Somehow, after the death of the Queen's guard, it becomes easier.

It's as if the act of him saving her life, and her allowing him to see her vulnerable and scared in a way that he never had before, tore down another one of the barriers between them. Their conversation becomes easier now as they trek on. She tells him of her sisters, of moody Edith and selfless Sybil, tales of growing up on her family's massive estate. He can't bring himself to tell her about Liam, not yet, and so he sticks to the less-sordid tales of his piracy days. Killian quickly finds that it is the tales of Neverland that fascinate Mary the most—she wasn't kidding when she said that he and Pan were well-known in her world—and so that is what he tells her, stories of mermaids and Lost Boys and fairies named Tinkerbell, stories that light up her features in a way that, for whatever reason, delights him. The conversation makes the journey more bearable, even if they have to be more careful now that Regina is aware of their presence and, no doubt, out for retribution. Sometimes they even touch as they walk, his hand on the small of her back or taking her hand to lead her over a fallen log. It's almost comforting, whatever it is between them now.

But he has to keep reigning himself in, pulling himself back because no matter what he's feeling for Mary, he can't put her in any more danger than he already has. Killian will not allow her to become another Milah, not while he still has breath in his body. He knows better than to get too attached. He'll go with her, and protect Mary with his life if necessary—he's in too far already to do anything else. But he can't allow her to get too close, or vice versa. She has the man she loved in Yorkshire, whoever he is. And Killian…

Well, he knows better, that's all.

Which is why an unexpected detour to an inn was definitely not part of his plans.

In retrospect, it isn't his fault that a storm suddenly appears out of nowhere, rain pouring down in sheets so thick that it soon becomes impossible to see. He grabs Mary's hand and runs, pulling her through the downpour, grinning in spite of himself as he hears her inexplicably begin to laugh. It's the most free he's heard her sound in some time, and he can't help the little thrill that seems to go through him. Lightning illuminates the sky above their heads and Mary shrieks in what might be fear or delight, and that's when Killian spots it off in the distance—smoke from a chimney, indicating warmth and shelter and—his stomach growls at the mere thought of it—the possibility of a hot meal. "Over there!" he calls, gesturing with his hook, but Mary's shouted response is drowned out by a rumble of thunder as they run.

They arrive at the little tavern some time later, utterly drenched but smiling, and manage to secure a meal and a room for the night for far less money than Killian had been anticipating. From the look on the inkeeper's face, Killian suspects the man is grateful to have customers at all. Mary disappears into their little rented room to dry off while Killian sits down at the closest table to wait for their food and drinks, trying not to think about what will happen come nightfall and they have to confront the fact that their meager accommodations almost certainly contain only one bed for the two of them.

You've grown soft, Jones. You can sleep on the floor for one night. Gods know you've done worse in the past. It's a roof over your head for the first time since we began this mad venture. That's good enough.

He's pleasantly surprised to see that they have rum at the inn—not as good as the stuff his enchanted flask keeps him constantly supplied with, but good enough for the circumstances. He's happily sipping from a tankard when Mary reappears, still looking slightly damp and bedraggled but less like a drowned rat than she had before. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes lock onto Killian's with curiosity as she sits across from him, waiting for their dinner to be brought by the tavern maid that, to his own surprise, Killian has barely even glanced at.

"What have you got there?" Mary asks casually.

He grins at her, swirling the liquid in his cup. "Rum, of course," he drawls. "Only respectable drink for a pirate, milady."

"Oh, I hardly think it's respectable. I've seen you with it before." Her eyes are sparkling with mirth, and Killian grins at the return of her feisty nature. She's maddening sometimes, worse than Milah, but he finds he wouldn't have Mary Crawley any other way. "Can I try a taste?"

His eyes widen just a fraction. "Are you sure you can handle it, my lady?" he asks, only half-joking. "I think it's a bit stronger than you might be used to."

"You'd be surprised what I can handle," Mary retorts, not missing a beat. She holds out her hand expectantly. "Come on now, Captain. I don't ask you for much, do I?"

Killian snorts with laughter. "I beg to differ. You're the one who dragged me into this mad venture, or have you forgotten?"

"You volunteered."

He laughs again, conceding that point to her. "Aye, you've got me there. I'd say that earns a sip—but don't say I didn't warn you." With a smirk, he hands over the glass.

Mary takes it and gazes into the amber liquid, sniffing it experimentally before bringing it to her lips. Its sweet and cloying and burns a bit on the way down, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. She steals another sip and hands it back, catching the attention of the barmaid before Killian has time to even question her.

"I'll have what he's having."