trigger warning for dubious consent (sex pollen), however none of the main characters are affected by it, fyi.

Looking back, she probably should've clued in a little sooner. Like, retrospectively speaking, it was kind of obvious.

It's not...exactly one of her proudest moments, as Sheriff.

(Whatever, like - she's saved all their asses multiple times over, at this point. She's gonna go ahead and give herself a pass on this one.)

Ruby is the first one that Emma can really look back on and identify. She's got no idea if she was really the first, or just the first of those that Emma is closest to, in Storybrooke. Either way, it hardly matters now.

"So, what do you think?"

Emma looks up at her friend's voice and nearly chokes on the mouthful of coffee she'd just gulped. "Oh - my God, Ruby - "

Ruby seems to take her reaction as a positive, grinning in triumph and doing a quick twirl for Emma's benefit. "Hot, right?"

Ruby's never exactly been modest in how she dresses, but this is something else - red, of course, with an indecently short skirt and some kind of weird corset top that does some...interesting things, in the, uh, torso area. Emma doesn't know whether to call it a dress or lingerie, but whatever it is it's -

"Hot," Ruby says definitively, striking a pose. Behind her, Emma sees Belle walk through the front door of the diner and promptly run straight into a booth, eyes wide and fixed on Ruby's bare legs.

"Ruby, what the fuck," Emma says.

"You don't like it?" Ruby looks down at herself, seeming sort of crestfallen, "I guess it is kind of revealing, but I was cleaning out my closet last night and I found it, and I just - "

"Felt like causing a few car wrecks?" Emma hisses, desperately trying to resist the urge to cover her up with a blanket or something. Behind Ruby's shoulder, Belle is still doing a really poor job of trying to look like she's not still staring, along with the rest of the diner's patrons, who are in a similar state of arrested, lustful shock.

"I have a date tonight," Ruby says, still sounding a little disappointed about Emma's obvious disapproval. "Felt in the mood to be a little sexy, you know - "

"Ruby, I - " Emma finds herself at a loss for words. "It's just - aren't you cold?"

Ruby blinks and wrinkles her nose, looking like the thought hadn't even occurred to her. "What? Dude, it's July."

"Right," Emma says blankly.

"Look, if you don't like it then just tell me, okay, you don't have - "

"No, it's fine, no," Emma interrupts, shaking herself. Whatever, right? Not her place to judge. "You look great, Ruby. Very hot."

Ruby's face splits into a pleased grin. "Thanks!"

Emma tries to smile back, but it's kind of difficult to keep her eyes north of Ruby's collarbone, so she's not sure she pulls it off completely. It's just - really, very bright red. Is the problem.

(Right.)

"Lucky guy," Emma manages, and Ruby's smile takes a turn, morphing into something a little more mischievous.

"He doesn't have to be the lucky one," Ruby says, with a leading tone that Emma is sure can't be going the way it seems to be going. Like - no way.

"Uh," Emma says blankly. "That's - "

"Just a thought," Ruby says breezily, reaching out to tug on the end of Emma's ponytail. Emma stares at Ruby's hand, feeling like she's been suddenly dropped into the middle of a drug trip she never asked for. "You look cute today too, by the way. Did you do something different with your makeup?"

"You know," Emma says, "I am not actually wearing any makeup today. Same as yesterday. And the day before. How about that."

"Oh." Ruby shrugs, laughing. "I didn't even notice! God, I'm jealous of your skin."

Emma dodges out of the way before Ruby can touch her again, sufficiently freaked out enough to call it quits on this conversation. "Right, um - I've got to get to work, Ruby, sorry, uh - "

"Right-o, Sheriff Cutie Pie," Ruby chirps, giving her a friendly wave. "See you later? For lunch?"

"Uh, maybe, busy day, might not have time," Emma says quickly, trying her best to run away without seeming like she's running away, "okay great, see ya - "

"See ya!" Ruby chirps. Emma doesn't look back, too busy power walking away and trying not to think too hard about how her previously-thought-platonic friend just propositioned her out of nowhere, wearing an outfit straight out of a medieval-themed porno.

"Sheriff Cutie Pie," Emma mutters incredulously, as she shoulders her way into the station. Can't say she's heard that one before.

She spends most of the morning vaguely disturbed by it, but eventually gets caught up in paperwork and twenty minutes on the phone with Ashley and Sean, trying to talk them down after yet another tug of war over the oak tree they share with their neighbor (who, according to him, was a very important noble in the Enchanted Forest and he will not stand for this disrespect) and then Mary Margaret stops by with the baby to drag Emma out for a mother-and-daughters lunch, so she kind of forgets about it.

Just Ruby being Ruby, probably, she thinks. First mistake, right there.

"Hey, Mom," Henry says, later that night, "can I ask you something? Without you getting all weird?"

Emma tenses. "Sure."

"See, you're already weird," Henry complains.

"What? No." Emma snorts, pushing at his leg with her foot until she scoots over enough for her to plop down on the couch next to him. "What's up?"

"Well." Henry looks a little unsure, uncharacteristically so. Emma feels a little tug of anxiety at the look on his face, thinking of darker times, before Henry found both his memories and his confidence, the two coming hand in hand, as they often do. "It's, I dunno, kind of - whatever, but - "

"Is it a girl?" Emma teases, mouth dropping open when Henry blushes. "What! Ahh, kid - "

"Shut up," Henry grumbles, swatting away her hands and scowling. "Never mind, I don't wanna talk about it anymore."

"Aw, don't be like that," Emma says, laughing. "Come on, sit back down. I'm sorry, I won't tease you. Besides, who are you gonna talk to if not to me? Regina?"

"I'd talk to Killian," Henry says challengingly.

Emma snorts. "Please, he'd be way worse than me."

Henry sighs and rolls his eyes, silently conceding her point. "It's not, like, me," he says insistently. "I don't have a crush on anybody or anything. But, like - there's this girl at school, named Cara? And she's nice and all, and Ethan says she likes me, but - "

"Cara," Emma says, "the gym teacher's kid?"

"Yeah," Henry says. Emma sits up a little straighter, noticing the small thread of unease to his voice (her mom instincts might be cobbled together from two different lives of haphazard, mostly-real motherhood, but she's getting better, alright. It's coming along). "Like, the thing is - she kissed me today."

Emma feels a jolt of something possessive and mean, not unlike the feeling she gets when Henry calls Regina 'Mom.' A selfish reaction, but it happens every time, all the same. "Yeah? At school?"

Henry nods. The TV is still on, paused in the middle of one of his anime shows he'd been watching, and he's staring at it like it's the most interesting freeze frame of a cartoon ninja he's ever seen. "It was just...really strange. You know? Like - I'm not dumb, I knew she liked me or whatever. She would blush a lot whenever she was around me and stuff, but she's also really shy, you know. She's never even really talked to me, let alone tried to ask me out or kiss me, jeez."

"Well," Emma says, struggling for words. "It's - maybe she got a burst of confidence."

"Maybe," Henry says.

"You...don't like her back?" Emma asks cautiously. "It'd be okay, if you did, you know. You're allowed to - you know. Have crushes and date, and stuff."

"I know that," Henry says, like it's obvious. "And - I don't know, I guess I like her enough. But - "

He shifts, still looking uncomfortable, and the vague sense of discomfort Emma feels blossoms into worry.

"It was just weird," he settles on, finally. "It came out of nowhere, and it didn't really seem - it was weird."

Emma takes a steadying breath. "Henry, if she did anything that you were uncomfortable with - "

"No," Henry interrupts, "it wasn't like that, God, Mom."

"Okay, okay."

"I don't know, it's probably nothing," Henry says. "It just didn't seem like something she'd do, you know? She wasn't really acting like herself."

"Well," Emma says, "you guys are at a weird stage - no, don't give me that look, I'm serious! It is weird, Henry. Even for regular kids, you know, the ones who don't have evil queens and fairy tale princesses for parents. It probably won't be the last time somebody goes Body Snatchers on you."

"Did you just call yourself a princess?" Henry asks slyly.

"I meant Mary Margaret," Emma replies, poking his arm. He shoots her a whatever you say smirk that's pure Killian Jones, and she blinks down at him for a second, momentarily arrested by it.

"Sure, Mom," he says. "Like you don't secretly like the idea, just a little."

"Watch your mouth, kid," Emma grumbles, kicking his legs off the ottoman to prop her feet up. Never one to take that lying down, he kicks back, grinning, and the ensuing squabble is distracting enough that the subject is dropped.

(She doesn't connect the dots on this one, either. Mistake number two.)

"So guess what happened to me yesterday," Emma says, the next day, at Killian's.

He looks up curiously, hitching his boots up on an overturned crate, gesturing at her with his half-eaten sandwich. She's taken to bringing him lunch down at the docks, lately - honestly, Emma's not sure what or how he eats, when he's not with her, it's not like he ever shows up at Granny's anymore. She can't really picture him grocery shopping, either. Maybe he just, like, goes fishing maybe? Who knows. "Do you actually want me to guess?"

Emma shrugs, smiling slyly. She's actually kind of curious to hear what he'd come up with. "You could give it a shot."

"You turned into a flying monkey." Emma snorts. "No? Well - that was a long shot anyway."

"Idiot," Emma mutters, rolling her eyes. "No, get this - Henry had his first kiss."

Killian laughs, loud and boisterous, throwing his head back in mirth. "About time!" he says. "Was starting to worry about the boy, a bit."

"Oh, shut up," Emma grumbles, shooting him a dirty look. "Don't be all...man about it."

"I am a man, yes," Killian says blankly. "Is there something else you'd rather me be?"

Emma scoffs. The difference between before Zelena and after is never clearer than in moments like this, when he so obviously passes up the chance to turn something into innuendo, those blatant invitations he'd send her way at every opportunity, before things got all messed up.

(If someone had told her a year ago that she'd actually miss him hitting on her every five seconds, she never would've believed it. Probably would've even punched them in the face, or something.)

"I just mean - the whole boys' club thing. Boasting about your 'conquests' and all that crap." Killian shoots her a look of incredulous skepticism, to which Emma replies with a stern look of her own, unwavering. "He does things at his own pace, he always has. Don't pressure him."

"I would never," Killian says, quite seriously. "But you do have to admit - he's been rather aimless, since the witch's defeat. Doesn't take much interest in anything, let alone the things that 14-year-old boys are usually preoccupied with."

As if that's escaped Emma's attention. Henry's listlessness, that blank look he wears constantly, is a heavy weight on her heart. "I know," she says resignedly. "He's - I don't know. I don't know how to help him."

"Nothing to do, I suspect." Off her look, Killian just shrugs. "Well, like you just said - he goes at his own pace. He'll get through it; only thing to do is make sure he knows you're waiting for him, at the end of the tunnel. Which I'm sure he does."

Emma nods, taking a fortifying breath. "Well," she says, "he didn't sound like he enjoyed it much, anyway. He told me she just up and kissed him out of nowhere. Seemed kind of weirded out by it, actually."

"Brave lass," Killian comments, sounding impressed. "Must be something in the air. Have you spoken to your wolf lately?"

"Ruby?" Emma asks, sitting up straight. "Why, what happened?"

"I do believe that she propositioned me this morning," Killian says thoughtfully, and Emma's grip goes white knuckled around her coffee mug. "It was the strangest thing. I didn't even think she liked me, honestly - and bloody hell, the dress she was wearing was - "

"Right," Emma says loudly, cutting him off, irritation and jealousy making her words clipped and harsh. "Yeah, I get the picture."

Killian eyes her a bit warily. "Seemed a bit out of character is all," he says neutrally.

Emma purses her lips and looks down at her lunch. Well, so much for her appetite. "Maybe it's the full moon," she says, trying to shake it off. "It's this weekend, right? Ruby's probably just...you know. A little more animalistic than usual."

"I suppose," Killian says, noncommittally, rising from his chair to sweep the remnants of his lunch into the old, half-rotted crate he uses for trash. "I said no, by the way."

"What?" Emma blinks up at him. "I didn't - "

"Just saying," Killian says smoothly, face betraying nothing. "Fancy another cup of coffee, Swan? There's plenty left."

"No," Emma grumbles, tossing her sandwich into the crate, on top of Killian's. "Gotta get back to work."

"Of course," Killian says. She almost wishes he'd smirk at her, or even sneer, instead of that dumb, neutral look - it drives her crazy.

The harbormaster grins at her as she walks back to her car, along with a lecherous, elevator leer that makes Emma scowl, spoiling her mood further as she drives back to the station.

Men, she thinks in disgust. Ugh.

Over the course of the next three days, Emma receives: seventeen harassment complaints from various citizens of Storybrooke (all different variants of "please make this person stop sexting me" - if she weren't well aware that even fairytale characters are capable of being totally gross, Emma sure as hell is aware of it now), three dirty texts to her own cell phone (Jesus, Leroy), about three different email chains that she really, really did not need to accidentally intercept, a marriage proposal (thank you Archie, very romantic, but no thanks) and a gigantic, blistering migraine that only gets worse the more time goes by.

"What the actual hell is with everyone lately," Emma finally exclaims in frustration, watching from a corner booth at Granny's as Belle and Ruby hold court by the window, a crowd of suitors surrounding them, hanging on their every word. It's like a goddamn teen movie from the 80s, Emma thinks.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Regina replies, clasping her coffee cup resentfully, with an expression of haughty, regal distaste on her face. "I'd say it's the summer heat, but...well."

Emma sighs, rubbing her temples. "If this is another evil curse, I swear to God - "

"No," Regina says, with a harsh jerk of her head. "No, I already checked." Emma raises an eyebrow at her. "Do you have any idea how many...advances I've had to fend off in the last week? Even for me, it's been ridiculous."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Humble as ever," she mutters.

Regina pointedly ignores her. "No," she says, "if it is magical, then it's not a spell or a curse. My best guess is a potion of some kind. A magical poison. I wouldn't be able to detect that."

"Wait," Emma says, sitting up, "you're serious? You think this is magical?"

Regina looks over at Ruby and Belle, who now look more interested in each other than in their adoring masses, talking intensely with their foreheads close, almost touching, their hands clasped on the tabletop. Three or four of their crowd, Emma notices, have peeled off to flirt amongst themselves, too, and through the window Emma spots a couple outside, making out furiously against a parked car.

"No," Regina says scathingly, "you're right. This is completely normal."

Emma huffs. "Fine, fair point," she says grudgingly. "So. How do we fix it?"

"Well," Regina replies, "it's obviously a love potion of some kind - clearly whomever was trying to use it messed it up rather spectacularly, but that's besides the point - our first step is to figure out who's affected and who isn't. That's our best shot at tracking its origin."

"You can't just…" Emma trails off, shrugging. "Do a spell, null the effects?"

"If I could do that, don't you think I already would have?" Regina asks. The condescension makes Emma grit her teeth in irritation. "No, if it is a potion - which I'm fairly sure it is - I'd need to know what kind it is before I could determine what sort of magic to use to counteract it. Flying blind is never a good idea, when it comes to this sort of thing."

"Right." Emma thinks for a second. "Well, Henry's been fine," she says, and Regina makes a well, obviously face. "Killian, too. They've been normal."

Regina's pinched look goes a little more pinched, at the mention of Killian, which Emma ignores. "Robin hasn't been affected either," she says reluctantly. "Roland, of course. And Granny. I can't think of anyone else; though granted I haven't spoken with everybody in town in the past week."

"Well, I have, pretty much," Emma says. "And it's basically everybody - oh! David and Mary Margaret! They seemed normal, too." Emma frowns. "And Ashley and Sean, come to think of it. I only saw them for a few minutes, on Monday. But they weren't…" Emma gestures to the floor of the diner. "You know. That."

"Right," Regina says briskly. "Now all we've got to do is figure out what everyone else has eaten or drank in the past month that we haven't, and we can take care of this nonsense." She glances at the crowd again, grimacing. "Hopefully quickly."

Emma doesn't agree with Regina often, but in this, she definitely empathizes. "Okay, why don't you...go talk to Robin, see what you can figure out. I'll handle everyone else." She shudders a little. "I mean. Not handle, but - "

"Good lord, I know what you meant," Regina replies, appalled. "Christ, Emma."

"Yeah, I know," Emma says miserably. "God, I hate this already."

A quick text to David confirms that he's already picked Henry up from school, so Emma heads instead to the docks, dodging another small group of lecherous people - why do they have to be roaming around in packs? - and stopping only to pull apart a couple of teenagers who are rounding the bases on a park bench by the clocktower.

"Seriously?" Emma demands, throwing the kid's shirt at his face and pushing the other towards his car. "In the middle of town? Broad daylight?"

"Wanna join?" the one still on the ground says, with a come-hither look that Emma is sure would be a whole lot more enticing if it weren't coming from a half-naked teenager with a boner the size of Emma's wristwatch. "We've both been very bad, Sheriff Swan."

"Oh God," Emma replies, backing away, "I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit."

(The worst part is that Emma's pretty sure that this is the kid that Mary Margaret was talking about, the one who'd been a knight-in-training in her and David's court, back in the Enchanted Forest. She'd been talking about getting him to give Henry fighting lessons - well, that's definitely not happening, Emma thinks firmly. Jeez.)

By the time she makes it to the docks, she's exhausted, her headache now worse than ever. She has a mini-heart attack when she gets to the slip where Killian's ship is usually docked and finds it empty - her inner monologue tripping on a broken record of what the fuck, he wouldn't just leave, what the fuck - but before she can truly work herself into anger or hurt or anything, he pops out of the harbormaster's office, beckoning her over quickly.

"Hurry," he calls, and Emma jogs the rest of the way, letting him rush her inside and bolt the door behind her. "Sorry, love, didn't want the furies to discover my little subterfuge, here."

"Furies?" Emma repeats incredulously, thinking, God, don't even tell me. Killian nods, and cracks the window blinds cautiously, gesturing outside.

"I believe their names are Rebecca and Carly," Killian says, a derisive twist to the modern name that belies his disapproval. Emma peeks out through the crack in the blinds and sees two teenage girls emerge from one of the other ships, holding hands and looking around somewhat intently. "I've seen them around, the one's father owns that ship right there. They seemed nice enough, until this morning that is."

"You're hiding in here from two teenage girls?" Emma asks, stepping back as he lets the blinds snap closed again. She grins, trying not to laugh. It's a close thing. "Big scary furies?"

"Yes, very funny," he snaps, with an irritated huff, "they stole aboard my ship and tried to - well. Let's just say that I had a hell of a wake up call this morning." He clears his throat. "They seem to have some trouble with the concept of 'no.'" He raises an eyebrow. "'Get the hell off my ship' is apparently also a problem area."

"Oh - my God," Emma says, choking a little on the words. "Are you saying that they - "

"I would rather not talk about it, if you don't mind, Swan," Killian says stiffly. Emma doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, honestly.

"So your ship - "

"In a safe place." Killian shrugs, and Emma thinks, how the fuck do you hide an entire ship in a 'safe place,' God this guy is ridiculous. "Seemed easier to make them think I'd left than to try and...reason with them."

"Jesus Christ," Emma says, stuck on a mental image that she really doesn't need right now. "Right. Okay. So - Regina thinks this is a love potion. Everyone in town is going nuts."

"Well not everyone, clearly," Killian says, gesturing between them with a grand sweep of his hand.

"Yeah, well, that's why I'm here," Emma says. "It's just you and me, Regina, and a few others who are unaffected. We need to figure out what we all have in common - maybe then we can figure out why this is happening and where it's coming from."

Killian opens his mouth to reply, but a loud 'thump' stops them both short. "Bloody hell."

"Was the harbormaster here, when you hid in here?" Emma asks suspiciously, eyeing the closet.

"No," Killian says slowly, "but I haven't been here that long, it's possible that - ah, Swan, I'm not sure you want to do that - "

Emma slams the closet door shut as quickly as she'd opened it, launching herself backwards in horror. "Oh God, oh God, that was terrible, why did I do that - "

"Well I don't fucking know, I tried to warn you - "

"God, my whole body wants to throw up," Emma cries, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. It doesn't help. She hears Killian make a muffled noise of amusement, and she cracks open one eye to glare. "Shut up. So not funny."

"I didn't say a word, darling," Killian says gravely, smirking ear to ear.

Another thump, and a muffled groan, comes from the closet and Emma jumps. "Oh fuck, let's get outta here before he…finishes. Oh God - "

"Right," Killian says briskly, grabbing her hand. "If we make a run for it I'm sure we can make it to your car before the harpies catch on - you did drive here, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I'll lead the way," Emma says, jumping when the closet emits another horrifying noise. "Now, now, now - "

Killian's halfway out the door before she even finishes talking.

Right, so it's escalating, clearly. That's the first thing Emma notices, on the drive back to town.

"I have never seen so many naked people in my life," Emma says, clutching the wheel and trying desperately not to look at...whatever is happening in the backseat of the car in front of them. "Is that - is that even healthy? What she's doing with her - "

"Watch out," Killian says sharply, and Emma swerves to avoid an oncoming car, drifting into her lane. She leans on the horn angrily as they pass, heart pounding. "Bloody fucking hell - "

"They were making out, weren't they?" Emma spits, disgusted. "God, this is getting out of control. Somebody's gonna get hurt."

"No arguments here, Swan," Killian says, looking - dare she say - scandalized, shaking his head in incredulous astonishment. "Better take the back roads, love. Seems foolish to brave Main Street at the moment."

"Clearly," Emma mutters, taking the next left, down towards the school. "We should head to the loft first, I need to check on Henry."

"Your parents, Swan, they're not…" Killian trails off, looking disgusted.

"No," Emma says quickly. "No, they're normal. I'm pretty sure." He shoots her a look. "Very sure!"

"You don't sound sure."

"Well, they better be, because Henry and the baby are there, and if they're…" Emma has to stop talking, it's just - it's too gross.

"Drive faster," Killian orders grimly, and Emma slams her foot to the floor.

The loft is deadbolted shut - good thinking, Emma approves - and there's music playing inside, the Beatles' greatest hits turned up loud enough that Emma and Killian have to pound on the door for like five minutes before anybody knows they're there.

"Sorry," David says sheepishly, cracking open the door, "we turned it up because - wait a minute." He squints at them suspiciously. "You two aren't…"

Emma blinks at him. "What? No!"

"Well, you never know…"

"Does it look like we're overcome with passion at the moment, mate?" Killian asks irritably. "Just let us in already, your neighbor's been watching us since we walked up and I don't like the look of him one bit."

David frowns, waving them in and quickly bolting the door behind them. Mary Margaret's on the couch, holding the baby, and Henry's next to her staring determinedly at a comic book, all three of them looking vaguely traumatized. "Had to do something to drown out the…" David gestures helplessly at the walls, and now that the music's been turned down Emma hears faint, muffled moans coming from the apartment next door. "Yeah."

"God," Emma mutters, beelining over to Henry. "Hey kiddo, how're you doing?"

"This is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me," Henry replies instantly, shooting her a look of pure martyrdom that only a preteen could ever pull off successfully. "Please tell me you've got a plan."

"Yes," Emma says confidently, squeezing his shoulders reassuringly. "I definitely have...something very similar to a plan. A shape of a plan. A direction, really - but I do feel good about it."

"Comforting," Henry mutters, but he's smiling, which is a start.

Mary Margaret shoots her a fond look, curling her hands around the slumbering bundle in her arms protectively. Emma can't believe the kid managed to sleep through the music, but the newest addition to the Family Charming has certainly proved herself to be a tough cookie when it comes to falling asleep in weird places, if nothing else. (Let's not talk about how she stayed fast asleep during the entire final battle against Zelena, loud spells and near death experiences and all.)

"I'm so glad you're here," Mary Margaret says gratefully. "And I'm super extra glad you're not...affected."

She shoots a quick, weird look over at Killian, leaning casually against the kitchen island. Emma catches him rolling his eyes, behind David's back.

"Uh, yeah," Emma replies, for lack of anything better. "Me too."

"Do we know what's happening yet?" David asks. "We were hoping you'd show up with like, a dossier or something."

"Er, no dossier," Emma says. "Regina thinks it's a potion. So far we've got us, her, Robin and Roland, Ashley, Sean and Granny as the only ones not going completely sex crazy."

"A potion?" Mary Margaret says. "That affects everybody but just a few people? How would somebody even pull that off?"

"Water supply," Killian says. Everybody blanches a little at that scary thought. "Well - probably not that in particular, I doubt we've all managed to avoid water for the past month, but something similar. A community resource that everyone partakes of."

"That's disgusting," David says, with an offended grimace. "Poisoning all these people, making them...feel this way against their will, it's - "

"Right," Emma cuts in. "Yeah, no such thing as intoxicated consent, gotcha. We'll deal with that later, but our more immediate issue is how to stop it."

Mary Margaret hums, forehead creased in thought, stroking the baby's blanket mindlessly. "It's gotta be the diner," she says finally. "Something in the food, or drink. Everyone in town eats there - if not every day, then close to it."

"Yeah, but we eat there too," Henry says, frowning. "Like, we're there all the time. If it was in the food or something, wouldn't that mean that we'd be under the spell too?"

"It's gotta be something on the menu that none of us have eaten, then," Emma says. "I don't know what the hell that would be, but..."

"Well, I haven't been there in weeks," Killian says.

"We've noticed," Henry says darkly, giving him a scolding look, and Killian raises an eyebrow in his direction. Henry shrugs unrepentantly, and Emma bites back a smile. What a good kid she's got, she thinks.

"I haven't been drinking any caffeine," Mary Margaret offers. "And I've been trying to eat healthy while I'm still breastfeeding, so it's mostly been side salads and steamed veggies for me."

"Well, that can't be it, Emma drinks an entire pot of coffee by ten o'clock every morning," David says dryly. "And, no offense, honey, but you eat like a middle-aged Italian man. Steak and pasta, steak and pasta - "

Killian snorts loudly in amusement and Emma frowns. "Hey."

"Yeah, Mom, you need to eat better," Henry says. Mary Margaret smothers a giggle with one hand.

Emma just rolls her eyes. "What about that new lunch special Granny introduced? The smothered pork chops? That was gross, did anybody eat that? Henry and I sure didn't - "

"Oh, I liked those," David says. "They were good."

Emma grimaces. "And you talk about my bad taste," she says. David makes a face at her.

"Right," Killian cuts in, "this is rather pointless. We could stand here all night listing everything you lot have eaten in the past month and still be wrong. Meanwhile the entire town is out there having a far better time than we are, standing around talking in circles."

David and Mary Margaret do one of their mutual, parental sighs of irritation, but Emma just shakes her head. "Killian's right, this isn't constructive. Regina's our best bet at this point, honestly. If anyone's gonna figure out some kind of - antidote, or cure, or whatever, it's probably her."

"Well, why not you, Mom?" Henry asks hopefully. "I mean, you're pretty good at magic now, right? Can't you just...close your eyes and zap everybody back to normal?"

Emma's not ashamed to admit that she already tried this. Multiple times. To no avail. "Doesn't really work like that, kid," she says.

"He does have a point, though, Swan," Killian interjects, and Emma turns to look at him, skeptical. "Not that I don't believe you would fix this with a snap of your fingers if you could, love, but - you've got magic now. Use it." He gestures at Mary Margaret's mirror, hanging by her vanity, and Emma blinks in realization. "Better to contact Regina this way than trying to brave the wild kingdom out there again."

Emma grins. "Now that," she says, "is constructive." She hops to her feet, feeling that familiar fission of excitement she always gets when it comes to doing magic. Well - when it doesn't involve fighting for her life with it, that is.

"Can you do that?" Mary Margaret asks, sounding intrigued. "Use a mirror to talk to someone instead of just conjuring an image of them?"

"Well, I don't know," Emma admits. "But no time like the present to try, right?"

David laughs a little, which turns into a wince as the neighbors start up with their moaning again. "Might wanna hurry," he says, and Henry makes a noise of disgust and climbs off the couch, muttering something about headphones.

"Right," Emma says stoically, "everyone - shut up for a second. Let me concentrate."

It's like a well hidden inside of her head, is the best metaphor that Emma's come up with to explain it. Some deep, dark place where all that magic pools, cool and quiet, waiting to surge up whenever she calls for it. The hardest part, honestly, isn't accessing it, necessarily, but shaping it into the form of what she wants it to do - but she's getting better at it every day.

Today, though, seems to be the exception, as the longer Emma stands there trying, the less cooperative it becomes. Her head is still pounding, which doesn't help, and everyone's eyes on her back don't either.

"Fuck," she mutters, running her hands through her hair in irritation.

"Emma." Killian steps up behind her, making her startle. "Easy, love. Here." He hands her a water bottle, which she takes with a grateful look, gulping down half of it in one go. "Just breathe, let it come to you. Don't fuss over it."

Emma breathes out slowly, hyper aware of his body, inches away from hers, solid and warm at her back. Always just one step away, Emma thinks, with a rush of combined relief and affection that warms her skin, makes her fingers itch to reach out.

Without much conscious thought, Emma reaches out with her mind's eye and conjures a gust of wind that sweeps around them, ruffling the edges of his coat and sweeping his hair back across his forehead. Killian grins at her, sudden, playful and sharp.

"There you are," he says, and Emma smiles back.

"Thanks," she says, and turns back to the mirror. After that - it's easy.

Of course, any victory that Emma might feel about accomplishing this is struck all to hell when Regina appears in the mirror, super naked, super distracted and super not fit for conversation.

"Jesus Christ," Regina yells, startled, accompanied by Robin's matching cry of surprised indignation. "Emma! What the hell are you - "

"Oh my God it never ends," Emma exclaims, and ends the spell so quickly that she gets a little bit of a head rush.

"Well," Killian says, sounding disgusted. Behind him, David seems to be having some kind of coughing fit, and Mary Margaret is shaking her head at the ceiling, one hand clutching the baby and the other over her face. "If I didn't already know this was the work of magic, I sure as hell would now. That was just bloody unnatural."

"Henry, you didn't see that right? Henry!" Emma turns around frantically to see him emerging from the bathroom with earbuds in, iPad in hand. "Oh, thank God."

Henry takes one look around the room and says, "yeah, I don't wanna know," and turns on one heel to disappear once again.

"Smart lad," Killian says approvingly.

"Ugh," Mary Margaret says. "Just - ugh." David grimaces and moves to sit next to her, sliding one arm around her shoulders, as if to comfort her. "I don't - ugh!"

The mirror bursts into life again, and Emma braces herself before she turns around, but thankfully Regina is clothed - although still rather disheveled - and looking murderous.

"You called," she drawls, angrily smoothing her hair away from her face. "Just what in the hell was so important?"

"Um," Emma interrupts, a little hysterically, "I don't know, maybe the gigantic orgy going on outside?" She points accusingly. "And you said you and Robin weren't affected!"

"We're not," Regina snaps irritably.

"Oh," Emma says blankly, then, "oh! Gross!"

Regina just crosses her arms and glares.

"Well, that's just - that's just great timing, guys. Is that why it always takes so long for you do anything? You keep sneaking off in the middle of the day for some afternoon delight?"

Regina huffs. "It's none of your business, alright, what's the - "

"For fuck's sake," Killian snaps, stepping up behind Emma's shoulder. "Enough of your squabbling, both of you, can we please get to the problem at hand? Regina, you said this was a potion, we need - "

"There's no antidote," Regina interrupts, shooting Killian a cold look. Her image in the mirror waves a bit as she moves, retrieving something from somewhere beneath the frame. "And it's no potion. I was wrong before. It is a curse."

Emma sighs wearily, exchanging a look with her parents, listening silently from their vantage point on the couch. They both look as irritated as Emma feels. "Of course. Always a curse. What else would it be?"

"It's not a dark one," Regina says, words clipped and short in their professionalism. "It's actually - well, it's as good as curses can ever get. Have you heard of nymphs, pirate? That should be within your circle of expertise, I imagine."

Killian grimaces. "It can't be that, Regina. They died out years ago."

"Whoa, nymphs, you mean like fairies?" Emma asks. "Like Tink? Because I saw her on the drive over here and she looked just as naked as everyone else - "

"No, nymphs aren't fairies," Regina says impatiently. "They're similar, but still different. Nymphs aren't sentient individuals, like fairies are, they're just...formless beings of pure magic."

"Most of them disappeared generations ago, although there've been rumors - in Neverland, at least - of them appearing here and there over the last fifty years or so," Killian adds, glancing sideways over at Emma. "It's said that there are different sorts, too, connected to different - energies, you might say. There're the nature ones - forest nymphs, river nymphs, that sort of thing - and then ones connected to more nebulous concepts, like jealousy, or love."

"Or lust," Regina says pointedly. She glances away quickly, some spot out of their line of sight, through the mirror, and then brings up her hands, revealing a glowing, red lantern. "This is something that belonged to my mother. It's meant to glow when they're near." She sniffs a little. "The color, as you see, is rather telling."

"Queen Lurline was a nymph," David says grimly, stepping into view. Regina startles at little at his appearance, shooting Emma a dirty look. Emma shrugs helplessly in response. "Wasn't she? The original queen of Oz."

"No one knows for sure," Regina replies coolly. "That is the rumor, yes - more likely she was a fairy who encouraged it to keep enemies at bay. There's a certain...mystique involved." She pauses. "I know what you're thinking, but you needn't. Zelena is dead. This has nothing to do with her."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite," Regina says primly, her image wavering again as she sets the lantern back down, below the frame.

"Okayyyy," Emma says, "so, good for you to fill us in. Encouraged by the open communication here. Would've been better if you hadn't stopped for hanky-panky first, but…"

Regina looks incredibly unimpressed. "We were, not that it's still any of your business, trying to help." She pauses, her icy mask cracking for a split second. "Well. It sounds rather ridiculous out of context, but - "

"No, please, go on," Killian replies, dry and darkly amused. "Tell us how your roll in the hay with the thief is helping our situation."

Regina shoots him a glance that would probably murder lesser men, but all Killian does is roll his eyes. "There is only one solution to a nymph's presence," she says stiffly, "and that is to give it whatever it's looking for."

"Uh," Emma says, "okay, so. Wait. This nymph thing is here, and making everyone go crazy with lust - like, half the town is out there getting it on in the damn streets, that isn't enough to satisfy it?"

"No. It's not looking for lust - lust, it already has." Regina sighs long sufferingly. "They come in pairs, see. Jealousy and anger, curiosity and discovery, lust and love, et cetera, et cetera." She lifts her chin. "But they only cause things like this when they've been separated from each other. So if you give it what it needs, then - "

"It'll just...what, float away?" Emma raises her eyebrows in sudden realization. "Wait - love. You were trying to give it love."

Regina purses her lips, stubbornly refusing to break eye contact. "Yes," she says shortly. "I suspect that's the reason why only...certain individuals remained unaffected, actually."

"True love," Mary Margaret says, in sudden realization. The implications of that hit the entire room like a shockwave.

Emma swallows thickly, not daring to look over at Killian. His closeness feels oppressive, all of a sudden, and she stiffens, feeling something stab in her chest at how he immediately steps away in response, without a word.

"Okay," David says, cutting through the heavy air. "So - that's a plan. Definitely. Um - "

"As you can see - trying to help," Regina says. "And I suspect that we all have...something to contribute in that area." She raises one, regal eyebrow, as always managing to look infinitely superior, even wrapped in a silk robe, hair ridiculously askew and beard burn still glowing red against the side of her neck.

"God," Emma mutters, covering her forehead with one hand. "How is this my life. How is this even real."

"Yeah, okay, we'll just - leave you to. That. Then." David grimaces. "Thanks, Regina."

Regina sniffs one last time, composed until the end, and the image disappears, the spell ending with a muffled pop.

"Okay," Mary Margaret says, shifting the baby with an uncomfortable frown. "This is...certainly the weirdest curse that we've ever encountered, I gotta say."

"Seriously," David mutters, running his hand through his hair. "Jeez."

Emma feels brave enough, in that moment, to look over at Killian, not altogether sure what she hopes to see. Whatever it is, though, it isn't what she finds, which is - that same blank, empty expression plastered on his face, his arms crossed defensively across his chest, body language closed off, turned away. Her heart sinks a little, despite itself.

"Are we just supposed to, what, make out until it stops then?" David's asking, but Emma barely hears him.

"I need some air," she mutters, turning towards the front door on instinct. Halfway through her first step, she remembers, and switches directions towards the bathroom - the only actual room in this damn loft, and of course it's got her kid in it. The claustrophobic feeling from before only intensifies.

"Emma," Mary Margaret calls, sounding worried, but Emma's sister, God bless her, chooses that moment to awake with a furious cry, drawing her attention.

"M'fine, just - gonna go check on Henry," Emma says, and escapes.

(She doesn't look back at Killian, but what's the point anyway. It's not like he's gonna stop her, or anything.)

The thing is - nobody was really sure if it was true love's kiss. Like, sure, Emma thinks, they kissed. And it woke him up. But - Emma was literally glowing with magic at the time, infused with it, so hyped up from defeating Zelena to the point where it was pouring out of her very skin. And the whole pulsing thing, the wind - that was sort of part of the deal too, so - Henry had taken one look at her and called her his "nuclear reactor supermom," if that's an indication of how amped up that whole thing was.

So it's not like anyone could tell the difference between "for sure, big time, real deal, knock it out of the park, home run true love kissing" and "weeeell, Emma was hopped up on magic steroids so she was kinda bringing everything back to life, really." (Which - was true. So many zombie flowers and bugs, that day in the forest. Emma can only be thankful that Zelena hadn't insisted on dueling them in a graveyard, or something.)

It certainly felt powerful enough to be real. To Emma, anyway. The way Killian's been acting, in the days and weeks since, she's not so sure it's a mutual thing anymore.

At first, she'd given him time and space, thinking - well, he's really been through the ringer, more so than most of us probably, the lost year of memories no one else has, the ups and downs and all that shit with the damn kissing curse, maybe he just...needs time to adjust. So, understanding that, Emma gave it to him. Time. And space. So much of both that it hurt.

(Let's not talk about: Emma, coming down from her magic high in the safety of her bedroom at Granny's, aching with the need to be touched but determined not to ask, biting her lip until it bled to keep from reaching out and just - summoning him, because it was so easy, she could just feel how easy it was, just like she could feel him, a warm, heavy awareness that hovered at the edges of her consciousness, day and night. Or the days and weeks after when she lied in bed and tortured herself to sleep with regrets and self-recriminations and should have done this and I can't believe I did that like it actually mattered, like it'd make a difference when she kept turning her head instinctively and finding him not there, over and over. God - no. Let's not talk about any of that.)

But, here's the part where Emma loses track of the plot, because you give somebody space, eventually they get through it and don't need any more, right, and they come back? They show up at your door with a bottle of really good liquor and take out and say, "thought you might fancy a night in, darling," and you kiss him right there in the doorway, right, because you can't wait? But that never happened, and Emma felt adrift, disappointed, at a total loss, because it should have. It should have gone that way, but it didn't.

So not knowing what else to do, she pushed - and found only this: a stranger, more distant Killian, with those blank looks, who never teased her anymore, so weirdly polite and a little too respectful. She doesn't know what the fuck to do with it, how to talk to him about it, not when she's too used to living on the edges of cliffs, where every move you make has to be cautious lest you push too hard and send whatever it is that you wanted plummeting to the canyon below.

If Storybrooke was the real world (which it isn't) and Killian was a normal man (he's never, ever been), Emma would maybe know what to do. If this were a normal relationship, she'd say: well, goddamn bad timing, right, sometimes things just don't match up, that's the worst, then she'd go get drunk with her girlfriends and take a stranger home and wake up the next day feeling somewhat hopeful, like she could start to move on now.

But it isn't normal, Emma's life isn't normal anymore, it's a strange, fantastic thing full of evil curses and sex nymphs and unwavering absolutes that, try as you might, nobody can deny. Like - Emma thinks, of all the stories and examples she's seen of true love this and true love that, it would just fucking figure that when she finally came around to the idea herself, he'd end up not wanting it anymore.

(Day late and a dime short, story of Emma's life - God, just fuck off already. The universe owes her so many breaks by now, it's ridiculous.)

"Hey, join the party," Henry says, when Emma slips into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind her. Emma looks over, laughing a little despite the panic squeezing her chest - he's crosslegged in the bathtub, the iPad propped up on his knees, for all the world looking like it's totally normal to be hiding out in a locked bathroom, no big deal. "Wow, you look like crap."

"Thanks," Emma says dryly, bracing her hands against the sink and breathing out slowly. "How much of that did you overhear?"

"Um." Henry shrugs a little, still eyeing her kind of worriedly. "The end part. Something about nymphs and true love." He scoffs. "What else is new, right?"

Emma laughs again. "Right."

"Seriously, are you okay? You look kind of freaked out, Mom."

"I'm fine," Emma says, reaching down to turn on the faucet, splashing water on her face.

"Whatever you say," Henry says, reaching up to grab a dish towel from the shelf by the tub, tossing it to her. Emma catches it easily.

"Yeah," Emma says wearily, drying off her face perfunctorily and sinking down on the closed lid of the toilet seat. "Yeah. Just a loooong day. Wow."

"Tell me about it," Henry says wryly. Tugging at his earbuds, he sets the iPad aside, glancing over at her curiously. "You know, I thought of something else to tell you."

"Yeah?"

He nods. "Remember Cara? The girl who kissed me that I told you about?" Emma nods. "Well - I was thinking about it, and - she's an orphan, you know. Her parents died in the Enchanted Forest, before the first curse. She lives with old Hattie now, but I was thinking, and...that's the only thing I could come up with, that would make her...different. Everyone else in my class seemed normal."

Emma sighs. "It's true love, kid," she says gently. "That's what keeps you from getting affected by it." She thinks suddenly of Belle, the revelation striking her suddenly, and what had seemed annoying and strange before now just seems kind of...sad. Man, she would never have guessed that one, she thinks.

"I guess...kids get true love from their parents," Henry says, a little wistfully. "And once you grow up, you gotta find it somewhere else, huh?"

Emma shoots him a faint smile. He really is a smart kid. "Makes sense."

"Good thing you've got Killian now," Henry says, and Emma's heart clenches. "'Cuz I really didn't need to add 'scarred for life by my own mother' to my therapy list."

"You got a therapy list?" Emma says, raising an eyebrow.

"Doesn't everyone?" Henry asks, and sticks his earbuds back in pointedly.

When Emma emerges, it's obviously to the middle of an argument, David and Killian standing off in the kitchen as Mary Margaret glares from her spot by the baby's cradle, trying to sooth the baby at the same time as she shoots evil looks of death at both men. At her entrance, everyone looks away, and Killian takes a step back, turning his face towards the ceiling.

"Okay," Emma says. "Awkward."

David sighs, shooting a resentful look at Killian's profile. "It's nothing," he says, "we were just - "

The baby cries out, loud and shrill. David moves instinctually, relieving Mary Margaret of her bundle, who looks more than a little grateful, and Emma watches them huddle together, soothing the baby in perfect tandem. There's a grace and fluidity to their movements when they do this, and Emma chalks it up to her newfound, growing maturity that it doesn't even really hurt much, anymore.

"We should talk, Swan," Killian says quietly, still not looking at her. Emma steps up to the kitchen island, leaning one hip against the edge and staring at the side of his face, willing him to look at her, but he doesn't. "Alone."

If her head hurt just a little less and she were a little less tired, she'd have something snarky to say back to that, but as it is, she just doesn't have the energy. "Yeah."

The silence is stiff as they stand there, waiting for David and Mary Margaret to settle their daughter, finally calming her enough to lie quiet in David's arms, tucked in close to his chest, happily sucking on a pacifier.

"Sorry," Mary Margaret says, joining them at the island, harried and tired looking. "Emma, listen - "

"Can you keep Henry?" Emma interrupts, already knowing what she's about to say and not wanting to hear it. Mary Margaret blinks, taken aback. "Hook and I need to, uh - "

"TMI," Mary Margaret interrupts, appalled, "wayyy TMI."

"Talk," Killian says darkly, still half turned away, leaning against the counter like the bad boy boyfriend in every single tv show Emma grew up loving. "We need to talk."

Mary Margaret shoots him a dry look, turning to Emma with that same expression of really? Him? that Emma is just - so incredibly tired of. "Well," she says, "yes, of course he can stay with us. But are you sure that - "

"Well," Emma cuts in, "you heard Regina. Gotta spread the love." She forces a grin, and Killian snorts out an amused laugh at the look of disgust that crosses over Mary Margaret's face. "Seriously - we just need some time alone, okay? To work some stuff out. We'll be fine."

"Alright," Mary Margaret says reluctantly. "Keep your phone on, though, okay? Call if you need help." She throws a wary glance at the window. "If it's still getting worse, like it was before, then it's probably pretty...ugly out there."

"We've got Emma's car," Killian says briskly, pushing off the island and raising his hook, "and my...not inconsiderable assets. We'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Assets," Mary Margaret mutters, rolling her eyes, but she waves them off quickly, gesturing to David, still occupied with the baby. "I'll deal with your dad. Go on, be careful."

"Thanks," Emma says, and follows Killian out.

It feels a bit like sneaking off to go make out or something, especially with the last, wary look that Emma catches from Mary Margaret, shot at Killian's back as they slip out the front door. Too bad she can't enjoy it, Emma thinks, a little wistfully.

(She'd bet you anything Killian would've made a great candidate for sneak-out make outs. Like - just made for the part, really.)

Emma's first instinct is her room at Granny's, but apparently during their time inside the loft, the entire street outside has turned into the orgy scene from Zoolander, with her car right in the middle, and frankly neither of them are really in the mood to be wrangling naked people in any way shape or form.

("I never really thought about it," Emma says, grateful for the reassuring tug of Killian's hook on her belt loop as they carefully avoid eye contact with the Kama Sutra gang on the grass, "but sex really is kind of disgusting. It's like, better when you're the one having it. You don't really notice when it's you, but - it really is, objectively, super gross."

"Sex is a lot of things, but pretty isn't meant to be one of them," Killian replies, grimacing in discomfort. He seems a lot more put off by this whole business than she'd ever thought he would, which Emma finds faintly hilarious. "Or it shouldn't be, that is."

Emma wisely does not comment. Yeah, this line of conversation needs to not be happening in the middle of the Storybrooke Sex Circus.)

Without a car, their options are somewhat limited, especially with the sex free for all going on pretty much everywhere - walking is kind of a last resort thing at this point. Emma's about ready to suggest breaking into somebody's empty house ("Nobody's home anyway, they're all out on the fucking sidewalks!") but Killian just shakes his head and pulls out some magical pixie dust necklace thing that is, apparently, how he'd managed to hide his ship from the twin Lolitas earlier that morning.

Always full of surprises, that's Killian to a tee - just when she thinks she's got him pinned down, he pulls out a goddamn teleportation necklace, Jesus Christ.

"You have a Portkey," Emma says in astonishment, staring at the interior walls of his cabin where only a minute before, she'd been seeing the street in Storybrooke, full of its own, naked, sexed up citizens. "I can't believe you have a fucking Portkey and you're just showing me this now."

"It's pixie dust," Killian says with a frown, "not a portkey. Whatever that is." He shakes his head impatiently. "And I didn't have it this whole time - I got it back when I found my ship again, along with all my other worldly possessions, I might add."

"A portkey," Emma repeats again, ignoring him. She sinks down on the edge of the desk, shaking her head. "This has been the weirdest day."

"Just a parlor trick, really," Killian says, nudging her aside so he can tuck the vial carefully into a small box. Emma catches a glimpse of a few other tiny, shiny little things, along with a bag of some kind, before he sweeps it shut. "Pops you back and forth. Comes in handy, though, especially when you need to hide your ship somewhere no one else can find it."

"Is that where we are right now?" Emma asks, a little concerned. "God, don't tell me we're parked in like, an underground lake or some ridiculous thing like that - "

"Underground lake," Killian repeats, giving her his best what the fuck, Swan look. "No, Emma, we are not in an underground lake. We're a few miles or so off the coast, drifting south. Underground lake, really Swan - "

"Shut up," Emma mutters, shoving at his arm. "What do I know about ship stuff, jeez."

"Not much, apparently," Killian says, but he's smirking a little, so Emma's not all that mad.

The air turns kind of awkward real quick, especially after Emma makes him turn on the GPS that she'd insisted on installing a few months ago to confirm their location ("I told you," Killian says, irritated, "I knew where we were, I don't need this bloody thing to - "

"You said a few miles," Emma replies haughtily, "this says we're one mile away. Note: you were wrong. Ergo - "

"Well thank the fates we have this glowing screen to give us that few hundred feet's difference," Killian says dryly, rolling his eyes.) and, well, anyway, she thinks she probably wasn't helping with his obvious rotten mood, with the bickering and stuff. That was possibly a mistake.

It's not that he's angry at her, if he were, he'd definitely let her know. He's never been shy about doing so before. No, it's more of a - discontent, she thinks. Just upset, without direction. She knows the feeling.

Either way, they do waste a not inconsiderable amount of time clearing their throats and not meeting each other's eyes, which Emma will probably be embarrassed about later. It's Killian who breaks the silence, of course, and of course he suggests a drink.

"If there's any conversation," he says darkly, "that could use it, it's this one." He very nearly slams the glass down, on the desk she's still sitting on, but it doesn't spill, so Emma doesn't mind. "Drink up."

Emma knocks it back quickly, keeping her eyes on him, watching him swig directly from the flask. Something about it irritates her - like, the flask thing irritates her in general, but he doesn't carry it everywhere anymore and he's actually been doing much better lately, with the drinking, so it hasn't been as bad - but something in his stance, the way he seems resentful about it. Swigging rum like he needs it to be here, like this is something he has to get through, burns Emma something awful.

"What else I could use," Emma says, "is for you not to be an asshole about this. That's what I could use."

She discards her glass on the desktop, sliding it carelessly away. It hits the wall with a loud clatter, and Killian turns around very, very slowly.

"What exactly," he says, very carefully, "do you mean by that, Swan?"

Emma takes a breath, thinks fuck it, and goes for broke. "I mean - what's your problem? That's what I mean."

"My problem?"

"Yeah, your problem," Emma replies, trying to keep the waver out, but it's there, of course it is. "You - I don't get you. I don't get this, why you did all this. This stuff. For me, and my family, and you say you love me and you want me but now it's like you - you don't."

Killian's face is dark, an ugly twist to his face that Emma hasn't seen in a long time. "You doubt my intentions?" he asks. "After everything, you still - "

"No," Emma says, taken aback. "No, I doubt..."

"What," Killian says sharply. "Go on, say it. I'm a grown man. Say it, Swan."

What the fuck, Emma thinks. "Say what?" She blinks at him dumbly. "I don't - are we talking about the same thing, here?"

Killian grunts in frustration and takes another swig from his flask, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Just - stop dragging it out, for God's sake, woman, I - " he sighs, a helpless, frustrated thing, and lifts the flask to his mouth again.

Emma feels more than a little lost, and definitely sure that they're really not talking about the same thing. "Okay, Killian, I - stop, stop that." She reaches out without thinking and swipes the flask away from him with her magic, ignoring the outraged look he shoots her way. "I'm trying to - I'm trying to get us on the same page, okay, I'm trying to ask you what you want from me, that's what I'm trying to do. I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but - "

"What I want?" Killian asks, incredulous. "What I - are you serious?"

"Well it doesn't seem to be me anymore," Emma spits, defensive and balled up with tension. There are tears coming, she can feel them, and she doesn't want them but they're gonna happen and she knows it, and she really doesn't want to cry in front of him if he doesn't want to love her, that's just - like, the most awful thing that Emma could ever think of, honestly. "Don't give me that look, you have to know. You've been doing it on purpose, all this...polite no-touchy stuff, what else am I supposed to think?"

"You're mad," Killian says, staring at her in utter disbelief. "You are absolutely fucking mad."

"Fuck you," Emma spits, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Emma," he replies, heavy with intention, "do you honestly think that those are two different things? That loving and wanting could ever be opposed to each other?"

"Uh, yeah," Emma says angrily. "Pretty sure there's an entire genre of country music about that very phenomenon, so excuse the hell out of me if I - "

"Oh, just for once, spare me your wit," Killian says, just as angry. "Not true love. Not us - not me."

"Then why don't you tell me what the hell your problem is," Emma replies furiously, throwing her hands in the air. "Where the hell have you been? Why haven't you - "

"I was trying to be respectful of your - bloody hell, Swan, you had your chances as well, why didn't you?"

"Oh my God," Emma says in exasperation, "this is so dumb, get over here. Get over here right now."

Killian's on her in a second, sliding his hand beneath her braid and pulling her mouth up to his own. Emma hears herself make this strangled, desperate noise, and flails out with her hands, trying to grab onto his arms, his coat, anything. Her knees are against his stomach, his hook, pressing hard into her shoulder, and Emma doesn't think she's ever been kissed like this. Nothing could ever be, she thinks, as real as this kiss is real.

"Dumb," she says on a gasp, when he finally pulls back. "I'm dumb, we're dumb, oh my God - "

"How could you ever think that I didn't want you," Killian says desperately, pressing the words into the side of her neck. Emma whines and pulls him closer, hooking her ankles around the backs of his thighs. "Every part of me wants you. Everything I am - Emma - "

"I was scared, I'm sorry," Emma babbles, "I don't know, whatever." She tugs him back up so she can kiss him again, bite at his bottom lip and listen to the sound he makes in her mouth. "Take this off. Jesus, you've got to fuck me. Right now."

He looks twisted again when she looks up, shadowed in the dim light, and she shivers. "Is that what you want," he says, not really a question, but also - it is, at the same time.

"Yes," Emma says confidently, and she doesn't really need to tell him twice.

He's too thin, she thinks, in some half-hysterical part of her head that isn't too busy shaking in delighted triumph, pumping its fist and doing the routine at the end of Bring it On, because finally, finally, right? Finally.

("Calm down," Killian says, wrestling her down onto the bed, but he's laughing so it doesn't actually seem like he means it. "You're making the bloody walls shake."

Emma turns her head and laughs, because wow. He's right. "Can't help it - "

"Take it easy on my ship, she's just an old lady," Killian scolds, and bites the blunt edge of her chin.

"Make me, Captain," Emma says, and bites him back.)

He's too thin and there's a fresh wound on his ribcage, a long, thin gash that she's definitely going to be asking him about later (oh my God, he hasn't even bandaged it, she notes, horrified) but he's heavy and warm above her, his chest against hers and his hips between her legs, she feels a little like drowning. He kisses her face, top to bottom, over and over, until she laughs, and makes exaggerated pain noises when she shoves him on his back and climbs into his lap.

"Quit your whining," Emma tells him, tugging him up by his ears and licking the scar on his cheek. "I'm the Sheriff, you have to do what I say."

"Always," he says, not really sounding like he's joking. His hook is cool against her back, and Emma arches into it, groaning a little when he presses it against her spine. "You're shaking the walls again, darling." His mouth forms the words against her collarbone; his beard scrapes the sides of her breasts. He's got his other hand on her thigh, squeezing that spot right beneath the curve of her ass that's always been sort of sensitive, which, how he knows that, she has no idea, but she's positive that he does.

"Am I," Emma mutters, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. She can feel the magic right beneath her skin, the pulse of it beating in triple time, along with her heart. She feels him tracing the stretch marks on her breast with his tongue, reaches out, concentrates, and turns it into warm wind, swirling around the bed in a gentle arc.

"Impressive," Killian says, sort of breathless, and Emma smirks down at him, triumphant.

"I know," she says, and kisses him hard, using her teeth again, which he seems to like. There're so many things to find out, she thinks, giddy with excitement. What he likes, what they're good at together. Her head is spinning.

It's like the best wrestling match she's ever been in, both of them trying to one up the other and be the first to pin the other's shoulders to the bed. Killian manages to get the upper hand first and celebrates by going down on her ruthlessly, pressing one thigh back with his hook and mouthing at her clit until she comes. Emma curses at the ceiling the entire time, trying desperately to keep the wind from turning into a hurricane, and when he pulls back he's laughing at her.

"Shut up, shut up," Emma tells him, pulling him up for a kiss. He keeps the hook between her legs, pressing the blunt curve of it against her until she squirms against it, muttering nonsense words against his chin, into the hot space between his shoulder and throat.

"Still with me," he says, and Emma growls, pinching his side. "Ah - no need for violence, just checking in - "

"What are you, my prom date?" Emma asks, and he obligingly makes his 'confused by modern stuff' face for her, even though it's April and he probably knows what that is by now. "Come on, come on, get back up here - "

"Impatient," he observes, taking his time (out of spite, probably) and stopping to bite at the paunch of her stomach, the scar on her ribcage, her drunk tattoo beneath her right breast that was supposed to be a flower, but it looks more like a star so she just tells everyone who sees it that it's 'artistic.' "I've waited quite a long time for you, you know, so I shall take my time as I please."

There's the beginning of a witty reply somewhere in Emma's head, like a dig at his age or something but it doesn't quite come together in time, so she just ends up smiling, tilting her head back on his musty old blanket and letting him go to town. She feels sort of high, all tingly and relaxed and dizzy from her orgasm and the magic and why not let him, honestly, why not. She hasn't been to bed with a man in a long time - too long - and never with someone like Killian, who is so good at reading her reactions and predicting her movements that making love becomes a dance, instead of a negotiation.

He reaches her face and she turns her chin at the last second so his kiss lands on her cheek instead, giggling out loud when he makes this loud harrumph in frustration. "Come now, give us a kiss, lass - "

Emma twists her neck and kisses his ear instead, then his cheek, laughing and dodging his mouth until he gets her with a pinch to her ribs, catching her mouth and both of them, laughing into it.

"What do you wanna do," Emma asks, when he pulls back, giddy with adrenaline and happiness, so much of it she could explode. "Dealer's choice. Pose me."

"Like this," Killian replies, rolling off onto his side and pulling her up, back on top, with his hand. "I want to see your face."

"Oh," Emma says breathlessly, using his hook to balance. "This face, huh?'

"Beautiful face," Killian says, sitting up and sliding his hand behind her neck, holding it as she sinks down onto him in one smooth, confident slide. "Emma."

"Killian," Emma replies, trying to catch her breath, getting used to the feeling. She squeezes her thighs around his hips, rocks experimentally, makes him moan a little - she likes that. Gets her hands around his shoulders and kisses the top his forehead, at his hairline, down to his eyes, one, then the other. He's shaking a little bit, breathing heavily, but so is she. They've both been, this whole time. "I know this is super cliche to say at the moment and all, but I feel like I should."

"What, love," Killian says, and she can feel the vibration of his throat, the rumble of the words in his chest. Emma takes a deep breath.

"I'm in love with you," she says, and he shudders hard, pressing his face into her neck. "You know? That wasn't as hard as I thought it'd be - "

"Oh, but you drive me mad," Killian says, kissing her chest, right over her heart. She laughs. "I love you, you know I love you, Emma Swan. You know it."

Emma leans her cheek against the top of his head. The wind is picking up again, warm and sweet-smelling, and if she's crying a little bit, there's nobody around but him to notice. "Yeah."

There's nothing between them after that, nothing to do but move. So she reaches down and grabs his hook, just to hold it, as he holds her waist steady, waiting for her cue. Emma tosses her hair back, thinks, here we go, and lets herself fall.

("What did you think I was going to say?" Emma asks later, the next morning as they're reluctantly sailing back to shore. Her shirt got kind of ruined so she's wearing his, eating an orange she found in the galley and watching him steer, lazily, with one hand. "You know. Before."

"The same thing you were, I suspect," Killian replies. "Oi, are you going to share or just taunt me with that?"

Emma hops up and feeds him a piece, darting her hand away and laughing when he tries to lick her fingers. "Idiot."

"Aye," Killian says fondly, watching her with warm eyes. "Astute as ever, Swan."

Emma grins, and feeds him another piece. There's more below deck; she doesn't have to be greedy.)

The nymph is gone by the time they make it back to shore the next day, and the town remains relatively intact, if significantly unsettled and somewhat violated, although thankfully it seems like, from long interviews with those affected, that it hadn't been a compulsion so much as just...extreme horniness with very low inhibitions, which lessens the creep factor just a bit. Also sheds some light on the Ruby and Belle, uh, situation.

Regina seems very proud of herself about the whole affair at any rate, bragging-without-bragging about her and Robin's contribution, while Emma ignores Killian's goading looks and tries very hard not to blush. As if David and Mary Margaret didn't make that connection already, with the timing of the end of the sex curse and Emma and Killian's escape from the loft lining up so neatly, like - she's got enough grief already about this, let's not add to the pile any, is all she's saying.

(If there is anything more horrifying than living the rest of her life with the mental image of Regina and Robin mid-coitus, it would be the fall out of whatever inevitable "best couple" competition that would arise from Regina and Killian's matching competitive streaks. Like that episode of Friends where everyone finds out about Chandler and Monica, only way less cute and probably involving a swordfight of some kind - Emma gravely fears the paperwork that'd be involved in that bullshit.)

Killian starts coming to dinner at Granny's again. Emma brings him with her to Henry's track meet, and they sit on a blanket together and watch as he totally dominates the 300 yard dash. Mary Margaret and David come around eventually.

And Emma - well. It's about time, is all. (She's been way overdue for a happy ending.)