Title: Little Bird

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Characters: Killian Jones, Emma Swan

Pairing: Captain Swan

Rating: High T to low M – can't help what's in a guy's head.

Spoilers: Post 3x11 – Going Home

Summary: It's time for her to remember the man she once called Killian when the rest of the world referred to him only as Hook.

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Don't own anything really… not even my house when you think about it, the bank owns that for another fifteen years or so. I suppose I do own my car, though. And my dogs. And a rather impressive collection of Farscape memorabilia. Please don't sue… never claimed for a second to own your stuff. ;)

A/N: So I've only recently started writing in first person, and most of that has been for TVD's Damon, but I figured, eh, what the hell, I'd give it a go here. I have a true fascination for the good man that lives inside every bad boy, hence my love for our dear Killian Jones. I apologize if I've erred somewhere along the lines in this as I'm just starting to catch up on S3 currently. I know the jist of what happens (sue me, I'm a spoiler whore) and I've kind of gone a bit wild from there. This is not only my first crack at dear Hook, but also at OUaT all together. With a bit of luck and inspiration, perhaps it won't be my last. I'm considering doing a smutty second block to this fic, so if that's something you'd care to see, please let me know. My muse is rather fond of cheer leaders and support… just saying. ;)

~~?~~

Where I come from, torture and agony are minor details of a busy day. As a pirate one learns to sleep with one eye open, have one's sword at the ready even whilst otherwise pleasurably occupied (if you understand my meaning), to mind one's shadow because there's nothing innocent about the absolute absence of all light. I've lost my hand, lost my love, lost my mind one could argue somewhere in the centuries of life that in themselves have been a torture. I've lived a life of hatred and revenge, allying myself with common sorts, royal sorts, evil and innocent sorts, whatever sort was needed to get me that step closer to living out the only purpose I'd seen in waking up with each new sun, day after day, swell after swell, realm after realm.

I never knew a single moment of true torturous agony until the moment Regina put her plan into play, and the only ray of light to shine on my dark, worthless life walked over the line and out of my life.

How long have you known me, precious readers? Since the days I bred my reputation as a cad and a rogue? Since the days I learned to ignore the chuckles whilst my precious Milah tamed me without mercy? Since the days of darkness following her violent end? Following the loss of my hand? The loss of what precious hold I'd maintained over my sanity? Were you following me the days of Tinkerbell and Pan? The first days, I mean, not those few weeks a year past where that wretched little boy helped to take away the bit of questionable happiness I'd managed to scrape together. Or have you known me more recently, where the sharpness of my tongue had taken a turn from cutting to wit? Where I was more apt to find myself in danger than running from it? Where sacrifice and loss meant something more than reliving a dulled memory from centuries long gone?

Have you known me since meeting Emma Swan?

Have you known me since I'd found my love?

Have you known me since I'd lost my Emma to the cruelty of yet another blasted curse, when the rise of the sun no longer held the warmth and promise of a new day but instead taunted me with the bleak reminder of her golden hair, her determined eyes, and the promise of a future I'd fought for and lost?

Have you known me since I'd become a shell of the pirate I'd once been?

Know me now, dear readers, for I'm not the man I once was and will never be him again. Vengeance is no longer the goal of my every breath. Day by day is no longer the passing of my time. My goal has a new name, my life a new purpose.

Emma Swan, the Savior, my love.

It's time for her to remember the man she once called Killian when the rest of the world referred to me only as Hook.

~~?~~

She was a good mother, my Emma; she'd taken what Regina had given her and built a life around it. She was happy, Henry was happy, and I was loathe to take that from her, but even a stranger could look into her eyes and intrinsically know that there was something missing. Perhaps I was the missing piece that stole the sparkle from her eyes. I'd like to imagine that it was me, I'd like to imagine that somewhere inside of her she mourned the loss of connection between her and her pirate even if she had no memory of our limited time together. I was loathe to consider that it was the young Baelfire she was unknowingly missing, but to consider it I had no choice. The pressure of my lips to hers failed to return her memory, even if the spark that had ignited between us still tingled under my skin, potentially denying that what had built between us was nothing more than passing fancy rather than the true love pressed upon so heavily by her sunshine and rainbow influenced parents.

It was that missing piece that drove her from Henry's presence one night a week, every week. The first week I'd followed her from a distance, watching as she wandered into a bar deep below the busy streets of New York, and lost her in the darkness and smoke that smothered the patrons of the tiny dive. The colored lights pulsed in time with music so atrocious that my brain rattled within my skull, and only when hours had passed and I was on the verge of admitting I'd lost my girl to the night, did I find her again. She moved from man to man, dancing as if not an eye could see her, a stranger living in the body of the girl that had stolen my heart. My heart clutched more painfully than it had the last time it was wrapped in Cora's grip as I watched Emma move her lithe frame against the bodies of strangers. Their eager eyes and over eager hands welcomed her without prejudice, pulling her against them, grinding her against them. It was a release for my girl, dancing away the shadow of uncertainty that chased her from day to day. She was the product of true love, driven by something she couldn't name, searching within each potential mate for the other half she could no longer recall.

Watching her broke the very heart she'd pieced back together.

It was with a heavy sigh that I pushed the shrapnel of my heart into a murky pile located in the proper general vicinity of my chest. At least no one would be able to rip it from me in its current state. No one but Emma, that is.

I followed her again and again, week to week, determined to not let her out of my sight but at the same time unable cross the imaginary line she'd drawn between us. She noticed me at that bar the third week she'd gone to dance, her hazel eyes flaring dark with an emotion I couldn't name. She made no move to approach me, no indication even that she recognized me, although I knew that was only a façade. She danced harder than she had any night previous, her moves almost desperate as she fought against my gaze I know she could feel. I schooled my expression so as not to frighten her as I watched, her eyes meeting mine each time she switched dance partners. An invitation, perhaps? A warning, mayhap? A challenge, mostly likely. Still, I never left my place at the bar, a glass of weakened lager at my fingertips, my stare unwavering. She could challenge me all she wanted, my wanton girl, but she needed to take that first step. My reputation may have been that as a blackguard, but I'd never had to force my attentions on a woman, and I'd not start now. I'd spent far too much time with her bloody parents, I reckon, as I honestly believed no curse could stand long between us. Her determination to avoid me was already starting to fray around the edges, and if my pursuit of Rumpelstiltskin had taught me anything at all, it was the utmost of patience.

Two more weeks passed this way, her challenging me with determined eyes, her taunting me with eager boys, my acknowledging her with nothing more than a tip of my glass, all of it organized into a dance with which I was achingly familiar. This wouldn't go on much longer, it couldn't go on much longer, not without causalities of the heart I was unwilling to sacrifice.

Unsurprisingly, I was very right. The third week since she'd acknowledged me at that bar, the third week since her display of determination began, I'd been perched at that bar no longer than a half hour when she approached. Her expression was guarded, her eyes flashing with anger and something more, her hair fell against her neck in soft curls that she'd obviously taken care to perfect. For me? I'd like to think so.

"When are you going to quit following me around?"

To say I was startled when she spoke was an understatement. It almost took me a full ten seconds to curve my lips into a neutral smile, to tame the excitement that filled my eyes, to formulate words that wouldn't send us hurtling ten steps back.

"When are you going to admit that you like it, love?"

Yeah, those probably weren't the words I would have chosen if I'd been given enough time, but they were out there, lingering between us, and while she fought her fight or flight instinct, I fought the sudden urge to cringe.

"I'm not your love. I'm no one's love."

I couldn't stop the sigh from passing my lips or the fluidic way my body rose to its feet without command. I was an inch in front of her face, a hook in the belt of her skirt, fingers splayed out across the top of her arse, before she could even blink in reaction.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that much. There are things in this world left that could surprise even you, and I reckon that love would be the least of them."

"You're too close," she whispered, hardly able to catch her breath.

"I beg to differ. From my vantage point, I'd say I'm nowhere near close enough. Love."

I offered her no resistance as she backed away from me, but she put up no fight when I moved with her. Only when we were on the dance floor did I release my hook from her skirt. Only when her body swayed to the pulsing beat around us did I slip my fingers from her back. Only when the motion of her body against mine carried my thoughts away on a rogue wave of pleasurable agony did I spin her face away from my own, pulling her arse flush against my front, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her, remembering her, coming to life around her.

In three centuries of living amongst pirates, I'd heard enough drunken and derogatory commentary to sink a ship. The status of male genitalia was a great topic of conversation amongst my crew and the men of the ports in which we'd landed. As such, I'd always found myself deferring from the more base of thought patterns, as though to save myself the journey lowering to their level. Tonight, however, with Emma dancing against me as though I were her savior instead of the other way around, to say my mind drifted to the derogatory would not be a lie.

Leather pants did nothing to hide the state brought to life by her arse grinding against me in a rhythm I'd not felt in an age. In moments my cock swelled against the confining fabric, pulsing and aching as it sought out the heat she offered and took away repeatedly. It took her only seconds to bring me to full mast, hard enough to cut diamonds, on the edge of orgasm without even the barest touch of uncovered flesh.

I was here on a mission, I needed her to remember me for reasons greater than the three hundred days that had each been longer than any one of the three hundred years I'd spent waiting for her. In another realm, her parents waited for us, needing us, needing her, but all of that fled my mind in a rush of redirected blood for the too brief moments I held her in my arms and danced a dance that would be better served without clothing. For just a moment I forgot I was the good guy now, that sacrifice and loss were something I'd volunteered for when it came time to bring Emma home. For a single second Captain Hook returned, doing away with Killian Jones, wiping away the thoughts of what was needed for what was wanted and I ground into her wantonly and without remorse.

The effect I had on her was similar; her cheeks were flushed red, the scent of her permeated my every pore, she was warm, willing and ready to become my greatest conquest. I was mere moments from dragging her from that bar, knowing she'd offer no protest, when the good man I'd become reared up from within and pulled tight on whatever reigns I still offered, dragging it all to a halt.

"You're beautiful," I whispered against her hair, my breath falling over her ear, wringing a soul deep shudder from her body as I held her tight to me, every inch of her back pressing against my cock, my chest, my heart.

"You're insane," she panted back, arching her neck backwards, her teeth finding my jaw and nipping softly, pulling a tormented groan from my lips.

"Perhaps we'll argue that another day, love, but the fact remains, people are waiting for you."

"No one is waiting for me except Henry."

"Everyone is waiting for you, Emma Swan. Just because you've forgotten them, doesn't mean for a second we've forgotten you."

She sighed softly, her well built walls falling firmly in place as she distanced herself from my body, turning to head back to the bar. Unfortunately, my body wasn't able to follow suit, and while she had her back turned I adjusted my sensitive, swollen cock into a less painful position before joining her, keeping a safe distance between her body and mine lest she should attempt to change my mind.

"The day we met, you tried to kiss me."

I chuckled softly, leaning back against the bar, sipping the cool froth off a new mug of lager, buying myself precious seconds to return much needed blood to my brain. "That was far from the day we met, love, and not our best kiss I might add."

"You couldn't have just started out with hello?"

"Doesn't always work out in my favor, I find."

"And kissing me did?"

I drank in her soft laughter, drowning myself in her attention as eagerly as a pup would his master, and truly she was mine.

"Didn't figure it would hurt the situation at that point." I offered her a wry grin, letting my blue eyes twinkle mischievously, reaching out with my hook to trail a path of cool metal across her warm skin, watching in fascination as her flesh broke out in goose bumps and a new shiver coursed down her spine. "I thought perhaps it would break the fog of memory that Regina had bestowed upon you. Apparently, I thought wrong."

I didn't want to throw the idea of true love's kiss at her, not now, not when she was listening, honestly listening to me. Not when she was considering the absolute truth in my eyes, and don't think for a second I couldn't tell when she was looking.

"You truly believe what you're saying, don't you? You really believe that my parents are waiting for me and I have to go save them?"

"Well, that is what you do, love. Save people. Rather the definition of the title Savior, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm nobody's savior."

"Just as you're nobody's love?"

"Exactly."

"Then for once, Emma Swan, just trust me long enough to prove you wrong."

When I pulled her to me this time, she didn't pull back. When my fingers laced in her hair, she leaned into them, a soft sigh on her lips that suddenly parted. When my tongue darted out to wet my lips, her eyes tracked it, unable to look away until I moved so close she had no choice but to lower her lids. Not a whisper of protest came as I pressed my lips to hers, the electric shock that had been living under my skin since our last moment of contact breathing to life, arcing between us, coming alive on a mutual moan, binding us together as surely as our bodies would had there been no barriers to keep us apart. To my eternal surprise, it was her tongue that pressed against my lips first, begging for an entrance that I gave her most willingly. Perhaps true love's kiss wasn't meant to be as heated as this, perhaps it was just a moniker given to a virginal touch of flesh to flesh in public, perhaps it was all goat shit in the end, but who was I to argue in the face of such importance.

The world faded around us, there was no one in that bar except my love and myself, and I poured every single moment of grief, relief, hope and love that I bore for her into that single kiss. I would barter my life to the gods themselves if they'd see fit to bring Emma back to me. I would change every facet of my being if it meant bringing her home.

I'm not ashamed to admit that her name fell off my lips with a reverence I'd never before held as I parted from her, lifting my eyes to meet hers, not backing away, but not pushing forward either.

The first step was hers, as would be the final step.

I'd done all I could. I'd suffered all I could. I'd begged all I could.

The rest was up to the beauty that stood before me, her hazel eyes stunned and confused, her hands fisted tightly in my vest.

Fight or flight, little bird, it's been the choice of your entire life.

"Please," I whispered one final time.

I could now only pray that this time her choice would be to fight.

That this time her choice would be me.

~~?Fin?~~

So what did y'all think? Should I put up a smutty second block or just let this fic rest in peace? Thanks for reading and don't forget to give an old girl a bit of encouragement. It's what my muse lives on.