Sorry this is so late! I was having some really terrible writer's block, mostly because Emma was feeling contrary about this bit and didn't want to cooperate. There will be one more chapter after this, so we're really close to the end! I hope you all enjoy this!

Emma glared at the offending vines before her, trying to figure out a safe way to extract the delicate blossoms that were caged beneath them without risking her own life. The dull orange glow of the lantern revealed the black poison oozing sluggishly from the woody vines, dripping down the edge of each wickedly long thorn. Even the air around the dense patch of vegetation was heavy, as if every living thing were watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake and fall prey to the deadly plant. She knew better than to cut them, after Hook had pulled David back from making the same mistake. For all she knew the damn thing would come alive and strangle her if she tried, nothing seemed too farfetched in this place. She stuck the tip of her sword in the ground and knelt down to get a better look. The vines were too tightly entwined for her to reach through them to the flowers and she couldn't risk a scratch. She didn't know if the poison dripping from the thorns would be able to infect her if it came into contact with her skin but she didn't want to risk it. Hook had been utterly serious when talking about the dangers and having one member of their group dying was enough for her.

Emma ground her teeth in frustration. Would nothing ever go right? Just once in her life she wished something would come easily, without having to wait for the other shoe to drop. She glanced around the small clearing hoping for an idea but apart from trees and leaves there was nothing helpful to hand. Biting her lip she stared at the blade sticking up out of the dirt and began to wonder how long she'd been out here. How much longer could Hook last? He was in bad shape and the idea of losing him still shook her. She'd already lost so many people. She ran a finger along the boot lace she'd tied around her wrist the day after her election as sheriff. Graham had been the first person to crack through the shell she'd constructed around her heart, the first man in nearly a decade to breach that part of her. When he'd died in her arms she'd thought her heart would never heal, because his death coming so soon upon their first kiss had convinced her that she was meant to be alone. What other explanation was there for losing everyone she'd ever loved?

But then Hook had come along with that smile and those bright blue eyes and that damning ability to see right through every wall and obstacle she put in his path. She'd fought it, fought the attraction that she could feel building from the very moment they pulled him out of the rubble in Aurora's village, fought so hard that this time she'd thought she'd win. That this time her heart wouldn't make a fool out of her and when he'd rejoined Cora she'd thought that it had been the right thing to do. But then he made it to Storybrooke, and she'd seen just how broken he was – just as broken as she was – and had realized that no matter how hard she fought that understanding between them, the ease with which they saw through each other's pretenses, it would never go away. Still she resisted, until the day that he came back with that bean. For the first time in her life someone had chosen her and Emma still couldn't fathom the reason. When he'd offered assistance to help find Henry Emma had jumped at the chance. He'd been surprising her consistently since their arrival in Neverland, acting against her previous perceptions and expectations, always putting her first even when he was hurting too. He'd come to comfort her, to let her share in some of his own memories of Neal despite his own pain back on the Jolly Roger. In the short time that they'd been here Emma had seen another side to him, a side of him that she wanted to get the chance to know. She was starting to see the kindness behind the arrogant, uncaring front he put up for the world and damned if some vine was going to stand in her way.

She stood up with a growl and yanked the blade out of the ground before swinging the scabbard off her back and unhooking the leather harness that had held it in place. She couldn't cut the vines but maybe she could push them back to get at the flowers beneath. She still needed to protect herself from any poison that might drip off the vine though. How was she going to do it? Emma bit her lip in frustration before exclaiming in triumph. She ran over to the nearest bush and started ripping the broad fan leaves from the body of the plant. If she used the leather to tie the sword and scabbard together she could lay the leaves on top to make a sort umbrella to catch any drops of the deadly substance. When she had enough she went back to where her things lay. Working quickly she laid the sword across the scabbard in a cross pattern and then secured it with the leather strap. Hopefully it wouldn't get cut since she couldn't keep the edge away from the material but it was risk she was willing to take. Carefully she laid the leaves atop her construction, leaving some aside in case she needed a replacement. It wasn't perfect and she'd have to be careful not to dislodge the precariously balanced covering but it might just work.

Emma eased the pointed end of the scabbard under the vines, slowly edging the contraption far enough into the tangled mass that she could reach her goal. Then she began lifting upward against the thick woody plants. They were tangled together so tightly that even pushing with all her strength she could hardly budge them. They parted just enough to create a small gap in the wall of vines, barely large enough for her hand. She moved the scabbard to her shoulder, using her body as a prop and steadying the leaves atop with her free hand. Her other hand shook slightly as she reached toward the vines. A nervous sweat broke out across her brow, her breath coming in sharp gasps, hitching in her throat as she passed her hand into the hole she had created. Then she was past the wall and could feel the soft blossoms brushing against the tips of her fingers. She gathered as many as possible before drawing them carefully out and laying them aside. By the look of the tiny blossoms she'd need several handfuls, she thought.

Working carefully she extracted the flowers without incident until she reached in for the last handful. The scabbard resting against her shoulder suddenly slipped and she reached up to grab at it dislodging the leaves protecting her hand. Emma hissed as a drop of black liquid oozed onto her wrist but tamped down the urge to jerk her hand out of through the hole. Carefully she grabbed the last bit of flowers and eased her hand back. When she was clear she let the scabbard drop and grabbed one of the leaves she laid aside, wiping frantically at the poison on her skin. When she had most of it off she pulled out her water skin and doused the area, the cool water feeling like a blessing on her burning wrist. She repeated the action until there was no trace of the dark liquid left. Shaking the water from her hand Emma inspected the damage. There was an angry red patch spreading over her wrist and the back of her hand but it didn't seem too bad. Even the burning sensation was starting to fade now that she'd washed off the poison. Not wanting to take any chances she tore a strip of cloth from the hem of her shirt, wrapping it around the irritated area.

"Well that should hold it." She muttered as she tied off the bandage. With only one hand she had to use her mouth to secure the knot, bringing to mind another such situation. The memory of Hook looking into her eyes as he wrapped her hand back on the bean stalk sent a sudden shiver through her. She'd be lying if she said that it hadn't turned her on; watching him work with barely disguised longing, almost wishing that he'd slip so she could feel the touch of his lips against her skin. She'd hidden behind her walls then, now she didn't have to. Suddenly she wondered what it would feel like to have him kiss her, the thought making her suck in a breath of surprise. She'd carefully avoided such thoughts but she was finding it harder and harder to do so. Emma shook her head against the thought; she had to stay on track here. Help Hook, find Henry. Those were her goals right now. She didn't have time for anything else. With that thought she rolled the bundle of flowers into a leaf and tucked the makeshift package under her arm. It was time to get back to camp.

When Emma made it back to the camp she saw that Mary Margaret had enlisted David's help with Hook. David had Hook propped up against his chest in a sitting position trying to help Mary Margaret to get him to drink. Emma's heart did a sort of skip-hop when she saw that Hook was awake, his eyes heavy lidded but still bright with fever as he fought against David's hold. He was yelling indistinct protests about poison and turning his head away every time Mary Margaret tried to tip water down his throat as Emma headed for the trio, dropping her bundle of plants by her mother as she knelt to put her hands on Hook's face.

"Hook! It's alright, we're just trying to help." She said as she rubbed her thumbs over the curve of his cheeks. His struggling eased as he turned those clouded eyes toward her voice.

"Swan?" he slurred as he tried to focus on her.

"Yeah it's me. Look you've got to drink something –"

Hook shook his head violently breaking her hold.

"No, this 's dream. Trick. Pan. Won't let." He resumed his broken rambling as Emma put her hands on him again. Reasoning with him obviously wasn't going to work. It took all three of them holding him down to get the slightest bit of liquid down his throat but eventually they succeeded. Hook slumped forward, weakened by his struggles, and David carefully placed him back on the ground.

"Thanks." She whispered to him as he stepped back. She noticed that he was sweating, and his face was a little flushed. Probably from the effort of holding Hook down, she thought.

"Why don't you get some sleep? I'll keep an eye on him." She said motioning toward the bedroll he and Mary Margaret had occupied earlier. For a second he looked like he was going to argue but then he nodded.

"Call me if you need me." He said, stopping to press a kiss into her hair. Emma kept herself from tensing up at the affectionate gesture just in time. She sent him a reassuring look as he lay down and closed his eyes. She watched him breathe, realizing that he was asleep within minutes. Hook must have taken more out of him than she'd realized. Shaking herself mentally Emma turned to her mother who was picking through the flowers that she'd brought back.

"These look right. I'll get started." She said picking through the flower and separating them into small bunches.

She motioned Emma over and showed her how to pluck the flowers from each stem without damaging the petals and then began her own work. It didn't take long for Emma to finish her task and soon there was nothing for her to do but watch as Mary Margaret as she ground the flowers into some sort of paste.

It was still strange to think of Mary Margaret as her mother, as Snow White. It was stranger still to see that despite being a princess her mother was more knowledgeable about this kind of stuff than Emma had thought a princess would be. Didn't they have other people to do this kind of thing for them? She wondered. And how did she even know that these would work? She hadn't questioned it before, caught up in the fear of realizing how dire Hook's situation was but now that she had a moment to breathe she was starting to wonder.

"How do you know what those are? How so you know they won't make him worse?" Emma could hear the slight tremble in her own voice and hated that it was there. She didn't want to admit, even to herself, how much it would hurt if she lost him now. Her mother looked up from her work with a mischievous smile.

"I spent a lot of time on my own when I was young. I learned how to take care of myself and learning to heal was a part of that. I promise this won't do any harm. These look just like the flowers I used for this back home."

How often had her mother had to treat poisoned wounds? Emma wondered but didn't voice the question. She needed her mother to be right, to be the one who knew what to do because at the moment Emma was so far out of her depth she felt like she was drowning. She nodded shakily and watched as her mother's practiced hands blended the paste and added water to it so that she could more easily spread it onto the wound.

"I'm surprise his yelling didn't wake Regina. How is she?" Emma asked, not comfortable with the tense silence that had fallen between them.

Mary Margaret looked up from her work to glance over at Regina's still sleeping form. There was a small smile on her face as she turned back toward the flowers that Emma couldn't quite place.

"She'll be alright. I think she's just not used to putting out so much power at once. To be honest I didn't think I'd ever see her like that again." She murmured as she returned to her work.

Emma's brow wrinkled in confusion. Mary Margaret almost seemed of fond of Regina, the way she was talking.

"What do you mean?" Emma asked.

"Peaceful. She looks peaceful. It's been a long time since I've seen her that way. I did this for her once, you know. I didn't know it was her, at the time but looking back I think it might have been the first time in her life that someone had cared for her without asking anything in return." Mary Margaret bit her lip as she said this, lost in memories, but her fingers never slowed as she ground the flowers.

Emma fell quiet at this news. She hadn't ever given much thought to what had transpired between her parents and Regina, happy to go along with the story she knew as her guide. Maybe there was more to it than she'd thought. There probably was, look at how often the stories she'd grown up with had been right. So far they were batting a big fat zero.

She looked back at Hook, who was shivering beneath the blanket David had laid over him despite his nearness to the fire. He was nothing like she'd expected him to be, when he'd told her his name. Every time she heard it the image of his cartoon counterpart still popped into her head. Maybe he was right. If she ever wanted to give him a chance, to see if he could really be the man she sometimes glimpsed beneath that mask, she'd have to start calling him by his proper name. Killian. Kill-i-an. She mouthed the name as she looked at him, careful not to voice it aloud. It was a good name, it suited him.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret asked quietly.

She turned back to her mother to see that she was holding a small bowl of the paste she'd created. Nodding she moved out of the way but Mary Margaret motioned for her to take hold of Hook.

"Emma I need you to hold him down. I won't be able to do this if he's thrashing around. Talk to him, keep him distracted." Snow stared intently into her daughter's eyes, seeing the flash of fear that crossed them at her words.

Emma bit her lip before settling on the opposite side of his body from Mary Margaret, leaning across his torso and using her arms to hold his down so that he wouldn't thrash and endanger either of them with his hook. She laid her head against his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

"Hook c'mon you can do this." He moaned loudly and she felt his body jerk under hers as Mary Margaret cleaned the wound with a wet cloth. She looked at his face and saw his eyes fluttering, the bright blue dull with pain and clouded with the fever that had taken him over. He mumbled gibberish in between the grunts and moans of pain and she could tell he didn't know she was there.

She heard him muttering in her ear, his voice weak and thick with pain. She thought she heard him say Liam, pleading for him not to leave. That turned into Milah' name, mixed with barely coherent threats of vengeance for her murder. Mixed in between were mumbled apologies to Baelfire that had Emma reeling in confusion. She felt tears sting her eyes at the realization of just how much pain the man beneath her had suffered, how similar their lives had been despite how little she knew of the details that made up his past. They'd both lost so much and if this didn't work, if Mary Margaret couldn't save him, she would lose him too. She buried her face in his neck mumbling reassurances and promises into the hot dry skin as tears streamed down her cheeks.

His body jerked beneath her as Mary Margaret spread the paste into the wound. Hook cried out at the touch trying to move away from her but Emma held him in place. His struggles her stronger and she gripped him tighter, keeping his hook arm immobilized. He tried to sweep his hook up, to strike out at the cause of his pain but Emma held him fast. She could feel sweat trickling down her neck from the effort of keeping him still.

"There. I'm all done." Mary Margaret's said quietly as she put a hand on Emma's arm. Emma glanced down to see that her mother had bandaged the wound carefully and expertly, there wasn't a visible trace of the slash in his side beneath the length of cloth. Emma eased herself off of Hook, being careful to keep his hook immobile until she could remove it. With a soft click the item came free and she tossed it to Mary Margaret who tucked it away inside her bag. She chastised herself for not thinking to do so earlier but breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that the strained lines of Hook's face had softened now that they weren't probing his injury.

"How long do you think he'll be out?" She whispered as she settled herself into a more comfortable position near Hook.

She didn't want to be too far away, afraid that she would miss a change in his condition if she didn't watch him closely. She caught the look in Mary Margaret's eye at the action and patently ignored it as she turned to watch the fire.

"Probably for a few hours yet. How are you holding up?" Mary Margaret asked quietly. Her voice was soft but there was an undertone of suspicion that didn't escape Emma's notice. She'd hoped that her mother hadn't noticed how out of character she'd been acting about this, but it had been a dim hope. Deep down she'd known that her mother would see through her. Didn't mean she wanted to talk about it. She reached up to brush her hair out of her eyes only to hear Mary Margaret's startled gasp.

"Emma what happened?"

Mary Margaret reached out to grab her wrist, the sudden burst of pain making Emma wince. Gingerly she pulled her injured arm out of her mother's grasp and shook her head.

"It's nothing. There was dreamshade and it –" Emma stopped talking as her mother's eyes filled with tears.

"No! No don't worry! I didn't get scratched," She said quickly unwrapping the bandage, "It just dripped on me is all."

She showed her mother the reddened skin that was already starting to look less angry. Mary Margaret took her hand, leaning close to inspect it. The mark stretched from halfway up the back of her hand down to cover the bones of her wrist. Emma winced as her mother gently turned her hand but didn't voice a complaint.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Mary Margaret asked worriedly.

Emma laid her other hand on Mary Margaret's shoulder.

"I'm fine. Really."

"At least let me look it over." Her mother said, pulling her bag back over to her and assembling the supplies she'd need to tend Emma's injury.

Emma didn't protest, despite how strange it felt to let someone take care of her. When her mother was finished they both sat together, their shoulders brushing as they watched Hook. All that was left to do was wait.