Written for the Once Upon a Captain Swan storybook. The "I can't lose you, too," kiss.

He's been anxious all day, his heart beating dully in his chest ever since she dismissed him to the sheriff's station this afternoon. It's always one step forward and two steps back with this woman. And it's happening again. Even after last night, when she'd sunk her head into his chest, when she'd allowed him to warm her icy hand by holding it in his, when he'd finally felt like she was truly opening up and letting him be the man he longs to be for her, here she goes pushing him away again.

She's retreating behind those walls right before his very eyes and there's nothing he can do to stop it, it seems. But he won't give up. He'll sit here and wait for her to alight from that door until daybreak, if necessary. And while he's at it, he'll stew and sip at his rum.

He knows she doesn't trust easily. He knows she's got a lot to deal with. But, dammit, hasn't he proven himself to be a worthy ally? Even if she doesn't return his feelings, hasn't he proven, at the very least, that she can trust him? Doesn't she realize he'll never sit idly by while she rushes into danger?

Laying the flask down on the table, he rubs his hand over his heart as though he can force the weight in it to dissipate by doing so. It doesn't help. Of course, it doesn't help. It's not physical weight. It's an emotional one, and one he knows won't be lifted until he confronts her and finds out exactly where they stand.

So here he sits, apart from all the others inside, patiently (impatiently) waiting for her to come out.

He gives up on trying to massage the ache out of his heart and takes another drink of rum.

And another.

The rum is just starting to warm his system, relaxing his limbs and easing the sinking feeling in his chest (fractionally) when the door finally opens and she barrels through it.

He tries to be nonchalant about asking her to have a drink but she blows past him, barely looking in his direction and his heart smacks into his ribs with frustration.

She's running, almost literally this time, and he's not going to let her get away with it. So he vaults to his feet and follows her, demanding an explanation.

He catches her with his hook on her arm, already out of breath – not from the chase but from how hard his heart is pounding in anxiety.

"I know it feels like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders but at some point, even though we're quite different, you've got to trust me."

She rankles at that, looking at him with what could almost be distain and his heartrate spikes even faster. "You think that's what this is about? That I don't trust you?"

"Is that not what it's about?

"Of course I trust you!" she declares heatedly and it's almost relief to see her lose control because it allows him to let loose some of his own frustration.

"Then why do you keep pulling away from me?!"

"Because everyone I've ever been with is dead!" she nearly shouts, freezing any retort he might have on his tongue, the ache in his heart shifting instantly from self-pity to tender sympathy as she continues, "Neal, Graham, even Walsh. I lost everyone. I – I can't lose you, too."

And now his heart is swelling, it's still beating frantically, but it's swelling with just how much he bloody loves this woman. "Well, love, you don't have to worry about me. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's surviving."

Her eyes mist, her face open and vulnerable, and he can't stand to see her troubled. So he closes the distance and catches her lips with his. He realizes about two seconds into the kiss that he should probably slow down, cherish this declaration from her with gentle finesse. And he tries, he really does, but his heart sets the pace, the dull ache he's had all day morphing into a desperate need to devour.

His fingers find their way into her hair when she opens her mouth to him, passion sizzling between their joined lips. He shifts the angle and goes deeper, glorying in the way her hand snakes under his coat. It damn near makes him growl with appreciation because she seems just as desperate as he is to be rid of whatever frustrations are plaguing her, and what better way to do that than taking it out on his lips.

He doesn't know how long it goes on but it never slows, their panting breaths mixing together in between the nips and sucks, their mouths plunging and retreating in perfect synchronization until he doesn't know who is actually in control anymore.

But it doesn't matter, because by the time they finally separate, the weight he'd been carrying all day is gone and Emma is in his arms, both of them nearly drooping in relief from their shared release of frustration.