Hope that at the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine

He cast a bemused look over the ample bosom presented before him, bored and irritated. But he was ever a gentleman, so he simply turned away to resume his drinking. Try as he might, he was unable to shake the memory of Emma Swan, a constant pull on his thoughts and emotions. The rum that he tried to drown in did little to quiet or soothe.

His most lucid moments were filled with a faint ache that seemed to come from all around. He could only liken it to having his hand removed. It was a phantom itch that he could never scratch.

Sometimes he would remember her face in those moments when they said their goodbyes, and his chest would tighten to the point that he felt he wouldn't be able to breathe.

But the worst moments came right after waking, his lips aflame with the memory of their one impassioned kiss. In his dreams, she hadn't pulled away, hadn't put a period at the end of the sentence that was their potential.

The moment was already uncomfortable and had Killian's skin itching. The tension could be cut with a knife – no words were used, and that made it all the worse. Until they came into a thicket, and finally Bae – Neal, he reminding himself - spoke, or muttered rather, "We're going to have to cut our way through."

Without hesitation, Emma swung the blade from the holster on her back, nearly nicking him in the face. Her blatant disregard stung, and he found his mood souring even further.

The shock in Bae's eyes gave Killian a moment of fear.

"My cutlass. You found it?"

"No, actually, Hook gave it to me."

The shock gave way to a small level of anger that Bae leveled on Killian,"Since when are you sentimental?"

It was a low blow, and he rolled his eyes, not wanting to be made to be the bad guy again, "I thought Emma would wish to have something to remember you by."

Bae turned swiftly away from the both of them, "Oh, thanks, she's got me now."

Killian bristled slightly; he was uncomfortable with the war within himself. He had been granted the gift of his old friend, once a boy under his charge, being returned, but in payment he found his hope in...other matters...stayed. He took a breath and made to follow, content to avoid the subject, even with himself until a better time presented itself. But he was stopped, Emma holding her hand out, as if to touch him, keep him from moving further. He stopped short, avoiding the contact.

"Woah, what was that about?"

He sighed, "I assumed he heard our secrets. I also assumed that you told him of our shared momen-"

"Why would you assume that?"

He steeled himself, her words coming out so harsh and condescending, but he was honest to a fault when it came to her, "Because I was hoping it meant something."

"What meant something was that you told us Neal was still alive. Thank you. I realize you could have kept Pan's information to yourself-"

"Why would I have done that?" It was a stupid question. He knew the answer, and he knew it was just self-flagellation to draw the answer from her, but a part of him had to hear it.

"I don't know. Maybe Pan offered you a deal; why else would he tell you?"

"It was a test. He wanted to see if I would leave an old friend to die, even if the friend is vying for the same woman I am."

Her face changed for a moment, "And you chose your friend?"

He smiled, the kind of defeated smile that he had adopted over the years, "Does that surprise you?"

She smiled back, "You are a pirate."

The blow struck home, as he knew it would, and he would be surprised if it didn't show on his face, "Yeah, that I am."

He scoffed slightly. He felt betrayed, dirty somehow, but he was at peace with who he was, and he had already made the decision, knew that this woman was what he wanted, so he didn't let her words defeat him, "But I also believe in good form."

He stepped closer to her, wanting her to feel the air around her change, feel the presence that he intended to have in her life, "So when I win your heart," he paused, catching her gaze, "Emma – and I will win it," he nodded to her, nothing ever said by him before more true than what he was saying in the moment, "it will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me."

He had made that statement, knew it to be true, and yet...and yet here he was, all but a story with a, what was it she had said? - perm and waxed mustache. To a degree, he wasn't sure which fact was worse: the description of him in the movie she had spoken of, or the fact that he was nothing but that to her now.

Breath on his ear – he turned to the woman crudely brushing against his arm, "Sorry, love, but you'll have better luck elsewhere."

The look in his eyes, more than his words, had her turning away to find another bed to fall into for the night, and he returned to his musing.

There had to be a way. He had to find a way to get to her, to do what he had said he would do. He had been given hope in those last fateful moments, her happiness that she would stay on his mind, in his heart. It had meant something. No matter what she said, he knew that it had meant something.

He believed in good form, and that meant keeping his word.

It was weeks later when he received his answer, the message, scrawled on a scrap of paper, the vial of that precious potion that would bring Emma back to him attached. He had read it and knew then what he would do.

Finding the bean was the hardest part, not only for him. He had cut through nearly a dozen men to speak to the self-titled Wise Woman who had the bean. She was distressed over his actions, so when it came time to trade, she would take only one thing, and he gave it willingly.

Taking one last look at his home for the past few centuries, Killian opened the portal and let his heart guide him to where he needed to be, intent on bringing the savior back to Storybrooke, back to his arms.