A/N: Merry Christmas or Merry Sunday, you crazy critters.

Emma had always been partial to rooftops at night.

Sure, there was always the odd chance you might cut yourself on a rusty nail and come down with an awesome case of lockjaw. You might suddenly develop vertigo and be unable to climb back down the fire escape, and have to be rescued by the Fire Department. Or, worst case scenario, you might lose your balance, slip off the edge and plunge to your death. All very attractive options.

But all that aside, there really was no better feeling than sitting up on a ledge and letting your feet dangle out below you. Being able to see everything, where no one could see you.

The truth was, Emma had spent so long being invisible, sometimes suddenly being the person that everyone always looked to, was a little much.

It wasn't that she regretted it, exactly, ever becoming The Savior. It was crazy, obviously. Her parents were freaking fairy tale characters, for god's sake. Even the woman in town who'd last waxed her bikini line had been a supporting player in an animated film she'd once watched in theaters as a kid. She could never quite bring herself to go back, after learning that.

But there was the good stuff that had come out of it, too. Henry. Her parents. Sure, the whole situation was super weird, but it was also her family, and that was a hell of a lot more than she thought she'd ever get.

And there was Hook. Wherever he fit into things. She wasn't even sure anymore. One thing she could say for the pirate, he never strayed too far, always on the periphery, ready to back her up at a moment's notice. A state of affairs that somehow managed to thrill and frustrate her in equal measure.

But that wasn't why she was hiding up on the roof of her parent's loft in the wee hours, breathing in the sharp salty wind off the North Atlantic. Nor why she'd skipped out early from her own brother's naming ceremony. She just… needed a break.

It was fine for her parents. They knew exactly who they were, the kind of people they were supposed to be. And if they ever lost their way, hell, there was hundreds of years worth of lore they could go look up on Wikipedia.

The Savior didn't have a Wikipedia page, or an instruction manual. It was just her, charging headlong into the next crisis, hoping she wouldn't end up spat out through another portal, or eaten by an ogre, or with some fairy tale villain's axe embedded in her central nervous system.

She didn't even want to go into the thing with the dragon.

The point was, it sucked. Being The Savior sucked.

So what if she wanted to take Henry and go back to New York? Would that really be so bad? It was safe there, relatively speaking. Almost entirely ogre-free. And it wasn't as if Maine was so far away. She could come back for Thanksgiving, and Christmas. She could come and visit her new baby brother, without getting in the way too much.

And there, in New York, she wouldn't be The Savior. She could just be Emma Swan.

Plain old Emma Swan.

"Swan?" She started at the sound, shooting out a hand to clutch for dear life to a drain pipe to stop herself pitching over the edge. A good thing too, she didn't like her chances of a soft landing from three floors up.

It was Hook, of course. Stepping out of the shadows all leather clad and windswept, and if she wasn't mistaken, carrying an infant in his arms.

"Did you seriously just climb up a fire escape with my baby brother? You've got a hook for a hand!"

"What?" he said, giving the baby a conspiratorial look. "This little lad? He loves the fresh air, this one. Be up in the crow's nest in no time." Emma resisted the urge to snort.

"Great. He's like two days old, and he's already been kidnapped by the Wicked Witch of The West and Captain Hook? How did Mary Margaret even let go of him long enough for you to pick him up, anyway? Can't really blame her, but she kinda hasn't put him down since David brought him back."

"She's resting," Hook shrugged. "And about time, too. Your father was the one who asked me to watch him for a moment. He received a call. Something about gnomes tunneling into someone's wine cellar, or something of that nature."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Of course there was."

That was Storybrooke in a nutshell.

"Anyway, he couldn't find you, so I very generously offered up my services."

"David let you babysit?" Emma asked, unable to entirely keep the surprise from her voice.

He shot her an affronted look. "The Prince and I... have come to an understanding. And I'll have you know I'm quite good with babies, love. A natural, even. And does he not look content to you?"

Truthfully, he seemed comfortable enough, swaddled like a tiny baby burrito being cradled against Hook's habitually overly-exposed chest. And he wasn't actually wearing the hook. Just his wooden hand, the one he'd been wearing around Henry up until a couple of days ago.

"How did you know I was up here?"

"Process of elimination," Hook shrugged, coming to lean against a chimney stack a few feet away from the edge. "With that vessel of yours still on the street, I assumed you couldn't have strayed too far. And there's nothing like a view when you're feeling pensive."

"I'm not pensive!" Emma shot back defensively, in a way that merely left Hook to raise his eyebrows.

"Alright, so I'm a little... whatever. It doesn't matter. It's not about me. Today's about my brother, and celebrating our latest victory, snatched from the jaws of defeat."

"You don't like to say his name, do you?" Hook asked out of nowhere, chin dipping slightly to indicate her baby brother, who was sleeping soundly against his chest.

She felt the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Blinking them back, she turned to face him, keeping her voice level for the baby's benefit. "And you do? Neal meant a lot of things to me, but none of them were simple. I understand why they called him that. I even think it's kind of stupid and noble, like everything else they do. But yeah, I kinda wish they'd talked to me about it first."

"Its... painful for you?" His features deepened into a frown. "Thinking of him?"

"Yeah."

He gave a thoughtful nod then, as if he'd come to some sort of sad realization.

"Wait! You think it's because I miss him, right?"

"It's only natural, Swan. He was your first love. You're son's father. You're entitled to feel that way."

Emma shook her head. "No, you don't get it. Of course I miss him. And god, I'm so sad that Henry never gets the chance to grow up knowing his Dad. But that's not it."

"No?"

"I never told them the truth, you know. My parents? About me and Neal? Not really. Not about how we met, or how I ended up in prison, or how I was chained to a freaking bed when I gave birth to Henry. And now I can never tell them. Not ever."

He was no longer leaning by the chimney stack, but kneeling beside her now, an expression of concern playing across his features as his eyes bore into hers.

"Bae," he said gravely. "He's the reason you went to prison. He betrayed you?"

To her horror, something midway between a choke and a sob erupted from her throat as she nodded. And that's when it happened. That's when Captain Hook took those last few steps and pulled her into a hug, her baby brother squashed awkwardly between them.

She should've pulled away. She should've never have told him. Instead, she grasped tightly to his shoulders and buried her face into his neck, hot tears falling onto his skin as he held her close. She cried like she hadn't cried in years. In pain, but also in relief. Relief that she wasn't alone with this secret. That she wasn't being stupid for feeling this way.

Eventually, she did pull away, rubbing her sleeves over her face to brush away the worst of the devastation. She probably looked like hell. She wondered if she remembered to put on waterproof mascara that morning. Probably not.

Her brother was stirring now, tiny limbs wiggling in Killian's arms as he swayed from side to side, trying to settle him. She appreciated the distraction as she fought to get her feelings back in check.

"Thanks," she said lamely, shielding her ruined face from his scrutiny by turning back to her original view, Storybrooke laid out before her like a toy train set.

"Whatever you need, Swan."

And the sad part was, she knew he was telling the truth, without even having to look at him. Whatever might have happened in that missing year, Killian Jones had every intention of sticking around, no matter how much Emma might pretend she wished otherwise.

"I thought I might be able to see the Jolly Roger from here. But I can't. Is it cloaked again?" she asked, going for a more neutral topic.

"Er..." came the sound of hesitation from behind her. "Actually the Jolly isn't here."

That caught Emma's attention, head whipping back in his direction. "You mean you left her in the Enchanted Forest? Why?"

He looked uncomfortable now, and it had nothing to do with the infant fussing in his arms. Something that became even more obvious when he pasted on a fake smile. "I'd rather not get into it, if it's all the same."

Now it was Emma's turn to be concerned. "What happened this last year?"

"Love, trust me when I say you're better off living in ignorance." He seemed resigned somehow, and it ate at her, seeing him like that. How bad could it possibly have been?

"And if I insisted?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

"You know I'm not actually capable of saying no to you, Swan. So I'd implore you not to press me."

"Was it really that bad?"

A small smile from him, for her benefit she was sure. "Not all bad," he said. "I did manage to separate a number of pompous nobles from some pretty baubles."

"Pirate," Emma said fondly.

"Aye. But perhaps..." He hesitated. "Perhaps I didn't find it so easy to return to my former life as I imagined. Falling into all the familiar patterns. I think this pirate may have been changed, love. Still as dashing as ever," he added, with a sly smile in her direction, before falling back into earnestness. "But different somehow. Altered."

He glanced up at her then, and she saw it. The truth, shining in his eyes. Altered because of her. For her.

"Is that why you came back?" Emma asked, barely daring to breathe.

"Aye."

Emma smiled then, though she hadn't known she was going to. "Good."

He looked at her sharply then, as though he'd misheard her.

"This information doesn't... distress you?" he asked carefully.

She shrugged. "I mean, when you showed up in New York, I guess I kinda figured."

A small bark of laughter from him, laugh enough to unsettle her brother again.

"Hush, little lad," he said bouncing the baby gently in his arms. "I'm sorry for disturbing you. Only your sister-" he said, glancing back in her direction, "Sometimes she sees right through me."

Emma rolled her eyes. "You're not exactly subtle, Killian. And you were never quite as villainous as you like to pretend. Not around me. Kinda the opposite, actually."

"I'm no hero, Swan."

Emma considered that. "Alright, so what about an anti-hero? They're always fun. Ostensibly good at heart, but not held to the lofty standards of the holier-than-thou."

"I rather like the sound of that. But er..." he said, shuffling closer, "Tell me, in this realm, do anti-heroes and heroes ever..." He let his words trail off, eyes falling to her lips.

"Mesh?" she suggested.

"Find themselves entangled?" he finished.

Emma swallowed hard, leaning forward.

"Stranger things have happened," she whispered, leaning in to close the last few inches between them. But before her lips met his, it was Killian who pulled away.

"If that's true," he said, looking pained at his own restraint. "Then I have one request."

"Already setting terms?" Emma teased, swaying closer to him, causing him to momentarily lose track of himself.

He shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Aye. Just one. I know that the way we've traditionally gone about things is that you tell me to jump, and I ask how high. Which, in all honesty, is a role I am all too happy to play. I do rather enjoy a woman in charge. But just once, Emma, I need something from you."

The man could always talk. Damn near poetry, in that accent. And try as she might, she couldn't deny him. "What is it?"

"Don't go back to New York. Stay. Stay here in Storybrooke."

"With you?" She'd said these same words before, but now there was nothing caustic about them. Now she was really asking the question. Now she really wanted to know.

"Aye. With me. But not just with me. With him," he said, indicating the infant in his arms. "With your parents. Your son. Your whole family is here. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted, truthfully. "I don't know what I really want. I don't know if Storybrooke is where I really belong. I mean, most of the time I feel like I woke up in the middle of some bad Disney Christmas special, and my job is just to stop them all from killing each other. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"No one ever knows what they're doing, Swan. They just live their lives, and hope for the best."

"Oh yeah? Tell that to Mr and Mrs Charming. Everyone knows that they end up happily ever after. But my life isn't a fairy tale. "

"And how does my story end, in this world? Eaten alive by a bloody crocodile?" Killian countered. "They're just stories, Swan. And as much as the people in this town might play close to the page, they're just people, as lost as you or I. We make our own destiny."

"You really believe that?" Emma asked.

"Aye. I do. And I know life in New York might be easier. And lord knows, you deserve as much. But easy doesn't necessarily mean happy. You could be happy here, Swan. I know it."

Emma bit her lip, resisting the urge to start crying again. "You really think I should stay?"

"I think you should take a leap of faith, lass," he replied, eyes softening at the memory. "What's the worst that could happen?"

She laughed, even as she let her fingers tighten their grasp on his arm. "Don't even joke, Mister."

"Well, Swan, there's a very easy way to shut me up. All you'd have to do is-"

But she never heard the end of that sentence, having closed those last few precious inches, and finally pressed her lips to his.

"Alright, I'll stay," she whispered against his lips when they pulled apart, fingers coming up to settle in her sleeping brother's soft downy hair. "I'll give it a shot. This a shot. I mean, stranger things have happened, right?"

"I bloody well hope so."

THE END