a/n: *stares into the distance* maybe one day I will be able to write more than 1k in a sitting again.
in other news, neverland renaissance 2.0! ah, season 3 and all your pining, you were truly a gift.
She can't sleep.
Which is disconcerting considering she hasn't slept in what feels like months. At least this time she isn't victim to the cries that echoed through the jungle; no, this time it's to the creaking of the ship beneath her as it sways, the howling of the wind, and the very faint murmuring in the cabin next door that she can barely catch.
Who would have guessed that a pirate ship's walls would be so thin? Definitely not her, that's for sure.
Fatigue settles in her bones the longer she stays put, curling around the edges of the worry and pain that she's endured, and crashing easily into a heavy load of relief. She plays that moment in her mind on repeat, the one where Henry shoots his eyes open and gasps, and lets it calm her. She thinks about it so hard she can practically hear his voice in her head.
She narrows her eyes a little at the ceiling and realises it isn't in her head, that it's wafting through the walls.
"-a little hungry," she manages to catch him saying.
And then there's the other voice, one she can now distinctly recognize as Hook's. (She doesn't want to think too much about that.) "Aye, lad, that's to be expected. Shall I show you where the dining room is? Your grandmother surely has leftovers from feeding the lost boys." She's not going to admit that she's straining her ears and leaning towards the other room to catch all his words.
"That's okay, I'll find it. Dad told me he'd show me around the ship, too."
Hook doesn't respond, or maybe she doesn't hear it.
"Thanks for letting me sleep in your cabin," Henry says after a beat. And then she hears his bounding footsteps disappear down the hallway. Another thing she wouldn't have guessed: how accommodating a pirate coud be.
Emma doesn't know what compels her to climb out of the bunk and make her way to the captain's cabin, but she finds herself lingering at the door, watching his form as he sits on the bunk and eyes his flask of rum. The last time the two for them had been here together, she was gearing up for a fight, ready to crack a skull or two open to get her kid back.
She notes the change now, her back not so stiff and her defenses against the pirate weakening. He's shucked his heavy jacket on the foot of the bed, too, and it makes him look softer somehow. There's trust between them. There's also that heated kiss, the feeling of his fingers tangling in her hair and the rings catching at the strands, his unguarded confession, his promise of fun - Emma shakes her head lightly, hoping the action will throw her thoughts off that track.
The one thing that hasn't changed is his brooding.
"If you're here, who's steering this thing?" Maybe she should have gone with something smoother. He jumps a little at her voice. Maybe she should have knocked, too.
"Swan," he says by way of greeting, and then looks down once more. "Bae said he'd take over. I believe that's where your boy headed to, as well."
Emma nods and refuses to acknowledge the way his eyes widen in surprise when she steps into the room instead of the turning on her heel. Her eyes flit around the cabin instead, and finally settle on the flask in his hand. "You up for sharing that?"
He regards her for a second before pulling the cap off with his teeth, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor, and offering her the drink. She takes a long pull, squeezing her eyes shut as to not think about his teeth grazing against her bottom lip. She drags out the chair by his desk and drops herself on it.
"Having trouble sleeping?" Genuine concern colours his words.
Even in the darkness of his cabin, she can make out the exhaustion lining his eyes, the dark circles that he'd definitely deny in favour of an arrogant compliment to himself. "Seems like I'm not the only one."
His eyebrows furrow for a second and then he looks away, hand coming up to scratch behind his ear. He plasters on a smirk and that all too familiar raise of his eyebrow when he says, "Well, I find sleep far more welcoming when I've got a beautiful lass beside me."
She hides her smile behind the flask. Truth is, he's growing on her. Like fungus, or something. If she thinks of Hook as a germ, maybe it will make it that much easier to not think of him at all.
"I never got to thank you," she starts, "for all you did for us, for Henry." For me. (She isn't ready for that admission.)
There's something far too enticing about his stare when she meets his eyes. And she feels a burning in the base of her stomach, a humming swell of her magic building up just under her breastbone. She's seen that look before, somehow has the way his pupils dilate memorised already. It's fucking terrifying.
"I would do it all over again." He shrugs up a shoulder nonchalantly but it does little to mask his serious tone.
That- that's fucking terrifying, too. And yet when her knee hits his as she stretches her legs out, she doesn't pull back. Lets the contact sit between them in a moment without defenses. She watches his throat work a swallow.
(It's the fatigue. Definitely the fatigue.)
"Besides," he exhales, "I'm certain we wouldn't have gotten much done had it not been for your leadership." The words are close to what David had said to her, and she still feels the need to brush them off. She didn't so much, not really. Unless you count stomping all over a jungle that should be mythical, wanting to strangle Gold, almost punching Pan in the face, telling her ex she wished he was dead, and kissing a pirate.
Her life, honestly.
"I mean it, Swan," he insists after her silence stretches too long. He shakes his head with a smile, "You bloody heroes really don't know when to quit."
If he looks at her with fondness for another second longer, she might just kiss him again. So, instead, she stands. He follows her movements after a second and she doesn't know if it's the ship or her tired limbs that have her swaying into his space.
"I should go check on Henry." It's barely above a whisper, because she'd rather not have her voice crack when thinking about his unwavering faith in her.
He nods. "Aye." He opens his mouth as if to say something else but then closes it. He takes in a deep breath, his chest almost touching hers. Their close proximity throws her for a few seconds, her gaze dragging up the chain of his necklace, the curve of his jaw, the blue of his eyes. She religiously avoids his lips.
When I win your heart, Emma -
She's very well aware of the decision that looms over her head. She's got her son back, and now there's Neal and Hook and her stubbornness to not pick at all. And Hook may not be bringing it up with his words but his eyes are almost pleading. Choose me, they tell her. Emma almost wants to comply, to lean in and find out what he kisses like when it's gentler, slower, more languid. (So much for avoiding his lips.)
She gives him a jerky nod before she steps back. His shoulders drop just a fraction, and if she hadn't been staring at him like she has, she would have missed it.
She turns around when she reaches the door to (unsurprisingly) find him watching her. "I'll see you later?"
- it will be because you want me.
He smiles then, a genuine one that makes him look younger. Then again, being 300 and looking like that- well. It's probably not that difficult. "If you so desire, I will be at your beck and call."
She rolls her eyes and tries a little too hard not to zero in on the dimples winking at her in the darkness. Her magic does that stupid thing where it sparks at the tips of her elbows, and she has to press them closer to her body so it doesn't send her into some kind of spasm.
"Yeah, unless you fall asleep on the wheel."
"I'm a far better sailor that that, I'll have you know."
She knows, she definitely knows. "Whatever you say, Captain."
She leaves then, letting the image of his eyes crinkling at the edges singe itself into her memory. She doesn't know what she wants, so she resolves not to think about any of it at all.
(When she does find Henry, a wave of relief washes over her that he isn't with Neal. She tells herself it's because she likes having these moments alone with her son, sitting side by side on the deck as he asks them about how they found him.)
(It's the resolute reminder of how it has nothing to do with Hook that tells her just how much of the opposite it is.)
(Pirates and their steadfast attempts at romance? Well, maybe that's one she should have definitely guessed.)