The clack of wood on wood echoes in the front yard of the gray Queen Anne-style house, punctuated here and there by Henry's grunts of effort and the rumble of Killian's appreciative chuckles or his occasional call of instruction.
"Wrist up, lad."
"Nicely done!"
"Watch your stance."
As it always does, a smile graces Killian's face as he and Henry circle around one another, shifting back and forth across the grass, the autumn leaves crunching beneath their feet as they face off with practice swords, exchanging sets of blows and then breaking apart again and again and again. He's always loved teaching the art of swordplay, and while young Henry is still nowhere near a match for the infamous Captain Hook, the boy is coming along well in his lessons, progressing even faster than his father did at that age. These times with Henry always cause Killian to flash back to bittersweet memories of giving Bae similar instruction ages ago aboard the decks of the Jolly Roger, but Henry always pulls him back to the present before too long with a ready ear-to-ear grin and his next attack, the boy perpetually optimistic that this might be the time he catches the old man off guard.
Up on the porch, the front door cracks open, and Emma's face appears, her hand wrapping around the door jamb. "Alright, pirates! Soup's on!" she hollers cheerfully, her eyes dancing at the sight of her favorite men having a good time together. "Time to disarm!"
Killian tips his chin to look up at her, still blocking Henry's final oncoming blow with ease. "We'll be right there, love!" He winks as she favors him with a brilliant smile and pulls herself back into the house.
Killian turns his attention back to Henry. "Well done, lad," he says, flipping his wooden cutlass theatrically in the air and catching it by the blade near the hilt. He uses the pommel to give the boy an affectionate nudge in the chest, as is his habit. "You're getting much better at that counter-parry. We'll make an excellent swordsman of you yet." He tosses the sword again, catching the grip in his hand.
Henry flushes with pride. "Thanks." He mimics Killian, slinging his sword over his shoulder as they head for the porch steps.
A thought occurs, and Killian abruptly turns, gesturing with his hook for Henry to hold for a moment. "Before we go inside, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Henry draws up beside him, a curious wrinkle appearing on his brow. He's been involved in enough of Killian's schemes by now to recognize the merest whiff of a covert operation, and his eyes light up with intrigue.
Killian chuckles and gives his head a little shake to try to lower Henry's expectations, as, unlike their previous adventures, he has no plans for the two of them to stage a jailbreak or run away to New York or hijack a ship or contemplate a large real estate purchase under his mother's nose. "It's nothing exciting," he laughs. "I just want to do something nice to surprise your mum, while we have a moment's peace in this bloody town. She's had her mind on everyone else's well-being, as usual, and she deserves a little focus on her, don't you think?"
Henry's face brightens. "That's an awesome idea," he says, nodding enthusiastically. "What did you have in mind?"
Killian grins sheepishly. "I was rather hoping to… what was that term you've used before? Brainstorm… with you."
Henry straightens, always pleased to be consulted by an adult, much less the pirate he idolizes, on any matter. He stops to think. "Well, I guess it'd kind of be like Mother's Day," he says slowly.
"Mother's Day?"
Henry shrugs good-naturedly, lowering his sword from his shoulder and thumping the ground with the tip. "Yeah, it's this holiday in May when everyone does something nice for their mom. I mean," he says hastily, "It was kind of invented by a greeting card company to give people a reason to buy their moms cards, but it's actually really nice."
Another smile blooms across Killian's cheeks as he contemplates the idea of such a holiday. "And what sorts of things do people do for their mothers on Mother's Day?" he asks.
"Oh, you know," Henry cranes his head up toward the dusky, Technicolor sky as he rattles off a list, "Cards, flowers, candy, presents, breakfast in bed, lunch at a nice restaurant, that sort of thing."
Killian cocks his head sideways. "Breakfast in bed, eh?" His bottom lip purses thoughtfully. "Food and a lie-in? Sounds like the perfect gift for your mum."
He grins as Henry rolls his eyes and nods. "Yeah, those are both kind of right up her alley," he agrees with a little laugh.
Pleased, Killian nods and turns to resume their stroll into the house before Emma begins to wonder what's keeping them. "Excellent. Thank you for the idea." He glances at Henry out of the corner of his eye. "Would you like to help?"
Henry scrunches up his face as he thinks about it. "Well, next week I'm at my other mom's, and that would mean getting up really early to come over. Plus it means walking into your bedroom, which, no offense, is kind of a place I never want to go." He grimaces almost comically and then shrugs. "Breakfast in bed is all yours. If I want to do something nice for her, I'll get her flowers or do the dishes."
Killian can't hold back the laugh that bubbles up from his chest at the boy's candor. Still a little spitfire. "Fair enough, lad."
They begin to ascend the porch steps, Henry half a step behind, their footfalls soft on the white boards. The cutlasess get deposited in a wide-mouthed umbrella stand that waits next to the front door.
"One problem," Killian says, grabbing Henry's elbow before the boy can lay a hand on the door handle. He's mindful to keep his voice low now that they're potentially within earshot of the front room. Henry looks up at him, and Killian rubs the back of his head with his brace. "Unless Granny is willing to open early so I can bring food back for your mum, I'm going to need a lesson in modern-day cooking."
In the end, it's Henry's idea to consult David, having witnessed his grandfather's prowess with pancakes on numerous occasions. The boy texts him after dinner, and the Prince embraces their idea enthusiastically and texts back that he's happy to show Killian the finer points of putting together a hot breakfast whenever they can find an excuse to get him over to the loft sans Emma for a couple hours. Henry shows Killian their exchange as they finish straightening up in the kitchen, Emma having stepped away to take a phone call from her mother.
"Brilliant, lad," Killian says quietly as he finishes stowing the leftovers in the refrigerator.
"Can I come?" Henry grins slyly. "Prince Charming giving Captain Hook a cooking lesson is something I gotta see."
Killian nods agreeably. "What say we make alternative arrangements for this Sunday afternoon?" he suggests, referring to their weekly sailing excursion on the Jolly.
Henry is already looking back down at his phone, thumbs flying over the touch screen, before Killian finishes his thought. "Way ahead of you."
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Sunday afternoon finds them in the kitchen at Snow and David's loft with Emma catching up on paperwork at the sheriff's station and none-the-wiser as to their little conspiracy.
David has the ingredients for blueberry pancakes, a bowl of eggs, and a pound of bacon waiting on the counter when they arrive, and he rolls his sleeves up to his forearms with a grin as he gestures for them to come on in. "Alright," he announces, rubbing his hands together eagerly, "Breakfast 101."
"Operation: Pancakes," Henry adds.
His grandfather chuckles. "Sounds good."
Over the next hour, David patiently walks Killian through the basics of preparing a modern-day meal. The bacon takes very little explanation, and the eggs, too, seem fairly straightforward. David looks impressed when Killian proves to have some skill with cracking eggs one-handed.
"I didn't think you'd have much experience with eggs," he says. "They're not common out at sea, are they?"
"You're forgetting my time in Neverland, mate," Killian points out matter-of-factly, tossing the last eggshell into the sink to be eaten up by the menacing device David calls a garbage disposal that he knows lurks just below the drain. "Fair number of birds on that island, if you recall. Smee was always particularly good at spotting the nests." He blinks as David holds up a strange-looking tool shaped roughly like a club but made entirely out of wire.
"Whisk," David supplies, as if that tells him everything he needs to know.
Henry steps forward and snatches it up. "Here, I'll show you. I've seen Mom do this a million times." He begins to beat the eggs with the whisk rapidly, bracing the bowl with his free hand, while Killian and David observe.
"Easy now," David urges him, eyeing his grandson's aggressive technique. "You want them mixed evenly, but don't overdo it. You're trying to get some air in there to make them fluffy. If you beat them to death, you'll have rubber instead." He nods with approval as Henry lightens his hand. "There you go."
Killian shifts his weight and regards Emma's father with interest. "When exactly did you learn to cook?" he asks. "I confess I never expected a prince to know his way around a kitchen. Though," he steps over to the refrigerator, using his hook to lift a white full-length apron that hangs on a peg to one side, the chest decorated with a stylized cartoon crown sitting jauntily atop the words Prince Charming, "I'm sure this rather becomes you." His eyes gleam mischievously.
David colors a little and tugs the apron away from him, going back to hang it up in a way that makes it a bit less conspicuous. "It was a gag gift from Snow," he says, though his sheepish smile belies his grumble.
"Aye, I wager it brings out your eyes." Killian laughs as David whips a dishtowel at his face. Henry snickers and tosses the whisk in the sink.
"Let's get back to the eggs, alright?" David says, shaking his head and waving off the ribbing but tossing Killian a challenging smile of his own. "You should really get them into the pan as soon as you whisk them."
Killian concedes to let them return to the task at hand and behaves himself as David shows him and Henry how to cook the eggs "low and slow," waiting patiently until the eggs begin to set up over the small flame before he starts gently turning them over with a wooden spoon until they do in fact become light and fluffy. He cuts the heat before they have a chance to overcook. "Kathryn taught me to cook breakfast, back during the Curse when we thought we were married, and I learned the hard way how easy it is to overcook eggs," he says, reaching for a plate. "But these," he sprinkles on some salt and pepper, "I daresay these will rival Granny's."
He's barely slid the plate along the counter toward Killian when Henry ducks between them and intercepts with a fork, spearing a bite and stuffing it into his mouth, which is already half-full of bacon. "Mm, good," he proclaims in a muffled voice, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's.
David and Killian share an amused look as they watch the teenager chew blissfully. "I'd warn you not to ruin your dinner," David laughs, "But somehow I don't think you're going to have to worry about not being hungry."
They move on to pancakes, and David reveals his secret weapon, a gigantic jar of soft, white powder. "Snow's homemade pancake mix," he explains. "I used to use the store-bought stuff, but this is better." He reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a smaller, quart-sized jar for Killian with a piece of paper taped to it with detailed instructions for combining it with egg, milk, and melted butter scrawled in Emma's mother's handwriting. "I'll show you how to make a batch, and that's for you to take with you."
Five minutes later, their first pancake, dotted with a scattering of blueberries, is sizzling in a small skillet, bubbles just starting to break along the surface like lazy bursts of steam from a lava pit. Killian and Henry proceed to take turns flipping the pancakes with a spatula as they work their way through the batch.
When Killian proclaims the process simple enough, David hums. "Yeah, it is. But then," he says, looking smug, "Spatulas are for beginners." He gently nudges Henry out of the way. "Allow me."
He grabs the handle of the skillet and lifts it from the stove, shaking the pancake loose with a shuffling motion so it skates around freely before suddenly jerking the skillet upward. The pancake lifts a few inches into the air and flips, flopping down squarely back in the middle of the pan. David holds a finger up to stay their reaction, giving the pancake a few moments more to finish cooking before he lifts the skillet again and this time hurls the pancake much higher. It somersaults through the air, and David takes a step back, his face split into a wide grin as he catches it in the pan. He throws his arms wide with a flourish. "Now that's advanced pancake flipping."
The cooking lesson quickly devolves into a pancake flipping contest, with Killian and Henry both eager to try. Killian picks the skill up almost immediately, only just missing his first pancake and successfully landing the rest, alternately crowing and cackling with boyish enthusiasm as he makes each catch. Henry, too, picks it up eventually, though he still misses more than he catches overall by the time they run out of batter.
Killian ruffles Henry's hair, ignoring the fact that Henry probably considers himself too old for that sort of thing now. "Good work, lad. You'll be a swordsman and a proper cook by the time we're through with you. The girls won't know what hit them."
"Yeah, well, gotta keep the family tradition going," Henry says, his eyes twinkling, reaching for another piece of bacon.
It's possible that the boy is referring only to David, but the way Henry looks at Killian makes it pretty clear that he's including him under the category of "family," and it makes Killian's heart leap in his chest. He casts a questioning glance at David, who seems to read his thoughts. Emma's father looks thoughtful but dips his head ever so slightly in agreement, and there is no cockiness, only wonder, in the little smile that appears on Killian's lips. He doesn't just have a true love and a circle of close allies now; he has a family. Emma's words from long ago ring in his mind:
You can join us and be a part of something…
Killian feels the slight burn of moisture in his eyes and blinks it back, busying himself with setting the now-empty skillet in the sink. He clears his throat, praying his voice doesn't give away his sudden onslaught of emotion, and he gestures for Henry to hand him the batter bowl and other dirty dishes and utensils. "We best get things cleaned up and shipshape," he says, purposefully keeping his eyes on his hands as he stoppers the sink and begins to fill it with water. "I doubt your grandmother would be pleased if we left her kitchen in such a state."
As Henry obediently gathers up things for washing, David comes to the sink to grab a wet rag in order to wipe down the counters, pausing as he passes behind Killian to slap him on the shoulder.
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David does more than teach him how to cook breakfast. He tells Emma to take Friday off from work during their family dinner at Granny's later that evening. "There's an event at Neal's pre-school next week that I need to be there for," he explains. "You cover the sheriff's station for me that day, and I'll do all of this Friday in exchange." He grins at her, practically radiating the wholesome charm that is his trademark. "What do you say? Care for an impromptu day off?"
How could Emma have refused, really? She smiles at her father and nods easily, turning her eyes back to her food. "Sounds good to me."
Any doubts in Killian's mind about whether this innocent scheduling change has anything to do with his plans is eliminated when David catches his eye knowingly. Killian swallows, a little awed and humbled that the man who once promised him that he'd never have Emma is now helping him make her happy. That's what it's about though, he supposes as he subtly tips his head forward toward David, hoping his gratitude comes across in the small motion – it's about seeing Emma happy, helping her get her happy ending. A prince indeed.
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He's up on Friday just after sunrise, years of discipline captaining a ship at sea allowing him to wake without any sort of assistance. The hardest part is extricating himself from Emma's grasp, but he manages to gently untangle his legs from hers and roll out from under the hand and cheek she has pressed to his side without disturbing her too much. Killian can't help but smile at the sight of her as he pulls the quilt up to her chin, her long lashes dusky over her cheeks, her long blonde hair spread in a haphazard mess across the pillow beneath her, her chest moving rhythmically with each steady, tranquil breath. A slight wrinkle appears between her eyes as he withdraws from the bed, but it vanishes again when he whispers, "Sleep, love," in her ear and presses his lips to her forehead.
His step is light as he heads downstairs, affixing his brace and hook as he goes, and he hums a little sea chantey quietly to himself as he sets the coffee maker – one of the first machines he ever felt comfortable using – to brew and goes about raiding the kitchen cabinets and drawers for the items he'll need to make breakfast. The jar of pancake mix emerges from the back recesses of the pantry where he'd stashed it out of sight behind half a dozen boxes of dried pasta, and the rest of the ingredients find their way from the refrigerator to the counter shortly thereafter.
The cooking goes about as well as can be expected for his first time, he supposes, especially considering he has to do it one-handed. He keeps the bacon from burning, the eggs bear reasonable resemblance to David's, and he only burns the first pancake, which he tosses in the trash. Killian forces himself to flip the pancakes with a spatula like a responsible adult until he has enough for Emma's share, after which he allows himself to hurl a few into the air for fun, chuckling with self-satisfaction when they all land in his skillet rather than on the floor. When his eyes fall upon the clock in the front room, however, he forces himself to stop playing and hustles to get his breakfast tray set before Emma wakes up and wanders downstairs to find him. He assembles a handsome spread, if he does say so himself.
A bolt of inspiration hits as he's sprinkling cinnamon atop her hot cocoa, and he dashes out the side door to the backyard to visit the tiny plot of Middlemist they planted in the spring from the seeds that Emma brought back with them from Camelot over a year ago. It's late in the season, but a few of the blooms remain, and he finds the perfect little bud, pulling it free from the ground and hurrying back inside, twirling the flower between his fingers before laying it on the breakfast tray.
Miraculously, she's still dozing when Killian returns up the stairs, delicately depressing the bedroom door handle with his elbow as he keeps the tray balanced, fingers and hook looped beneath the handles on either side. He creeps in on cat feet and sets breakfast down on the dresser before ditching his hook and sliding back into bed, a Cheshire grin on his face. He feels a little guilty waking her, but it won't do to let her breakfast get cold, and he's fairly confident she'll deem what he has in mind worth a few minutes of sleep lost. The surface of the quilt rises and falls as he shifts himself over to gather her back up in his arms, his smile widening as she responds to his touch immediately with a contented sigh, her fingers flexing against his chest, and her legs winding between his, effectively locking him in place beside her. He vibrates with a low chuckle at her possessiveness, and the sound of his voice makes her dimples appear. She hums and arches her back, her breasts pressing into his ribs, before she snuggles even closer.
He begins planting feather-light kisses across her face, his lips finding her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and both cheeks as he works his way down.
"Mmm. 'Morning," she rasps, her lips tugging back on his when he finally reaches her mouth.
His eyes twinkle as her lashes flutter and she fixes him with a bleary green gaze. "Good morning, darling." His fingertips graze her shoulder and drift softly down her arm, triggering a delicious shiver to ripple through her. His hand falls upon her waist, his touch now heavy and sensuous as he strokes her low back, delving beneath the whisper soft fabric of her worn cotton camisole as their kisses become more heated. The sound of Emma's sharp intake of breath fills his ears, her arm reaching upward so she can bury her fingers in his hair to pull him over on top of her, her lips moving hungrily against him.
When she pulls one of her legs free and flexes to wrap it around his waist so his stiffening arousal is pressed right against her center, Killian growls. "Believe it or not, love," he mutters into her mouth, unable to keep himself from thrusting a little and tearing a moan from them both, "This wasn't the first thing I thought we'd do today."
She grins and runs her free hand up and down the curve of his spine beneath his T-shirt. "Really?" She giggles as she pushes herself up into him and he groans again at the friction. "What else could you have had in mind?"
Killian gathers his self control and gives her one more deeply satisfying kiss before rolling off her and out of bed.
Emma sits up a little to watch him walk over to the dresser.
"I thought you might enjoy breakfast in bed today," he says, lifting the tray atop his left forearm, balancing it with his right hand and turning toward her.
Her eyes grow wide as she takes in the sight, her jaw dropping and her expression turning gooey. "Oh, Killian." She scoots up against the headboard, hastily propping a pillow up behind her. "That looks wonderful." She grins like an idiot as she allows him to settle the tray over her lap, repeatedly glancing between it and him. "You did all of this yourself?"
He straightens, scratching behind his ear shyly. "I did."
She laughs and picks up the Middlemist flower to admire it, pressing it to her nose. "Who taught you to cook breakfast?"
"Your father, actually."
Her eyebrows knit together as her heart appears to melt further. "Really? You went to my dad?"
Killian chuckles and climbs back into the bed to seat himself next to her, grabbing a cloth napkin off the tray and arranging it on her lap teasingly. "I did. Though it was Henry's idea," he admits. "I just thought that it would be nice to do something that was entirely for you for once." He smiles as she reaches for his face and pulls him in for another long, slow kiss.
She's still beaming at him when she finally pulls back.
He grins. "Now tuck in, Swan. Enjoy your breakfast in bed before it gets cold." He waggles his eyebrows wickedly. "And when you're done, perhaps we can resume our previous activities and I can find other things to do that are also all about you."
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It's a couple weeks later that the mailman delivers a package to the door. Emma brings it inside, her expression curious and perplexed as she peers at the mailing label.
"What's that, Swan?" Killian calls from the living room sofa, glancing up from his book. He goes to resume reading, but pauses when he realizes that Emma is coming toward him.
"It's for you," she tells him with a confused little laugh. "Is it safe to assume you didn't order something off the internet?"
He narrows his eyes suspiciously. "The magic box?"
"Right." She looks amused as she rereads the label and holds the package out to him. "Well, whoever sent it, it's yours."
Killian eyes the box warily. "You're sure it's not a trap?"
Emma laughs. "Somehow I doubt someone is trying to kill you with something from ." When he fails to understand, much less be reassured by her answer, she just shakes her head. "There's no magic here." She hands it to him and drops down on to the sofa so they're hip-to-hip, eager to find out what's inside.
Putting his book aside and still looking skeptical, Killian examines the box from all angles before slicing through the packing tape covering the seams with the tip of his hook.
Emma reaches over and helps him push back the flaps, leaning in for a good look. "What on earth…?" she says, trailing off. Killian lifts out the packing slip to study it while she pulls out the white apron emblazoned with the picture of a ship's wheel and the words Work like a Captain, Party like a Pirate in gold letters.
Killian lets out a deep peal of laughter as he trades her the paper for the apron. "It's from your father."
Emma watches as he holds the apron out to inspect it, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and she reads the gift message printed on the slip.
Hope it brings out your eyes.
– Prince Charming