I honestly have no clue where Hook is living now that the Jolly Roger is gone. Let's assume he's got a room at Granny's.

Chapter Four

Panting, Killian stopped on the first landing to catch his breath. Whale had assured him that the lingering effects of the hypoxemia would be temporary but it was disheartening to find himself gasping for breath after so little exertion. Dashing his arm over his forehead to mop up the perspiration dampening his brow, he closed his eyes and tried to remember the man who could scamper up the rigging of a tall ship or nimbly climb a beanstalk. Feeling every one of his three hundred plus years, he tiredly contemplated the dozen steps still to be scaled. Sucking in a deep breath, he wrapped his fingers around the railing and lifted a booted foot onto the first riser. So focused was he on each step and the increasing toll it took on his breathing, he did not hear a door open and close on the floor above, nor the sound of approaching footsteps. It was her familiar scent and startled gasp that drew his attention upwards.

"Hook!" Emma was frozen in place, one foot dangling in mid-air above the first step. Her lips were shaped in a tiny circle of surprise at the unexpected sight of him on the stairs below.

"I didn't know… when did you… are you -" Her words trailed off and a flush of embarrassment stained her cheeks as she was suddenly confronted with the man she had all but abandoned in recent days.

An expression of intense longing crossed Killian's face before he schooled his features into an impassive mask. "M'lady," he intoned mockingly. Bending at the waist and sweeping out one arm with a gallant flourish, he turned to the side to allow her room to pass.

"No. Please." She stepped back and gestured for him to continue up.

Cursing the fates that she should be here to witness his frailty, he ground his molars together and dragged himself up the next step. Compassion melted away Emma's own embarrassment.

"Let me help you." She clattered down the steps, wincing when she felt him flinch away from her touch.

"I'm sorry." Her words were muffled against his arm as she buried her face in his shoulder. "Please, let me help you." Wrapping her arm around his waist, she assisted him up the remaining steps.

He lurched toward his room and the welcome promise of the relief of being able to hide inside, and he dug a single key from his pocket. "Bloody hell," he whispered. His hand trembled, preventing him from inserting the key into the lock. His head fell against the door with an audible thunk as his failure to accomplish so small a task frustrated him.

"Here." Emma's fingers closed over his. "Let me help."

She slipped the key from his nerveless fingers and slid it into the lock. The door fell open beneath his hand and he stumbled inside to collapse into a chair. She followed him, the door closing behind her with a tiny snick of sound. Her eyes wandered around the small, almost spartan room. Killian sat in the lone cushioned chair near the window. She saw a door leading to the bathroom and an iron framed bed in another corner. The bed was carefully made - indeed, everything in the room was neatly stored away with the exception of a teetering tower of books stacked on the small table near the bed.

Her gaze finally came to rest again on Killian, taking a moment to study him as he stared sightlessly through the window. Dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes and new lines were carved onto either side of his mouth. His face was abnormally pale and he slumped bonelessly into the chair, exhaustion evident in every line of his body.

She cast about desperately for something to break the tension.

"Nice outfit." She faintly smiled at the incongruous sight of the fearsome pirate captain clad in a set of pale blue cotton hospital scrubs.

He glanced down, his lips quirking in a self-mocking grin.

"I think the boots give it a certain flair," he said, jutting out one foot. "It seems they were compelled to cut my clothing from me when I was brought into the hospital. A nurse was kind enough to allow me to borrow these."

The amusement died from her face as she realized that he had been forced to wear the scrubs because no one - because she - had not thought to bring a change of clothes to the hospital.

He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable spot. Face contorting into a grimace, a soft gasp escaped him as pain lanced through his still-healing ribs, stealing his breath.

Jolted by his obvious discomfort, Emma moved toward him. "Didn't they send you home with anything for the pain?"

"Aye. They gave me something." He dug a scrap of paper from the breast pocket of his scrubs. "I assume it's some kind of incantation I am supposed to perform 'every four to six hours as needed', but I'll be damned if I can read the bloody thing!"

She took the paper from him and unfolded it. A grin trembled at the corner of her mouth as she read the barely legible scrawl.

"This isn't a spell, Killian. It's a prescription for pain medication. You have to buy it at a drug store."

His face heated. This world and its strange ways exhausted him, making him all too aware of how badly out of place he was in this realm. There was very little that was familiar to him here. The foods, the clothing, the casual manner of speech and most of all the technology were like a foreign language to him. He sometimes felt as a tree torn from a misty mountain forest and transplanted into the stifling heat of a desert - unable to sink deep roots and wilting in a hostile environment.

"I can take it and pick up the medication for you." She tucked the scrap of paper into one of her pockets. "How did you get home?" Shame flooded through her. Her fears over the intensity of her feelings had caused her to abandon him so fully that she didn't even think about how or when he would get home from the hospital.

"Smee was kind enough to collect me and deliver me here."

"Oh," she said inanely. "Good. That's good."

An awkward silence fell over them. Emma shifted miserably from one foot to the other as Killian's gaze drifted back to the window. His fingers idly played over the hair roughened skin exposed by the open "V" of the scrub top before lowering to settle protectively over the curve of his stump. Something about the gesture sparked a memory and Emma sprang to life.

"I'll be right back."

He watched with surprise as she disappeared through the door.

Emma hurried to the rooms she shared with Henry. Yanking open a closet door, she snatched up a plastic bag by its handles and tugged down the leather coat hanging inside. The coat was well-worn and buttery soft with age. She held it to her face and inhaled the delicious scents of old leather and Killian. Folding the coat neatly over her arm, she returned to his room.

The sound of the door creaking open drew his gaze toward her.

"I have something for you." Emma raised her arms to show him the coat before draping it on the hook nailed to the back of the door. In her hand she carried a white bag emblazoned with the logo he had come to associate with the hospital. Squatting on the floor near his feet, she dug into the bag, drawing forth his hook and placing it in his lap.

Killian breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight of the metal appendage which had become as familiar to him over the years as his own flesh and blood. Lost in thought, he stroked a finger over the leather brace and the straps used to secure the hook to his arm and did not see her reach into the bag again.

She leaned closer and took his hand, pouring his rings into his palm, and then carefully draped the heavy silver chain around his neck. He fisted a possessive hand over the medallions, comforted by their familiar weight around his neck.

"How did you come to have these in your possession?" he wondered.

She sat back on her heels and shrugged, pleased to see some life in his blue eyes.

"Hospitals always give personal property to the next-of-k-" Embarrassed, she bit off her instinctive response.

"To the next-of-kin." A spark of hope flared to life but was quickly extinguished with her next words.

"It's no big deal," she said quickly. "I was there when you were brought into the emergency room and everyone knows we're friends…"

He knew that it was her own fears which pushed her to cruelty, but her words were still a slap to the face. "I see." His voice was heavy with disappointment. "I thank you for keeping them safe." He spoke quickly to fill the uncomfortable silence. "I have not many of my own personal items in this realm. Most were lost with the ship."

"Lost with the…" Emma sat on the floor realizing for the first time that she had not seen Hook's ship since he brought her and Henry back to Storybrooke.

"Killian," she asked worriedly. "What happened to the Jolly Roger?"

"Have you never wondered how it was that I alone escaped the curse and found you in New York, love?"

"Of course I have, but there's been so much going on since we got back… I - I never asked. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. "I'm sorry." She propped her chin against her knees. "Will you tell me now? How did you get to me?"

He toyed with the silver hook, stroking his fingers over the smooth curve and testing the sharpness of the point with the pad of his thumb. "The curse was coming." He looked up and gave a tiny shrug of his shoulder. "So I ditched my crew and took the Jolly Roger as fast and far as I could to outrun it."

"You outran a curse?" she scoffed softly.

"I'm a helluva captain." His lips twitched into a smug smile. "Once I was outside the curse's purview I knew the walls were down. Transport between the worlds was possible. All I needed was a magic bean."

"Those are not easy to come by," she pointed out.

"They are if you've got something of value to trade."

"And what was that?"

"Why, the Jolly Roger, of course," he smiled and tried to inject a note of lightness into his voice as if to downplay the enormity of his sacrifice.

"You traded your ship for me?" she asked slowly, her voice shaking with disbelief.

"Aye." Everything he felt for her was contained in that one simple word and unspoken was the promise that he would do anything to secure her safety and happiness.

She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, fingers tearing into her hair. Scrambling to her feet she shook her head in frantic denial of his obvious devotion. "You traded your home?" Nerves coiled like snakes in her belly. "Why would you do that? It's too much! You love that ship!"

"You're an intelligent woman, Swan. You cannot possibly need me to spell it out for you."

"No." Her hands sliced through the air with frantic finality. "No. It's too much."

"Is it? Are you going to keep pretending that this thing between us isn't real?" he snapped. "Yes. Trading away the Jolly Roger was the price I paid in order to find you. And I've never regretted it. A few days ago you were going to sacrifice your magic for me in that barn. Are you telling me that wasn't too much?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Magic isn't worth anyone's life and that crazy bitch was trying to kill you!" Panicked, she spun away, rubbing a clenched fist over her chest and trying to catch her breath.

He watched her pace the confines of the room like a caged tiger and suddenly wanted nothing more than to be alone to lick his wounds in private. "I'm rather tired, Swan," he said, visibly deflating under the weight of her obvious unhappiness. "Perhaps it would be best if you were to leave now."

"Um… oh! Of course." Shocked at his sudden dismissal, she stopped in mid-stride and wound her arms around herself in misery. "I'll just… I'll just let myself out."

She wrapped her hand around the knob of the door, her fingers convulsing over the smooth metal. The tone of defeat and finality accompanying his words frightened her to the core. Pressing her forehead against the wood, she squeezed her eyes shut.

"You said you would never give up," she reminded him in a voice small and scared.

"I confess that I am at a loss to understand what promise or proof you need to extract from me which I have not already freely offered, love." His breath escaped him on a long-suffering sigh. "Surely it is evident that I have neither the strength nor the will to walk away from you - even in the face of your constant rejection."

Emma drew upon every ounce of courage she possessed in order to turn and face him. Tears pricked her eyes at the tired and worn look on his face as he continued to speak in a beaten tone.

"Because you asked it of me, I have forsaken my vow to Milah. I have bloody well given up everything I have of value, including my pride, to your wish that I refrain from causing harm to the Crocodile."

His chest heaved. Upon meeting Emma, hope had flared to life within him for the first time in three centuries, and for a brief period he had convinced himself that he had a right to reach for happiness rather than vengeance. But with his fading hopes, guilt over his willingness to break his promise to the woman he had once loved with all his heart weighed heavily on him.

"I have left behind the pirate and still it is not enough to make you believe," he said, his voice curiously detached. "'Tis strange. Despite everything that transpired between the two of you, Bae was able to regain your love and forgiveness. You have rightfully given your understanding and love to your parents. But I am made to pay for the sins of others. Every day, I pay the price for those who came before me and destroyed your ability to trust."

His head throbbed, both from the aftereffects of the concussion he had sustained as well as from the sense that he was witnessing the final nails being driven into the coffin of his hopes.

"And yet here I remain, each day awakening to face your rejection of what we could be together." He lifted his gaze to hers. "I am in love with you, Emma. What more would you have me do to prove so?" He raised his hand in entreaty before letting it fall back into his lap.

"Killian." Tears streamed down her cheeks and she moved toward him. Dropping again to her knees, she laid a hand on his booted foot. He tipped his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. He was an open wound where she was concerned and her touch flayed his nerves raw.

"I've tried not to, but… I do love you." She pressed her face against his leg with a stifled sob.

"I know you do, lass." He winnowed his fingers through her hair. "And it pains me to know that loving me brings you naught but sadness."

"Loving you doesn't make me sad." She sagged onto the floor between his legs and rested her back against the chair, her temple pressed against his knee as she relaxed under the rhythmic strokes of his hand. "It frightens me."

"Why?"

"Of all the people I've come across since Henry brought me to Storybrooke, the last person I thought I'd trust wholeheartedly was Captain Hook," she said in a curiously faraway voice. "But you're always there at my side when I need you most." She tipped her head back to look up at him. "You tell me that I'm an open book to you and I know that you see through to the real me - and let's face it, the real me is a total wreck. And yet still, you want me. It's too good to be true. How long will it be before you decide that loving me is too much work?"

Sighing, she closed her eyes, her head lolling comfortably against his thigh as he continued his soothing ministrations.

"My only experience with love is that people always leave."

"Aye, love. I know." Killian's fingers tightened in her hair.

"Are you thinking of Milah?"

His chest rose and fell on a lingering breath.

"Of Milah, yes. But also my parents. My brother…"

His words trailed off and a silence fell over them as they reflected on their losses.

"I keep expecting to turn around one day and find that you've gone," she finally admitted. "And I think maybe I've convinced myself it would hurt less if I push you away first. Then at least when I'm left alone again, it will have been on my terms."

"Oh, lass. Come here." He tugged on her hand, urging her to climb onto his lap.

"You just got out of the hospital." She strained away from his firm grip. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

"Emma. Love." He gave her hand an insistent tug until she eased herself on his legs. She tucked her head into the curve of his shoulder and he tipped his cheek against her golden curls.

"Why push me away at all?" he asked, resuming their conversation. "Why not just trust me to stay?"

She shrugged and raised one hand to idly trace the V-neck of his shirt.

"I don't think I know how to be happy," she admitted in a low voice. "My comfort zone lies in staying on edge. In being wary of others; of their motives. It's how I've always lived. The idea of being happy freaks me out. The thought of putting my happiness in someone else's hands scares me to the bone."

She nestled closer and curled her fingers into the soft blue cotton covering his chest and made her final confession.

"I'm a lost girl, Killian. Frightened and weak. I put on a good show by acting like a badass but I'm not."

"I wish you could see yourself through my eyes." He laid a finger under her chin and tipped her face up to his. "Flawed, aye. Stubborn and headstrong. But also brilliant, brave and beautiful. Strong and true. A devoted mother. A generous daughter."

She turned her face into his chest and shook her head in denial of his words.

"I'm not," she insisted. "I'm nothing special."

"You're wrong." He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. "Even if you weren't the Savior, you'd still be special. To your parents, to Henry… to me."

He felt the negative shake of her head against his chest.

"Time and again you have been left behind in the name of love by those who wanted to protect you and do what they thought best for you. But, Swan, there's one thing you should have already discovered about me…" He gave her hair a gentle tug until she tipped her head back to look at him.

"I am a selfish man," he told her. "I should follow the example of others and let you go for your own good - but I cannot. My need to be with you is as basic as the need for air in my lungs - I cannot survive without you. If you want me out of your life, you are going to have to be the one to walk away."

"You love me too much." Tears sparkled in her eyes. "How can I trust that kind of devotion to last?"

"Because the other thing you should have already learned about me is that I don't love easily, Swan, but when I do, I love fiercely." His voice was a quiet and comforting rumble vibrating beneath her ear. "I understand your fears. When Milah left me it was as if my own heart had been torn out with hers and the memory of my love for her and the promise of revenge was all that sustained me."

"Then why? Why open yourself up to that kind of pain again?"

"Because it's worth it to feel alive again. I'm a different man than the one who loved Milah. It was a young man who loved her. We shared a sense of fun and adventure and I have mourned her for more lifetimes than I care to count. I have aged little physically since then but the love I have for you is the love of a man well-lived. I'm a man who has spent centuries wallowing in the darkness and at last in you I can see light. When I met you, I felt a spark of life flicker inside me and for the first time in such a painfully long time, I feel something other than hatred."

Tears spilled over her lashes, trailing silvery paths over her cheeks.

"I've tried to hide from you, Killian but you keep worming your way inside. I want so badly to open myself to you, but I'm afraid."

"I know, love. I know you're afraid. But I am not. Because loving you, being loved by you, has been my salvation. Not just from death which had finally come for me in that barn, but from the darkness which has consumed me all these many years. You saved me… and, Emma?"

He laid two fingers beneath her chin and tipped her face up to his. "I think I can save you - if you'll give us a chance." His chest rose and fell on a shaky exhalation of breath. "I will never leave you, Emma. If you would but allow it, I would love you to the end of my days."

She could feel his heart pounding beneath her ear and thought of how close she had come to losing him to Zelena's madness. Was she truly willing to lose him now - after everything - to her own fears? She loved him… was in love with him. And while she was still afraid, she was not a stupid woman.

Twining her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, she drew him down and touched her mouth to his. His hand came up, lightly exerting the slightest pressure on her head to draw her closer as their lips met tentatively at first and then with growing hunger.

This was nothing like what they had shared in Neverland, Emma thought hazily. That kiss had started off as a display of bravado on her part, cockiness on his, and had quickly flared into unexpected passion. But this… this was about so much more.

Their heads slanted one way and then the other as their mouths moved together. Learning. Tasting. Wanting. Slow and wet. Playful nibbles and deep explorations.

She felt his hand slide from her hair, his fingers curling under her jaw, thumb on her chin, holding her in place as his mouth roved greedily over hers. Opening her eyes, she pulled back slightly, taking in the masculine beauty of his face - the dark crescents of his lashes resting against the flushed skin of his cheeks. Those lashes fluttered apart and she couldn't help the grin that curved her lips as she stared into those blue, blue eyes.

Killian grinned back before swooping in again, wanting to taste all the flavors of her smile.

She shifted in his lap, straddling him, her thighs hugging his as she rose to her knees above him and he tipped his head back to accommodate the new angle. His teeth playfully nipped the plump fullness of her bottom lip before his tongue swept out to soothe away the tiny sting and she moaned in response.

Impatient heat balled low in her belly and she was struck with the sudden need to get her hands on him. Now. Forehead pressed to his, she curled her fingers into the hem of the blue cotton of his borrowed shirt and began to shove it up his torso. "Arms up," she demanded impatiently and eager to obey, Killian obligingly raised his arms over his head as she insistently pushed his shirt toward his chin.

Wincing, he bit back a pained gasp as the stretched and torn ligaments in his shoulder vehemently protested the unexpected movement.

"Sorry!" She scrambled from his lap, hands hovering impotently over him. "Oh, God. I hurt you. I'm so sorry!" she babbled helplessly.

"I'm fine, love." He gave her a reassuring look as the pain slowly ebbed.

"I'll go and get that pain medication for you right now." She patted her pocket with the prescription and his hand shot out to wrap around her wrist as she took a step toward the door.

"I'm fine, Swan." He tugged on her hand in an attempt to pull her back onto his lap, afraid that if he let her go now she would spend the time away coming up with a million reason why this - why they - were a bad idea. "Come back," he urged.

She let him pull her closer but resisted his attempt to draw her back into his embrace. Planting the soles of her shoes on the floor, she wrapped her other hand around his wrist and rocked back onto her heels to draw him to his feet.

Obeying her silent command, he rose and took the final step to close the distance between them. He wrapped his damaged arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his body, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

"Emma. My Emma," he crooned and pressed his lips to the pulse fluttering madly beneath her jaw.

Leaning against his supportive arm, she tipped her head back and smiled into his eyes, then, tangling her fingers with his, she led him across the small room to the narrow bed tucked into one corner and pushed him down. He sat on the edge of the mattress and she stepped between his knees. Framing his face between her palms, she stroked her thumbs over his cheeks, dipping into the dimpled grooves hiding in his beard. Bewitched by the love shining in his eyes, she felt her heart roll over in her chest.

"You're beautiful," she murmured softly and smiled as his cheeks flushed beneath her hands.

"You're beautiful," he emphasized. "I'm -"

"Dashing." She laughingly corrected herself. "Devilishly handsome."

"Better," he approved with a twinkle in his eyes. Stretching toward her, he tangled his fingers in her hair and drew her down to meet his kiss.

She fell to her knees between his legs, humming contentedly as his mouth closed over hers. The kiss rapidly shifted from languid to impatient and once again she moved to gather up the hem of his shirt in her eager fingers.

"Carefully," she cautioned as she pushed the shirt over his chest. Guiding his head and good arm from the shirt, she eased the fabric over his injured shoulder and tossed it to the floor. A frown creased her brow as she took in the sight of the multitude of bruises blooming over his torso in a mottled rainbow of blues and blacks, of greens and yellows. A mournful sound caught in her throat and she leaned forward to press her lips against the worst, brushing her mouth gently over his ribs and the ball of his shoulder.

He shuddered beneath her caresses. Each touch of her lips against his damaged flesh ignited a burning arousal while the dampness of her tears was the balm of a benediction.

"My love." He cupped a hand over the nape of her neck and drew her lips to his in a tender kiss. When she eased away, several strands of her hair caught on his mouth - a golden thread binding them together briefly until she raised a hand to stroke it away. He turned his head, capturing her thumb between his lips and sucked it into the wet heat of his mouth.

Shaken by the intensity of his gaze, she slid her glistening thumb from his mouth, curling it protectively in her fist for a heartbeat. Unbearably aroused she stroked trembling hands over his torso. His was not the body of a modern day man whose build was honed in a gym. Instead, skin burnished a light gold from years spent under the sun's glare was stretched over a leanly muscled physique earned through the hard, physical labor of lifetimes spent manning the deck of a ship at sea. His stomach muscles quivered beneath her eager hands as they glided over his ribs and abdomen, short nails combing through the whorls of dark hair covering his pectorals, her still-damp thumb glancing over one flat nipple hidden beneath. He gasped, and the hand wrapped around the nape of her neck tightened when she leaned forward to rasp her tongue over the other.

"Swan," he groaned, his cheek falling forward to rest against the golden crown of her head. "Swan."

He pushed his hand against her shoulder and this time it was she who groaned at the sudden loss of contact between them as his fingers tugged at the fabric of her white shirt.

"Off." He growled at the ridiculously tiny row of buttons which marched down the front of her shirt, defying his one-handed efforts to help her disrobe. He glanced with frustration at his hook which was lying on the chair on the other side of the room as he pictured himself using it to quickly tear the offending buttons out of his way.

"Take this bloody thing off," he demanded and rather than risk the destruction of her clothing, she made quick work of the buttons. He let out a low sigh when she shrugged the blouse from her shoulders and reached out to stroke gentle fingers over the soft swells of her breasts where they rose above the lacy cups of her bra. He slid from the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor beside her and lowering his mouth to her breast, he traced a lazy path along the handful of freckles scattered over her bare skin, playing a sensual game of connect-the-dots with his tongue. A shudder wracked her frame and her hands clutched his arms for support.

"Again," she whispered.

He slanted a look at her through hooded lashes and held her gaze as his tongue traced a return journey over her skin before he ducked his head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to first one breast and then the other, the moist heat of his mouth dampening the sheer lace and drawing her nipples into tight peaks.

"As lovely as your breasts look displayed in this little lace corset…" He raised his head and dipped one finger beneath the scalloped edge of her bra, "I believe turnabout is fair play." He indicated his own state of partial undress and arched a meaningful brow.

She reached behind her back and popped open the clasp then crossed her arms coyly over her breasts to hold the bra in place. Killian brushed his fingers over one shoulder, pushing away the strap and used his teeth to tug at the other. He looked up at her through an errant lock of hair which had tumbled over his brow as the straps sagged toward the crook of her elbows and skimmed his lips over the upper curves of breasts plumped up by the protective fold of her arms. She dropped her arms to her sides and the scrap of lace followed, drifting to the floor.

Emma threw her arms around his neck, hugging him close and they sighed in mutual pleasure at the first touch of bare skin to bare skin. She shifted slightly, enjoying the sensation of his hair-roughened chest abrading her own delicate flesh, admitted to herself that she had fantasized about doing precisely this from practically the first moment she had seen the dark hair scattered over his chest exposed by the perpetually open collars of his shirts

He tightened his arms around her hips, reveling in the simple act of being allowed to hold her and the tentative sense of joy geysering inside him.

"Let's…" She pulled away and sat on the bed. Kicking off her shoes, she swung her legs up and stretched out on the mattress. "C'mere." She nestled her head into a pillow and beckoned him toward her with an inviting crook of one finger.

His chest expanded on a long breath and he sat beside her and wrestled the boots from his feet before lying down. He ignored the flare of pain in his shoulder and propped himself on an elbow, leaning down to touch his lips to hers in an achingly tender kiss. Burying his face in the fragrant column of her throat, he skimmed one finger in a straight line between breasts, feeling her shiver as he traced a circle around her navel, his thumb dipping briefly into the little hollow before moving to flick open the button of his jeans. Two fingers slipped inside to flirt with the lacy fabric hidden beneath the heavy denim.

Shifting lower on the bed, he closed his mouth over one breast, smiling against the plump flesh at the sound of the gasp escaping her lips when he scraped the calloused pad of his thumb over her delicate skin. He twisted slightly to shower the other breast with the same attention and winced as pain tore through his shoulder. Gasping, he flopped onto his back and threw one arm over his face with a frustrated grunt.

Emma carefully crawled over his prone body and stretched out along his uninjured side. She propped herself on one elbow and took a moment to study him, noting the twisted and badly scarred flesh left behind after the brutal amputation of his hand and the half-healed finger-shaped bruises hidden in the dark hair over his heart. She leaned forward to press her mouth over the bruises and then rested her cheek against his chest, comforted by the steady beat beneath her ear. After a long, quiet moment, she rose up and wrapped her hand around his forearm.

"Hey." She tugged his arm away from his face, peeking beneath it as his eyes flickered open.

"My apologies, lass. It would appear I am not quite as healed as I had hoped." His cheeks were stained red with embarrassment and she realized that he viewed his injury-related weakness as an affront to his manhood.

"We could always just neck." Her brows waggled comically as she sought to lighten the mood.

"Neck?"

"Yeah. You know, play tonsil hockey, tongue wrestle… make out." She winked and shot him a deliberately suggestive leer as she laughingly reeled off one silly euphemism after another.

He rolled his eyes. "Swan, once again your peculiar manner of speech is incomprehensible to me." He smiled fondly and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.

"Making out is just touching… kissing… groping… fondling…" She punctuated each word with a kiss and a caress, "...without actually, you know... um…" She made a vague gesture toward his groin and her own with another intentionally lascivious smirk.

"It sounds bloody frustrating," he observed with a winking smile of his own.

"Yeah," she grinned. "But in a really sweaty fun kind of way."

She plopped her head onto his good shoulder and crooked one leg over his thighs. Her fingers toyed with the silver medallions glinting against the dark hair on his chest and she sighed happily as his hand ghosted along the hollow of her spine before dipping below the loosened waist of her jeans to palm the rounded flesh beneath.

"Besides," she breathed contentedly. "We have the rest of our lives together."

She heard his breath catch in his throat and felt his heartbeat slam against his chest.

"Is that so, love?" he asked in a carefully modulated voice.

Mindful of his injuries, Emma stacked her fists on his chest and propped her chin on them.

"I saved your life with a kiss," she pointed out gravely. "Even I know what that means."

"And what precisely is that?" he asked hoarsely, a pleading look in his eyes.

"It means you belong to me, and -" She stretched forward to press her mouth to his, "I belong to you."

"Forever?" he asked against her lips.

"Forever... and ever."

And opening her mouth to his, they sealed it with a kiss.

End