A/N: Suffice it to say that Captain Swan has ruined my life; I dove headfirst into this ship and now I'm drowning.

This story started out as a one-shot. I wanted to delve into this complicated, heartbreaking relationship Emma and Hook have going on; I wanted to explore it and give more backstory on when Killian started to fall for her; I wanted it to become the start of something tragically beautiful. I just couldn't help myself. And then it took on a life of its own.

So maybe this'll stay as a one-shot, and maybe this'll turn into something with a few more chapters. We shall see!

This is my first time venturing into OUaT fanfic, so I apologize if either of them seem OOC. I'm still getting a handle on the characters.

Thanks for reading! And please, feel free to review, leave constructive criticism, or whatever else your heart desires. Enjoy the ride :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters and I make no profit from this fanfiction. ABC owns all - I'm just playing in their sandbox.

-razz

Yes they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinking alone

Killian shifted his seated weight from side to side, trying to find just the right niche on the fallen tree he'd claimed as his own personal bench in the thick of Neverland's forest. His eyes wandered the black velvet expanse above him, a brief smile flickering on his face as he gazed at the stars. With deft fingers, he unscrewed the top of his flask and brought it to his lips, tilting his head back as he took a generous swig. The rum left a satisfying burn as it traveled down his throat, and he let out a sigh before running the back of his hand across his mouth. He hummed with contentment as he settled into a small groove he'd finally found on the trunk.

The pirate reveled in these moments, in the peace and quiet that the calm of the night would offer him. Each night, while the rest of his party slept under the moonlight, Killian would wander off alone and sit on his fallen tree, idly drinking from his flask as he enjoyed the small reprieve. It was tranquil and serene, allowing his mind to simply blank out all thought as he sat in quiet contemplation. During these all-too-brief interludes, there was no quest to find Henry, no latent anger or the obsessive desire for revenge, no grief burrowed in his chest; he wasn't even Captain Hook during this time – he was simply Killian Jones, a man who lost himself in the stars like he used to all those centuries ago.

On this particular night, a night like any other, he was distracted from his mindless musings by the soft pattering of footsteps before Emma quietly sat down next to him. Killian gave her a sidelong glance, noting her blonde hair was in a matted fray, evidencing a sleepless night fraught with insomnia and concern. Her muted grey-blue eyes were heavy with an indiscernible emotion as she stared listlessly at nothing in particular, hands folded in her lap, drawing random shapes into her palm with her thumb. Without a word, Killian proffered his flask and held it steadily out in front of her expectantly. Emma glanced at the container stupefied, unable to immediately focus on it as she was startled out of her catatonia, before she shot Killian a small smile and grabbed the canteen. Neither spoke as they exchanged the flask between them, but Killian felt a small amount of comfort in having someone there – a soothing, warming presence in the cold embrace of nightfall.

Hours passed in a matter of minutes, and before long, day broke as rays of sunshine stole through the canopy of leaves, bathing the landscape in a brilliant shade of gold. Emma looked up at the streaks of sunlight and released a heavy sigh. And just like that, the moment was gone, the spell broken, the anxieties of the day returning full-force, like a punch in the gut. As Emma rose from her spot, she cast a glance at Killian and graced him with a half-smile in silent acknowledgement of thanks for his companionship. The pirate would never admit to it, but there was something in him that stirred when she gifted him that smile, leaving a lingering thrill in the back of his mind.

Day came and evening followed, and the pirate was again rooted to his spot, carefully sipping his rum as he mentally tried to ration his diminishing supply. He could only slip away to the Jolly Roger for a refill so many times before the others would become suspicious. He was alarmed when Emma plopped down next to him, extricating the flask from his hands before he'd even registered her presence, and she took a long drink. No words were exchanged, no innuendo or snide remark escaped his lips; they simply sat in companionable silence, sharing a moment of complete calm while the chaos of life was subdued. When the first beams of sunshine painted the sky, Emma breathed a soft sigh, gave Killian a tight-lipped smile, and returned to their camp. Killian hadn't missed the way the sun rays illuminated her face and added an extra twinkle to her eye, a radiance to her smile. And there it was again - the little flutter inside, that buzz of something achingly familiar, but couldn't quite remember.

It developed into something of a routine for them. Night after night, Emma would nestle herself into her cozy position by his side, occasionally casting him a wayward smile in a gesture that silently articulated her appreciation of his help, his company, his understanding. Their nightly rendezvous became therapeutic, and it was in those quiet moments in the dark of the night that Killian first found himself developing a certain… affection for Emma. He'd grown used to her constant presence, the soothing ebb and flow of warmth radiating from her body as she steadily inched herself closer, subconsciously leaning towards him. He'd even acclimated to that weird flutter in his stomach when she'd casually lean towards him and shoot him that smile that she seemed to save just for him. There was a certain vulnerable rawness to that smile, and the pirate was selfish enough to want to keep those smiles to himself.

It wasn't long until their nightly sessions began permeating into their daily treks. With increasing frequency, Emma started to hang in the back of the group, walking just a few paces in front of Killian, intuitively seeking out his familiar company. She never spoke to him, never looked at him to acknowledge his presence; it was an unspoken rule of theirs that they never discussed their friendship, their strange propensity for needing to be in close proximity to one another. He was hopelessly addicted to being near her, and as her steps slowly fell in line with his, her arm sporadically bumping up against his, Killian realized that it wasn't an unrequited yearning. It gave him a peculiar sense of self-satisfaction, knowing that she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The first crack marred the wall around her heart, something so tiny you could only catch it from the corner of your eye, but it wasn't narrow enough to dampen the light that shone through the fissure.

One evening, Killian's eyes traced familiar patterns in the constellations as he lost himself in the sounds of the night – the soft buzzing of insects, the sway of the leaves in the wind. He became so engrossed in the serenity of the night, that he almost missed it, the soft sound of her words.

"I don't know why you're here or why you're doing what you're doing, but thank you," Emma spoke, her voice so quiet that the pirate nearly convinced himself he'd imagined it.

Killian turned his head to look at her, watching as she dragged her finger along the lip of the flask. "Don't mistake me sharing my rum with you for an act of nobility, darling. I'd be remiss if I denied myself the opportunity to get a woman drunk."

"That's not what I meant," Emma scoffed with a slight grin. "I mean being here, in Neverland. I wouldn't be able to look for Henry if it wasn't for you, and I just wanted to let you know that I… appreciate it. So, thank you."

Emma played with her fingers, eyes cast indolently to the ground, purposefully avoiding the scrutiny of his stare. The pirate almost responded with an obscene innuendo, but he knew expressing gratitude was an emotional scarcity coming from Emma, and it took a surprising amount of self-restraint to quiet the quip that perched on the tip of his tongue. He bit it back, not wanting to scare Emma off and cause her to close off to him and retreat back into the safety of her infuriatingly impenetrable walls, to seal up that tiny crack he'd finally created.

"I…" Killian began, but changed his mind and settled for, "You're welcome."

He plucked the flask from her hand and whirled it in a small circle, gauging the amount of rum he had left by the soft slosh of the liquid; it was barely enough for a single swig. His hand had travelled halfway to his mouth, intent on polishing off his life's nectar, before he saw Emma out of his peripheral vision. Lowering the flask, he offered it to her one last time with an arch of his brow. Emma graciously accepted, her fingers brushing against his for a moment as she grasped the container and took the last drink. Killian's fingers tingled where she touched him, the contact electrifying.

There was a pregnant pause lingering in the air, neither speaking as the tension between them grew palpable. It wasn't an awkward tension caused from malice or discomfort, but rather, it was a tension born from this strange friendship they were developing – something nameless and unfathomable.

"You just… you're not how I thought you'd be," she admitted, daring to cast a look in his direction as she handed the flask back to him.

"Disappointed that I don't wear a waxed moustache and a perm, are you?" he retorted, the corner of his mouth pulling back into a smirk while he stowed the flask in his pocket.

Emma barked out a humorless laugh, "Please. I don't think the Charmings could handle you being any smarmier than you already are."

The pirate's eyebrows shot up at her statement and he looked at her with mock incredulity, histrionically bringing his hooked hand to his chest. "Smarmy? You think me smarmy? Suave – yes; charming – of course; dashing – well, that's a given; but smarmy? You wound me, love."

She chuckled at his grandiose show and shoved her shoulder against his, slightly pushing him to the side. Killian barely caught his balance as he steadied himself with his hook before he could fall.

"Just take the fucking compliment, Hook. Don't ruin the moment."

He threw her a devilish grin, smugly satisfied that her barriers had come down enough to tease him and declare that they had, indeed, shared a "moment". Killian could almost hear the soft crack as a second fissure appeared in her wall.

"If the lady insists," he replied with a flourished bow.

A comfortable stillness once again settled upon them; she'd spoken her piece and they returned to their old habit of sitting in companionable silence, gazing at the stars and relishing in the comfort of the other person. Killian peered at her through the corner of his eye and saw her intently surveying the horizon, the splashes of the new dawn reflecting in her irises. There goes that feeling again, that hum in his body.

She clapped her hand on his right knee as she pushed herself to her feet. "Well, it's almost morning… I better get back to camp and wake the others."

There was a heaviness to her stare, grey eyes burdened with hopelessness and gloom. Her lips quirked into a sad smile as she turned to leave; on instinct, Killian reached out and grabbed her hand, turning her around to look at him where he sat. He kept his gaze level with hers, his too-blue eyes burning intensely with an emotion he himself couldn't describe.

"Don't fret, love, we will find your son," the conviction in his tone startled Emma, and her brow rose on her forehead.

"You really think so?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper and she looked at him as if it were the first time the thought had even crossed her mind, that Killian was revealing to her some astonishing, brilliant truth that she'd never considered. It was the first time he'd seen her look even the slightest bit hopeful since they landed in this dreaded realm, and it was a look that sparked something deep in his chest, in the hollow casing where his heart resided. It was a look he desperately wanted to see on her again, anything but the deep emptiness in her eyes, so filled with despair and sorrow.

He offered her his best attempt at an honest grin, one bereft of his typical coquetry and… smarm.

"If there's one thing I've learned from being cooped up with you lot for the past few weeks, it's that there is always hope. You will find Henry, and you and yours will return to Storybrooke. Of this, I am certain."

Killian gently dropped her hand and Emma gave him an appraising look, as if she was suddenly viewing him in a new light. She took a few steps towards their encampment, walking backwards as she considered him with a slight squint to her eye, before she turned and marched back to her family. He watched her for a moment as she walked, appreciating the soft sashay of her hips, then peered back at the sunrise where reds and golds bled together in a beautiful coalescence of color.

"Hey, Hook?" she called out to him softly, her head slightly turned over her shoulder as she halted her footsteps. "Thanks."

"Nothing to thank me for, love." He cocked an eyebrow at her, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Same time tomorrow?"

He heard the delicate sound of her breathless chuckle as she responded, "Yeah. Same time tomorrow."