"Come on Mom, hurry up! We don't want to be late!" Henry shouts over his shoulder, sprinting down the docks. His plaid flannel, open over his gray t-shirt, flaps out behind him as he runs.
Emma bites her lip, stifling the instinct to warn him not to run on the old wood, creaking under her feet even at her leisurely pace. Though most certainly still a child, at nearly thirteen, he doesn't seem to think so. He'd scoff at her suggestion.
"I'm coming," she calls back, breaking into a light jog to catch up with him. He waits at the gangplank of the ship, and she pulls their tickets out of the back of her pocket.
The stupid pirate-reenactment show was Mary Margaret's idea, and the tickets had cost a pretty penny and a lot of raised eyebrows, but she agreed with her best friend in thinking it might be a good way to take Henry's mind off things. She gets it, of course, and maybe part of it is just becoming a teenager, but he's been so moody since—
"Wow! Mom, look at this ship! Look at the sails! It looks so real!" Henry yells, already dashing up the gangplank and onto the deck of the ship. His mouth has broken into a grin from ear to ear, and any hesitation she has falls straight from her thoughts. She passes off the tickets to the burly man in the red hat and follows after her son, eyes widening as she takes in the glory of the ship.
He's right. It is amazing. Shiny dark wood lining the walls of the deck, yellow rails that glimmer like gold, and sails twenty feet high, the ship feels surprisingly brand new and somehow straight out history. It's surreal, to say the least.
"Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, folks," the man in the red hat says loudly, rounding her to speak to the crowd gathered on the deck. Emma and Henry take their spots among the others—mostly tourists, men with fannypacks and women who looked like they were named Martha-Heather-Jo—and turn to face the man speaking to them.
"My name is William, and before the show gets started I have a few things to go over. Lifeboats are located along the sides of the ship and are fully equipped with life preservers and oars. Note that we'll be taking off in a few minutes, and please feel free to take some of the motion sickness patches in the baskets being passed around. If you experience any—"
Emma sighs, drowning out the man's voice, and lets her eyes explore the ship some more. She's trailing them over the crow's nest when she hears Martha-Heather-Jo gasp next to her. She snaps her attention back towards the helm, immediately finding the source of the woman's shock.
A man in black has taken the stage.
He hangs back for a second, as if waiting for his cue, which gives her the chance to properly look him over—because dressed nearly head-to-toe in black leather is quite possibly the most attractive man Emma Swan has ever seen. His hair is dark, carefully tousled, and cuts down the side of his face in reddish sideburns. Movie-star grade stubble maps its way across his jawline, and his eyes are lined, making the blue in them pop, even at her distance.
And, shining brightly under the September sun, is a gleaming silver hook where his left hand should be.
As if sensing her gaze on him, his attention, formerly focused on the man in the red hat, shoots to her.
A spark shoots up her spine.
William says something, then louder twice, and the man in black shakes his head, breaking his gaze from her. Emma realizes that it hadn't just been her tuning William out, and another, even stronger, spark shocks her.
"Aye, I am the captain," the man in black yells (and oh god of course he has an accent). He whips the sword from his belt in the single most attractive move Emma has ever seen. He raises it to eye level, the hooked hand coming up to grip the wheel of the ship. "Captain Jones. And William here has just brought to my attention that we have a sodding bunch of stowaways aboard my ship."
He takes a pause, and suddenly, the sails come to life.
Men and women drop to the deck from ropes, yelling and cursing as they unsheathe their blades. Clothed in a variety of outfits that range from the historically cliche to what she assumes is the historically accurate, they circle the crowd, who let out a collective ooh, briefly stunned by the acrobatics.
Captain Jones clears his throat, and she swears he glances at her, if just for a moment. A shiver runs up her arms, though that might be from the malicious smirk that climbs onto his face a moment later. "Unlucky for one of your damned souls, this forces me to take someone for my hostage. Who of thee will fetch the highest ransom?"
Instantly, at least ten hands shoot into the air. Looking around, Emma notes most of them belong to the kids aboard—her son included, whose left arm is waving frantically over his head—but she doesn't miss the wiggling arms of Martha-Heather-Jo and a few of her other lookalikes.
She rolls her eyes, and then, as if by their own volition, they shoot to the captain. His attention is already on her, lips lifted in a knowing smirk.
Oh, hell.
"You, lad! In the curious red and black tartan shirt!" He points the tip of his sword at Henry, who glances down, as if just realizing Captain Jones is describing him.
"Mom, that's me," he hisses eagerly, his face lighting up in a grin. "I'm the hostage!" Words she never expected to hear from her son, but he's still grinning the brightest he has in weeks, so she has no complaints. Maybe she should thank Mary Margaret for the idea after all.
The captain hops down the helm stairs, the sword still raised. The crowd parts as to let him through, and he beelines straight for her and Henry, who looks about to explode with excitement. "You two are coming with me," he says loudly, as though addressing the whole crowd.
Still, his eyes are trained on her, boring into her skull with a shockingly raw amount of intensity. She swallows, deciding to write that off as an unexpected amount of acting skill.
"Oh no, not me," Emma blurts, and she doesn't know why, because she can practically hear her friend Ruby's voice shrieking in hear ear about how "fucking boneable" the pirate-actor is. Which is probably exactly why she is hit with the fierce instinct to cut and run; that's the last thing that should be on her mind right now. She's here for Henry, not dates.
She even glances for an exist, but looking around, she sees the ship is already moving, and has been for a while. The Manhattan harbor is already a fair distance away.
Captain Jones laughs darkly. "A pirate I may be, but a gentleman I am not. I'm not going to separate mother and child—no, you're both to be my hostage. And if it fetches me a higher price for your ransom, well, that's a cross I'm willing to bear."
The crowd chuckles and he smirks, lowering his head to stare at her up through his eyelashes. Okay, now she's sure he's flirting with her. She's definitely not imagining it. Still, she reasons, it's probably just part of his character.
"Fine," she sighs, crossing her arms. "Just quit pointing that thing at my kid."
He shoots her a dubious look, but appears no less amused. "Milady, it's plastic," he whispers. She shrugs, and he swivels on his heel to face the crowd. "I'm bringing my hostages below deck. Men, I shall return shortly. In the mean time, let's show these bilge rats how a ship-shape pirate vessel is run! Aye?"
The pirate-actors give a large cheer, their weapons raised to the sky. Captain Jones pivots back to her and Henry, shooing them back up the helm stairs and then down a ladder. It leads to a small room, which somehow manages to alsoseem historically accurate, with it's white moldings of mermaids that line the windows, candelabras and yellowing maps on a desk in the center of the room.
The only reminder that it's still the 21st century is the small radio and iPhone resting on the windowsill.
"Right," Captain Jones says, his voice suddenly much lighter, but no less accented. "So we'll be down here for about…ten, fifteen minutes, and then the Navy soldiers will show up, we'll all go back up on deck, and the real show will begin. Sound good?"
"Sure!" Henry replies excitedly, glancing up from the maps strewn across the desk. Emma glances at him, smiling despite herself.
"Lad, you're welcome to take a look around the rest of the area below deck. There's a hidden door under the ladder. Just be careful, eh? Ship's old."
"Cool!" Henry exclaims, darting off behind the ladder. Captain Jones eyes Emma for a moment, running his tongue along his teeth. "You're free to join the lad. It's not terribly interesting, unless you happen to have an inclination towards 19th century tall ships."
She snorts, glancing at him. "No thanks, Captain. That's more Henry's thing. I just wanna put my feet up for a bit."
"Killian," he says quickly, and then, as if catching his hurriedness, winces and flushes. "I mean, my name is Killian. You don't have to call me Captain Jones, love."
She stares at him for a moment, an eyebrow raised. "Alright, Killian," she says finally. She glances around the room one more time before crossing it and flopping backwards onto the small bed in the corner. He swallows palatably.
Emma props herself up on her elbows, watching him once more. "So, what's the story with this? Your ship is called the Jolly Roger, you've got a hook for a hand, and your 'first mate' wears a little red hat—and yet you're Jones, not Hook?"
"Ah," he chuckles. He comes around to lean against the table, wrapping his hand around the hook and pulling it out of his shirt sleeve. He wriggles his left hand, and drops the hook onto the the table. "Well, that's the legal. Somehow I can call my ship the Jolly Roger, but the character stuff—it's all tied up in these bloody rights. Can't call him Smee, can't call myself Hook. Jones is my real last name though."
Emma hums curiously, absorbing the information with a nod. "And the whole…pirate-actor thing? Hollywood spit you out or something?" She finds it hard to believe, given the shape of his face and the tenor of his voice, but stranger things have happened.
"I, ah, inherited the ship from my brother," Killian replies, scratching behind his ear. "Shortly after we'd sailed it to the states for a leisure trip, he…" He pauses, and glances off, "he had a heart attack."
She sucks in her breath. "Oh. I'm sorry I—"
"No!" He blurts, clearly embarrassed. "No, it's alright. That was probably too much information on my end."
"I don't mind," she finds herself saying, hearing the way her voice softens. What? She should mind. He's right, that was too much information. She doesn't know him, and probably will never see him again. And yet…despite it all, her usual flight instinct doesn't appear. If anything, it makes her want to stay, if only because she recognizes the look in his eyes.
He smiles at her, almost shyly. "After that, I didn't see much point in going back to England. Didn't have many ties there anyway. I was just out of college, and all I had was this ship and a history degree with a minor in acting. It just sort of…fell in to place, after that."
"Huh," she breathes, her eyes scanning his face. Inexplicably, she gets it. Gets the desire to turn your back on your past, and run away to a new place free of sympathetic eyes.
Gets him, as if he's a book she grew up reading.
A brief silence passes over them, as if both waiting for the other to dart out of the room. When she doesn't move, he straightens up and pushes a smirk onto his face. "What about you then, darling? Should I…be expecting my ransom check to come from anyone in particular?"
She scoffs. "Subtle," she says flatly, cocking her neck at him.
"I'm known for many things, love," Killian chuckles, "and that is not one of them. Still…my curiosity can't surprise you…" He trails off, clearly prompting for her name.
"Emma," she allows finally, shifting upright on the bed. She's sure to keep her tone careful, somehow still distrusting that a man this attractive—despite having the weirdest profession of anyone she's ever met, and she's a bail bonds-person, so that's saying something—could genuinely be interested in her. Still, a little harmless flirting with a man never to be seen again never hurt anyone. "Emma Swan."
"Emma," he echoes, rolling the word along his tongue. It sends shivers up her spine, hearing his lips wrapped around her name. A strange look crosses his face, but it's gone before she can study it. "Lovely. And there isn't a…Mr. Swan?"
"Again with the subtlety," she mumbles, rolling her eyes. "Does it matter?"
"It most certainly does," he quips huskily, licking his lips. Wherever the bashful behavior came from before, it's certainly nowhere to be found now.
She eyes him for a moment, her mouth twitching with the threat of turning into a smile. "No, there's no Mr. Swan. Just me and Henry."
He raises an eyebrow. "And what about the boy's father?"
He's pushing her too much, and they both suddenly realize it. Emma's waiting for the siren to blare in her head, the one that snaps at him and tells him to back off—but it never appears, as if he's Mary Margaret or Ruby or someone she trusts with the deep dark information of her life. And so, instead, she finds the truth spilling from her lips.
"He died, almost a year ago," she says quietly. "We'd been broken up since before Henry was born, but…he was still in our lives and it made things…complicated. And afterwards, Henry was just so sad that it didn't feel right." She pauses, as if waiting for him to awkwardly find a way to leave the conversation. He doesn't—just stares at her, his brow furrowed.
(She honestly can't believe she's told him this.)
"This is actually the happiest I've seen him in a while," she adds finally, softer. "I always knew the kid was a nerd, but he hasn't been able to stop talking about pirates and ships since I bought the tickets last month."
Killian watches her for another long moment. "Well…this is almost the end of the season. If you come by the harbor next week, I can take you and the lad out for a proper sail."
She swallows, noting dimly that somewhere during this conversation, she'd gotten up off the bed and had walked towards him. He'd met her halfway, and at this point, they're practically nose to nose. "I—"
"Hey, guys?" The voice of Henry interrupts whatever she was about to say, and they both leap apart. Killian hits the back of the desk clumsily, cursing under his breath. Henry appears from around the ladder, face scrunched up. "I think they've been calling for you…Mr…Captain."
Killian curses again, pulling up the billowy sleeve of his pirate shirt to check the watch hidden below it. "Bloody hell," he hisses, quickly turning on his heel and dashing for the ladder. "I was supposed to be up there five minutes ago."
He makes it halfway up the ladder before Emma calls back to him. "Uh, Killian? I think you forgot your hook." She tosses it towards him. He catches it nimbly, gesturing for them to follow.
He pauses briefly at the top of the ladder, throwing Emma a soft smile. "We'll talk after the show, yeah?"
—
What happens next is both comical and surreal. Not long after they resurface above deck, so does the "Navy"—or, to be more precise, a group of men dressed like 19th century naval soldiers. They seemingly appear from nowhere, and claim they've come to free the group from the clutches of pirates.
(Henry later reveals he saw them below deck waiting around for their cue and playing with their phones.)
And at the front of the pack, in a ridiculously shaped hat that can only mean he's the leader of sorts, is Mary Margaret's husband, David.
Emma lets out a bark of laughter, immediately clapping her hand over her mouth, but David spots her instantly, his face flushing as red as her jacket. Still, to his credit, he doesn't break character.
(She's always wondered where he disappears to on weekends.)
(This also explains the smile Mary Margaret had when she suggested Emma and Henry come this.)
The show begins with a battle of pirates versus soldiers, complete with packets of fake blood and actors swinging around the deck on ropes. The crowd oohs and ahhs, and Emma rolls her eyes until she catches herself doing the same.
To Emma's surprise, the show itself is actually really good, and it's only when Martha-Heather-Jo next to her whispers something to her husband about a good Yelp review does Emma remember it's not actually real.
And then comes the final showdown between Killian and David, who Emma has figured plays a Naval captain himself. Somewhere during the earlier fight, David lost his taco-shaped hat, and Killian had abandoned the heavy, long leather jacket, and now they circle each other around the wheel of the ship. And then, suddenly, Killian breaks off into a sprint.
He bypasses the helm stairs all together, leaping onto the deck and nearly crashing into the group. David takes the stairs, giving the crowd time to part so they can parry in the center of the ship.
Killian is faster where David is stronger, and the crowd loves it. At one point, even Henry raises his fists into the air and shouts, "Go Captain Jones!"
David shoots him an indignant look, which elicits a loud laugh from Emma. This seems to briefly distract Killian, who turns to look at her with parted lips. David seizes the opportunity and brings his sword down hard on Killian's. He recovers quickly, and it leads to a brief struggle for the upper hand that feelsweirdly genuine, but after a few more moments, Killian manages to disarm David.
The crowd cheers loudly as David sinks to his knees. "I concede," he mutters, "I concede."
After a few more moments of accepting his cheers with a set of flourishing bows, Killian helps David to his feet and clears his throat.
"And that's our show. We've already begun our return to Manhattan's harbor and should be docking soon. If you have any further questions about 19th century piracy, tall ships, or devilishly handsome pirate captains," —at this point he turns to look at Emma, smirking wildly— "please, don't hesitate to ask me or any of the other actors."
He's immediately thronged by people, and although he shoots her an apologetic look, she feels oddly relieved, since she still doesn't know what to say to Killian's offer of sailing. True, Henry would probably love being out on the ship, but would he love being on a date?
Even Emma wasn't too dense to accept that Killian was attracted to her, and sure, it was mutual, but that didn't necessarily make it a good idea. She'd brought Henry to this show to take his mind off his dad's death, not remind him of it by bringing him on a date.
She forces the thought from her mind, and sets off to instead find David. Henry has already occupied himself at the wheel, likely to badger the actor manning it with questions. She finds David leaning against the railing, watching the city of Manhattan slowly grow closer.
She sidles up to him and bumps his shoulder. "So," she says lightly, "this is a real coincidence, huh?"
David scoffs. "Yeah, sure. Mary Margaret finally told you about this, right?"
Emma's lip tug downwards. "Actually, no. She just thought it might be a good way to get Henry's mind off…you know…things."
"Right," David agrees distractedly, briefly glancing over his shoulder.
"So when were you going to tell me about this, huh?"
"It's just a hobby," he sighs, but he's smiling. "I met Killian about a year ago at a ball game. He got to talking about his business, I'd done some acting in college, and Mary Margaret and I needed some extra money for the baby, and…I don't know, it seemed like fun."
(Emma gets the sense he just likes playing the hero, but she bites back the thought.)
He shoots her a funny look. "Mary Margaret really didn't tell you I'd be here?" When Emma shakes her head, he clucks his tongue and looks away. "Uh oh."
That gets her attention. She slaps his arm, widening her eyes. "What?" She snaps. "What's 'uh oh'?"
David winces, and appears to consider his words carefully. "Well…" he drawls, much to Emma's annoyance, "Mary Margaret has been trying to set you up with Killian for over a year."
"What?" Emma hisses, not daring to look over her shoulder, where she's sure to find him.
"I kept telling her not to meddle, but…she's stubborn. And she just wants you to be happy, but…you know her," David sighs, shrugging his shoulders.
Emma frowns, considering this new information. Had Killian known who she was the whole time? "If Mary Margaret has been trying to set us up for over a year, why am I just now meeting him?"
"The first couple of times, she tried to invite you both over for dinner, but you always got wind of it and flaked at the last second," David replies, an odd fondness in her voice, and she smiles. Even though she's known Mary Margaret longer, before she met David, she's always liked him. And despite occasionally feeling like the third wheel, she's also always felt at home with them, like a little family.
Emma remembers the dinners David's talking about—none-to-subtle hints about Emma's nonexistent love life mixed in with questions about what kind of fish she wanted for dinner had been enough to make her bolt.
A frown crosses David's face. "And then the last time…was the night Neal died."
"Oh." Emma remembers that night clearest of all.
She'd actually been on her way to dinner that time. She'd already dropped Henry off at his sleepover, and was halfway to the subway station. After a straight month of heckling from Mary Margaret, Emma had decided that maybe it was time to stop living in the past. Time to give this guy Mary Margaret was obsessed with her meeting a chance. Time to give herself a chance.
And then, as if the universe was punishing her for the very existence of that thought, she'd gotten the call.
The call that forced her to turn around, and sit Henry down and tell him his father had been hit by a taxi cab.
Emma sighs, shaking her head to clear her thoughts, and turns back to David. "Well, shit," she whispers.
"Yeah," he agrees. And then, as if seriously contemplating if this was against his better judgment, he slowly adds, "But Killian really is a great guy, Emma."
She lets out a nervous huff of laughter, feeling her walls shoot up. "He's really weird."
"He has a weird job," David corrects, cocking his neck at her as if saying he sees right through her excuse. "He's a lot more than an actor with a boat."
She doesn't say anything. Instead, she turns her gaze back out onto the sea and sighs into the wind. They're almost back to Manhattan now. David throws his arm around her shoulders and tugs her towards him for a brief hug before setting off, vowing to find out why Henry cheered for Killian instead of him.
It makes Emma smile despite herself, and she watches him go. Almost inevitably, her focus shifts to Killian, who is already watching her. He smiles when he finds her gaze on him, and excuses himself from Martha-Heather-Jo and her chubby children.
And as he makes his way towards her, the wind gently tousling his hair, Emma knows David was right. She sees the man, not the pirate.
(Pirate-actor. Whatever.)
He hesitates a few feet in front of her, as if nervous, and then sways towards her a few more steps. "So, lass, I never got your answer," he says lowly, eyes briefly darting to her lips.
She narrows her eyes. "Did you know who I was? That I was the one Mary Margaret kept trying to set you up with?"
He scratches behind his ear again, and she files that nervous tick away for later, though she doesn't know why. "Not initially, no," he admits. "Only after you gave me your name. I really did single you out as my hostage for purely selfish, and ignorant, reasons."
Her smile grows. "I thought my son was the hostage, not me," she replies, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh no," he murmurs lowly, stepping closer. "It was always you, Emma."
Her hands slip into the back of her pockets, and she shifts towards him, as if by some magnetic pull. "Huh. But you never did get your ransom," she says, finding her voice just as low and husky as his.
His brows shoot up, a smirk breaking across his face. "For your freedom, all I ask is a date. Come sailing with me."
She hesitates long enough for worry to appear in his features, and her only instinct is to want to reach out and smooth the creases in his skin. "Okay," she agrees breathily, not surprised to note that he's got her backed up against the railing, practically flush against him.
The ship lurches as it docks, and he falls into her. Immediately, the blushing nerves from before resurface as he stammers and disentangles himself from her embrace.
A part of her wishes he hadn't.
After another long moment of staring at each other, she steps back. "I should probably go find Henry," she murmurs.
"Aye," he agrees, but doesn't move. "So, next Sunday? You and the lad? Say, noon?"
She's touched he still wants to include Henry in that offer. She's much more used to men awkwardly finding excuses once they realize she has a son. "That sounds good," she replies, biting her lip as she turns to go.
She stops a few feet away from him, and glances back over her shoulder. "Bummer, though," she says, just loud enough for him to hear, "I'd been hoping my ransom would be a kiss."
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i played a lot with that ending but this is the one that felt the most right. i wanted it to be kind of open ended? sorry if this seemed sort of OOC, i just felt like it was also the most in-character the two of them could be without all the drama of revenge and betrayal and what they'd really be like if they'd had mostly- but not entirely- normal lives. hopefully there were still hints of their original selves.
and i know normally MM is not hook's biggest fan, but again...if she'd met killian without the pretense of him being a real pirate, she'd totally be supportive. so.
anyway, i'm still working on my anastasia fic, if anyone is curious, but...this oneshot just kinda hit me like a bag of bricks and i had to get it out.
reviews make me very happy!