He's staring at her.

Ever since they glimpsed the vision of Downton in the mirror (which now lies in Mary's satchel, Rumpelstiltskin having loaned it to her in order to provide a little extra motivation) Killian has been treating her differently, holding her at arms length as if he's already trying to distance himself from her before their inevitable goodbye. Mary knows this to be the case, for she's been doing the same with him. It isn't just the fact that seeing Matthew so clearly distraught over her disappearance had rattled her to her core, bringing feelings back up to the surface that she hadn't been sure she would ever feel again. It's Mary slowly pushing him away, casting aside her secret wishes to stay in this world that has captured her heart and soul much the same way she suspects Killian has, in order to keep him safe.

Rumpelstiltskin's threat is on her mind constantly, from morning til night. His words echo through her mind and her nightmare, of Matthew's lifeless body transforming into Killian's, is never far from her mind. Part of her wonders if the Dark One himself sent her that dream—ordinarily she would dismiss it as impossible, but Mary did not believe in impossible anymore. Her choice was clear, if there was ever a choice to begin with. Mary would do anything to keep Killian safe.

And that meant leaving him.

He catches her eye once again, and something seems to snap inside of Mary, that defense mechanism she had deployed so many times with Matthew rearing its ugly head once again. "What?" she demands, her voice harsh. "Why are you staring at me? What is it?"

His face darkens, and he looks away. "Nothing, lass."

"Doesn't look like nothing,' she huffs.

"Nothing to trouble you with, then."

She rolls her eyes. "I swear, Captain, you are impossible sometimes."

"I am impossible?" he asks as if in disbelief. "Oh, that's rich coming from you, love. You are the one who dragged me on this bloody quest in the first place. I've risked my life for you dozens of times, I'm willingly helping the man I swore revenge on centuries ago because of you, and yet I am impossible?"

They've stopped walking now, standing just inches apart as Mary glares up at him with her hands on her hips. He stares darkly down at her, his gaze not wavering from hers. "No one asked you to do those things," she says, even though it's not true, not entirely.

He gives a harsh chuckle. "Didn't they?" he asks without mirth.

"I certainly didn't."

"Damn it, you bloody stubborn woman…"

And then its his hands on her hips, his hands pulling her towards him as their lips meet. Unlike their first kiss, soft and tender in the light of the fireflies, this one is rougher, demanding, bruising. He growls low against her lips, prompting a gasp from Mary. Her hands come up as if to push him away, but instead she finds herself pulling him closer, one hand curling around his neck while his hand and hook traverse her back. The stubble of his jaw burns her skin slightly, so different from kissing Matthew. Killian tastes faintly of rum as his tongue seeks passage into her mouth, passage Mary readily gives as she kisses him back just as desperately, feeling like she's being dragged under by a tide that she cannot control. So much for keeping him at arm's length…

And then he was gone, pulling away from her swollen lips as quickly as he had found them. Mary stares at him, watching that haunted look come back into his eyes, that look she has come to know well in the past few weeks. "I'm sorry," he whispers raggedly, backing away from her as if her touch burns him. "I'm sorry…"

Mary is left helplessly watching his retreating figure, struggling to catch her breath as he leaves her.