It was the first thing out of his mouth when they discovered him among the dead of the village. Get back, I'm cursed. The one who had approached him reeled back in fear, as he had expected. What he hadn't expected was the blonde woman, regarding him with intrigued green eyes, filled with curiosity, and definitely suspicion, but without fear. He told them that it was his curse that saved him, the attackers didn't want to risk it and just left him behind.

When she confronted him, her eyes sparkling with the knowledge that she had seen through his trickery, he was adamant that he was telling her the truth, that he really was cursed.

She smiled at him. "Yes, but that's not the part I was talking about." And then the bloody woman tied him to a tree.

She was beautiful and fascinating and a distraction he really couldn't afford. So when she left him tied atop the bean stalk, it was a relief in some ways. Because he'd sworn to himself that he would never go through that again.

His moniker was a joke, really. Captain Hook. It was the least lethal part of him, after all. When he struck somebody with his hook, at least there was a possibility they might survive.

He didn't let her win the sword fight per se. He was just distracted by trying really hard not to kill her. And the last thing he realized before she knocked him out cold was that she was wearing gloves.

Neverland changed things. For once, somebody gave him credit for doing the right thing. It felt strange, really. To have done the right thing in the first place and then get rewarded for it. She thanked him and he couldn't help but let his thoughts stray, wondering if things had been different, if they could have had a chance, fantasizing about the soft touch of her lips on his.

It was his darkest secret, which he revealed to them in the caves. That he craved her, even though he should know better. Should know such things were not for the likes of him.

In Neverland, she also witnessed for the first time just what kind of a monster he really was. It was during the fight with the lost boys when one of them stumbled, crashing into him. Every other part of him was covered in layers of leather, but the boy's hand brushed along his face. He screamed, staring at the black tendrils spreading out over his skin from the point of contact with pain and terror in his eyes. He crumbled, still screaming in agony, until they reached his heart and he slumped on the ground, lifeless. He caught Emma's eyes after and for the first time, he saw a flash of fear and he was glad, glad that she finally knew him for what he really was and that they could stop pretending that he could ever be anything else.

When they came back from Neverland, he withdrew from her life. There was nothing for it. She had Baelfire now, the father of her son, a man she could have a future with. He tried in vain to protect his heart, but it was too late. He fled from her, but she consumed his days, his nights, his thoughts anyway. He had only let it get this far once before and he had sworn to himself then that he would never allow it happen again.

Milah had been a revelation and a torment for him. She wanted to see the world, wanted adventure and excitement and this, at least, he had been able to offer her. There had been touches with gloved hands, tales they told each other, but it was never quite enough. He wanted to hold her, to get lost in her and he knew it would never be possible. She was always close and still unreachable and it was a sweet kind of torture.

He'd long ago faced the ugly truth that a part of the reason he sought revenge against the Dark One with every fibre of his being was guilt. Because in the first split second after her death he'd been glad. Before the terror and the pain and self disgust that followed, for a second he had been glad that the torment was finally over. Because he didn't have the strength to leave her, he never had. It was for this split second that he could never forgive himself. For this split second that he swore he would hunt the crocodile to the end of all the realms, until one of them was dead. He was bitterly aware of the irony that the only man he really, really wanted dead was impervious to his curse.

They fell into a strange sort of routine. After long nights away from her, he'd finally admitted defeat. Now, he was always by her side. He'd fallen again into the same trap as with Milah. Unable to reach out, yet unable to draw back either. He noted that Emma was wearing gloves all the time now. He would make a comment and she would punch him lightly in the arm. He would slip on a branch in the forest and her hand would reach out to him, steadying him. It seemed that she wasn't afraid of him any longer, if she had ever been at all, and that, especially, terrified him.

When he came to New York for her, he planned to kiss her. After all, it was the land without magic, it stood to reason that his curse would be lifted there. The thought alone had his heart thumping wildly in his chest. So, in the small forest they for some reason had left standing in the middle of a city, he made a test. He touched a small vital plant and watched it wither and die before his eyes. It was his own fault, he should never have gotten his hopes up in the first place.

When Zelena drowned him, he struggled violently at first. Then, inch by inch, he gave in. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was time to let go. He knew Zelena's plan would fail. Emma had a son, a family that cared about her, people who depended on her to save the day. He was a menace, walking, breathing death, and she would never throw her life away for him. It was unthinkable. His movements became slower and slower, then he lay still in the water.

He gasped and opened his eyes to see Emma staring at him in shock. Her hand was on her lips and her eyes were wide with fear.

He coughed, then his hand shot to his own lips.

"What did you do?" His voice was filled with shock and fear. She couldn't have. It made no sense.

Carefully, Emma removed the glove on her left hand. Then, she tentatively reached for his face. He retreated with a jerk, but not far enough. Her fingers ghosted over his cheek, along his jaw, then slowly over his lips.

Her touch was pure electricity. His eyes closed and the world stopped. All he could feel was the feather-soft touch of her fingers, sending sparks of lightning over his skin.

He could hear the smile, and, buried beneath it, the fear, in her words as she spoke. "Breathe. I just got your lungs working again. Don't suffocate on me now."

He drew air in with a gulp as he realized he had indeed been holding his breath. He opened his eyes and looked at her in wonder. She drew her hand back, and it was an overwhelming sensation of loss. She moved it to the lapel of his jacket instead and helped him to sit up. He coughed again.

They stared at each other for a long moment. He didn't know what to say. Why was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't get it out.

Then he watched, enthralled, as her hands slowly reached for his right hand. His instinct made him pull back, but she held on to him, carefully taking off his glove. She intertwined the fingers of their right hands. He remained frozen in place.

Her short laugh brought him out of his stupor.

"It seems your curse is broken."

He looked at their hands in wonder, then shook his head, trying to wake himself up. Was this really happening?

"Or maybe it's just you, love."

She raised an eyebrow at him, then helped him to stand up. Which turned out to be quite the feat as he steadfastly refused to let go of her hand in the process. When they finally both stood, she looked him up and down.

"You must be freezing. Let's get you out of these wet clothes."

He wiggled his eyebrow at her. "And here I thought you'd never ask."

She looked at him, surprised. He himself wasn't sure what had gotten into him. He'd never been one for innuendo. It was only a painful reminder of the things he couldn't have. Well, that wasn't quite true anymore, was it? He quickly shut down that train of thought. But he didn't let go of Emma's hand.

Emma brought him back to her parents' lodgings, of all places. Thankfully, the Charmings were out for the time being. She send him off to the bathroom for a hot shower, going off in search for some dry clothes for him.

It was one of the pleasures of this realm that he enjoyed immensely. Being able to stand in a never-ending spray of hot water. It was vastly preferable to cold baths, which was what he'd mostly gotten in Neverland, back in the day.

He'd turned the water to an almost scorching temperature, leaning his head against the shower wall, trying to collect his thoughts. He was afraid that he would wake up at any moment, that what had happened earlier would turn out to be merely a dream. Or, even worse, it would turn out to be a fluke, a one-time thing and the next time she tried to touch him he would have to watch her die in agony. How could he ever be sure? Maybe the near-death experience had temporarily messed with the curse and now he was back to normal. He sighed. They just couldn't risk it. He would tell her as soon as he stepped out of the shower.

When he returned to the living room, with only a towel draped around his waist, he felt exposed and embarrassed. It appeared, he'd come to rely on his armour of leather.

Emma had some soft grey pants and a t-shirt in her arms, which she seemed to have momentarily forgotten, as she looked him up and down, her expression taking on an almost lecherous touch, before she pulled herself back together.

"Here. They're David's, but I don't think he would mind, given the circumstances."

When she handed him the pile, their hands touched again and he felt another jolt of electricity on his skin. So much for the theory that it was a one time thing. He should have been relieved, but it was a scary thought somehow, that this was real, that this was something he could actually have.

He pulled himself out of his reverie only to find Emma staring at the large scar across his abdomen. Before he could say anything in reply to her questioning gaze, she reached out her fingers and ghosted them over the scar. He shuddered. She noticed and drew her hand back quickly. Then she looked at his face, a strange expression crossing her features that he could not quite decipher.

She surprised him by reaching out her hand again, this time touching him with the flat of her palm, slowly drawing it up from his abdomen to his chest. His eyes closed and he exhaled a shaky breath. Her hand left a trail of fire on his skin. He tried to keep his control, to stay still. Despite his best efforts he started shaking slightly.

When he was younger he had sometimes drawn his hands over his skin, imagining what the touch of another human being might feel like. He'd thought, foolishly, that there couldn't be much difference to his own hands. Never once had he thought it could be like this, like liquid fire pouring over him. It was almost too much, he was teetering on the edge of sensory overload already.

Emma continued to draw her hand over his chest and along his collarbone. He moaned, then bit his lip, embarrassed by the sound. His heartbeat thundered in his chest and suddenly it was too much, too soon. He stepped back out of her reach and opened his eyes.

He saw a quick flash of hurt cross her features before her walls went up with full force.

"Sorry", she muttered.

He tried to get some form of coherence back into his racing thoughts. He felt it was of vital importance that he make her understand why he'd flinched away.

"It's fine. It's more than fine. I ... it's just that nobody has ever touched me like that. I just need time."

She stared at him, her eyes wide in shock. "You mean ... never?"

"Cursed, remember?", he aimed for a light tone, but the words came out more hurt than he'd intended.

Emma shook her head slightly. "I know. I just thought you had, you know, a life before the curse. I kind of assumed one of your dastardly, pirately deeds backfired on you or something." She was aiming for levity as well.

He sighed and picked up the clothes from the floor. He hadn't realized he'd dropped them, but it must have happened while Emma was touching him. His whole body and mind had been reduced to that singular sensation. Just thinking about it made his heart race again.

He put on the shirt. It made him feel a little better, a little less exposed. He turned back to Emma.

"I was indeed cursed for a 'dastardly' deed, as you so eloquently put it, love. Only it wasn't mine. It took me a long time to piece the story together. Suffice it to say, my father committed a crime hurting the wrong people. Maybe if he'd been a smarter man he would have known not to mess with witches." He paused, long buried memories of his childhood bubbling back to the surface.

"But I don't understand. How can you always have been cursed? When you were a baby..."

He nodded, a cruel grin spreading on his features that held no amusement whatsoever. "Aye. The midwife was the very first victim of the curse, my mother and father soon to follow. There was another farm close to my parent's. They had a little girl, only a few years of age. She must have heard me crying and came to investigate." He paused, exhaling a deep breath. "I was told that I killed half a dozen people before I was even a day old. Quite the reputation to uphold, huh?" He laughed without mirth.

"Oh Killian" Emma felt the sting of unshed tears in the corners of her eyes. "How did you survive?"

Killian nodded, deep in thought. "A travelling monk was lodging at the neighbours' farm. His name was Sebastian. When the little girl's father tried to pick me up, he witnessed the man's fate. He possessed a pair of leather gloves and he was able to pick me up while wearing them. He took me in. He saved me from cold and starvation. My parents had a goat and he told me I accepted it's milk." He paused, a faraway look in his eyes.

"When I was young I asked him many times why he didn't just let me perish that day. Clearly, I was a work of the devil, brought to the world to wreak destruction. He'd always reply that it wasn't the will of the Gods. If they had wanted me to perish they would have made sure he wasn't there to save me."

He stopped, hesitating before the next words tumbled out of him. "Every time my touch took a life, even centuries later, I thought of him. If he would still think he'd done the right thing. If he could still believe that the Gods wanted me to live. He would have been ashamed of the monster I became." The last words were only a whisper.

He was crying silently, his jaw clenched with the effort of maintaining control. Emma's heart went out to him and she stepped forward and embraced him in a tight hug before she realized what she was doing. Killian stood frozen in place.

She pulled back slightly in order to ask him if this was alright. She never got the chance though, just as she was about to open her mouth, he closed the small distance between them and drew his arms around her, pulling her impossibly close, crushing the air out of her. She hesitantly drew her hand through his hair in slow, soothing movements. He made a broken sound somewhere between a sob and a moan.

It took a long, long time, but in the end she felt the tension draw out of him, felt him almost collapse against her as his muscles finally relaxed and he let out a shaky breath, whispering her name.