A/N: So this was a thing that happened? I don't know, I've been having a lot of season 2 CS feelings and this...somehow was written in a haze today. It's probably, likely a complete and total mess because I was super impatient about posting it, but I hope you guys enjoy it!
Warnings for mentions of alcoholism. Set in some canon-divergent time after 2x12 where Cora is still dead but Neal and Tamara never came to town. How? Who knows. This was written, though, so WHOOPS. Still, I hope it's enjoyable.
As always, thank you to Ella, Amber, and Steph for encouraging me and putting up with me. I don't know how you guys do it.
-/-
She gets the call around midnight.
It's a little frustrating, given that she was this close to being able to go home. She usually waits until midnight at the station, resolving that if no one calls by then she's going home and just turning her phone on high volume in case anyone happens to need her. Still, Emma chose to take the night shift. It's her fault. She could have let David take it again, could have gone home like he'd insisted, but she didn't. That means she has to answer calls about drunks who need an escort home.
Go, her.
"Sheriff," Kronk greets, looking up from the glasses in his hand when the bells attached the door chime to announce her arrival. It's a little too much, she thinks, to attach loud, ringing objects to a door in a place full of drunks, but maybe that's the point. Kronk is an eccentric guy, after all.
She isn't going to think about how llama guy - or the guy that accidentally turned the other guy into the llama, if not the actual llama - is serving drinks at the Rabbit Hole to a bunch of fairytale characters. Of which she is technically one.
She is definitely, definitely not going to think about that.
"Yeah, you...pulled the lever, Kronk," she attempts, the joke falling flat. Emma isn't fond of herself for trying it in the first place, "now I'm here."
Kronk grimaces. "Do you know how often I get told that joke by drunk patrons, here? It gets a little old."
"Right," Emma nods curtly. "Got it. Sorry. What was the problem?"
He gestures to where a man is slumped over at the corner of the bar, all black leather and dark hair. His face is barely visible, the way he's slumped, but ringed fingers are clenched around a bottle of rum and there's a glimmer of metal on the wood of the table.
Emma sighs. It was only a matter of time before Hook came out of hiding. "I'll take care of it," she assures Kronk.
Kronk frowns. "I mean, I feel bad for the guy...alone like that. Seemed sort of sad, if you ask me."
Emma's mouth downturns. "You do, huh?"
He lifts up his hands. "Just my two cents."
Emma sighs. Then, she moves to sit in the chair beside the nearly slumbering pirate. He doesn't acknowledge her.
She clears her throat. "I see your injuries healed."
"Aye," Hook manages to get out, lifting his head up. His eyes are bleary and his hair looks tousled - sticking up every which way. "That they did. I suppose I'm to thank you, for that?"
"Thank your nurses," Emma rolls her eyes. "They're the ones that saved you, not me. I'd tell you to thank Whale, too, but," she gestures to the glass in his hand. "I think he had too much of your problem to be much of a help."
"I can handle my rum, Swan."
"Sure you can," Emma replies, not sounding as if she believes him for a second. "What happened to your flask, anyway? Wouldn't have took you as one for social drinking."
"Not anymore, at least," he sighs. Killian pulls his flask out of his pocket, uncorking it and turning it upside down dramatically. It's empty.
"You mean that thing runs out?" Emma asks, raising her eyebrows. The rate he used it at, she's surprised it has a bottom. She was almost sure it had to be one of those Harry Potter-y infinitely spacious things - like Hermione's bag but for heavy drinkers.
It's a bizarre thought, but what isn't?
"Aye. Quite unfortunate that it does. My ship used to be much more well stocked with rum, but, well," Killian's expression turns sour. "It's not as if I was expecting to need much more of it."
Because he was expecting to die when he went after Rumplestiltskin. Of course. His martyr tendencies make her gut twist a little, feeling things turn for the super fucking depressing. "You could always go sober," she suggests, trying to change the subject.
He laughs. "Would ruin the pirate reputation, lass."
"Right," Emma replies, a little flatly. "Well, Kronk is cutting you off. So your reputation is just going to have to suffer."
"Tragic," he mutters, sliding the glass over to the other side of the bar - closer to where Kronk will have an easier time in picking it up. "All a man has is his reputation, Swan."
It's meant to be a teasing joke, but she frowns when she realizes just how true that is for him. And it isn't as if he has a good reputation, after everything. Granted, that's his own fault, but -
still.
"Right."
-/-
She walks him back to his ship, fully intending that all she's going to do is walk him there. He stumbles, a little, but seems to manage just fine walking back with her at his side. It isn't the worst drunk she's had to escort back home, by any means.
But Emma usually doesn't know the drunk that well, either.
(Not that she knows Hook well - but she thinks of the beanstalk and the hospital bed and thinks maybe, maybe she understands him to an extent.)
"Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger," Hook sighs, once they're both on board. He's the one who helps her up to get on, which seems wrong considering he's the one drunk off his ass.
Her eyes flit around the deck. She's seen it at the dock before, sure, after Cora died. This is the first time she's been on board, though.
"Nice," Emma supplies, quietly. It's a little more than nice - grand enough to fit a Pirates of the Caribbean movie - but 'nice' will have to do.
Hook smirks, at that. "Nice, eh?"
"Let's get you to your quarters," Emma sighs instead of replying, guiding him down with her hand on his back.
"A beautiful woman directing me to bed? My, my, this night could turn into quite the affair after all-"
"Shouldn't you be too drunk to flirt?" Emma asks, expression furrowing as he sits down on the bed.
He strips off his heavy coat and knocks off his boots, grinning. "I'm never too anything to pass up the chance at wooing you, Swan."
Emma huffs, crossing her arms. "Just…don't do anything stupid."
"Wasn't planning on it," Hook grunts, lying down in his bunk. It's small - she notes - a stark contrast to the four paneled king sized she was picturing with all his bragging. "Though I do appreciate the care you're providing, Swan. Say, does tucking in count as a Sheriff duty, here?"
"I'm just staying to make sure you don't choke on your own vomit," Emma tells him, candidly.
"A lovely image."
"Better than a rigid body on a slab at the coroner's," Emma replies flatly.
"Didn't know you cared."
"I don't like paperwork."
"You don't like me, either."
"True," Emma concedes, nodding. "You did just try to kill Belle and now she's amnesiac for the foreseeable future. So there's that. Plus the whole helping Cora thing, which could have killed my entire family. Maybe I'm not your biggest fan."
"And yet you saved my life?" he looks up at her, a little disbelieving. "Why?"
"I haven't saved you yet. Hopefully I won't have to send you to the ER for alcohol poisoning-"
"That's not what I meant," Hook murmurs, "At the hospital, you didn't want Rumplestiltskin to find me. Why?"
"Same reason that I'm here right now," Emma states, "I'm the sheriff and it's kind of my job to make sure people don't just drop dead. And - again - paperwork."
"The nurses told me you seemed quite worried, commanding them to hide me and keep me safe," he drawls, his blue eyes still fixed on hers.
Emma breaks the eye contact. "Yeah, well, maybe the nurses have been drinking too. Who knows."
They stay silent, for a few moments, both unwilling to say much else.
"Want to know a secret, Swan?" Hook hums, still flat on his back.
Emma sighs. "What, Hook?"
"I'm truthfully," he swallows, "not very intoxicated at all. Just wanted to annoy Kronk, he can be a bit of a git. An unconscious pirate draped over your bar can be bad for business, I'm told."
"You…" Emma starts, shaking her head. "Are such an asshole. You know that, right?"
"So I've been told," Hook sighs. "You can leave now, if you want. I won't keep you."
"Yeah, not happening."
"I don't think I'm in any danger of 'choking on my own vomit', as you so colorfully and elegantly put it. I've suffered worse bouts of drinking alone on my ship many times before. Neverland was perfect for that."
"I'm still not leaving."
"Enjoying my company?"
"Not enjoying the idea of waking up to find reports of you dead on the chance you're lying, thanks. I'm staying."
"You truly think a man that drunk could speak to you, like this?"
"I've learned to believe a lot of weird shit, Hook. And if Captain Hook's liver is ninety percent scar tissue, I'm not exactly anxious to see the end result."
"I see," he says, quietly. "It's a good thing I'm not that drunk, then."
Emma frowns as she considers this.
He didn't go to the bar because he ran out of rum, she realizes. If he had, he could have just gone to the liquor store and drank alone as much as he wanted to. The bar, at least, has people in it, unlike his ship. Hook is lonely.
She knows the feeling well enough, she can recognize it when she sees it.
Emma sighs, leaning her back against the chair in his quarters. "I'm staying here, Hook," she tells him, arms folding around herself.
"Well," he sighs, sounding more dramatic than she's sure is truly necessary, "help yourself. I can hardly stop you from wanting to be in my enchanting company, love."
She scoffs, but she stays.
-/-
Emma is still thinking about it, the next morning, working at the station with her father and sorting through the next bout of paperwork. Apparently, someone has been dognapping. Hopefully there isn't a Cruella De Ville in Storybrooke, or else she might have to keep an eye out for coats. Pongo can only be missing for so long without Archie running every bit of the composure an entire cursed education in psychology has given him.
She sighs as the ages-old computer system freezes, yet again.
"What is this, Windows 95?" Emma asks, her face scrunching in frustration.
"Do you think we can convince Regina to make room in the budget for a technology upgrade?" David asks, curiously.
"Why would she do that when she can," Emma makes air quotes around her next words, "improve Storybrooke's air with her apple orchards. Trees should not be that expensive, and yet…"
"It's Regina," David finishes, sighing. "I don't know how we'd get new equipment in, anyway. It's not as if we can import things with a magical barrier."
"I could always make a trip over to the nearest Best Buy," Emma shrugs, pressing 'Ctrl+Alt+Delete' for the twentieth time today. "What, with my mystical Savior border hopping abilities."
David snorts. "Yeah, Henry too, since he wasn't technically part of the curse, I guess. And, now that I think about it...Hook wasn't, either."
Emma's brow furrows at the mention. "I don't think he'd be open to running errands."
"He might be busy at the Rabbit Hole, which…" David trails off, trying to sound innocuous and failing miserably. "I hear you were at a call at, last night, for Hook. And you never came home last night."
"I walked him home," Emma rolls her eyes. "I wanted to make sure he hadn't poisoned himself, the last thing this town needs is more people in the hospital."
"I see," David nods. "And you...stayed the night."
"I don't know," Emma mutters, her face twisting into a frown. "It's just...he doesn't seem to have any real friends here. Or anyone at all, really. It felt like the right thing to do. I just sat in a chair, made sure he didn't...I don't know."
Emma struggles to articulate herself properly, unable to justify her actions even to herself.
"And you're concerned about how the man who once worked for Cora is getting along with everyone else?" David replies skeptically.
"Well," Emma sighs. "Isn't that what we're doing with Regina?"
His eyebrows raise. "Fair enough."
"And it's not like I'm...concerned," Emma shrugs, trying to keep the gesture casual. She shouldn't be trying, it should just...be natural. She doesn't care, has no reason to. She owes nothing to the pirate slumped at the bar, his only real friend his ship.
And maybe she knows what it's like to be alone and friendless, someone without anyone or anything to call her own except for a mode of transportation and a tattoo and stupid fucking jewelry (a car or a ship or a flower or a lost love or a keychain or pirate's luck - do the differences between the two even matter?).
"Right," David replies, not sounding convinced.
"I'm not," she repeats, as if this will help her convince herself.
-/-
She gets another call, a few days later.
And, yup, she guessed it - it's at the Rabbit Hole. And it's about an eyeliner wearing, earring possessing, swaggering swashbuckler. Kronk's description, not hers.
"Fancy meeting you here," Emma deadpans, sitting beside the swashbuckler in question with a groan.
"Have I grown predictable?" Hook asks, raising his eyebrows. "How unfortunate."
Emma sighs. "Are you pretending to be drunk again, or is this real?"
"How else am I expected to get a lady's attention?"
"And they say chivalry is dead," Emma rolls her eyes.
"I'm always a gentleman," Hook protests, eyes twinkling. "Come to walk me home again, sherriff?"
"You're barely buzzed," Emma points out. "Now I know you were wasting my time."
She gets up to leave, fully intending to before his hand catches at her wrist.
"Wait," he says, sounding uncharacteristically soft. "Wait."
Right. The lonely thing.
Emma gets it, but she doesn't want to.
Just like she didn't want to get it back on the beanstalk - didn't want him to get her that quickly about her past love life and abandonment issues and - fuck. This entire situation is fucked.
"I'm not," she sighs, twisting her hands in her lap when she relents, sitting back beside him. "I'm not great with the trusting people thing, Hook."
"As we've previously acknowledged," Hook replies with a sigh, tilting the rest of the drink back. The bartender - not Kronk, this time, he must have gone home once he had enough of the town's shit - behind the counter only shakes his hand, but it's not as if the people here have to be unused to it. From what she's gathered, the pirate is kind of a fixture here, now.
She thinks of the reason why and frowns.
"Especially people who," her eyes flicker over to a familiar face at the bar, tucked into a dark corner, "shoot completely innocent librarians."
He follows her line of sight. "Ah. Understandable."
She gets an idea, then.
"You're going to apologize to Belle. Or Lacey, whatever she's calling herself now," Emma says, shortly, gesturing to where the brunette is sipping at something bright and neon. "You owe her that, at the very least."
"She's better off now," he mutters, shaking his head.
"You shot her," Emma points out, unamused.
"I knew she'd be healed within minutes," Hook grunts, pressing his face into the heel of his palm. "She's better off now, anyway, without the Crocodile darkening her doorstep."
Emma frowns. "Without everything that makes her who she is?"
"Without the Crocodile," he emphasizes, again. "
"She's had enough decisions taken away from her," Emma retorts. "The last thing she needed was another one. If she chose to move on, it should have been her choice. Not yours."
"The man killed his last wife," Hook says darkly. "Forgive me if I'm anxious at the idea of what he's going to do to his next romantic partner."
"You and I both know what you did wasn't out of concern for Belle's personal welfare," Emma points out, not having any of it. "It was revenge, pure and simple."
Hook sighs, seemingly acknowledging the truth of her statement. Hook knocks back the rest of his drink - a muffled 'I'll need this' leaving his lips - before he gets up.
Lacey stares at him - glares at him, more like - when he ambles up to where she's drinking. Emma watches from a distance,
"I'm here to apologize," Hook says slowly.
"For...shooting me?" Lacey asks, raising her dark eyebrows. "Funny, I didn't think apologies were a cure for bullets."
"No," he concedes. "Magic is, however."
Her mouth hardens into a thin line, at that. "Right. Well, apology not accepted."
"Understandable," Hook nods, looking as if this was the answer he expected.
"And he's picking up the rest of your tab," Emma adds, walking up to the two of them. Hook doesn't look surprised. "Just don't...don't drink too much, Lacey."
"Never do," she says, chirpily. It's a lie, but one Emma lets go of with a reluctant sigh.
-/-
She does end up walking him home, after all. It's a twisted sense of duty, maybe, but something she feels like she has to do regardless.
"I'm glad I did that," he says, finally. "I...I haven't exactly been a man I've been proud of, these past few...centuries. I regret doing what I did to Belle. You're right, she should have made that decision herself. It wasn't mine to make. And it certainly wasn't mine to attack her."
"I'm glad you realize that," Emma replies, crossing her arms and scuffing her boots against each other. "And here I thought you didn't care about anyone but yourself," she looks up from her shoes to meet his eyes, a little curious.
"Maybe I just needed reminding that I could," Hook replies carefully.
Emma's breath hisses out of her lungs as she sighs, rocking back at her heels. She doesn't know what to say, to that. All she can do is stare at him and stop in her tracks. "You did, huh?"
He doesn't reply. Hook just stops to stare right back at her, eyes careful as they flit over the planes of her face.
Emma swallows, then turns around to head back in the direction of home. He can walk himself the rest of the way, she's sure.
"If you need anything," Hook says, finally, once her back is turned and she's already paces away. She stils, turning around to face where he's illuminated by the streetlamps. His face is hardly visible from where she's standing, but his tone makes clear his slight discomfort with what he's trying to say. "You know where to find me, Swan."
It's an olive branch if she's ever seen one.
"I will," she reassures him, voice steady, before she turns around to leave again.
Emma could swear she feels his gaze burning a hole in her back as she does.
-/-
She's not hanging out with Hook, per se.
It's just if they happen to find themselves in the same place together at the same time, it's not the worst thing in the world. This was the case at a sailing supply store that she maybe, possibly, hinted at him liking and mentioned what time and place she'd be there the next day because Henry is suddenly determined on figuring out how to tie knots - maybe it's a weird boy scout phase - and Hook is a surprisingly - or maybe not surprisingly - good teacher, so she can at least pass some of his knowledge on. Maybe she's run into him while shopping for modern clothing - hiding her grin as he finds a black leather jacket she knows he's not going to be willing to part from. Every time she sees him, afterwards, he's in tight jeans, a dark button down with a matching vest, and that jacket.
It's not like she keeps up with this, though. It isn't like they're friends. It's just a ridiculously small town that makes it easy for them to cross paths.
This time, it's an ice cream parlor run by a blonde woman who feels familiar enough, as often as she's visited this place. Emma is two bites into Rocky Road, propped up in a booth and texting her father (a reminder to pick up milk before she comes home, he'll be at the station until late) before she goes to pick Henry up from school. Things have calmed down in this town, surprisingly. There's no evil, conspiring villain trying to murder everyone or cursing everyone or turning people into rats or whatever, exactly, storybook villains conspire to do. Just petty crimes and dognappers and whatever the latest Regina drama - hopefully nonthreatening - is. It's cold enough outside in the winter, maybe the next will try to turn everyone into an icle.
"Need anything else, Sheriff?" the woman behind the counter - Sarah, Emma thinks her name was - asks. Emma is the lone customer at the moment, it figures that she'd ask.
"Yup," Emma replies, looking up briefly. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Sarah replies, her face a little tight.
Emma isn't here to analyze the weird behavior of townspeople. She can do that anywhere else. She frowns, turning back to her phone thoughtfully before she hears the bells attached to the door chime.
"Fancy meeting you here," Hook grins, as if she hasn't mentioned she comes here every Wednesday before she picks Henry up. A midweek pick me up, she called it. He slides in the booth opposite her, eyeing the spoon in her hands. "What do you call this, again?"
"Hi. Have you really never tried ice cream?" Emma asks, dubiously.
"Can't say that I have, Swan," he raps his knuckles against the table, a little absentmindedly, as he looks at her. "As much as you seem to enjoy the confection, it seems I'm remiss. "
Emma picks up her spoon, looking a little thoughtful. Emma points it towards him.
He raises his brow, a little quizzically.
"Eat it," she instructs, firmly.
Hook takes the spoon, a little reluctantly. When he brings it to his lips, his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. "Bloody hell, Swan."
"Mhm," Emma sits back in her seat, satisfied with herself. "See? Take that, Enchanted Forest. You can't freeze cream without electricity."
Hook seems to contemplate this as he digs in for a second bite, sliding her container closer to him. "Ah, I see your parents are still determined to move back? And our giant friend - Anton - could be successful with the bean crop?"
Emma groans, propping her chin on her hand. She's talked about this before, maybe, somewhere in between sitting at the docks to clear her head (with company, as it turned out) and ordering at Granny's. It's thoughtful, really, that he remembered. Perhaps he's determined to go back, as well, he always listened more than he expressed his own feelings on the matter.
"You must hate it here, don't you?" Emma asks thoughtfully, meeting his eyes.
Hook's lips twitch. "I'm warming up to this land, I must admit."
"Oh?" Emma asks, curiously.
"Perhaps it's the company…" he trails off, swirling the spoon in the ice cream, his rings glinting in the florescent lighting, "or this frozen cream, as you called it, that I'm warming up to."
She smiles, closed lipped and a little fond. "It is, huh?"
"Aye," he nods, his eyes fixed on hers. "It is."
An alarm sounds - a light chirping - and it breaks them both out of their line of thought. Emma looks at the time on her phone with a frown. "Damn it. I've gotta pick Henry up from school, it lets out in ten minutes."
"Aye," he nods, moving to stand. "I should get going, as well."
"I'll see you around?" she asks, grabbing her bag and adjusting the strap on her shoulder.
Hook nods. "That you will."
-/-
Her mother is the only one home when she gets back, Henry bounding up the stairs to work on his homework. It's a writing assignment, she's gleaned, so he's a little excited. Emma is just relieved to see he's still a kid, still happy, still enthusiastic given the mess their lives are. She's let Regina see him more, little by little - she still doesn't trust the woman as far as she can throw her, and it seems things are calming down enough for everyone to at least catch their breath.
Which she does, her back thumping against the front door as she closes it.
"Where have you been all day?" Snow asks, her tone airy and curious though Emma knows she has to be dying to pry the information from her.
Emma shrugs casually, moving to set her things down on the coffee table. "I just picked Henry off. Wednesdays are my day off, so I just…" Emma lets the thought sit, for a moment, thinking of what to say next. "I just relaxed."
"Relaxing is good."
"My reasoning," Emma replies.
"You seem…" Snow starts, eyeing her contemplatively. "Happier. Content, even."
Emma bristles. "I'm not…"
"Happy?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "That's not a bad thing, Emma. I'm just glad you seem more settled, that's all. Do you feel like...you've found your place here?"
Emma swallows, frowning and tapping her foot against the floor. "I think not having a cast of villains trying to kill us helps, sure."
She's happy to see her mother happy, again, finally able to forgive herself for what happened with Cora. Good and evil isn't always clear cut and blowing out a candle can leave a hell of a lot of smoke, but at least...at least now Snow is back to her normal self.
So, this means she's back to being nosy. Which isn't entirely ideal, though it's a definite step up from self-loathing.
"Ah, but you're always calmer when you come home from the company of one of them," Snow points out, voice not accusing but pointed nonetheless.
Emma balks, catching her meaning. "How did you…"
Snow taps her ear, a soft grin on her lips. "Sorry, Emma. The benefit of having a bunch of dwarves as friends, I suppose. You get an idea of what's going on in town."
"Why, because Hook and I…" Emma groans, burying her head in her hands as she slumps on the couch. Snow is seated, calmly, in an armchair across from her. "Because we run into each other, sometimes?"
"It's not bad to have friends," Snow notes.
"We're not friends," Emma emphasizes.
Snow gives her a look that says she knows when she's lying. Emma feels herself flush, in spite of herself, because she isn't lying.
"We really aren't friends."
"Like I said," Snow continues, calmly, taking a sip from the herbal tea in her hands. "It's not bad to have friends. Not that he's necessarily yours, but it's nice to have someone you can...relax with."
A stubborn pout forms on Emma's lips as she considers her words.
"And if you feel like you've found your place, here," Snow states, sounding hopeful. "Maybe you could find your place back in the Enchanted Forest, too."
Emma can feel a knot forming in her skull, a precursor to a terrible headache that she's sure is going to form.
-/-
Emma has such a hard time getting the thought out of her head, she sneaks out of the loft after dinner like a teenaged girl determined to go to a booze-filled party after curfew. It's stupid, she reasons, the whole thing is stupid. But she just really, really needs to reassure him that she's right. That they're not friends, that this isn't anything, that they aren't anything.
Hopefully, this won't sound as bad as it does in her head.
That's how she ends up boarding the Jolly Roger when the sun is setting in the sky. Hook is stationed at the helm, looking at something on it she can't see.
"We aren't friends, right?" Emma asks, abruptly.
Hook looks up at her, a little confused. "Pleasure to see you too, Swan."
"We're not friends," she repeats, this time as a statement.
His expression gives nothing away, almost. His cheek flexes, just a little. "Of course not."
"I'm just here because," she gestures between the two of them, at the ship under their feet. "Because I'm doing my job. And we run into each other because...that's how chance works, sometimes coincidences just happen."
"I understand."
"I'm here because…" she trails off, forgetting what she meant to say as she steps forward, closer to him. She presses her fingers to her temple, feeling the tension building up there. "Fuck."
"I don't think that's what you're here for," he observes carefully.
Emma flushes, at that. "No. Definitely not what I'm here for. Um," her hand falls to her shoulders, trying to relieve the tension. "I don't even know."
"Perhaps you're here because you want to be?" he suggests lightly, walking behind her.
Emma sighs, keeping her back turned to him. "I'm just...stressed out."
"C'mere," he directs her, pressing his hand lightly on her back. She follows, letting him guide her down to what she's sure is the captain's quarters.
"If this is your way of seducing me, I'm not sold," Emma deadpans, sitting on the bed as he directs her to.
"Ah, that would involve a bit more wooing, Swan. As it is, we aren't friends," he replies, chuckling as he sits beside her. His hand presses, lightly, against her back, his fingers moving in sure circles. It takes her a beat, but she realizes what he's doing.
"Are you giving me a massage?"
"You seemed stressed, love," he supplies.
'I'm always stressed," Emma huffs, kicking off her boots. If he's making her comfortable, she may as well make herself comfortable, too. "You don't...have to."
"Is it bothering you?" he asks, pressing against a spot that has some of the most tension - her neck has been killing her - and she sighs.
"No," Emma replies, a little tightly. "It's not bothering me. It's just...you don't have to."
"Lean back," Hook instructs lightly,
"I suppose I haven't had someone to take care off…" he trails off, voice slightly brittle, "in a while."
Her heart feels heavy in her chest. "Yeah. I get that."
There's a silence between the two of them - not quite completely comfortable and not quite completely tense - for a few minutes. He just continues massaging and rubbing and soothing.
"You want to tell me what's bothering you, Swan?" he asks, voice a low rumble.
"Who said anything was bothering me?"
"I'd say the tension in your back, lass."
"Everyone has tension."
"Perhaps, but I imagine the burdens of being the Savior add to it."
Right. Because that's what she's upset over - not the fact that she's getting comfortable and vulnerable with Captain Hook and it's starting to show and her parents are more aware of it than she is.
"I'm just…" she trails off, pressing her face further into the pillow. His hand stills. "I'm just tired."
"I can tell, love."
"Tired of this," she gestures blindly with her hand, "Savior bullshit. Tired of Regina, she keeps on pulling the 'woe is me' card every time someone brings up, 'Hey, you might have murdered my family member' and I have to deal with it at the Sheriff's office but I can't deal with it too much or then I'd be making Henry upset and there is still a stupid, ridiculous dognapper on the loose and my parents keep on pressing the idea of going back to a place that I almost got eaten by ogres in that has zero indoor plumbing whatsoever and," she sighs, cutting herself off. She isn't lying, but this wasn't exactly what was on her mind beforehand. But, agonizing over this seems like a better alternative than thinking too long about her and Hook's non-friendship. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" he asks.
"Venting about stuff this small."
"Hardly seems small, love,' Hook reassures her, moving to lie down beside her and propping his head on his hand, elbow on the bed. He's so close, now, she can almost feel his breath on her. His eyes are intensely focused on hers. "You're allowed frustration, I believe."
"Am I?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, her head still on the pillow.
"Yes," he replies immediately, surely.
"You're a good listener," she says, thoughtfully. "You know that?"
"Am I?" Hook parrots her, a smirk building on his lips.
Emma rolls her eyes. He laughs.
"Is this your way of seducing me, Hook?" she teases. "The massage, the offer of your bed, the listening?"
"Perhaps I'm just being polite, Swan," he suggests.
Her lips curve into a small smile, at that. "Are you?"
"Being polite or wooing you?"
"Why can't it be both?" Emma suggests, as lightly as she can. She swallows a little bit too hard, though.
"Depends," he shrugs, his eyes intense on hers. "Would you like it to be?"
"Would you?"
He grins, dimples showing and eyes crinkling. "Ah, but that's not what I was asking."
"I'm asking my own question. Is that allowed?"
"Of course. I'm just electing to ask you one, as well."
This conversation is turning circular, making Emma feel a little dizzy. Emma groans, tilting her head back. "You're going to give me another headache, you know."
"It's not my intention," he assures her, voice low.
"Then what is your intention?"
"Not to cause you pain, at least."
"Here we go with the wooing again."
"So you would like it to be," Hook says, sounding satisfied. "Wooing, that is."
His eyes are soft and his hair is sticking up in places, his bearded chin still propped on his hand beside her. Emma is beginning to realize just how close they are - now she can definitely feel his breath fanning across her face. She licks her lips, an automatic response.
"If I didn't know any better, Swan," he tells her, his tone deceptively light. "I'd say you were trying to woo me."
"Please," Emma scoffs, a reflexive response. "You couldn't handle it."
Emma doesn't woo - it's a word more fit for a eighteenth-century (and however many centuries before) man than her. She likes challenges, though, and maybe she's not different from him in that respect ('I love a challenge,' said between pants on a beanstalk, climbing higher and higher). And Hook, eyes burning on hers, is a challenge.
(And maybe she feels like he gets that, that he's more than just a challenge, this challenge in particular, because he understands that so well. That he gets what it means to be left alone, to have loved and lost, to be angry and sad and cave into hope, anyway.)
His reply is more or less predictable, down to the way his eyes turn a darker shade of blue and his voice turns husky. "Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it."
She lets that sit, for a beat.
Emma leans up to kiss him before she can think better of it. It's a peck, just a small little thing, before her head comes back down on the pillow. She shuts her eyes as soon as it does, cringing at herself. This was stupid. She is being stupid.
When he kisses her, it's fully, his hand coming up to cup her face and his lips slating over hers. She reciprocates after a second, kissing him back before she can think better of it. He rolls on his back as much as the small bed will enable him to and Emma lifts one of her legs to move astride him. His hand comes up to frame her face and one of hers tangles in his hair, the other at his hip. All she can hear is them - the smacking of their lips and their sighs and their slight groans and - God, what is she doing?
They separate, finally, foreheads pressed against each others'.
"Emma," he pants, eyes still closed. "That was…"
'A one time thing,' is on the tip of her tongue, ready to be said and her legs ready to slide back, taking her with them and out the door.
She tucks her head into his shoulder, instead. For whatever reason, the words won't come out of her mouth. Maybe it's because she's been lying to herself enough lately, there's no point in adding more.
"I'm tired," she admits, nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder. He smells like salt and ocean and she wonders if pirates have aftershave, after all. It's an absurd thought, but maybe it's better than thinking about what just happened. The way his lips felt against hers, his thumb brushing against her cheek, and the wrecked way he said her name.
His hand comes to rest at her back, wrapping around the base of her spine. Hook brings it up and down, soothingly.
"As we've already established," he hums against her skin, "maybe you should get some rest, Swan."
"I'm tired of being alone," Emma finishes, her eyes falling shut. "And I think maybe you are, too."
His breath hitches. "You're not alone, Emma. You have...your parents, your son, the whole bloody town…"
"I'm not alone anymore," she rectifies. "But neither are you."
"How's that?" he asks, after a long pause.
Emma tilts her head up, meeting his eyes. Hook just stares at her, for a moment, seemingly unsure of what else to do. She kisses him again instead of replying.
And maybe it's enough of an answer.