A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and fav'd last chapter! Especial thanks to J-J-Sawyer-Phillips, ChamerlinofMusic, ILIKEPIET, Lisa1972, loveimagination18, Madj, Honeydewmelon56, Griffinesque, Lunalove25, TallyKayda, The Pearl Maiden, 1983Sarah, and melly326! Your feedback was much appreciated :) *hugs*

Not super happy w/ this chapter, I'm still not entirely confident with the characters xP

beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep-

The foreign noise has Killian stirring from where he was beginning to zone out. He registers that it is nearly dawn, the sky faded to grey and the sun beginning to stir, creeping over the horizon - and the sound, a harsh and relentless trilling, is coming from very near to them. He scrambles to his feet, hook raised in front of him and one hand going to his sword-

"Shit, that's me… where is it…" Swan moves frantically beside him, far too quickly for someone who was just roused from sleep. It only feeds his suspicions that since he took over their night watch she did nothing but lie there, pretending to slumber - as he himself did, barely a wink caught between the two of them.

"On your guard," Killian warns. She's still rummaging in her pockets - for her weapon? He sees the gun on the ground beside her and points. "There. It's close to us, whatever it is-"

"Calm down, Hook. It's not a threat…" she trails off as she fishes a device from her pocket. The beeping noise intensifies, then stops abruptly as she taps at the machine - whatever it is.

He stands still, watching her until she puts it away and looks up at him. The eye contact is awkward and he fights the urge to look away. Overnight the tension between them has built up until you could cut it with a knife.

"Phone alarm," she says, apparently by means of explanation. The words mean nothing to him. He would ask, but a quick sweep of his gaze over her confirms that Swan is still, it seems, very much at odds with him. There are dark circles under her eyes, her hair and clothes dishevelled from the night spent on the hard ground, and her body is turned away from him slightly, braced as though expecting a verbal attack.

He sighs and runs a hand over his face, turning away.

"Threat or not, it's roused everything in the jungle around us by now," he says wearily. "We should move. It's nearly light."

"Yeah," she agrees quietly.

They begin to walk.

It isn't long before the adrenaline wears off and a headache kicks in, exhaustion and lack of food catching up with him. Swan must feel even worse; he knows she's barely slept since they got here - and it's not just from the stress and worry of looking for Henry; this world is not a particularly relaxing place. There's something dark about it, a sense of constant danger. It is not a land for the weak of heart.

God, he hates Neverland.

There's some irony in the fact that of all the worlds he's traversed it remains the one he is most intimately familiar with - the jungles, coasts and landscapes may change but he still knows it, innately - can sense the threats, can smell the dawn or the rain approaching, can read the world's oceans and wings like the back of his hand.

Yet he loathes the place, and the memories it brings.

That's the thing about Neverland - it's not just that you don't age physically while you're there, if you're not careful, it can paralyse you emotionally as well. Leave you to fester in whatever problems and pains you bring here. 300 years in the place, directly after the loss of his hand (the loss of his heart, or what he kept in it) - it's a struggle not to think of Her, especially when the last time he was here he spent three centuries straight plotting the demise of the man - beast - who now saunters on his ship, so tantalisingly close yet out of reach.

Don't think about it.

"I hate to ask - but do you know where we're going?" There's a flatness to Swan's tone that he doesn't like - especially since he was the one who put it there.

"East," he replies, since it's the truth.

"East," she repeats, then breaks off with a curse. He hears her stumble and pauses, turning in time to see her nearly slip on the gravelly ground. He looks down and registers that the path is turning rockier, the trees becoming more sparse.

"The jungle's thinning," he comments, waiting for her to steady herself before walking on. "It's a good sign, means we're close to emerging…" he trails off as something occurs to him. "Your device."

"Device?"

"The noisy object. The…" he shapes a vague rectangle with his hand and hook and Swan blinks a few times before her eyes light up with comprehension and she draws it from her pocket.

"The phone?"

"Aye, that - it is an appliance of communication?" he questions, recalling Regina having used something similar.

"Yeah… in my world." She seems to catch on. "I can't use it to contact the others - not here. There's no reception." At his blank look, she adds, "The thing that lets it connect to other phones. It doesn't work here." She stares at it wistfully for a moment before shoving it back in her pocket. "Once it runs out of battery it'll be useless for anything."

'Battery?' he mouths curiously. He doesn't intend for Swan to see, but she does, and he sees her lips start to twitch into a grin before she forces the expression away. For some reason the gesture makes him feel a little warmer, a little less tense, and his heart is lighter when he turns to continue hiking.

The jungle fades into hilly bushland; rolling slopes of yellow gravel lined with sparse white gum, dry grass and anthills. Killian sniffs the air and can't help but smile when he catches the scent of salt water. There's a good breeze- the coast is not too far from here.

Another deep breath - and the pollen in the air has him breaking into a coughing fit, which hurts like a bitch with his ribs. They've been acting up since Maleficent threw him into that rock down in the library vault - he swears they crunched and since then he has been trying very, very hard not to cough or sneeze.

"Are you…" Swan trails off, one hand reaching out but not quite touching him. He glances at her as he swallows a few times, recovering as he presses one hand against his chest as though that will hold the fractured bones in place.

"I'm fine." His voice is wheezier than he would like, and he clears his throat before turning and walking on.

Her concern has his skin prickling with some unidentifiable heat. Why do you care, he asked last night, and it was a genuine question. Which, he notes bitterly, she completely failed to answer.

He isn't sure why he resents that so much.

'I need to know if I can trust you…'

That hurt, not going to lie. Because objectively he can see exactly why Swan doesn't trust him; he is a pirate, a traitor, rotten to the core - even returning the bean must have looked suspicious. Of course she thinks he has some ulterior motive. Why wouldn't she? Why would any of them even have accepted his help if it wasn't for them having no other choice?

But at the same time he can't help wanting her to trust him. And it has been a long, long time since he last sought anyone's approval so desperately - there is just something about Swan. He sees himself in her, and it awakens something in him - something he can't name but that has him desiring her regard.

He likes her, and he hasn't done much more than tolerate people since Milah died.

He glances at Swan, a few steps behind him. She seems lost in thought, her brows furrowed together slightly, hands jammed in her pockets, kicking at the gravel a little as she walks. Normally he can read her easy as anything, but right now all he knows is that she's irritated.

He wonders if she thinks he is angry with her.

He's not. He's angry with himself - for hoping too soon that he had her trust. For deluding himself into thinking she liked him far more than she, apparently, actually does.

"Hook… can we stop for a sec?"

Killian turns again and sees that Swan is leaning against a nearby tree, breathing heavily. Knowing her pride, it must have taken a lot to ask for the break and he nods quickly.

Swan slides down the tree's trunk to sit on the ground, and okay, he was joking last night about the whole collapsing-from-exhaustion thing, but now that's looking like a distinct possibility and he is hit by a sudden and intense pang of concern.

"Alright, lass?" he asks quietly, moving to crouch by her side.

Swan nods, but her eyes are squinted slightly as though the light pains her. She obviously has as much of a headache as he does, if not more.

"I'm fine. Just gimme a minute…" she squeezes her eyes shut again and swipes her tongue over her dry lips. Killian can't help the way his eyes track the motion.

Dehydration, he thinks suddenly. He pulls a waterskin from the pocket of his coat - it's nearly empty but there's still a little left in there.

"Drink up, Swan," he says, tossing it into her lap. She jumps, opening her eyes and picking up the leather skin with a slightly suspicious look.

"It's not rum, is it?" she asks dubiously, and he barks out a laugh.

"I assure you there is nothing alcoholic in there. I cannot, however, guarantee its safety as it is not boiled." He grins and Swan rolls her eyes before drinking; he finds it endlessly amusing how back on the ship Snow made her daughter boil anything before drinking it. He initially thought it was some sort of fancy custom until Regina tried to explain something about visiting new places, bacteria, and 'filtration systems' whatever those were. It seemed a load of rubbish to him, and no matter how much he tried to assure them that the water was perfectly safe Snow just glared at him until he finally gave up.

When Swan takes only a small sip he impatiently motions for her to have the rest. After a second's hesitation she complies.

"Is this all you have?" she asks finally, sounding a little less hoarse as she folds the empty sack and hands it back to him.

He nods. "Not to worry. We'll be back on the Roger in no time."

"We're almost there?" she perks up, looking around, and he points along the track - there are hills in the way but he's certain the ocean is just beyond.

"Aye - a few hours' walk if we're quick… assuming they haven't moved the ship." He grimaces at the thought of any of the others trying to sail, especially considering the rocky harbour they were moored in. Rising, he holds out a hand and helps Swan to her feet, steadying her when she sways a little.

"I'm fine," she repeats, before he can ask. She looks up at him and Killian freezes, because the whole open-book thing goes both ways and he doesn't want her to realise how pathetically desperate he is to try and help her. He pulls away quickly, turning to walk on.

They haven't been moving for much more than an hour when they encounter a problem. The path downhill leads into a rocky gorge, gushing water trickling between stones that are worn smooth and slippery. By this point the sun is high in the sky and he's starting to get worried about basilisks - from what he recalls they lurk in these parts and the weather will draw them out. They don't have time to backtrack and look for another path.

"What's wrong?" Swan asks, noticing he's stopped. She peers around him and grimaces when she sees the steep, slippery slope. "Uhh - we gonna climb down that?"

"It's not the most desirable option," Killian mutters. He looks around. "Stay here a moment while I see if there's a way around."

"Why?" she demands instantly, making him stop short in surprise.

"Why what?"

"Why am I staying here?"

He can't help the flash of annoyance, being stressed enough about their situation without her constantly questioning him. He turns to her with folded arms.

"I know that you don't trust me, darling, but surely you don't think I plan to abandon you here and return to the ship on my own." As soon as it comes out of his mouth he grimaces, realising how irrational and petty it is - but it's too late now, and Swan's already narrowing her eyes at him.

"That's not what I meant and you know it! Forgive me for wondering why we're splitting up when we could both go - or better yet, each check in one direction. That might save us a little time, don't you think, Captain?" she spits the epithet as though it's an insult, and he glares.

"I'm hardly sending you off into the bush alone when you're as likely to get yourself killed by a plant as you are by a cryptid," he shoots back. It's a low blow; he knows how much she hates it when they rub in her face the fact that she's so new to this sort of environment. "And what else am I meant to derive from your words…" the last bit is a mutter, more to himself than to anyone else, but Swan latches onto it. She strides forward, glaring up at him, and as long as they're arguing he's forced to hold her gaze or risk being the one who looks away first.

"For God's sake, Hook, you don't need to sulk about that! It's not that I don't want to trust you… if I'm such an open book you should know by now that it takes time for me to…" she trails off, tone filled with frustration and no small edge of embarrassment, as though she's revealing too much, making this too personal. Killian stands transfixed, frozen. She barrels on, "So don't put words in my mouth and don't project your own doubts about yourself onto me."

She might as well have slapped him.

It takes a lot to shock Killian into silence - to say something he can't twist to his advantage or turn into an innuendo, but Swan has managed to hit the mark spot-on.

He leaves the silence a moment too long and now he can't even lie, protest, turn her words back on her, I'm not the one with self-doubts here Swan, because it will look like the blatant lie that it is.

With all the childish logic of an eight year old, he promptly decides that ignoring her is the best option, and stalks off into the jungle.

He doesn't know what it says about them that Swan decides to wait by the gorge anyway. When he returns ten minutes later he checks the other side, but there is no route past in either direction.

"We'll have to climb down," he says curtly. He avoids looking at her - doesn't want to see whether she regrets her words. Is scared that she doesn't - that she means them, that she really sees him as so pathetic, unstable, self worth through the floor, worried that despite everything he won't be able to control himself and will panic and turn sides and retreat back into his own selfishness. Because if Swan believes it it will only confirm that it is true.

As it is, he sees her nod and she moves in front of him.

The slope is steep, the stones worn smooth by the trickling water. They begin their descent slowly, struggling not to slip. The rocks at the bottom are sharp and dangerous looking, and given Killian's track record with the laws of physics he is extra careful about where he places his feet.

The constant babble of the water becomes maddening after a few minutes. He is itching to speak, to break the quiet, and at the same time he has no idea what to say.

As it is, Swan chooses that moment to lose her footing, flailing wildly as her foot slips and she begins to fall. He reaches out, consumed by blind panic as he grabs her wrist and hauls her towards him.

"Careful!" he snaps, heart pounding. It comes out angrier than he intended.

"I am," she shoots back once she's steady. There's an edge of hysteria in both their voices. She yanks her wrist back and rubs it; Killian starts guiltily. He hadn't intended to grab her so hard - hadn't thought of anything but to stop her falling.

He inches down another half a metre, then offers her his arm. She hesitates before she accepts - this part of the climb is particularly difficult so it is only logical for them to try and work together.

"How much farther?" she asks, very carefully not looking down.

He checks. "A fair way. Are you scared of heights?" It is a relief to re-adopt his teasing tone.

Swan only pauses briefly before passing the ball back. "After that beanstalk this is a piece of cake. So no, I'm not."

"Admirable." He takes another few steps, carefully avoiding a place where water gushes from a deep crevice. His legs are soaked to the knees by now.

Swan slips again, with a muttered curse, this time landing on her side in a shallow pool. He helps her wordlessly to her feet as she splutters, trying to fight back a smile.

"Yeah, laugh it up," she murmurs, catching sight of his expression.

He snorts. "Sorry- but you didn't look entirely dignified. You alright?"

"Worst bruise is on my pride." A pause, then, flatly, "Are we fighting?"

"What?"

"I just want to get this straight. Are we angry at each other? Because every time I think you are, you seem to revert back to normal."

He is flabbergasted a moment. "Are you angry with me?"

"Irritated. But I…" she hesitates, eyes trained on the rocks in front of her as she walks. "I didn't mean to insult you. Before."

"It'll take more than that to insult me, lass." A roundabout lie - he was hurt more than offended. She's eyeing him thoughtfully. He keeps his gaze on the rocks in front of him.

She is right, though - their conversations seem to snap between argument and something teasing and almost affectionate, and it can't just be written off as the stress of being stuck out here in the wild together.

"If it is any consolation to your pride," he finds himself saying, "It was only out of concern for your safety in this land that I recommended you remain by the gorge. Were we in your world I would, of course, have the utmost confidence in your ability to take care of yourself."

"Right. That's… reassuring. And if it's any consolation to your pride," she adds, again glancing at him sidelong, "You do know why I can't trust you yet, right?"

He grits his teeth - it is a sore subject- but nods. "Yes. I… do. I didn't mean to push you."

"You didn't."

The subsequent silence should have been companionable, reassuring in the knowledge that they had mended their bridges for now - but somehow it remained stilted, awkward, as though there was something not quite finished about the conversation. Something that remained to be said.

Of course, the rocky path takes this moment to crumble under them, gravel rolling under Killian's boots as he abruptly loses his footing and finds himself tripping. They're at the steepest part of the incline, and when Swan yelps in surprise and grabs his arm to try and haul him back, he ends up dragging her down with him.

They're not too far from the bottom but the impact with the ground still hurts, knocks the wind out of him and sends blinding pain spearing through his ribs.

"Shit!" Swan gasps next to him. He blinks a few times, spits out a mouthful of mud, tries to roll over to see if she's hurt but stops with a pained shout when the motion only sends more pain stabbing through his chest.

"Bloody hell," Killian croaks, and gives up, opting to call out from his position face-down on the ground. "You broken anything?"

"Ow. I don't know. My ankle- might've sprained it. I'm fine."

He feels her hand on his shoulder, grimaces as she pushes him onto his back.

"You okay?"

"Marginally." He sits up, wincing, arms wrapped around his chest as he breathes through the pain. "I'll live."

He looks up. Swan is crouching next to him. Their eyes meet and she offers him a small smile before rising and looking around. She's leaning heavily on one leg, favouring the other foot, and puts a hand against a nearby tree for balance.

"As long as you haven't punctured a lung or anything. Are we close to the coast?"

He looks around, thinks he recognises this part of the jungle.

"Aye - not too far now. We should hit the treeline then be able to walk back along and get to the bay." He struggles to his feet. Swan offers him a hand but he ignores it; she looks unsteady enough supporting her own weight let alone his.

Once on his feet he is forced to stop and lean against the tree as well, waiting for the pain to subside. If just standing hurts he doesn't particularly want to know what walking will feel like. Swan's face is white and pinched.

"How's that ankle?"

"It's fine."

"I may not have your gift, love, but I know a blatant lie when I see it. Can you walk?"

She takes a few steps; all remaining colour drains from her face when she tries to put weight on her injured foot.

"Ahh... maybe not so fine after all." She hops back to the tree and leans against it. Their shoulders are pressing together slightly and Killian is suddenly acutely aware of the contact. He swallows, tries to focus.

"Right. Well. We'll hobble our way along slowly, shall we?" He starts to pull her arm up over his shoulder and she wriggles free with a yelp.

"What are you doing?!"

"Assisting you!" He grabs her arm again and lifts it over his shoulder, his hand moving around her waist to hold her up. After a moment or so she relaxes slightly and shifts her arm around his back to support him.

"Okay," she says stiffly. "Move that hand any lower and you'll have two hooks."

He starts to laugh but stops when it jolts his ribs. "Fear not Swan, I would never exploit your vulnerable state like that."

"Sure you wouldn't," she says, but sounds almost fond in her exasperation. "On three?"

"One, two-"

They begin to walk, slowly, limping horribly. There seems to have been a mutual decisions that they are both in far too much pain to argue, or protest when someone presses a little too hard or moves a little too fast.

After what seems like hours they stop for a rest, exhausted. Killian looks around and realises they've barely travelled a hundred metres.

"I fear this will take a very long time," he comments, and to his surprise Swan laughs.

"How did we even end up like this…?" she scoffs.

"Gravity," Killian replies solemnly, and Swan rolls her eyes.

"Shall we?" he asks, proffering his arm again, and she wordlessly takes hold of him as they continue their long, slow journey.

A/N: I have no idea what I'm doing xP

One more chapter! (I might be a while updating because I have a flood of assignments ayooo).

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Reviews and con-crit are, as always, great appreciated :)