Disclaimer: i do not own once upon a time or any of these characters, but if i did...
title: throw me in the water (don't think about the splash i will create)
summary: Emma doesn't know what she wants and Hook is waiting for her to figure it out.
pairing: captain swan, emma x killian jones | hook
word count: 1187 (drabble/oneshot)
rating: t
genre: romance/angst
author's note: because we all know that emma is going to be confused and hook is going to be so in love with her, that he'll take anything she'll give him.
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The sound of him zipping up his pants is what pulls her out of the moment.
And after that, she is on him in a matter of seconds.
"If you tell anyone about this—" Emma starts to warn but doesn't get the chance.
There's really little to no point to it anyway.
"I won't," Hook answers, automatically.
.
.
The glare, the warning— Emma doesn't know why she'd even done it the first time, of course Hook won't say anything. She knows he won't. As much as Emma tries to deny it to herself, he'd do anything she asked of him.
It's "as you wish" all over again.
The hardness of Emma's face slips for just a second, and then she's turning away and walking towards the foot of his bed. It's where she's left most of her clothes (some items she can't seem to find, are probably twisted up with his sheets and— since she doesn't plan on crawling around in his bed to find them— would be better left behind).
"I can't believe I let this happen again,"she says out loud, snatching her blue jeans from the cabin floor as if she's angry at herself. It's a show and she doesn't know why she's letting the scene play out. Besides the fact that she's been dreaming about Hook for days (not consistently but enough that it had started to affect her when awake) the one thing she hadn't felt all night— and she had felt plenty of things— was guilt.
His hand grazing her ribs, his mouth gasping into her neck, it had all left Emma feeling as if she was exactly where she needed to be, like for once she wasn't lost. It was like that every time.
Emma drags her jeans up her legs, wondering if he's watching her, knowing that he is (he's always looking at her, always waiting), and fights the urge she has to just throw everything down and stay.
Since saving Henry and making it back to Storybrooke, Emma hasn't been able to shake him. With everything that had happened there, Hook had grown new in her eyes and his admiration had been one thing, but his feelings (so blatant, so strong) and his looks (like he has no plans to ever look at anything else), and the kiss that she swears never even happened; are other things entirely.
Hook is under her skin, in her veins, in her head… or worse, in her heart and as far as anyone else knows the only place left in her heart for someone to fill is Neal's place.
And honestly Emma feels that way too… most times, (she doesn't cry over just anyone) but not consistently enough that it truly means anything and definitely not when Hook's around.
(She's always so angry and she can't take her walls down around Neal and if it's true love, shouldn't it be unshakable? She can't imagine Mary Margaret or David looking at anyone else the way they look at each other.)
She picks up her shirt.
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"What do you want from me Emma?"
She pauses.
There he goes again… using her name. He does whenever he can now.
It's always "Emma this", or "Emma that", or just plain old "Emma." breathed in a sigh as she pushes him down on his bed and no matter how many times Hook says it, it always sounds like a spell, reminding himself that she's real, spoken carefully, like if it comes out wrong she'll vanish forever.
Even now it's the same. Even now, with the frustration in his voice, it's still a prayer.
Just out of the corner of her eye, Emma can see the few steps he takes towards her and she doesn't know what to tell him.
Hook has never up and asked anything of her like this. It's always just been acceptance and no explanations (and maybe lingering looks, and hurt expressions too) but he's never asked her what she feels, or what she's doing, what she wants, or how long she's going to fight what he knows (because that's really what he's asking isn't it?)
And suddenly Emma is reminded again that Hook has no reason to be in Storybrooke. No reason for the Jollyroger to be docked and stuck.
Hook wasn't made for this life. He's thrill and spontaneity, danger and life at sea. They made it back from Neverland and sure, he's more or less accepted by the town now (becoming a hero seems to have that effect) but Emma doesn't think he'd done any of what he had for acceptance from them (maybe self-acceptance but that's a mess full of years of self-loathing that she doesn't really want to think about).
The real point, in the end, is that Emma knows that Hook hadn't done what he had to live out the rest of his life in a town full of fairytale characters, so he must still be here for something else… and she'd be deluding herself to think it's something other than her.
(And sometimes, even though she feels bad about it later, Emma feels powerful knowing that she's finally— finally—important enough to someone that they actually stay.
It's new.)
She still hasn't turned to face him, even after his steps towards her, and she wont (mostly because she doesn't want to see how it all plays out on his face).
"I don't know what I want from you," Emma answers, part of it false, while another part—a relevant and unmistakeable part— is true.
And Hook must be able to tell because though she an hear the intake of breath before the start of his denial, he never says anything.
Instead, a moment or two later, she can hear glass shattering against his wall.
Emma doesn't flinch, if there is one thing she can be sure of when it comes to Hook (this man who has probably killed enough people to no longer remember all of their faces, this hero who had helped her protect those holding the other places in her fragile heart) it is that he'd never do anything to hurt her.
When she finally puts her arms through her sleeves and finishes getting dressed she turns around. Hook is seated at the edge of his bed, his head resting in his hand and his other arm, the handless one, resting over his bent knee. His eyes are closed.
(Emma is glad she hadn't watched how he had gotten here. Her heart is clenching in her chest and she honestly does wish she had something to say, something comforting— he's always tried to comfort her— but she doesn't. And he's just shattered the glass holding his rum.)
Emma picks up her keys from the wooden floor, smoothing her finger over the one that unlocks his quarters. She wonders, not for the first time, if anyone knows she has it or just how much she actually uses it.
"I love you."
Emma lifts her head.
He hasn't moved an inch and it was said so low that Emma's not sure she's heard it or that he's said it, or if he had, if he'd even intended for her to hear.
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She still whispers, "I know," before she shuts the door behind her.