"Emma!"

She swallows her sigh at the sound of her lunch hour being disturbed, because the owner of the voice is undeniably sweet and definitely one of the nicer fairy tale inhabitants of this town. "Hey, Anton." Smiling up at him from her favourite booth, she clocks both the smudge of dirt on his cheek and his dusty clothes. "You look like you've done a hard morning's work."

"You can say that again." He looks at the empty seat across from her almost shyly, and she waves her hand in silent welcome. Grinning, he immediately slides into the other side of her booth, a decision that proves to be something of a challenge, given that Granny's booths don't have the most generous of dimensions. "Man, those dwarfs," he mutters as he reaches for the menu. "They don't even like stopping for a lunch break."

Emma grins into her coffee cup. Anton, formerly known as Tiny, also formerly known as the giant at the top of the beanstalk, seems to have taken to modern slang like a duck to water, and this time she can't blame Henry. Unlike Hook, she thinks, then smiles at the man sitting across from her.

Anton and the dwarves have kept themselves busy since the return to Storybrooke, not growing magic beans this time but crops. Emma can't actually remember what they're growing in that field (she's had other things on her mind, to be honest) only that they're excited about it. Shedoes know that David has made vague noises about maybe getting some livestock, much to her mother's dismay and everyone else's amusement.

Emma listens as Granny takes Anton's order (chocolate shake, three grilled cheese sandwiches, side-order of fries) and looks at him in surprise as the older woman walks off. "You must be one of her favourites - she didn't once try to force the lunch special on you."

Anton shrugs, rubbing his palm against his bearded cheek. "Nah, she just knows there's no point." When Emma looks confused (because what growing former giant wouldn't want extra-large servings at reduced prices?) he grins. "I don't eat meat, so all that stuff is kinda wasted on me."

A vegetarian giant? You learn something new every day, she thinks, reaching for the remaining half of her own grilled cheese sandwich.

"Hey, I saw you with Captain Hook yesterday."

She's glad she hadn't had time to take a bite, because she might just have spat it out. God, she never realised just how loud Anton's voice was. Apparently, former giants don't see the need to adopt an 'inside voice' once they're down from the beanstalk. Before she can come up with an appropriate answer, he's already talking again. "That was some fight you two had at my place." He looks at her, his direct gaze making her shift uncomfortably in her seat. She and Hook have hardly spoken of that day, so she's not exactly comfortable discussing it with anyone else, especially not the person she'd asked to be his temporary jailer. "It's nice that you guys are friends again."

"Well, you know." She shrugs, trying to come up with the right words to discuss something that feels like it happened in another life. Not to mention that this new thing between her and Hook. She barely knows what to call it, it's so new and still so surreal, she's not sure she could find the words even if she had another twenty-eight years up her sleeve. In the end, she goes for simplicity. "We worked things out."

To her relief, Anton seems more than happy with that. "That's good," he tells her sagely. "It's good to have friends," he adds with a smile, and he knows he's thinking of Leroy and the other dwarfs. "They're the family you choose for yourself."

She presses her lips together to stop herself from asking which bumper sticker he'd seen that one on, and gives silent thanks that she's with one of the few people in town who hasn't automatically assumed that she's sleeping with Captain Hook.

She is sleeping with Captain Hook, of course, but that's beside the point.

There's a momentary pause as Anton's lunch arrives (vegetarian or not, she's pretty sure that Granny never puts that much cheese in her order) and she sips her coffee as he pounces on it. After a few minutes, he swallows enthusiastically and picks up their conversation as though they hadn't skipped a beat. "Boy, he yelled at you for hours after you left. I could hear him all the way in my room." He takes another bite, and Emma wants not to care about what he's saying but she does. Anton's heavy eyebrows wriggle as he smirks. "I learned a lot of new curse words that day."

Emma scoffs at that and reaches for her coffee. "So much for being a gentleman," she mutters under her breath, her gaze falling on her palm as if drawn there being a hidden magnet, her eyes finding the almost invisible scar just below her thumb. She stares at it for a moment, thinking of the sting of raw alcohol and the warmth of a man's breath and the way she'd felt when their eyes had met and held, as though the air had been sucked from her own lungs. Through the pleasant haze of memory, though, something occurs to her. "Hang on. You're vegetarian?"

Her lunch companion jiggles the straw sticking out of his chocolate shake, then takes a hearty gulp. "Sure. Most giants are."

She feels bad about badgering him, but something's niggling at her and she can't let it go. "But what about the whole Fee Fi Fo Fum thing?"

Anton scowls at his milkshake. "You should know by now that the stories aren't always true."

He's got her there, she thinks. She has one more question for him, and if it's too personal, she's sure he will forgive her. "Can giants smell human blood?"

"No." His scowl deepens, but his annoyance doesn't stop him from picking up another sandwich. "No more than you can, I guess."

The oddest feeling sweeps over her, a mixture of amusement and unease, and she's filled with the sudden urge to visit a certain lodger at Granny's. "I see." Reaching across the table, she pats his hand, an awkward apology for her interrogation. "You relax and eat your lunch. I have to go, but I'll see you again soon, okay?"

He brightens at the suggestion, his frown vanishing and her heart twinges. He really was a nice kid. "Maybe you and Captain Hook could come out and see the crop when it's harvest time?"

She blows out a breath. She can't think of anything Captain Hook would like to do less, unless it's listening to her parents argue about toddler training techniques over dinner. Then again, maybe it will be just the thing to punish him for bending the truth so shamelessly. "Maybe."

"Swan!" He runs a hand through his damp hair. "You're a sight for sore eyes and no mistake."

She stops in her tracks, obviously not expecting him to open the door sporting nothing more than one of Granny's threadbare towels tied loosely around his waist. Her gaze whips over him from head to toe, and he feels it as surely as though she'd laid her hands on him. He smiles but says nothing – she's come calling on him, after all – and finally she clears her throat. "Uh, did you work at the docks this morning?"

He steps back, letting her step into his room. "Of course." He ponders briefly whether he should bother with his arm brace, then dismisses the idea. Emma Swan has turned up at his door in the middle of the day with a gleam in her eye, and he intends to have her naked and in his bed as soon as possible. He'd had a hot shower after his morning's work to soothe his weary bones, but there are far more pleasant ways to stretch one's muscles, no matter which realm a man finds himself in. "A man likes to earn his keep."

Shutting the door behind her, she leans back against it, and the click of the lock makes his blood grow warm. "Especially a gentleman like yourself."

"True, I suppose." It's an arbitrary comment, certainly, but he's learned his Swan is unpredictable in many ways, the least of all being her train of thought. "Who is tending to the watch house while you're here?"

"David, who else?" She walks slowly across his room, trailing her fingertips along the top of the wooden dresser. "So, I had lunch with Anton today."

"Ah, our old friend." He really should make time to converse with the giant. They'd had quite the lively conversation the last time they'd kept company. At least, they had once he'd managed to renegotiate ownership of that bloody dried bean. "And how is he adjusting to life on the ground?"

In hindsight, he should have realised the gleam in Emma's eyes was the light of battle, rather than the glitter of carnal intent. "You lied to me."

He stares at her, his pulse stuttering. "Excuse me?"

Her punch to his bicep is a playful one, but it's far from the kiss he'd been expecting. "Giants can't smell blood."

Ah. It seems that the cat, as they like to say in this realm, is finally out of the bag. "No, they can't."

She shakes her head at him. "And to think I almost believed you up there when you said you hadn't told me a lie."

He studies her face carefully. There is a tangible element of anxiety beneath her teasing singsong words, and he knows this is no time to make light of her worries. "Yes, I lied to you." He leans back against the dresser, the sharp edge pressing against the base of his spine, the sensation a welcome distraction from the uncertainty in her eyes. "I needed to tend to your wound, love, and I'd already worked out what a stubborn lass you could be."

As expected, she brushes the mere suggestion that she'd needed his help aside. "Please. It was hardly a wound."

"You were injured, Swan, and that didn't sit well with me."

"But why?" She's gripping the bedpost at the foot of his bed with both hands, her body swaying slightly as if in time with her words. "You hardly knew me then." Her gaze meets his, open and questioning and capable of seeing so much more than she realises. "Why bother with all that wound tending business if there was no real danger?"

He stares at her in faint disbelief. Stubborn lass, indeed. "I think we both know the answer to that question, love." Catching her wrist in his hand, he bows his head to kiss the slender arm guilty of punching him only a few moments earlier. "Just as we both know that you kept that scarf of mine, Swan, long before you had any true reason to do so."

Her face flushes pink. "I didn't-"

"Now who's lying, hmm?" He lets his whiskered chin scrape against the soft skin at the crook of her elbow, and she shivers, goosebumps rising up on her pale flesh. He knows that if he cupped her breast now, her nipple would be tightly pebbled, hard and enticing against his palm. "I found it, love, hidden in your desk the day I reclaimed my hook."

"Would that be the day you knocked out my father cold?"

He smiles. Same old dance, trying to distract him from the matter at hand, so to speak. "Your father and I have shared many a drink toasting that particular occasion, Swan, and he has long forgiven me." Lifting her hand to his lips, he bites the swell of her thumb, letting his tongue trace the faint scar he knows is there, savouring the shudder that goes through her. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Well-" Her fingers curl tightly around his, her other hand sliding downward, her clever fingers exploring the shape of him through the towel, making him suck in a sharp breath. His body stirs to life at her touch, and he doesn't know about giants, but he knows that he can smellher, the scent of her skin, salty and sweet, can smell the hidden tang of desire he knows is rising low in her belly and curling hotly between her legs. "Saying sorry for lying to me might be a good place to-"

He kisses her, stealing her words, tasting the sweet darkness of her tongue, the warmth of her breath as she gasps into his mouth. His towel falls to the carpet, her fingernails digging into his bare arse as he palms one breast, teasing a tight nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt. Lifting his head, he drinks in the sight of her flushed face, her green eyes shining with desire and the same longing that burns deep in his chest. "I only wanted to keep you safe," he whispers roughly, pulling her flush against him, letting her feel what a simple kiss from her can do to him, letting her hear the smile in his voice. "However, if I'd known then the maelstrom of torment you'd go on to unleash upon me-"

It's his turn to be silenced as she touches her mouth to his in a slow, soft kiss that quickly becomes something far different, something raw and naked and greedy, her hands clutching at his shoulders, drawing him towards the bed behind them. The conversation isn't over, he knows that, but he's not a man to argue with a strong-willed woman.

It's only when she's naked in his arms, all delectable curves and sweet damp heat, that she speaks again. She kisses his chest, his jaw, then his mouth. "You need to let me keep you safe, too," she finally whispers, her voice thready with need, her body arching beneath his as he slides into the slick, tight heat of her. "You're not the only one here with something to lose."

Startled, he lifts his head. It's as close to a declaration of love she's ever come, and he is filled with the desperate need to see her face. She's smiling at him, her eyes glittering, her kiss-bruised mouth still trembling from her words. "You have my word, Swan," he manages to murmur before he's kissing her, hard and deep. He tastes both the curve of her smile and her moan of pleasure as he moves above her and into her, letting himself drown in the ocean of her body and her heart, finding and losing himself in the same heartbeat as she cries out, twisting beneath him, her name finally falling from his lips in a harsh groan, as naturally as breathing, the only name he needs.

The next day, he promises the giant he will come and inspect the bloody crops when they're ready for harvest.

The things he does for love.