I am so sorry for not updating this story. First a few days went by and I said I would write on the weekend. Then the weekend was too busy and I never got a chance to write something and it became this game of me saying I would write as soon as I had a free minute and then the time never came. I've just felt really uninspired in writing lately. A reviewer convinced me to start up one of the first stories I shared on here and nearly a month later I sat down and finally started writing again. I've been working on that instead, the lack of spoilers (even up to now) has just left me unsure of what to write.

If you'd like to read the other story, its called Take It Out On Me. The beginning of the story follows the AU world where Emma and Killian live in Boston (and is the chapters include lyrics from the song of the same name by Florida Georgia Line).

And since you're here for this story right now, it's part of the CS Hiatus Meme and the theme is Touching, which is also the name for this chapter. It's a short one and I'm sorry. I do hope to be writing along with the episodes soon after they return. (That will be under the Never Give Up story.)

For decade after decade in Neverland, he was alone. Revenge consumed him at first, not allowing for any other emotions to infiltrate his mind but as the time passed, days blurring together into weeks, months then years he began to feel again. Sadness for the lost boys of the island, impatience at his crew and himself for their inability to leave, amusement that Pan thought he could outsmart him, and eventually desire. Desire to share a meal with someone other than his crew, desire to hold an intelligent conversation, desire to touch and be touched.

Affection, physical or verbal, was not doled out in large supply in the foster system. She could barely remember ever hearing a praise or compliment falling from the lips of any guardian she had. She could count the number of hugs she'd received on both hands, no toes needed. Intimacy had never come easy to her. When Neal covered her hand with his for the first time all those years ago, she had to force herself not to flinch. For her parents and for Henry, she tried. She tried to welcome the hugs and reassuring pats on the arm. But they never felt quite real. Only in the rare times when her emotions rather than her mind controlled her body, did she allow herself to openly show affection.

With her it was different. From the moment her hand rested on his shoulder, eyes full of distrust and annoyance, as he slipped the cuff allowing her to climb the beanstalk on her wrist he felt something between them. An overwhelming desire to touch her, to be in her presence.

With him it was different. Ever since she grabbed him to stop him from setting off the trip wire, she had felt this inexplicable pull to be near him, as though something as simple as a single touch had connected them somehow. Even when not speaking, his presence had the ability make her want to open up.

That was the past.

Initially he followed her lead with affection when in public, but after she physically held his heart in her hand, he simply couldn't do it anymore. His hook moves of its own accord to pull her toward him by her belt loops then wraps around her waist, holding her close to him. His fingers entwine with hers anytime they are next to each other. When they're not, he finds himself gravitating toward her in a crowded room just so he can touch her. Anytime she walks ahead of him, his hand rests at the small of her back. Soft kisses are pressed to her cheek at every available opportunity. His thumb frequently finds the dent in her chin when its not rubbing over her hipbone through her clothing. His fingers always end up in her hair, gliding over the silky tresses. His lips, when not pressed to hers, spend a lot of time on her neck, especially on the soft skin under her earlobe.

After actually holding his heart in her hands, she can't stop herself from touching him. Partly to reassure herself that he is real and whole and partly because she loves the soft smiles and looks of adoration he gives her every time she touches him. Like the night in the tavern, she traces his hook but now it is not always to flirt and tease but to silently remind him she simply doesn't care whether he possesses a hand or hook. Her head frequently comes to rest on his shoulder. Her arms are always winding around his waist, pulling him in close before shes either softly running her hands over his spine or scratching her nails against the smooth expanse of skin that arches under her touch. Her fingers often wrap around the charms of his necklace; a handy way to to pull him closer to her. Her nose, when not bumping against his, is likely to rest at the base of his neck, inhaling his scent as he presses soft kisses into her hair. Her lips, when not pressed against his, whisper the words she never thought she could freely say.

Thanks again for sticking with me when I haven't shared anything in quite some time. I hope you enjoy this little piece.