn't her husband.

"What the hell are you doing?" she said angrily. She seemed equally shocked at her own behavior as she was by his. And before he could say anything, either to try to explain or (and if he was being honest with himself, he would admit this would be more likely) goad her into resuming the kiss, she pushed him out of the way of the door and left.

At least this time, he thought to himself, she'd been the one who couldn't handle it. But he spent the rest of the night, lying awake in bed, replaying the kiss in his mind, knowing that he still couldn't handle it either.