The tavern door opened again as a group of men walked through, sending a blast of cold air to the table Emma was sitting at. She tugged her jacket closer against her, unable to suppress a small shiver. Her hair and jeans were still soaked from the rain, but she was reluctant to move closer to the fire on the other side of the room. She already felt conspicuous in her jeans and red leather jacket and she didn't want her presence among the men socializing near the fireplace construed as an invitation to question her.

All she really wanted was to sleep. It had been a long trek from where the spell, or curse or whatever it was had spat them out—conveniently in the middle of nowhere—and it wasn't a comfortable walk. The storm outside had been going on since midday and Emma found out that her favorite boots, while fine for a short hike around the woods surrounding Storybrooke, were not meant to be walked in for hours at a time. Her feet were killing her.

She glanced over at the bar. Hook still seemed to be deep in negotiations with the owner and Emma sighed, stretching her legs out a bit and trying to get as comfortable as she could on the rickety wooden chair she was sitting on. There was nothing else for her to do but watch the other people in the tavern and she found herself eyeing the swords at the men's hips, and the way one man casually herded the bar maid to his table with the back of his wooden bow. She wished for her gun. She felt uneasy, uncertain in a way that reminded of the last time she was here, and she really wanted to familiar weight of her holster under jacket.

It didn't matter if she was born here. This was not her world.

Her view of the rest of the tavern was suddenly blocked as Hook sat down across from her. "Well, Swan," he sighed, "we got ourselves a room."

Her eyes shot up to meet his. "A room?"

"Aye," he nodded wearily. "And we were lucky to get that. This close to the city and with this storm pushing everyone inside it was a surprise that there was a room open at all. As it is I had to pay double its worth just to secure it." He shot a dark look at the owner behind the bar.

One room. And she had no doubt that meant one bed, too. This situation was the exact last thing she wanted to deal with, but she was exhausted and cold and the storm was still pounding against the wooden shutters of this drafty tavern, and she needed to sleep so she could figure out a way to get home to Henry.

She groaned. "Fine. Let's just go." She hoped the room at least had its own fireplace.

They made their way through the crowded room to the small staircase in the corner. Emma could see out of the corner of her eye the looks her clothes were getting, but she ignored them, trudging tiredly up the narrow stars behind Hook. The room he had rented was the last one on the right, drafty from the two outside facing walls, and had one bed, a chair and a tiny fireplace with an even tinier fire already burning. Emma looked at the meager supply of the firewood beside it and her shoulders slumped.

This was going to be a miserable night.

"We have this room for tonight," Hook said as he followed her in, "but we are going to have to figure something else out tomorrow. It took nearly all I had to pay for it and now that we've paid double he's not going to accept anything less."

Emma leaned over the fireplace, carefully placing one of the few logs on the fire. "You said we were close to the city, right?" She straightened up, dusting off her hands.

"Yes. It's not a half hour's walk away. But—"

She cut him off. "Then it's no problem. Cities mean plenty of wealthy people on the streets to pickpocket. We'll be fine." She could feel a little more heat from the fire now that she fed it and she stripped off her jacket and tossed it onto the chair by the window.

"Why, Swan, I am disappointed."

She looked up from finger combing her wet hair, eyebrows raised in question.

"Here I thought petty thievery was below the Savior, not to mention the Sheriff." He smirked at her.

Emma rolled her eyes. "I'm not the Sheriff here. And it wouldn't be the first time I've done it. Look," she stopped trying to detangle her hair and turned to face him directly, "the important thing here is to find a way back home. Without changing anything. I don't want to pull a Marty McFly and erase myself from ever existing. For one thing, I don't play the guitar that well. So we'll do whatever we have to in order to break this spell, or curse or whatever it is or find another one to take us home, without anyone we may know finding out we are ever here. Understood?"

"Yes. But, ah," he held up on finger in the air, "I do have one question."

Emma crossed her arms and leaned back on her heel, waiting.

"Who is Marty McFly?"

She release her arms and breath with a sigh. "Just… never mind," she said tiredly, suddenly aware again of just how exhausted she was. With the fire going and her hair feeling a little less like a soaking wet rats nest against her neck, Emma finally turned to the piece of furniture she'd been ignoring since she stepped into the room.

The bed was awfully small.

It wasn't quite a twin, but it wasn't exactly a full either, with only one slightly long pillow at the top. They couldn't possibly share the bed with any real space between them.

Hook caught her expression as she looked at the bed. "You take it," he softly. "I'll be fine in the chair." He gestured with his hook to the straight backed, wooden chair by the window. "Someone needs to keep watch anyway."

Gone was the playful smirk from a few minutes ago, his expression settling into that same sad, apologetic one he'd worn around her since Neverland, and Emma felt something twist inside of her at the sight of it. She wished that they could go back to how it was before: the wicked grins and innuendos, the bickering. She knew how to act around him then, and they understood each other immediately in a way that allowed for things to be comfortable between them no matter what was going on. It was so different from the tension in the room now.

It didn't matter though. She knew Hook was as tired as she was. What's more, he had landed hard when the curse sent them here, and she saw the limp that he tried to hide. A night in that chair would only make whatever injury he had worse, and they both needed to be in the best shape possible to get home.

"Keep watch for what?" she asked, dismissing his excuse. "No one even knows we're here. No," she continued firmly, "we'll share the bed. But that—" Emma pointed at his hook. "—needs to come off. I have no idea if you flail in your sleep and I don't want to risk it."

He rolled his eyes but did what she said, unscrewing the hook and placing in on the small table by the bed. Emma walked to the opposite side and sat down, leaning forward to unzip her boots. Behind her she could hear Hook taking off his coat and sword, hanging both on the nob at the foot of the bed. He got in first facing away from her has he pulled the covers over his shoulder, and after a calming breath she did the same, tucking the thin blanket all the way up to her chin.

The bed was so small that they were pressed back to back, body heat seeping through the layers of fabric between them. She could feel the movement of each breath that he took and she felt hyper aware of just how close they were.

"Well," Hook said softly. "Goodnight, Swan."

Emma didn't reply. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

She was wide awake.

The fire had long since died out and she was too cold to get up and start it again, her mind would not stop thinking about Henry and how in the world she was supposed to travel through time to get back to him, and she couldn't get that damn "Johnny B. Good" song out of her head.

She never really liked those Back to the Future movies anyway.

She sighed, hugging the blanket a little closer to her. She really should get up and start the fire again, even if there were only a few logs left. She started to move, sticking one foot out of the blanket in preparation, but withdrew quickly when she felt the cold.

Behind her she felt Hook sigh, and then he was sitting up, getting out of the bed and walking to the fireplace across from it. He didn't say anything as he got the fire going again, but when he returned the bed he didn't go right back to sleep, instead leaning half up against the headboard so he could peer down at her. "So what is it?" he murmured.

Emma pulled the blanket further up over her mouth, hiding from the cold. "What is what?"

"Whatever it is that is keeping you awake. You've been fidgeting and sighing for the last hour, making it hard for either of us to sleep."

"Sorry," she muttered.

Hook shifted, sinking down further on the bed so he wasn't so much hovering above her as he was lying beside her. "It's not your fault. Just…" he hesitated. "It might help if you talk about what's on your mind, is all."

She turned the idea over in her mind. She didn't think there was much he could help with, but then she'd been going through the same thoughts over and over again in her mind, and she wasn't getting anywhere. Maybe he was right. Maybe saying it out load will allow her mind to let it go for now.

"I just…" she started quietly. "I just keep thinking about Henry. He's got to know we're missing by now, and he's going to be worried."

"The lad's strong. You know that he more than anyone else will believe that you'll come back to him," he reassured her.

"But that's just it. I don't know how to get back to him. We can't talk to my parents, or Regina, and even if we do find a spell to take us home my magic is gone. I can't cast it."

He was quiet behind her. Then she felt him let out a small gust of air, as if he had been holding his breath. "I am so sorry, Emma. If it weren't for me you would be able to use your magic to find away home. If you hadn't had to—"

Abruptly she rolled over so she was facing him. "No. There's no point in blaming yourself."


She stopped him before he could say anymore. "It was my decision. I wasn't going to let you die, Killian."

He stopped arguing at the use of his given name, and just stared at her for a moment, eyes flickering back and forth as took in her expression. Emma was suddenly very aware of how close they were, of how she could feel his breath ghost along her jaw and neck.

"You should have told me when she cursed you though," she told him, mostly to break the tension. "We would have figured it out."

"I can see that now." The corner of his lips turned up in a self-depreciating smile, and Emma suddenly missed his real one. Not the apologetic half smile he tended to give, or the smirking grin he used when he drawled out another innuendo, but the one she'd only seen a few times—when she did something to surprise him, or when he was talking to Henry. It made him look younger somehow, boyish, and so unlike the jaded pirate she met over a year ago.

On an impulse she leaned forward and pressed her lips lightly against his, pulling back before he could react. She glanced up, gauging his reaction.

He looked shocked, eyes wide as his right hand drifted involuntarily toward his lips. "What was that for?"

She shrugged one shoulder, unable to help a small smile. "Mouth to mouth isn't exactly a kiss. I figure we were cheated."

He raised one eyebrow. "We?"

She shot him a look. "Don't look too much into it." With that she rolled back over, grabbing the blanket and tucking it around her shoulder. Hook didn't move for a moment and then she felt him start to follow her example and roll back over to face the other wall. "Wait." She looked over her shoulder, reaching out one and to grab on to his sleeve.

He looked down at her in question.

"The fire is going to die out again soon; we might as well try to stay as warm as we can so we don't have to build it up again."

He stared at her for moment, peering into her eyes as if to see if she was sure, then he nodded, sinking down into the bed beside her, his front to her back. She let go of his sleeve and lay back down, and a moment later he hesitantly tucked his hookless arm around her waist.

They were quiet for a while, and Emma was just feeling herself finally slip into sleep when he spoke again.

"You don't have to worry about getting home to Henry, love. You'll find away. Trust me."

She thought about his unwavering faith that she would find Henry in Neverland, and how he implored her to trust him and drink the memory potion in New York and, as she scooted herself back a little more in order to feel the warmth coming from him, she decided to do just that.