#cssb 2017

Their kiss grows more intense and passionate, as they both grow needy and desperate.

Emma poofs off all of their clothes, not caring where they land, and Killian starts to make a quip about exploring all aspects of her magic when she sinks down onto his already hardened member, causing all the words to die on his lips. Their lost words are replaced with a chorus of pleasurable groans.

Needing to feel his lips on hers, Emma urgently kisses him as she begins to thrust her hips, roughly, impaling herself, over and over again. This is not their typical passionate and tender lovemaking, which she can now admit to herself is exactly what they’ve been doing all along. This, this is not lovemaking, this is an adrenaline fueled, frenzied fuck, needing the physical reassurance that they are there together.

With the breakneck pace Emma is setting, she feels her orgasm overtake her with the power of a freight train. Her head falls towards Killian’s shoulder as he continues to pump into her, chasing his release. Emma keens in his arms when the warmth of his seed swells and pulses against her sensitive walls.

“I hope I’ve not worn you out, love. I am nowhere near finished with you yet,” he growls into her ear, stroking her golden hair as she lays exhausted in his arms. He jumps a little when he feels her playfully bite into the flesh above his collarbone.

“I can handle it,” she purrs against his skin. Before she can register another thought, Emma finds herself facing the wall, pinned there with Killian behind her.

“Glad to hear it, Swan.” He presses his body against hers, and runs his hand from her belly up to her gloriously pert breasts he so loves to fondle. Caressing her breasts, and tweaking one erect nipple then the other, his hand continues on its trajectory until it is wrapped gently around her throat.

He slides his hook between her legs, finding her clit with an accuracy that still manages to surprise her, unlike some guys who couldn’t seem to figure out what a clit even was. As he applies consistent pressure moving his hook in circles, his lips cut a swath of open mouthed kisses from that spot just behind her ear down to her shoulder, and back again. Every time he makes it to her ear he takes a moment to whisper filthy, sweet little nothings to her. Killian is unrelenting in his pursuit of her pleasure, not letting up on his assault of her senses until she has fallen off the proverbial cliff into another orgasm.

With his “mast” returned to full attention, Killian slowly starts to turn Emma in his arms, mindful of her wobbly legs as she recovers. “I do believe I owe you a lesson in... muscle memory, love.” Hoisting her up into his arms, her legs wrap around his waist, and he backs her against the wall for support.

“Is that so… Captain?”

“Aye.” Without further ceremony Killian thrusts into her snug, welcoming heat, still slick from her release, drawing another round of euphoric moans from the both of them. As he finds his rhythm, Emma wends her right arm behind his neck, places her left hand along his jaw, and pulls him in to meet her in a slightly less frenzied, but no less passionate kiss.

Killian being the perceptive man he is, knows exactly what Emma is trying to accomplish with this tryst, and he is unwilling to let her doubt their love. He knows she feels this too, even if she still seems to be unwilling, or unable to say the words; a fact that confirms it would be unwise to speak his own to her in that moment. Instead, he will reassure her of his love physically, until she is ready, emotionally.

Killian feels Emma’s next climax cresting as she claws his back, squeezing harder for traction while she blissfully falls apart. Killian guides her pleasure, but staves off his own release, not yet ready to end this coupling. With Emma gripped in his arms, coming down from the high of her release, Killian walks them to her bed; his still engorged cock slides from her when he gently lays her down on the edge. Dropping to his knees, he sets his mouth to her drenched core.

He is voracious, as though he is a man dying of thirst, and she is the nectar of life. He kisses these lips as passionately as he does her mouth, tongue roaming and exploring every inch of her, from slit to clit. The sounds Emma is making tell him she isn’t too far from reaching her peak once again, so he doesn’t let up until he hears her calling out his name in ecstasy.

Coaxing her through her high, he doesn’t let up. As her breathing starts leveling out, he plunges two fingers into her still quivering channel. Steadily he works her back to the edge, fingers pumping into her as he sucks her clit into his mouth and laves it with his tongue. Emma’s hand snakes its way into his hair, anchoring him to her.

“Killian… Killian, oh… just… just like that, gods don’t stop. Please…” Emma trails off as her fifth release hits her. She can only fall and enjoy the ride he is taking her on.

After bringing her back down, Killian finally stands wiping her juices from his face with his hand. “I need you, love, can you take any more?”

Emma, still in her blissed out state, is unable to do more than nod her head, as she reaches for him. Killian pulls himself onto the bed above her, and effortlessly slides into her trembling heat. He sets a leisurely pace, kissing her sensuously, intent on making love to this amazing woman.

Despite his best intentions to draw out their lovemaking, Killian can feel his climax closing in, and the tell-tale fluttering of Emma’s walls tells him she is right there with him. No longer able to hold off his release he beseeches Emma with a whispered, “Come with me Swan, let me feel you come undone around me again.”

Killian instantly feels Emma’s walls contract around him, dragging him into the sweet bliss of orgasm, as she calls out his name on a breathy moan. Recovering from the effects of their enjoyable activities first Killian rolls off of Emma, and pulls her with him to lie back on the pillows, pulling the quilt over them both as Emma snuggles into his chest.

Emma is unsure how long they have been asleep when she finally stirs from her unintentional nap. She stretches, feeling sore in all the right places after Killian put her through her paces. Secretly she loves the feeling of waking up in his arms, it makes her feel loved and wanted. She is still mad at herself for not being able to get the words out. Definitely wouldn’t say no to another satisfying session like today though, just maybe not today, the ache has already begun to settle in.

Wanting to use this quiet moment, to test how the words will actually feel, Emma whispers into the room, “I love you, Killian.” Realizing a half second after the words are out of her mouth that he isn’t actually asleep, she hears his breath catch in his chest, and feels the heart under her ear speed to a frenzied staccato. Steeling her nerves, Emma turns her head to look him in the face, and see how he’s going to react to her confession. The look on his face can only be described as cautiously hopeful.

“Truly Emma? Do you mean it?”

Finding her words have failed her once again, Emma just nods her head. Killian pulls her closer, dropping a sweet kiss to her forehead.

“And I love you, Emma.”

At that moment Emma’s cellphone chimes from its place on the floor, needing a moment to process what has just happened, she rolls over reaching for it. Looking at the phone she sees a message from her mother.

“It’s from mom, apparently the author is behind bars, and there’s a party at Granny’s. We should probably join them. What do you think?”

Killian can sense Emma’s need to not call attention to what they’ve just shared, so he agrees, “Aye, sounds like a plan, love. I need to have a chat with your father about his bad form. You never stab a man in the back.”

~FIN~

This story can also be found on pg 269 in the 2017 Captain Swan Storybook.

Tagging a few lovelies:

Oh, he was never really in danger, of course, because let's be real – he's Captain Hook, and Captain Hook always survives. But he has to reluctantly admit that things didn't go as he pleased, let alone as he planned. He thought the four women would be easy prey for him – not because they were women, mind you, but because Cora had described them as hero types to him; the kind of people who always did the right thing, made the moral choice. The kind of people who would take pity on a poor, mutilated and terrified craftsman they just snatched from the jaws of death, and not suspect any trickery.

Normally, he'd have played them like figures on a chess board, guiding them exactly where he – and Cora – wanted them to be. Normally. And it even seemed like he was on such a good way; they were all very sympathetic about the gruesome tale he spun. Then, all of a sudden, he found himself with a blade at his throat, and honestly, he still doesn't know how it happened, what gave him away. On the contrary: he's convinced, in fact, that he did nothing to betray himself. They should and would never have doubted his act if it weren't for the woman in the red leather jacket who looked so soft and sympathetic one moment and yanked his head back with a steely grip in his hair the next.

A lucky hit, he thought at first, still believing he could convince them of his good intentions if he only kept his nerves and stuck to his tale, surely his honest blue eyes would help, too. There was no way four heroes would risk the death of an innocent man, was there? And he knows that for a moment he had them, he almost had them. Well, the other three, that is. The delicate princess believed him, and also the warrior and the short-haired one were getting nervous when he kept insisting that he was just an innocent blacksmith.

But that fierce blonde, she's special. The moment he opened his mouth for the first time, she looked right through him, detecting every single one of his carefully woven lies, and he still can't figure out how she does it. But to his own surprise, he's almost amused, he can't help it, and he also can't help but admire her fierceness and cleverness. Being bested never felt as oddly... right as it does today. The thought comes out of nowhere and is slightly disturbing to him. He mentally shakes his head at himself and keeps walking, carefully minding his step, while he tries to analyze his situation and weigh his options.

It's pretty clear to him where his four companions stand. The warrior is certainly a force to be reckoned with; he knows she would kill him without batting an eyelid if she thought he would present any danger to them. The princess, to whom she seems to be particularly attached, appears to be the weakest link; he makes a mental note about that – it could turn out to be useful one day.

The petite ebony-haired one with the bow who instantly seemed to know who he was when he mentioned his moniker – she's a spitfire, too, and wouldn't hesitate to kill him either if she had to do it to protect her friends. It's obvious she doesn't trust him one bit; trying to fool her with his charms could be amusing, but in the end a waste of energy, and he admires her for it.

But the blonde... when she held that blasted dagger to his throat, twice, she wasn't simply distrustful and cautious, she knew. She just knew.

He should have guessed that there was something about her, she had to be special... she's the one who was destined to break the Evil Queen's curse, after all, and she obviously managed to do so. She's the one he spent twenty-eight years waiting for in Cora's safe bubble. She's not what he imagined her to be, he's not even sure what he imagined – some ethereal being perhaps, more fairy-like or fragile... certainly not a warrior in pants and a red leather jacket with a steely grip like that. The weird thing is... he can't even say he's displeased about it.

Knowing she's more than an equal match for him surely makes for a nice challenge, and he always loved a challenge. Even though their interaction, remarkable as it was, has been rather short, he believes to have seen something familiar in her eyes... as if she's hiding behind her fierceness, as if the tough act masks something else. A personality trait he knows all too well.

Aye, he has to admit it – she has definitely piqued his interest, and normally he'd go for a nice, refreshing sparring game of cat and mouse, just to see how far he could get to her in spite of her obvious seeing right through him. Normally. Alas, he has no time for such distraction, because his mind is set on one goal and one goal alone, has been so for more than two hundred years now. If there's one thing more precious than jewels, gold or the finest rum, almost as precious as love (and that is lost to him for all eternity), so precious that he'd even risk his worthless life for it... then it's revenge – and it's gonna be his. And the blonde warrior princess is only of interest for him, because she seems to be the key for him to finally get that revenge. It's almost as if meeting her was fate's design.

From the moment he dropped his act after realizing there would be no way to lie or charm his way out of this, he's changed his tactics completely. He has wasted no second thought on his former alliance with Cora – what he told the four women was the truth: he will side with whoever provides him with the best chance to get him to the land where The Crocodile is peacefully living now. And even if Cora has magic – dark, powerful magic – this somehow odd team of women seems not less resourceful. Not by possessing magic, but in other ways... first and foremost he senses a very strong determination in them, like they will not let anything or anyone get between them and their goal, and he likes that.

He has always been a ladies' man, in every way. Killian Jones likes women, and not only in the carnal sense, although he does highly appreciate the physical satiation that being with a willing woman can bring. But it's more than that. He likes their spirit, their strength and courage – all three of them usually outweigh a man by far, and he thinks he has found out why: normally, what drives a woman always roots in love in all its – sometimes tragic and painful – variations. Hurt love, lost love, defending love – all of that makes them powerful, and most men wouldn't be able to hold a candle to any woman he has known.

He doesn't know much about his new travel companions, only that they seem very determined in their respective goals, and all four of them are hellbent on getting the two women in the curious clothes back to their realm.

So, the odds are at least as much in their favor as they are in Cora's, and, frankly, the elder sorceress whom he met at first as the Queen of Hearts in Wonderland seems to be a rather unpredictable, dangerous ally. He isn't ashamed to admit that she scares the living daylights out of him – not because he's afraid of what she might do to him... it's been a long time since Killian Jones feared death or bodily harm. What he does fear though is that she might just use him to reach her own aim to get close to her daughter, and then simply abandon him and their pact, robbing him of his only chance to get his revenge, and he can't risk that. Plus, her absolute ruthlessness repulses him. He's no stranger to blood and death, has brought it to far more people than he can count on one hand, but the detached attitude of her when she kills, when she rips out hearts of innocent people and crushes them without batting an eyelid... it chills him to the bone.

No, his current travel mates are far safer company indeed. with them, he believes, he has the best chances to reach his destination... heroes don't betray or break promises, after all. For the first time in ages, he deems himself really close to his goal, and it makes him almost giddy.

He's briefly wondering – he doesn't know much about the realm they're headed to, Cora herself seemed to have only a vague idea about it. He only knows that it's a realm completely different from everything he knows. Not that it frightens him. There's just some sort of vague uneasiness whispering at the back of his head.

When he'll get to that strange, mysterious land... once all is said and done, once his revenge is fulfilled... what will remain? What kind of life will he even have, after his driving force will be deflated, his only and entire sense of living gone? He will be stranded in another place, another time, with no purpose, no home, and no living soul to know his name or care about him. He doesn't have illusions – he knows that skinning his crocodile is not his happy ending. It will be his end, period. After taking his revenge, there will be naught but a big void for him, as if he'd simply cease to exist – and there will be no one around to even notice, to miss him. But he can accept that, hasn't longed for anything else since he lost his love.

Unlike the four women he's traveling with. They are determined to get to a home, whether it's a place or a person or persons, he doesn't know, but he does know they expect to find their happy endings there. He can still hear them murmur while they approach the edge of the forest where their destination is, maybe talking about those they left behind and hope to get back to soon. Briefly and very vaguely, he remembers a time when he, too, was happy and hopeful; but these times are long gone, just like any real feelings from his old, blackened heart.

When he reaches the clearing, he stops and looks at the mighty plant in the distance, its top hidden in the clouds.

He feels her presence as the blonde steps up beside him. “Let me guess,” she says in a laconic voice, “The compass is up there.”

A happily ever after? Ridiculous. That's not the way these stories go.

But that doesn't mean he cannot have a bit of fun while marching towards his inevitable end.

 She said it would take about seven hours.

Seven hours to travel from the bustling metropolis to the cursed hamlet.

Seven hours in the motorized, yellow carriage of which he was more than a little dubious.

The Jolly Roger would have been faster, but that was not an option to them. More’s the pity.

How would they have explained it to Henry, anyway?

She’d reminded him to be careful with his words around the lad. To not say, or do anything that would arouse suspicion.

As if his very presence didn’t already do exactly that.

He wished he’d been able to procure another bottle of memory potion, but there hadn’t been the time or the means. He was tempted to suggest that Emma try a True Love’s Kiss on the lad in an effort to restore his memories, but doing so, he feared, would call attention to the fact that he had tried doing just that with Emma.

What the bloody hell was I thinking?

That you haven’t gone a day without thinking of her, that the last year had been miserable without her, and that perhaps her year had been just as torturous and she would, on some level, feel the same for you as you do about her, his mind reminded him… unhelpfully.

Yeah, well, it didn’t bloody work, did it?

Because of the memory wipe, mate. His mind treacherously interjected once again. You did the research. You knew it was a long shot.

He had done the research.

Unable to procure another means of giving both Emma and her son their memories back, Killian had looked into other methods besides potions.

Alas, what he’d discovered about the power and effectiveness of True Love’s Kiss left him dubious as to its success even if Swan felt the same.

For one, most practitioners believed that in order for it to work both parties would have to know (remember) each other. Secondly, both parties had to want their particular curse broken.

Emma hadn’t remembered him, and she hadn’t been unhappy enough to wish for another life.

Or, she didn’t love him, and he was a fool for thinking she ever could.

 Hook helped secure the rest of their things in the vessel’s hold and then begrudgingly slid into the front seat of the yellow contraption. Keeping a watchful eye, he mimicked Swan’s movement of draping the heavy fabric strap across his chest and lap and secured it into the buckle, marveling at the locking system and wishing to take a closer look at how the mechanism worked.

There were many things about this realm that intrigued him (the blonde beauty to his left at the top of that list), but with Henry’s lack of memory regarding the truth of Fairy Tales, magic, and his rather complicated family tree, Hook knew he’d have to wait before he could inquire on the great many things which vexed him about this land.

Each of them seemed to be wrapped in their own thoughts as they made their way out of the city. Henry had said he needed to send a number of ‘texts’ to his friends letting them know he’d be gone a few days, and Swan concentrated on navigating them through the complex routes and traffic in order to finally get them to the ‘interstate’.

He watched as she effortlessly worked the wheel, as her feet did a complicated dance along the pedals on the floor and her hand reached over from time to time to reposition the shaft jutting up between them. The whole process appeared extremely complicated to him, and he was attempting to break down her actions in an effort to equate them with the workings of steering a ship when Henry finally spoke up from behind him.

“So, Killian how do you know my mom?”

Killian had been expecting this. As adversarial as his relationship with the Lost Boys might have been, he’d still managed to engage with a few of them enough to know that their levels of curiosity and need to question everything was part and parcel to their nature. Henry was no different, and Hook knew that he assuredly made for an intriguing subject in the eyes of the lad. His leather clad appearance notwithstanding, Hook wondered how much of Henry’s curiosity had to do with any knowledge he had about ‘the monkey’s’ proposal and Emma’s refusal.

What must Henry be thinking to have this new, strange man accompanying them to places unknown immediately after his mother had ended her relationship with the man he’d come to know over so many months? Was he upset by the other man’s absence? Would he be churlish at Hook’s presence?

“Your mother and I are old acquaintances, lad,” he answered, attempting to keep his response vague per Swan’s request.  

“Well, how did you meet?” the lad persisted.

“We met on a case.” Swan interjected as she shot Hook a hesitant half smile that had his heart swelling a touch. “We were on opposing sides, going after the same… piece of evidence.”

“Aye,” Hook affirmed with a smirk.

“So, you’re in bail bonds, too?”

Though Hook had a vague idea of how Emma’s occupation worked, he lacked enough details to confidently believe he could carry off such a pretence in the long term and chose to stick with something closer to the truth.

“Actually, I’m a sailor by trade. Spent most of my life at sea rather than on shore.”

“Awesome!” Henry lit up excitedly. “You must have some cool stories to tell. Deadliest Catch or Wicked Tuna kind of drama, huh?”

His confusion and slight panic of having absolutely no reference by which to base the lad’s words upon must have been apparent to Emma as she stepped in to answer on his behalf.

“Killian’s not a fisherman, Henry. He’s more... import/export,” she offered as she shot Hook a reassuring look that had him breathing easier once more, even as it hitched slightly at her continued use of his given name - one of the only benefits Henry’s memory issue was affording him.

“So you’ve traveled a lot?”

“Aye, I’ve sailed to many a realm,” he answered without thought of his word choice, earning him a startled, side-eyed looked from Swan.

“Realm?”

“He means places, Henry,” Emma corrected quickly. “Killian just has an extensive vocabulary, and likes to show off.”

“Aye, apologies,” he replied with chagrin over his unintentional faux pas.

“No, its cool. I like the way you talk. Where in the UK are you from?”

And on it went…

Question after mind-numbing and problematically fraught question until Swan told Henry he could spend some time on his ‘Game Boy’ - whatever the blazes that was.

Low sounds of some sort of melody, along with occasional noises of a rather irritating nature drifted forward from the back seat as Emma sought Hook’s eye in order to offer up an spoken apology for all of the lad’s inquiries. He waved her off with a smile of his own, no one could blame the boy for being curious.

Henry’s questions had sparked another round of Hook’s own ponderings, though, and he was once more extremely intrigued by the wonders that flew past his window as they traveled. Too many subjects of interest possessed him, and he feared he’d never remember them all when the time came that he could investigate them further so he thought it best to jot down a few notes for reminding.

“Henry, lad? Would you happen to have some parchment and a writing utensil in that satchel of yours?”

“No, but I have some paper and a pen in my backpack,” he quipped back with a roll of his eyes.

So like his mother, the cheeky little bugger.

Hook glared good naturally at the lad as a coil-bound bundle of parchment… er, paper was handed over, along with a pen. Thanking him, Hook turned and situated himself. Opening the notebook to the first clean page, Hook attempted to write out a few thoughts, but the pen supplied no ink to the page.      

He knew that this realm did not require a separate well to supply ink to a writing instrument, and was turning the utensil over in hands to try and peer down the barrel when Swan’s hand appeared and depressed the end of the pen. With a sharp click the inked end appeared and Hook mimicked Swan’s action several times, once again marveling at the wonders of this land.

Shooting her a grateful smile before resuming his task, Hook spent the next few hours making notes and observations within the notebook Henry had provided. With only a few more rounds of curiosity ladened questions from the lad breaking through the pirate’s musings.

 Several hours later...

Even with their limited ability to converse openly in front of Henry, Emma had learned several intriguing things about Hook and her interest had been piqued about a number of others in the course of their journey (and most especially during their lunch stop).

For instance, he had been vehemently opposed to eating lunch at Long John Silvers and seemed rather disturbed that it was one of Henry’s favorites. He’d finally given in to the idea once he learned that Henry rarely got a chance to eat there because there weren’t any close to where they lived, and it was a treat he only got on road trips. Hook had been tense all during the meal, and it wasn’t until Henry had made a reference to Treasure Island that Emma started to understand.

Captain Silver, too? Seriously?  

She sensed there was a story to be told about the nature of Hook’s relationship with the other literarily famous Captain, but it wasn’t the time to ask. Not with Henry listening in.

One of the more amusing things she learned over lunch (just as he came to realize it for himself) was Hook’s utter distaste of soda, if the repulsed look that had crossed his face after the first sip of Coca Cola was any indication. He’d managed to finish the ‘all too saccharine beverage’, once (while Henry was in the restroom) she poured a liberal amount of rum from his flask into the paper cup, despite his initial protest that it was another bloody waste of rum at her hand. She told him to go easy, but he didn’t listen. Needless to say he was much more relaxed leaving Long John Silvers than he’d been upon entering.

The best thing from their lunchtime pit stop, however, (though she’d never admit to it outside that moment) was when she witnessed the adorableness that was the fearsome Captain Hook teaching himself to blow bubbles with the gum Henry offered him when they’d gotten back into the car, even if the constant smacking as they headed down the road was only slightly less irritating than the clicky pen.

Ugh… the clicky pen…

It still made her giggle a bit, the boyish look of glee that had captured his expression when she’d demonstrated how the pen worked, and the subsequent clicks that followed as he worked out it’s usage for himself. The endearing quality didn’t last, however, when after an hour or so the incessant clicking while he pondered who-knows-what finally struck her last nerve. She’d reached over and grabbed at his left hand (his wooden hand) and told him to stop or she’d kill him.

At first she thought his shocked expression was from her death threat over the annoyance of the clicky pen, but then his gaze had flickered down to her hand grasping onto his substitute appendage. He swallowed, eyes wide with an uncertainty she didn’t understand in the moment, and after his eyes searched hers for something that he apparently didn’t find (and seemed a bit relieved by its absence) he cleared his throat with an apology before going back to his scribbles.

Well, not really scribbles. She didn’t think it was fair to classify his penmanship as scribbles. More like a calligrapher’s wet dream, and something that piqued her curiosity once again.

The penmanship, that is.

Definitely not Hook and references to wet dreams.

Nope. Not at all.

Damn suggestive billboards!

Her interest in what it was he’d been writing had fully developed when they’d passed an advertisement of a suggestive nature just outside of the city. She’d heard his chuckle and then felt a blush creep across her cheeks when she saw it. Most of the time she probably wouldn’t have noticed, but his attention and patented wink, smirk, and brow that he shot her in response to the provocative signage had her feeling flushed at the bawdy subtext.

Hook gave a quick glance over his shoulder to gauge Henry’s attention level, and deciding that it was probably not appropriate to apply whatever innuendo was dancing on the tip of his tongue in that moment, turned and began to write something into the notebook. All the while giving her a ‘oh, we are so going to discuss this later, Swan’ look, as she desperately tried to keep her face neutral and her thoughts of him in the rating of G, or PG...or PG-13 at least.

Marketing euphemisms aside, there seemed to be quite a bit that Hook took interest in as the hours and scenery passed. Each change of landscape, new town they’d pass, or round of Henry’s snooping would bring on more scratches of his pen, and yes, a few rapid fire clicks of the pen before he’d remember and shoot her a chagrined look. Which absolutely did not affect her in any way. At all.

She was also completely unaffected by how good Hook was with Henry. Okay, so that’s a total lie, she was completely affected by it. Emma wasn’t too sure how well the two would get along or tolerate one another, but - as Hook had put it over lunch - they had really taken quite a shine to one another.

Their conversations had run the gamut from Henry further asking about Hook’s wardrobe to her son explaining the new level he’d just unlocked on his Game Boy. Emma was awed by the pirate’s rapt attention, she knew that Hook didn’t have a clue as to what Henry was saying, but he patiently listened through Henry’s excited commentary anyway. It wasn’t until Henry’s curiosities got a bit more personal that she started to grow concerned over how quickly the two had connected.

“Hey Killian?” Henry said hesitantly.

“Yes, lad?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing this whole bloody trip?” the pirate responded with a friendly smirk over his shoulder.

“I guess… but…”

“Just spit it out, lad.”

“How did you lose your hand?”

“Henry!” Emma admonished.

“No, it’s alright, Swan,” Hook reassured. “Natural for the boy to be curious,” and Hook turned himself to face Henry as best he could before answering. “It’s a rather sordid tale, Henry, and not one I wish to burden you with. It happened long ago, on a day when I thought I’d lost everything that held meaning to me in the world, but I’ve since come to realize that life has so much more in store for us if we are open enough to let those possibilities in.”

Emma tried to ignore his furtive glance in her direction. Tried to ignore the fluttering that had erupted around her heart and dipped down into her stomach. Tried to will away the sting she felt in the corner of her eyes. And she absolutely with all her might tried to banish the memory ‘that part of her brain’ was trying to interject into her thoughts just then.

I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love, my Milah... to believe that I could find someone else... that is, until I met you.

Followed up by the memory of him confirming that he was done trying to kill Rumplestiltskin after he’d turned his ship around and offered to take them to go rescue Henry. After she had told him that he could be a part of something.

For the first time since he’d shown up at her door, Emma wondered just how he had managed to get back to her from the Enchanted Forest. She’d have to remember to ask him later.

“So, are you married?”

Emma’s attention jerked back to the conversation between her son and her.... Hook.

“No.”

“Got kids?”

“Sadly, also a no,” Hook replied with a soft smile.

“So, you want kids?”

“Henry...” Emma interjected, fearing that the current line of questioning might be making Hook uncomfortable, though to her astonishment it seemed the only one that had become uneasy with that particular line of interrogation was her. Catching Hook’s eye her breath hitched at the intense look she saw as he answered.

“Aye. Perhaps, someday.”

Once the sun had gone down, the talking and note making had subsided. Another amusing meal (Hook was totally a food snob) behind them, and it wasn’t long before Henry nodded off. Emma could practically taste the tension in the air between herself and the pirate, but whether it was because of their impending entrance back into Storybrooke and the unknown, or something else, she couldn’t say (or wouldn’t admit to).

Her walls had gone back up. Things had become easy between the three of them during the course of the journey; the conversations, the teasing, the increased number of touches she had given him without thinking, it had all been so natural, so effortless, so… like he belonged.

It didn’t last though.

She had taken off her armor, that enticing red leather jacket, early on in the day, but the moment they’d stopped for dinner she had donned it once again. Of course, it could have been because of the chill in the air, but he knew different. She was preparing for battle. Preparing for the unknown they were about to face in Storybrooke. Preparing to re-compartmentalize her life into safe and controlled sections. Including him.

“Hook. Look,” Emma whispered as she nodded to a point on the road ahead. The Welcome to Storybrooke sign.

He was back to being Hook as well, it seemed. Another wall she erected back into place as Henry slept peacefully and they made their way over the town line. Frustrating as it was to always feel that for every bit of forward progress he made with this bloody stubborn woman she’d only push him back to an arm’s length, he knew that there was nowhere he’d rather be than by her side, and if she needed him to be Captain Hook, then Captain Hook he would be.

He would play the role she needed him to, so once they’d disembarked from ‘the bug’ he secured his namesake back into place once more and eased back into their all too familiar rapport. Savior and pirate. Gone was the comfort and ease of Emma and Killian, they were Swan and Hook once more.

It wasn’t until after the impromptu war counsel in the downstairs parlor of the boarding house that Hook allowed his hopes in his pursuit of the Lady Swan to soar once more. Saying goodnight to the Prince and Princess, he and Emma had headed back up the stairs towards their respective rooms when Emma caught hold of his hook and his attention.

“Hook, wait.”

“Yes, Swan? Something you need? A nightcap in my room, perhaps?” His brows and smirk selling the lascivious intent that was only somewhat teasing. Oh, what he wouldn’t give.

“Uh, no,” she replied with the expected eye roll before her expression softened slightly, taking him aback.

“I wanted to thank you, Killian,” she said as she gazed at her feet, missing the look of longing upon his face at her use of his given name when she didn’t have to.

“For what, Swan?” he asked softly.

“My memories,” she stated, meeting his eyes and raised brow at the unexpected show of gratitude. “I know. I know I didn’t seem too happy about it back in New York, but now that I’m here, seeing my parents, spending time with… everyone,” and her eyes seemed to linger on him, causing the hope to swell in him that he might be counted among, if not at the top of the list of, those she was happy to have back in her life once more.

“I wasn’t capable of missing everyone this past year, but that doesn’t mean their absence didn’t affect me,” she continued. “I wish I… I wish I had been able to miss everyone. I know it sounds weird, but now that I have my memories back, I realize just how much I would have. So… thank you.

“You’re quite welcome, love.”

They stood in the hallway for a long moment before she gave him a soft smile and headed towards the room she was sharing with her boy. As Hook watched her close the door, and heard the latch fasten behind her, he was heartened by the feeling that for once, after a moment of exposing an emotional piece of herself, he didn’t feel like she’d shut him out.

He had spent the entire year longing for her. Spent the entire day getting to know her and the lad in a new and deeper way. In a way that made him feel like he was truly a part of something. A feeling that had him rethinking his earlier conclusions.

Perhaps, it had just been her lack of memory of him after all...