It's a cold and foggy morning in Storybrooke. The hospital parking lot is nearly deserted, empty save for a few cars and one shivering figure behind the wheel of a yellow bug. An engine roars to life, old and loud, and it sounds like regret. But the car doesn't move.

Maybe it's her mind playing tricks on her, but Emma smells the sea.

"You made the right call. It's okay Swan."

There are so many emotions fighting for dominance inside her, she can't tell which one's making her body shake. She wants it to be anger, anger at letting her guard down, at showing weakness. At running away. Anger is safe, familiar. But that's not it. Not all of it, anyway. There's this rusty part of her, one she tries not to acknowledge, that stirs. Emma Swan learned long ago, compassion can be a dangerous thing. It makes it hard to protect yourself, makes you vulnerable. Feeling compassion means feeling others' pain, when you can barely manage your own.

Now, she doesn't know what to do with it. Any of it, for that matter. But the thing is, she reaches for the key. But the thing is, she puts the engine to rest.

Her lie detector isn't perfect. There were times she was wrong, but she isn't now. She's sure of it. Those three simple words that had hit her like a bullet, they were honest. "It's okay Swan."

Isn't that why she went to see him, again? To face him, so she could move on. He let her off the hook, and she feels worse than ever. She went to see him so she could close the door on the whole thing. Instead, she tore it off its hinges.

Her insides are playing tug of war, making Emma want to scream. She wants it to stop, wants everything to stop for a while so she can catch her breath. She's dizzy.

So now she's hiding in her car, wishing for a time-out. A pause button for her thoughts. For her. Too bad no one's invented it yet.

She gets out of her car, goes back inside.

…

She's leaned against the wall, positioned so she can see him and he can't see her. Or so she hopes. She's stalling. A few times she thinks she's ready, but her feet don't move. So she stays there a bit longer, just watching him do nothing. He's turned away from her, still, save for an occasional coughing fit that has him doubled over, face contorted in pain.

Emma takes a few more minutes to steel her nerves, make sure she won't chicken out this time, won't take the easy way out he'd given her.

There's this feeling you get, when you're standing behind a closed door, and you know you have to knock, go in, but you don't want to. So you stand there, hoping it will open on its own, do the work for you. But it doesn't, and your hand goes up once, twice. Goes down. You breathe, try again. In that moment, it almost seems harder than sticking your hand in open flame.

'This is stupid.'

Her feet are made of lead, but she makes them work. It's time to stop being a coward.

…

He hears footsteps, turns around just in time to see her walk in. There's determination on her face. It falters when she meets his eyes, she tries to cover it up.

She opens her mouth to say something, thinks better of it. Tries again.

"It wasn't… okay. It's not-

It was irresponsible, unprofessional, it-" No beating around the bush, then.

"-s okay, Emma, stop. Just stop." But he doesn't sound angry, just very tired.

…She doesn't get it. How can Hook, Captain Hook, the man who's survived a couple lifetimes for the sole purpose of getting his revenge, tell her it's- Because it sounds an awful lot like he's saying- And then she sees it, clear as day, and her eyes go a bit wider. She wonders, what it's like to haul around so much baggage, for almost three hundred years, alone.

And she's trying really hard not to feel anything right then, to not look him in the eyes. Because if he reads her, like he usually does, and smiles- The thing about walls is, they're effective. But once they start crumbling, those bricks end up on your back. And sometimes, it's more than you can carry.

"Listen, love-" She doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want him to explain. She wants him to fight her, the way it was supposed to go. She can handle that.

"Are you insane? Do you have a death wish?" She doesn't care, not about him. This isn't about him at all.

She itches to punch him when he does smile, the slightest curve of his lips, barely there, but honest. Punch him, or swallow tears that aren't yet there.

"There's a difference, love, between wanting to die-" His eyes wander, for the briefest of moments, to the folded parchment, "and knowing your worth." And Killian can see the shadows underneath her eyes, the guilt. The way it's weighing down on her. And he admires her pure heart for not seeing what's right in from of her, something so obvious to him: he's not worth it.

The problem with the real world, however crazy it might turn out to actually be, is it's never simply black and white. Villains are never just villains, and heroes hate, they blame, they crumble from time to time. They lose faith and they make mistakes. And she's supposed to be this savior, isn't she? Emma isn't sure, in that moment, who she's supposed to be saving.

The thing is, she has a family now, something she'd given up on a long time ago. The thing is, as she's looking at him, she feels just as lost as she did when she was a girl. The hurt isn't the same in its origin, but it's matching in intensity. And she doesn't know what to tell him.

So she says the only thing that comes to mind.

"I'll go get you your hook."

When she comes back a few minutes later, his eyes are closed.

Later, she'll blame it on the rum from the night before, on the weather. Temporary insanity. But she puts the silver hook in his good hand, then whispers in his ear,

"I do know your worth." And in that moment, she knows it's true. "That's why I'm sorry."

She's already walking out when he smiles, eyes still closed, fingers wrapping around the cool metal.

"Emma bloody Swan." His lips barely move, words lost as sleep claims him. This time, he doesn't dream of hearts turning to dust. He doesn't dream of crocodiles.

He meets Liam on the Jolly Roger.

Good form, brother.

The End.

Author's note: First of, sorry for the delay, I've been busy with my studies and fighting with my muse. Turns out, mechanical engineering isn't all that inspiring when it comes to writing something like this.

Anyway, I'm not sure I'm happy with how this turned out. I feel like it all turned to one big cliché at the end.

Endgame65, you made a good point in your review, thank you! Yes, it totally slipped my mind that Emma didn't even know about Liam at the time of these events, I'm sorry for the mix up. I should have checked first. But even though it doesn't make a big part of the story, I think it's an important one for the way it's written. So I'm going to leave it as it is, I hope you don't mind.

That's it, thank you for reading, I hope it was worth your time! :)