This year's love had better last

Heaven knows it's high time

And I've been waiting on my own too long

But when you hold me like you do

It feels so right

I start to forget

This year's love – David Gray

When they finally returned home from Neverland, Emma told both Neal and Hook again that she was choosing Henry; that she would always choose Henry. They had nodded in agreement, Hook's eyes lingering on Emma a long time after Neal had turned his back to her.

Neal didn't seem upset with her, which made her glad because she wanted him and Henry to be able to have some form of a father-son relationship. But at the same time, she had felt sad; him not reacting much to Emma's declaration made her realize he probably were relieved to get rid of her without having to withdraw his statement about fighting for her and seeming like a douchebag.

In all honesty, why would anyone want to be with her? She was not sentimental, she hated public display of affections; she didn't even know how to be in a relationship. Not that she wanted to be in one with Neal, but she understood why he would feel relief.

Then there were the other one. Hook. He had kept his distance ever since they got back a month earlier, only speaking to her when he said hello or goodbye if they happened to come across each other on the street or at Granny's. This bothered her because she were terrible at expressing her emotions out loud, which meant she had no way to tell him she wanted to talk to him without running in the opposite directing in panic while doing so. Hook knew her, he had always been able to read her and yet he didn't come for her.

She was like a curse, infecting all those around her. Who was she to blame anyone for not wanting to be around her during longer periods of time?

Even her parents had fled, obviously trying to hide Mary Margaret's pregnancy and how happy they were to finally be able to have a real family, a baby they got to keep and raise and spoil and love and… Emma could feel the bitterness taking the better of her, but couldn't stop it once the thoughts had been unleashed in her mind. She didn't want to stop it, though; she wanted to feel sorry for herself, be alone forever and die of old age without anyone bothering to show up at her funeral because a. everyone calling themselves family would be dead and b. she had no friends.

The bitter nights were the worst. Emma didn't really have many of them, not even before she got back to Storybrooke and found her parents and her son, but when she did have one of those nights, she got really low and it was wise not to bother her.

The door to Granny's flew open then, interrupting Emma's self-pity and smashing back at the wall, barely avoiding destroying the window. Of course it was Hook, who else would have the best timing in the entire world and come when Emma were at her lowest? When he didn't acknowledge her presence at all Emma's heart started to beat faster.

He walked to the bar, ordered a glass of something – knowing Hook it was probably rum – and didn't look at Emma once, and yet she knew that he knew she sat there. She winced despite herself, but couldn't even muster up the energy to be mad at him. She wanted to be angry and to smash something, but she realized he had done nothing wrong; he had honored her wishes and nothing else. She swore quietly.

He was probably, just as Neal, relieved to get her off his back. He was, in fact, a pirate and their whole thing in Neverland had probably just been for fun; a laugh to have once he returned back to his business.

But he stayed in Storybrooke, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered, igniting a quiet flame of hope. She held on to that thought as she drank the last of her scotch neat in one giant gulp and got up from her seat. She walked straight up to Hook, but didn't even get a chance to say something.

"Not tonight, love," he said in a dry and restrained voice, "not in the mood." He took another sip from his rum, refusing to look at her.

Emma opened her mouth, determined at first to say something but changed her mind in the last second and closed it again. A lump was forming in her throat, threatening to be unleashed at Granny's, in front of everyone, so she felt her need to escape stronger than it had ever been.

"Sorry," she said quietly, in a voice far from the confidence she had hoped to muster. She didn't quite care, though, and turned around and left the diner without looking at him or anyone else. Once outside, she started running as if her life depended on it.

She thought she heard a voice calling her name, but she figured it was her imagination of wanting someone to care enough about her to follow. She dismissed it and didn't even turn around to see if anyone actually stood there, but instead just kept on running.

She had no idea where she was going but after ten minutes she hit a dead end; she had run down to the harbor. Her breathing was heavy and the cold air outside made it somewhat painful to catch her breath; she wandered slowly out to the end of the pier, sank down, wrapped her arms around her legs and started to cry.

Emma Swan, the sheriff, the savior, the tough girl, sat alone, down by the water and cried so violently she had trouble breathing in and out.

However, was that who she was? a voice asked her. No, the voice continued, she was Emma Swan, lost girl, orphan, always alone, never loved.

She tried weakly to shake her head in order to get rid of those thoughts, but in vain; she hated to cry, to feel vulnerable and she really hated to feel so bitter when she logically knew her thoughts weren't true. That was the charm of her bitter nights, because logic did not work. So she gave up, realized tomorrow was another day and continued to cry.

When Killian had gotten tired of being alone on his ship after a couple of days back in Storybrooke, he had started to come to Granny's. He liked her because she was feisty and didn't hesitate to tell him and everyone else what was on her mind; after a week of daily visits she had given him his first smile and Killian felt like hugging her – though a hug would've been very uncharacteristic of him so he chose not to and instead gave her a wink.

This particular evening, he felt… something, he wasn't quite sure what exactly but he knew it didn't make him in a very good mood. So he took his foul mood with him when he went to Granny's, almost managing to destroy a window, and earning a stern look from Granny. He said nothing, but just sat down and waited for his usual and he could feel her there. Feel her eyes burning in his back and it pissed him off even more; she were the one who had told him no, she were the one who had made it very clear of where she stood with him.

He was probably a masochist for staying in Storybrooke, clinging to any ounce of hope left that Emma would come to him.

He had made a choice the day they got back from Neverland and Emma had told him and Bae she was choosing neither of them; he would give her space, and time and everything else she needed because he had known they were right for each other. Now, a month later, his conviction had faltered and he just hung around to get a single glance at her, to see her smile from a distance, so watch the sunlight bounce off her hair. He felt pathetic for even thinking she would choose someone like him, and yet he could not stop loving her; he had no off-button for those feelings, despite how many glasses of rum he drank in one night.

Then suddenly she stood beside him, his heart skipped a beat and he feared talking to her; he was afraid he might say something he regretted in the morning when he was in such a mood so he told her to leave, still feeling pissed off at her. She didn't say anything at first, and when she finally did he wished she hadn't.

"Sorry," her voice had said, sounding so small and helpless and he had lifted his eyes to look at her, his anger fading in less than a second.

She looked… worn out, sad, angry, disappointed, and like a little girl all alone in the world. He had an instant craving to give her a never ending hug but didn't have a chance to act as she were gone before he had finished his thought.

He pulled out some money for his drink, slammed it on the bar and ran out after her, screaming her name as soon as he got outside. He saw her running down the main street as if she were being chased, not stopping when he called her name; his heart started to ache for her, forgetting for a second that he was in pain as well.

He didn't run after her since he knew exactly where she would go – though he did walk in a fairly brisk pace, looking from an outsider as if he were in a hurry.

Once he reached the harbor, he saw her small figure on the far end of the pier so he went out to her. When he got close, he could tell she heard him there because she stopped her violent sobs and took a really deep breath to steady herself.

"I'm having a crappy, bitter, self-pity, the world sucks kind of night so please just go." She knew it was him without looking because she had memorized how his feet sounded when he walked and how he breathed.

He didn't say anything as he sat down beside her and for a moment Emma thought he was going to make a snide remark or some innuendo about her in his bed, but he didn't. Instead, he silently put an arm around her, turned her towards him and pulled her into an embrace.

She started to cry again over everything and nothing and he just sat there, rocking her back and forth, brushing his hand up and down on her back and making shushing noises to calm her. It worked.

"So, lass, why are you sad?" Killian asked Emma a couple of hours later when they were walking along the quiet main street. It was just past midnight but Emma didn't want to return to her empty apartment (Henry had insisted he'd stay with Neal for a week, to 'test him as a dad' in his own words).

"Just one of those days," she told him, while she closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh air. She felt a thousand times better, not even feeling a trace of bitterness left in her body. "Don't you ever feel like that?"

He gave her a smile.

"Aye. Like tonight," he said, not letting her go from his gaze. "I felt mad at you, at me, at this entire situation."

Emma wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stay warm and convincing herself not to run away but to talk to him and give him an explanation for her behavior.

"About that, I'm sorry – " She was interrupted by him pulling off his big leather jacket and putting it over her shoulders, making her smile and run her arms through the sleeves, inhaling the scent quietly and appreciating the warmth; it felt as if her heart was swelling out of the sweetness of a simple gesture nobody had ever done for her before. "Thank you, Killian."

He froze in the middle of a step and almost fell over when he tripped on his own foot.

"What did you call me?"

"Do you prefer Hook?"

He laughed at her shocked facial expression, and shook his head.

"No, I do not prefer Hook."

Neither of them said anything for the rest of the walk. They reached a comfortable silence, both satisfied with the mere presence of each other and when Emma took Killian's hand, it felt natural; it felt like their entire lives had been about waiting for the other, waiting for the right time. So when Emma didn't let go of his hand when they reached her apartment, it felt just as natural to go with her.

They fell asleep fully clothed in each other's arms – still not having kissed since Neverland – and breathed each other in the rest of the night.

Before I open up my arms and fall

Losing all control

Every dream inside my soul

And when you kiss me

On that midnight street

Sweep me off my feet

This year's love – David Gray