If the day had started any other way, Emma might have felt a little sympathetic for the jackass. After all, Killian was quite bruised, in a jail cell after being on his 'best behavior, Swan' for weeks (or so he claimed). But David showed a pattern of calling Emma a little too early in the morning with sheriff work, and Mary Margaret had an unfortunate habit of tagging along for "bonding time". Emma was certainly not in the mood to have her mother tag along while she was forced to arrest her shiny new boyfriend. Killian and Emma were new, though- so new that Emma barely had time to consider if she could call him that, her boyfriend, before he was off and getting into brawls with men working in the harbor.
As Emma rested her chin in one hand, studiously filling out paperwork with the other, the pirate that had seemingly ruined her day hit the bar of the cell with his hook, letting out an obnoxiously loud groan. Emma did her best to ignore him. Her crappy mood was his fault, after all. If Hook could have just controlled his temper long enough for Emma to have a proper breakfast that morning, she wouldn't have had to do the damn paperwork on an empty stomach.
Clang.
He bit his lip, (not that Emma was watching, or anything) striking the bars again, leaning back and rolling his eyes. A loud sigh was released from the scoundrel this time, followed by a loud clang.
"Love, if you wanted some alone time with me, you could have just asked."
Emma scowled. As if she would have arrested him of her own free will, with her mother sitting in the passenger seat, making shocked little gasps each time Emma hit the accelerator. He was impossible sometimes, that lousy grin and his violent tendencies- all tangled up in an immature man-child. That little part of Emma- or rather, that ever-growing ridiculous teenage girl part- chides that he is much more of a man with the tall frame, dark blue eyes, disheveled hair, and the permanent smirk resting on his face. He was certainly charming- flirty and infuriating, yes, but sweet and frankly, he cared for Emma. Maybe not as calmly as some of her past ventures had, but definitely as honestly, if not more, a firm and consistent reminder that he would be there for her-
Clang.
Annoying as ever.
Emma heaved, rolling her eyes and turning to face him.
"Keep it down, I'm trying to clean up the mess you made."
He grinned, completely disregarding her words.
"Well, lass, the messes I usually make are usually of a much more desirable manner than paperwork and bruised knuckles." His voice drawled, strands of messy black hair framing his face, flecks of ginger present in his scruff, and a twitch of his lips playing across his face. Emma raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. She really didn't have patience for his quips, but the way his muscles were taught and smooth under his leather jacket was enough to elicit a response from her.
"Real smooth, pirate."
He shrugged, leaning lazily on the cell wall, his back pressed flat against the stone.
"Perhaps, you'd prefer if I was more rough?"
The corners of his lips turned up as he spoke, delicately enunciating each syllable, his voice dripping with… something unnamed.
She huffed. Pushing her paperwork aside to move to the desk nearest to him. She rested uncomfortably on it, folding her arms and staring, unamused.
"Cut the crap, Hook. Why did you hit that dock worker?"
His eyes darkened a shade as she spoke his moniker. It was so different from the soft 'Killian's or the struggled 'Jones!', the ones when they were on the cusp of danger or staring intently on the shaking seas.
"Why do you think, love?"
Her eyebrows furrowed, and she narrowed her eyes. A few wisps of blonde hair blocked her view, and she brushed them away before he could make a comment on her 'untidy apperance.' Maybe a sultry, 'Getting flustered, Swan?'
"I think you were being a hot head, as usual."
"You're one to talk." His accent was thick around his words, his dark brows and hooded eyes fluttering around her face, not displaying the confidence he claimed with his voice. He sighed, and reached up to scratch behind his ear- that was his tell. His facade seemed to drop, only for a second, before his strict grin and arrogant baring of his teeth came back up.
"He insulted something I find very dear. He had to meet the consequences."
Emma snorted.
"You punched him because he insulted your ship?"
It was a logical guess, really, considering he had been at the docks, but his eye-roll spoke of a different tale.
Hook sighed, and his tone softened.
"That's not what I meant, lass. Don't doubt, though, I certainly would have punched the prat just as hard if he had. He insulted … something I've been working quite hard to find," His eyes flicked to hers, his hook sliding subtly along the bars, "A treasure rare to even an expert seafaring man such as myself."
"You mean pirate?" She asked dryly, finding his eyes with an arch of her eyebrow.
"Man." He corrected, scratching behind his ear again, a blush rising to his cheeks.
The silence around them was heavy and static, filled with tension and a release that was just out of Emma's reach. Hook certainly made an attempt, though, slipping his hand through the bars to grasp Emma's, who was unaware that she had shifted closer to him. Her eyes immediately met his, and he smiled softly. She tried to fight down those butterflies, those unfamiliar pangs of nerves that she'd deny ever experiencing.
She let go and abruptly stepped back, remembering who she was talking to.
"I thought you were over your treasure-hunting days, Hook." She responded coldly, as if she hadn't just felt the warmth of his fingers tracing fire into her skin and raising goosebumps along her spine.
The formality of his pirate's title made him flinch. He shook his head quickly, reaching out to pull her back.
"Not riches, lass. It's no object, no mortal possession," He leaned forward, forehead pressed lightly against the bars. "It's more like the damned 'hope' thing your parents are always talking about." She furrowed her brows and narrowed her eyes. She felt the light grasp of his good hand on hers again, and she let herself be pulled towards the bars. If he knew about the keys to the cell hanging on low on her belt, he certainly made no move to grab them. Tricks be damned, she thought, because Killian was tugging her towards him and it wasn't just a means to escape.
"My parents talk about a lot of things, Killian. Most of them aren't worth getting arrested for."
His smirk jumped back onto his face, and he was quick to retort,
"Perhaps I just wanted some private attention from the local sheriff, then?"
Emma snorted, "Who? David?" The pirate scowled, sputtering in distaste. It took him a minute to collect himself, but when he had, he paused and tilted his chin up.
His eyes got honest again, a little too quickly for Emma's liking. She resisted the urge to make another joke about how he had a thing for blondes, just to veer away from this vulnerability. Jokes, she could handle. Opening up to a particularly menacing pirate? Not one bit.
Killian had other plans though, and he cleared his throat, still holding her hand. She blushed upon realizing she hadn't pulled it away this time, but before she could make a move to, he spoke.
"That docksman, he was asking for it." It was dark, a simple sentence, but there was so much behind it that it made Emma dizzy.
"What did he offend, then?" She whispered, already knowing the answer.
He looked down and tilted his head slowly, as if he was scared to be vulnerable to her again, scared that she would run away as she always had. She lightly squeezed his hand to dispute his obvious concern. "Don't tell me it's that 'happy ending' crap." She joked, her voice wavering.
He abruptly looked up and a storm flashed across his face. Sooner than it began, it settled, and he nodded ever so slightly, just as he had done when he told her he had traded his ship for her. "Aye, love. A happy ending indeed." She cocked an eyebrow.
"That would imply you've already found it. What is it, then, pirate?"
He just grinned wider and flashed his teeth. She could have sworn her heart might just jump out of her chest at the crinkling around his eyes and the sharp swell of his breath so close to her face. Then came those words- a group of four that were so Killian they nearly made Emma laugh.
"The bloody crown princess."
He whispered that last bit, and then she really did laugh, lolling her head back to stare at the ceiling. Her grip on his fingers never faltered, though, staying strong and calloused and worn, his from years of tending a ship and hers from years of gripping a gun. He tugged her gently, closer to the bars and reached his hook to pull her in. She brought her eyes back to his and pressed her forehead against the bars. He maintained his sweet smile, looping his hook around her waist, a light sigh escaping his lips.
"Swan, let me out of here so I can embrace you properly."
She rolled her eyes, and stepped back, fishing the keys out of her pocket.
"You know you can't just hit people when they insult something you care about." She slowly unlocked the cell, her words not as convincing as she had hoped they would be.
He grinned smugly, and smarted, "But if this is my reward, why ever would I stop?"
She frowned, trying desperately to ensure he wouldn't get the wrong impression, that he wouldn't think she wanted him to be so protective of her- but damn it all if she did want it, and his arms circling her hips and pulling her into him as he stepped out of the cell were so distracting that all she could do was swallow her words and hope he would take mercy on her. He leaned down, painfully slow, and swayed with her in his arms. Her hands rested on his neck, tugging gently at his hair, nose touching his. He stepped forward and she stepped back with him, reaching behind her to steady herself on the desk. He loomed over her, opening his mouth to speak, but faltering as she licked her lips.
Then, tightening his grip and tracing his hook up her sppine, he spoke lowly,
"I know of an activity much more enticing than paperwork, if you feel ever so inclined."
She raised an eyebrow, but her mocking was barely admissible, because she was more focused on the way his tongue swept over his bottom lip, and the way her thumb was tracing the scar on his cheek.
Emma Swan does not appreciate being called out of bed in the morning to arrest a prick at the docks for assault- especially when that prick is her... person. Honestly, her mother being next to her is a turn off, even when Killian's dark jeans are a little too tight for comfort, and his purpled knuckles are resting just above his belt buckle in that way that makes Emma fidget. And so, really, as she locks the door to the station and turns off her phone, it's not because she feels an obligation to return his declaration of damned-near love- she just has nothing better to do (really, the feeling of the heavy leather resting on his skin and curling under her fingers is just an added bonus). And as he hums an old pirate's shanty to her through the rest of the evening, it's because he just might consider her his girlfriend, his Swan, not because he has nothing better to do. He makes sure to show her, to tell her, in that assured way of his- with a rocking of his hips and a slow rut of his fingers against her seams, and the way she says his name just might pass for her saying it back, always soft 'Killian's and struggled 'Jones' and maybe the occasional 'Hook'. Meanwhile the paperwork sits stoic on the sheriff's desk, and somewhere in the port, a very bruised dock worker glares at where the Jolly Roger used to port. No one is there though, and no one will be, not for a while. No, because the lone inhabitant The Jolly Roger had ever been most acquainted with is experiencing a very happy ending at the sheriff's station, right where he belongs.