Marian.

That's all it took. Just one word. Two words, actually, Emma thinks with faint hysteria.

Mama.

Oh, God.

Later - much later – she will look back and wonder if there was anything she could have done to avoid stepping into one of the most awkward moments of her life. Right now, though, all she wants to do is stop feeling like the world's worst person because she saved an innocent woman's life. Sadly, there's not much chance of that, not with Regina glaring at her as though she's already contemplating her favourite poisoned apple recipe.

Someone, probably Ruby, turns up the volume of Granny's tiny radio, and Emma takes advantage of the musical camouflage. Robin and his wife (what a damned mess this is) have already moved away to a back booth, Roland wrapped in their arms, but she still doesn't want to entertain the rest of the diner with this particular soap opera.

"Regina, I'm sorry," she says again, willing the other woman to believe it. "She refused to tell us her name, so I had no idea that she was -," her voice falters, because saying it out loud makes it feel that much worse. Maid Marian? Seriously? "We didn't know who she was."

"You're from the modern world, Miss Swan." Regina's dark eyes flash with fury, and Emma fights the urge to take a step backwards. "You seriously expect me to believe that you didn't know that you can't tamper with the past on a whim without serious consequences?"

Emma opens her mouth to protest, then she feels the press of Killian's hand low on her back, his shoulder against hers as he comes to stand beside her. "Beg pardon, your Majesty, but it wasn't as simple as that."

"Oh, and of course you'd be the most impartial judge of anything Miss Swan does, Captain." Regina's tone is spiteful, her eyes are glittering with angry tears, but Killian's unruffled expression doesn't change.

"Perhaps not, but that doesn't change the fact that that woman was imprisoned in your dungeon." He gestures with his hook towards the back booth where Robin and his family are huddled. "She would have died byyour hand if Emma hadn't freed her." Regina's dark eyes widen, her red mouth trembling, but she says nothing. "If nothing else, a child once again has his mother, Loxley has a chance to make peace with his past, and you have the joy of knowing that you were not responsible for causing that family's misery."

"You understand nothing." Regina glares at him, her voice low and hard. "Do you have any idea of what this feels like? To have someone come back from the dead just when you thought you could finally be happy again?"

Killian's hand twitches on Emma's back. "Actually, yes." Emma's heartbeat quickens at the softly spoken words, because he does, of course he does. Neal.

"What's going on?"

Emma's never been so glad to see her father, but Regina gets in first. "Your daughter and the handless wonder brought back a little souvenir for me from the Enchanted Forest."

Irritation flares at the insult directed at Killian, but Emma shakes it off (he's a big boy and there will be time for her to be offended on his behalf later), putting her hand on her father's arm and dropping her voice to an almost whisper. "The woman who was in the cell next to me in Regina's dungeon? Well, she's Robin's wife."

Startled, David looks at Emma, then at Robin and his family, then at Regina. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Regina sucks in a sharp breath. "You know, I think I've had enough of this little celebration." Her gaze finds Henry (he's been glued to Snow's side for hours now), and her brittle expression softens ever so slightly. "Miss Swan," she says carefully, without meeting Emma's gaze. "I think it might be a good idea for Henry to spend some time at his real home this weekend, don't you?"

Resentment burns at the back of Emma's throat. This smacks of emotional blackmail, something at which Regina has always excelled, and yet how can she refuse? No matter whose fault it is, Regina's just had the rug pulled out from under her, and if having Henry with her for a few days is a balm for her anger, then maybe it's a good idea.

On one condition.

Clearing her throat, Emma finds her voice. "No problem, as long as that's what Henry wants to do."

Regina finally looks at her then, and again Emma has to fight the urge to take a step backwards. There is a quiet fury in those dark eyes, and Emma is suddenly reminded of her first glimpse of the Evil Queen in the past, terrorising an entire village into doing her bidding. "I'll ask him then, shall I?" She takes a step towards the booth where Snow and Henry are sitting, then turns back to study Emma and Killian in turn. "How nice to see that you two have settled your differences." She gives them both a smile that sends a shiver trickling down Emma's spine. "I can only assume he's told you everything that happened to him while you were in New York playing house with my sister's trained pet?"

With that, she leaves them, and it's no less devastating an exit than if she were dressed in her full Evil Queen outfit, because there's a tiny kernel of frozen dread sitting in the pit of Emma's stomach now, and she hates that Regina always knows exactly the wrong thing to say. For the next few minutes, she and Killian simply watch in silence as Regina talks to Henry. A new tension has settled over them, Regina's words burning the air between them and no privacy in which to talk about them.

Damn her.

Both to her relief and her disappointment, Henry is more than happy to spend some time in his old bedroom. He crosses the diner to say goodbye and, after a hug for Emma and a handshake for Killian (despite everything, Emma can't help smiling at the surprised delight he takes in Henry wanting to shake his hand), gives them both a huge grin. "Are we going out sailing again soon?"

Killian returns the grin. "I guarantee it, lad."

Henry is literally bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation, and Emma's heart swells with gratitude. She'd come so close to never seeing him again. "And maybe my mom could come this time, too?"

"That depends." Killian raises a dark eyebrow at her son. "Which mother did you have in mind?"

Henry cackles, as though he's just heard the best joke in the world, then rolls his eyes in Emma's direction. "Which one do you think? Duh."

With that, he's gone, walking at Regina's side, Regina whose back is ramrod straight as she stalks from the diner. Emma darts a glance at the back booth as they leave, and discovers that she's not the only one watching them go. Marian is entranced by Roland, but Robin is staring after Regina with so much longing and regret in his eyes that it's almost painful to see.

"Crap." Emma lets out a heavy sigh. "This is such a mess."

Killian's hand is on her shoulder now, and she feels a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "Don't blame yourself, love."

She shoots him an incredulous glance. "I can't think of anyone else who might be responsible for Robin's wife suddenly being in Storybrooke, can you?"

He shrugs, his gaze locking with hers, his hand dropping down to his side. "I could have tried harder to stop you, you know."

"Why didn't you?"

A faint flush touches his cheekbones, his gaze dropping as he awkwardly scratches behind his right ear (it's such an obvious tell, she thinks, and makes a mental note to challenge him to a poker match as soon as possible). Finally, he lifts his eyes to hers once more, a soft, almost wistful smile curving his lips. "It's not my place to order you about, Swan."

Her throat tightens, choking off the words that are bubbling up inside her. An hour ago, she was kissing him (and he was kissing her right back) in a cold, candlelit courtyard, and everything had seemed very simple. She's made her choice - it was always him, she knows that now – but she also knows there's a lot of talking that needs to be done. "Do you still have a room upstairs?"

He blinks, looking more than a little shocked, and she belatedly realises what her question might imply. Not that she'd have a problem with that - her knees are still knocking from those kisses - but she still rushes to elaborate, because she is so done with the crossed wires between them. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay for the night," she says, feeling a blush creeping up the back of her neck. "I think I should go back to the loft tonight with my parents and -" God, her baby brother's name is going to take some getting used to, she thinks, and a tiny flash of resentment ripples through her, because it's just another awkward thing between them.

"And Neal," Killian supplies helpfully, amusement dancing in his bright eyes, and she smiles at him.

"And baby Neal, yes." She sways closer to him, the subtle warmth of his body calling to hers in a way she knows she'll never be able to put into words. "I came so close to losing them, I just think I should spend some time-"

His hand catches hers, his smile growing as he tangles their fingers together. "You don't have to make excuses to me, Swan." He lifts her hand to his mouth, his lips brushing her knuckles in a kiss that sends a hum of pleasure burning underneath her skin. "I'll be perfectly fine."

Painfully aware they're there still standing in the middle of the brightly lit diner and that her parents are only a few feet away, she licks her lips (God, she can still taste him) and squeezes his hand. His eyes darken, his thumb circling her palm in a slow, deliberate caress that manages to make itself felt in places that have no business feeling such things in the middle of a brightly lit diner with her parents only a few feet away. "Maybe I could walk you to your room before I go?"

Mischief glows in his eyes, the tip of his tongue toying with his bottom lip. "If the lady insists."

Two minutes later, after he's said his farewells to her parents (she makes a point of reassuring them she'll be right back) they're in the darkened hallway outside his room. Her back is against the wall, her hands buried deep in his hair, and he is kissing her as though he's still afraid she will suddenly fade from existence. It's not enough, though, and she tightens her grip on his tousled hair and sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, breathless with the need to give him a little shove in the right direction. He's a quick study (as he is with everything, it seems), and in a heartbeat his kiss changes, becoming harder, fiercer, his hand sliding down to grab a handful of her ass as he pushes her back against the chintzy wallpapered wall. The tenderness is still there, but now there's hunger too, burning like a mad thing, scorching her skin and hollowing out her insides and making her arch against him, wanting to feel him, wanting to finally feel just how badly he wants her.

He doesn't disappoint her.

He breathes her name against her cheek, his hand sliding down the back of her thigh, fingertips digging into her flesh as he rocks his hips against hers, the heavy ridge of his erection pressing hard against the zipper of her jeans. "God, we can't do this now-" She bites out the words before kissing him again, hard and a little desperate, because she's started something they can't finish, not tonight, and she's just made things a hundred times worse and better at the same time.

They're both breathless and panting by the time he finally draws back, his hand and hook firmly on her hips, pressing her back against the wall as he eases his body away from hers. "Emma, love-" he begins, his voice rough with the same longing that's making her vision blur around the edges, his smile unsteady in the best possible way. "I need to let you go home and get some rest now."

She knows he's trying to make it easier for her to keep her promise to rejoin her parents, but it's not really working. She grips the lapels of his jacket tightly, her knuckles turning white as they sway together, and déjà vu washes over her, but only for a few seconds, because her next words are ones she would have never let herself utter in Neverland. "I don't want to leave you."

"Nor do I wish to see you go, love." He lifts his hand to her hair, gently sweeping it back from her shoulder, his fingertips brushing against the nape of her neck. "But we can start afresh tomorrow." The corners of his mouth lift with a quick smile. "With clearer heads, perhaps."

She swallows hard. He's still touching her, and it's not helping her find the strength to leave, despite their brave words. "Is that a promise?"

His eyes soften, his answer little more than a whisper. "Aye."

She leans back against the wall behind her, all her good intentions to stop touching him going out the window as she wraps her fingers around his necklace charms, letting her knuckles graze the skin bared by the open neckline of his shirt. "Well, you are a man of your word."

It's his turn to swallow hard, and he covers her wandering hand with his, holding it still. "I'm glad you've finally noticed, love."

Another sense of déjà vu washes over her, but this time it's the sudden sense of being with the Hook of the past, all her inhibitions dissolving in heated flirtation and the chance to finally, finally give into temptation. She leans forward, letting her breasts press softly against his chest, trapping their entwined hands between their bodies. "I've finally noticed a lot of things."

A shudder goes through him at that, but he doesn't take the bait. "Emma, I must speak of something." He gives her a gentle smile, and the illusion fades. He's not that man anymore, not when it comes to matters of the heart. "As much as I hate to admit it, the Queen was right in one respect." His hand tightens around hers. "There is still much we need to discuss."

That ridiculous frozen kernel of dread, left behind by Regina's taunting words, twitches in her chest, sending her rushing towards her usual denial, only now it's in his favour. "Nothing is going to change how I feel about you."

"Humour me." Just as he did downstairs, he lifts her hand to his mouth. "Let me tell you all my sordid swashbuckling tales before you give me the honour of your presence in my bedchamber." He kisses her palm and her knees (and everywhere else) quiver, because who the hell talks like this? His honourable protestations simply make her want to drag him into the damned bedchamber and rip that stupid shirt and vest right off him. "In the interests of full disclosure."

She laughs softly at his perfect use of the modern phrase - she can't help it - and he gives her that mildly affronted glance she already knows so well. "Sorry, it's just that – well, you're a sponge, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?"

Happiness, pure and raw, bubbles up inside her. "You absorb new information faster than anyone else I know."

"I'm a fast learner, love." With that, he releases her hand, and takes a deliberate step towards the door of his room. "I'll see you in the morning?"

She dimples at him, and revels in his answering smile. "You can buy me breakfast."

He taps two fingers against his chin, as if deep in thought. "Granny does seem to enjoy my gold coins."

"Goodnight, Killian." She loves the sound of his name on her tongue. Judging the way his eyes light up, he loves hearing it just as much.

"Goodnight, Swan."

She stares at his closed door for a few seconds, then turns on her heel and heads for the stairs, feeling twitchy and restless and not the least bit noble. Being a sensible adult really does suck sometimes.

Resting her chin on her folded arms, Emma slumps at her mother's kitchen counter, comfortable in a way that only seems to happen in this loft. "If only I'd known who she was."

Mary Margaret smiles at her. David is putting the baby to bed, a process that can take a while (apparently he keeps getting distracted by tiny fingers and toes and breaking into new lullabies) and she's finally alone with her mother. "Would that have made a difference?"

Emma sighs, because she's been asking herself the very same question and kept coming up with the same answer. "No. I would have still helped her escape and brought her back."

"Because that's who you are, Emma." Pride shines in her mother's green eyes. "And you know something? I would have done exactly the same thing."

Emma feels a weight lifting off her shoulders. She's almost thirty, and her mother's approval shouldn't mean the difference between light and dark but it does, and she's so, so glad for the existence of dark fairy dust. She reaches for the steaming mug of hot chocolate Mary Margaret has just put in front of her (yet another thing that makes her feel like a child all over again). "Killian was right, though." She glances at her mother over the top of her china mug. "Marian was supposed to die in the Enchanted Forest and now I've changed everything. Not only that, I've changed things for Regina."

Her mother's hand is soft and warm on hers. "And an innocent woman, someone who was prepared to die rather than give me up to the Evil Queen, is alive and reunited with her family."

Emma takes a swallow of hot chocolate, wishing the sweet burn could take away the restless anxiety that keeps prickling at the back of her throat. "I know. Believe me, I know, but it's Regina." Her eyes meet Mary Margaret's, and she knows her mother understands everything she's not saying. "I don't want things to go back to the way they were when I first came here." She tries to smile, but her mouth doesn't seem to want to behave. "Not when Henry is so happy to have both of us in his life."

"You don't know Regina like I do." Her mother plunges a spoon into her own hot chocolate, sneaking a mouthful of cinnamon dusted cream. "She just might surprise you."

"Or turn me into a toad."

"Who's turning who into a toad?" Her father has finally rejoined them, and Emma pushes the third hot chocolate down the counter towards him.

"Regina is very angry with me."

He reaches for his mug. "Well, that's understandable."

Emma and her mother react at the same time. "What?"

David quickly gives Emma's shoulders a reassuring pat. "Not to play the devil's advocate here-"

"Except you totally are," Emma mutters, and he gives her a smile.

"I didn't mean that she's right to be angry with you, just that I understand why she is."

Her mother is staring at him as though she's never seen him before, and Emma is gratified by the knowledge that she's not alone in thinking that David is talking out of his ass. "I didn't realise you were such a big Regina fan."

David raises both hands in mock surrender. "I'm just saying that if Snow had been a widow when I'd met and fallen in love with her, and then all of a sudden I had to contend with the fact that her husband was back from the dead, I'd be a little angry with the person who made that happen."

Mary Margaret bites her lip, then glances at Emma, concern creasing her forehead. "When you put it like that-"

Emma buries her nose in her mug, not caring if she ends up with a face full of whipped cream. "You see? I'm definitely going to end up as a toad." Resting her chin in her hand, she glances around the room that has been her home for the last few months. Everything is so familiar, nothing here has changed despite her and Killian's trip into the past. Nothing except Henry's storybook, that is. God, she's in the book now, Killian too, and it suddenly occurs to her that she still hasn't read the new story that appeared as if by - well, magic – to accompany the picture of them dancing at King Midas' ball. "Um, did Henry take his book to Regina's?"

David shakes his head. "She bundled him out of there pretty fast." He gestures towards the wooden table behind them. "I picked it up and brought it home." Ducking his head, he grins at her. Her mother is smiling at her, too. "Why, do you want to read about the adventures of Princess Leia?"

She's too tired to fob them off with a white lie. "Actually, yeah."

"Speaking of which, does your dance partner share your concerns about being turned into a toad?"

Emma rolls her eyes cheerfully as her mother chuckles beside her. "You know him. He just rolls with the punches." She gives her father a pointed glance. "Sometimes literally."

David has the good grace to look sheepish. "Well, he really was asking for it at the time." He taps his fingers against the side of his mug. "I think we're even now. I dropped off a bag of stuff for him a few days ago."

Emma's curiosity spikes. This is the first she's heard of David visiting Killian, but then the last few days have been a little busy. "What did you give him?"

"Just some clothes. Toiletries. You know, ordinary guy stuff." David frowns. "I had to twist his arm pretty hard to take it, though. He kept talking about not wanting to accept charity."

An odd wave of emotion twists through Emma's heart. "That was very nice of you," she tells her father, and means it.

"Yeah, well." Her father shrugs. "It's hard, suddenly finding yourself in a different realm." He gives her a stern look. "It doesn't make us best buddies or anything."

Emma grins at him. "I heard you and a certain Prince Charles got on like a house on fire back in the day."

"Sonofa-" David rubs his palm over his stubbled chin. "You know, I keep forgetting that was Hook." He looks as though he's trying to decide whether to be pissed or amused. "I pretty much told him that Snow and I would be crazy not to approve of him."

Her mother's face is a picture of puzzlement as she puts down her empty mug and looks at them both in turn. "Approve of him for what?"

Emma bites her bottom lip as her father bestows a look of mild disbelief on his wife. "Come on, Snow. Really?"

Her mother blinks, then looks at Emma, her eyes widening with realisation. "Oh. Oh!" She seems to scramble for her next words, and Emma waits patiently, because this discussion needs to happen and she needs to let her mother find her own way. "You and Hook?" Flustered, her mother tries again. "I mean, Killian?"

Emma gives her a quick smile, and reminds herself that her mother only wants what's best for her. "He makes me happy." Reaching out, she covers the other woman's hand with her own. "He makes me feel good about myself, and that's something I've been trying to find for a long time."

Mary Margaret's smile is a melancholy one. "But I thought Neal-"

Emma squeezes her mother's hand, swallowing down the tight knot in her throat. There's no point rehashing ancient history, especially not tonight, with her mother was so happy over their choice of name for her new brother. "I had to make a choice, and I chose to live in the here and now." The irony of using Killian's words isn't lost on her. "Killian's a good man."

Her mother's expression softens. "I know."

Henry's book is suddenly pushed in front of her, and she looks up to find her father smiling at her. Intent on her conversation with Mary Margaret, she hadn't noticed him leave the kitchen. "If that's how things stand, you might want to actually read Princess Leia's story."

Her heartbeat stutters, then picks up speed. "Why?"

David smiles. "Just trust me."

Her fingers feeling beyond clumsy, she flips through Henry's book until she finds the new pages, her stomach flipping over anew as she catches sight of the picture, because Killian is smiling at her in a way that no man has ever smiled at her before. Even more importantly, she's smiling back at him in just the same way, and it's suddenly all too much and she hasn't even gotten to the words yet. Turning her gaze to the flowery script on the opposite page, she holds her breath as she reads, her pulse accelerating with every new word.

Brave.

Adventure.

Loyal.

Devotion.

True.

Love.

She slams the book shut, feeling absurdly as if she's been caught peering into someone else's life. "I gotta go."

Her parents' faces wear identical expressions of disappointment. "Now?" Her mother looks at the clock on the wall. "It's after midnight."

"It's freezing out," is her father's contribution, but there's no spirit in his protest, and she knows he understands both where she's going and why.

Sliding off the high stool, she pulls the heavy book towards her. "I'll be fine." Giving them both a hasty kiss on the cheek in turn, she strides across the loft to start piling on layers of clothing. "And you two need to get some sleep while you can."

Neither of them can argue with that, and Emma hides her triumphant smile. Anyone would think she'd been arguing with her parents for a lifetime instead of a few months. It helps that she's motivated, of course, and right now nothing short of Zelena's reappearance is going to stop her from driving to Granny's, because she's already wasted enough time pretending not to see what was right in front of her.

It's the coldest night in Storybrooke she can remember since she arrived here, and that's saying something. She remembers some days when she wore so many layers she felt like the Michelin Man, and still she'd shivered. Making a mental note to talk to David about getting snow tyres for her car, she drives carefully to Granny's, huffing her way from the bug to the side entrance, every exhaled breath white and soft in the frigid night air.

Once she's outside his bedroom door, however, she hesitates. What the hell is she doing? It's the middle of the night, and she's tired and more than likely to say a whole heap of stuff she'll regret in the morning. Then she remembers the heavy book in her arms and her resolve strengthens. She is doing this.

Or maybe not.

She dithers for another few minutes, completely forgetting about the creaking floorboards and a ship captain's habit of sleeping light. As she lifts her hand to knock, the door swings open. Killian's hair is tousled, his feet are bare, and he's only wearing a pair of black sweatpants she vaguely recognises as a pair that used to belong to David. He blinks at her, his eyes obviously trying to adjust to the darkness, and she sees the gleam of metal as his hook catches the door and holds it steady. "Swan?"

'Uh, hey." She stares at him, her carefully prepared speech deserting her because he's not wearing a shirt and she was not expecting that. Come to think of it, she's not sure what she was expecting. It's after midnight and who the hell knows what pirates wear to bed? Surely they wear something in case of midnight capsizing emergencies? It's possible she's overthinking things. It's also possible she's trying to look everywhere but at his bare chest and shoulders and failing spectacularly. She clutches Henry's book a little closer to her own chest. "Sorry if I woke you."

"It matters not." He leans out into the hallway, his gaze scanning behind her as if worried she's being pursued. "Is something wrong?"

"No." She gives him a sheepish smile, her tongue suddenly feeling clumsy and too thick for her words. "You said we needed to talk?"

To his credit, he doesn't bat an eyelid. "Aye, I did."

"Then let's talk."

He looks down at his state of undress, then back at her, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe with an intensity that makes her mouth go dry. "Are you sure that's wise, lass?"

"Not really." She's pretty sure it's not. He's beyond beautiful and in love with her and he's spent the last few weeks risking his life for her and the people she loves. Plus, he's hardly wearing any clothes. None of that's not going to stop her, though, because she wants to both talk to him and kiss him senseless, and neither can wait until the morning, because if the last few days have taught her anything, it's that you can't take anything or anyone for granted. "But I'm here now, so are you going to let me in, or do I have to go back to my own bed and lay awake thinking about you until the sun comes up?"

It's the cheesiest thing she's ever said out loud in her life, but he doesn't seem to mind in the least. His eyes widen for a heartbeat, then a slow smile curves his lips. "Well, if you put it that way," he steps back, gesturing her into the room with a flourish, "I'm at your disposal."

I'm counting on it, she thinks. Hugging Henry's book a little closer, she steps through the doorway.