"Swan," he choked out hoarsely, interrupting the kiss; she immediately resumed it. He couldn't believe his good fortune, that he finally had her in his arms, and that she had been enthusiastically kissing him for several minutes.

But she wasn't herself. If she wanted him, it wasn't because she really wanted him—not the way he wanted her to want him. She didn't know him at all; he was just the stranger with one hand who'd invaded her life and begun to destroy it. He broke the kiss, but couldn't bring himself to let her go.

"That wasn't all I dreamt," she murmured into his neck. He felt tears wet his skin. No, he wouldn't have her like this. It wasn't right.

"What else did you dream, love?" He tightened his arms around her and buried his own face into her shoulder.

"I dreamt of you in the hospital … I'd handcuffed you to the bed, and I was interrogating you after you'd done something terrible."

"Not one of my finest moments, I can admit."

"I dreamt of us arguing about letting someone die to save the town—Storybrooke," she added quickly. "I was trying to convince you to do the right thing, but I don't know if you did."

"I did," he said. "Eventually."

"I dreamt that we were in a jungle and we were kissing passionately."

"A favorite memory of mine, I assure you."

Her lips were on his again; she kissed him gently and repeatedly, talking in between. "That kiss, it did something." Kiss. "Every time, it feels more familiar." Kiss. "Well, I mean, obviously, because I keep kissing you." Kiss. "But that's not what I mean." Kiss. "I think I've kissed you before."

He carefully pushed her back and studied her flushed face. "Swan, listen to me. I want you to have all your memories back. But it's late. You need to get home to your family."

"I told Neal that I was gone for a case and that I'd be back Sunday," she said, sounding embarrassed.

He blinked. "Had you planned to stay here the entire time?"

She shrugged. "I wasn't sure what would happen. But I figured that if this was a disaster, I could go home and claim I'd figured out my case early."

"And has it been a disaster?" He held his breath.

"I … I don't think so," she admitted sheepishly. "I don't understand what's happening, but I just—I just have a gut feeling."

"Well, you are welcome to stay as long as you'd like. I'm happy to take the sofa."

"Thank you." She untangled her arms from around him, grabbed her bag, and headed into the washroom. He felt suddenly naked and cold, although he was fully dressed, and the apartment was still a little humid and stuffy from the rainfall.

When she emerged, she had a white stick poking out of her mouth, and she was dressed in night clothes. "Thank you, um," she said, her words obscured slightly from the stick. She set her bag down, grabbed the stick, and began rubbing it against her teeth. "Hold on." She returned to the washroom, turned the water on and then off again, and returned with the stick in her hand. "I'm so embarrassed to admit this, but I don't remember your name. And I know I've heard it more than once."

He smiled sadly. "I take no offense, love. It's Killian. I hope you sleep well." And with that, he turned off the light in the living area, lay down on the couch, still fully dressed, and pretended to fall asleep.

The next morning, he awoke to a heavenly smell floating through the apartment. When he opened his eyes, he saw Swan, fully dressed, in front of one of the kitchen appliances. She turned when she heard him shift and sit up. "Good morning," she said, and he smiled at the pleasantry. "I'm making pancakes. I had to run to the store—you've got absolutely nothing in this apartment. What have you been eating?"

He dodged the question. "I appreciate the meal. Thank you. Is there some way I can assist?"

"Yeah, you can go change. I can't believe you slept in your clothes from yesterday."

By the time he returned from the washroom (even before the memory loss, he wouldn't have wanted to upset Swan by changing in front of her, no matter how tempting it was), dressed in some of Bae's more comfortable clothes, Swan had finished cooking and was putting two plates on the table. He was pleased to see that pancakes were something he'd already encountered; a year ago, he'd ordered some at Granny's, shortly before Pan's curse was enacted. They ate in silence, but it was of a more amicable nature rather than an unsociable one.

"Please, let me wash up as a way of expressing my gratitude," he said as she stood up and began carrying the dirty dishes to the sink.

She paused mid-step and stood still as he took the dishes from her and finished transporting them. "That's what the 'thank you' was for," she said quietly.

"Sorry, love?"

"I said that. I said that to you. You were trying to get me to kiss you."

He slowly began washing. "Aye."

"And it worked."

"Aye. Well, I suppose. You took a little more prompting than that, lass."

"I dreamt more last night." He didn't say anything, but she didn't seem to expect a reply. "We were climbing a beanstalk. You made me think about Neal. And then we faced a giant together."

"Do you remember how we left the giant's home?" he asked patiently.

"No. The dream ended first." That was probably for the best.

A few minutes later, she stepped beside him and began drying the wet dishes and cookware. "I also dreamt of Neal."

"Oh?"

"When we were young, we fenced some watches he'd stolen, and used the money to make a new life," she said. "That's the money we used to move to Boston when we found out we were having Henry."

"This isn't what you dreamt, I take it?"

"I dreamt that Neal tipped off the police and let me take the fall for the theft. I dreamt that I gave birth to Henry in prison. That I abandoned him," she added miserably.

"You weren't abandoning him, Swan. You were giving him his best chance. And Henry knows that. He's forgiven you and he loves you."

"You're just saying that."

"I am not. You broke the curse with True Love's Kiss. That doesn't work if one person doesn't truly love the other."

"Then tell me this," she said, setting down the now damp towel and handing him a dry one. "When you first kissed me, I began to have these strange dreams. When we kissed last night, I had even more of them. What does that mean?"

He was silent as he dried his arms and hand. She continued. "I mean, on the one hand, if that had been True Love's Kiss or whatever, it should have restored all my supposed memories completely, right? But on the other hand, if it had been just a normal kiss, then nothing would have happened."

"I honestly don't know," he replied. "You'd have to ask Rumplestiltskin. Or Regina."

"I had dreams about Regina," she admitted. "I dreamt that I cut down part of an apple tree just to piss her off. I dreamt that I almost choked her to death in a storage closet at a hospital. I dreamt that she and I rescued Henry from Peter Pan." He chuckled. "What, is that supposed to be funny?"

"Peter Pan is no joke," he admitted. "It's just amusing because the two of you hated each other so much, but when it came to saving Henry, you put your differences aside. You made quite the team."

"We make quite the team," she said. His heart skipped a beat.

"I hope it didn't upset you," he said with a weak smile, recalling the same moment.

She frowned. As much as it was a familiar expression, he hated that he was causing it to appear so often. "You said Rumplestiltskin took your hand?"

"Aye."

"Why?"

He gulped. "His wife ran off with me. She was tired of being married to him and wanted a life of adventure. We—" His voice cracked. "We fell in love. Once Rumplestiltskin acquired his dark powers, he found us and confronted us. He murdered his wife in front of me, and then cut off my hand."

"But you said … you said that Rumplestiltskin was Neal's dad," she pointed out. "There's no way you're that much older than Neal. Unless his mom was seriously robbing the cradle, it's just not possible."

"There are … there are ways to prevent aging," he said carefully. "You'd be surprised at how old Neal is."

"Peter Pan is real?" she asked suddenly. "I mean, I dreamt he was real."

"It was a memory, not a dream," he reminded her. "And he was real. He's gone now. It's his fault that you're here without your memories."

"Peter Pan is real. You prevented yourself from aging. You have one hand."

Here it was.

"You think you're Captain Hook."

He rolled his eyes. "As if there was any 'thinking' to be done about it," he muttered, strapping his brace back on. He strode to the bedroom and fished his hook from his long coat.

"Crap, I'd almost forgotten about that pirate costume you were wearing."

"Costume?" he asked. "I'm a little offended, Swan. I don't make fun of the way you dress." He looked at her tartan pants as he returned to the living area. "Although maybe I should." He handed her the hook.

"You really do think you're Captain Hook," she said unhappily.

"Swan, think back to all your dreams. Please."

Her mouth was a thin line. "They're just dreams." But, as if she were conducting an experiment, she carefully lifted his brace, inserted the hook into it, and clicked it into place.

"Do you really think they're all just dreams?" he asked.

In response, she kissed him again, at first tentatively and then hungrily, pressing her tongue against his lips. He broke the kiss. "You didn't answer my question." But she wasn't listening.

She was touching his hook. "You stabbed Gold with this," she said. And suddenly, an intense look of surprise and understanding flooded her face. "We were here. Oh God. I remember. We came here looking for Baelfire, and you followed us. You tried to kill Gold with dreamshade, and we had to sail the Jolly Roger back to Storybrooke." Her eyes flicked to his face guiltily. "I knocked you out and locked you in a storage closet."

"I had it coming."

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God." She began pacing. "I had Henry with me because Cora was on the loose in Storybrooke and I wasn't going to leave him in danger, and I panicked when I found out that Neal was Baelfire and I tried to hide Henry from him, and I lied just like Regina." She paused, as she had run out of breath. "Oh God, he was so angry with me for lying."

"Swan, you need to calm down, please, love." He gripped her arm to stop her.

"'Swan,'" she repeated, and then she turned a delicate shade of greenish yellow as she glanced down at the rings on her left hand. "I'm Emma Swan." She sounded relieved. "Oh my God, I thought I was married to Neal!"

"If that's not what you wanted, you could have protested a little more at the town line when Regina told you her plan."

"Hook, how on earth was I going to argue with her? She was devastated over losing Henry! And this was what was best for Henry—what kind of a mother would I be if I was all, 'Oh yeah, well, can we not have us be married because I don't love Neal, and I don't want to pretend-love him?' I can practically see my mother's disappointed face. I had no choice, even if I didn't want all this."

He grinned triumphantly. "I knew you didn't want it," he said proudly.

"Of course you knew, Killian." She rolled her eyes yet again. "It's honestly incredibly annoying how well you read me sometimes." She paused. "Why are you grinning like that?"