His head hurts.

It's not the worst hangover he's ever had (he's not even sure if he can even rememberthe worst), but it's certainly not pleasant either. Killian blinks his eyes blearily, struggling to bring the world into focus around him. In spite of the pounding that seems to be originating somewhere behind his eyelids, he almost smiles, knowing that as bad as he's feeling right now, poor Mary must be feeling ten times worse. Poor lass shouldn't have tried to keep up with me…she should have known better…

There is movement to his left, and Killian's eyes fly open.

Mary.

He's lying on the bed in that little rented room, atop the covers and facing the door. His arm is flung loosely over Mary's waist, and she's facing away from him, apparently peacefully sleeping although her face looks more tired and drawn than it usually is. Unlike him, she is buried so far beneath the covers that she reminds him of a cat, curled up and trying to sleep the day away. Killian recoils back from her, taking his hand away, and she lets out a tiny moan and hides her face beneath the blanket as the night before comes flooding back to him.

"What the hell did we do?" he whispers.

Laughter. That tone in her voice, the one that he can never tell means that she's impressed by him or not. And rum. So much rum.

The feel of her hand in his, tracing over the scars and calluses that line his palm after all these years. The deep ache in his heart at the fact that he wished she could have known him before, back before Milah and the Dark One, back when he was still whole.

The way her hair slips through his fingers like silk when he moves to tuck it behind her ear.

The challenge in her eyes when he dared to insinuate that she couldn't handle her liquor.

The smell of the drink on her breath as they leaned towards each other over the table, the other people in the inn all but forgotten. The way his gaze had dropped to her lips, full and begging to be kissed, how he didn't feel any guilt about it because she had been looking at his lips too. And then…

The way that they had both seemed to pull away at the same time, as if some sort of spell had been broken. The way Killian reached for his drink, cursing himself for breaking the rules he had set for himself, to keep them both from getting hurt. The way that Mary seemed first to blush, something Killian Jones had never in his life seen her do, then fold in on herself, then shut him out as she, too, took another drink. The way both of them danced around each other the rest of the night, never mentioning the kiss they had almost shared, even though he knew it must have been on her mind too.

And then, finally, the way she had drifted off to sleep so quickly after he'd brought her back to their room. He'd sat beside her, stroking her hair absently as he watched sleep overtake her, never intending to fall asleep himself, telling himself he'd keep watch over her and sleep on the floor if need be…

The way the last thing he'd thought about as his eyes had drifted shut had been the thought of her lips on his.

"Killian Jones, you selfish bastard," he whispers.

Mary moans again, and before she has time to even move Killian is on his feet and headed towards the door. She hasn't seemed to notice his presence in her bed yet, and he intends to keep it that way. "Shhh," he says softly, hand resting on the doorknob. "Don't you move yet, love. I'll go get you some breakfast, something to make you feel better."

She reaches for the pillow and covers her head with it, and this time Killian does smile as she tries to shut out the morning light. "Impossible," she whines, her voice muffled.

"Don't you worry, milady. I have just the thing to get rid of that nasty headache you must have. Trust me."

A pause. Then "I do trust you, Killian."

You do. I know you do, Mary. But sometimes I wish you didn't.

I don't deserve it.

She pokes her head out from her sanctuary, and Killian manages a brief smile before slipping out of the room, his hand clenched in a fist as he tries to stop himself from doing what his instincts are screaming at him to do, march right back into that room and kiss her like she deserves.

He returns with a specially-ordered breakfast of his personal favorite hangover cure, and they eat in mostly silence. A few times Mary attempts to mention the events of last night, but each time one or the other stops the conversation from getting too far. He hates the tension between them, and he knows that Mary does too, but there's nothing he can do about it. Maybe it's better this way.

They gather their things and settle the bill, strangely eager to get back to their quest. Mary's eyes remain on Killian the whole time, and when she reaches for his hand, he bites his tongue and fights the urge to draw back away from her touch. She squeezes his hand as if to reassure him—about what, Killian isn't quite sure.

They don't notice the eyes watching them as they leave the inn, nor do they hear the impish cackle of laughter that is quickly swallowed up by the breeze as they walk away.