The night had been so long and despite how happy Emma was for Belle— and yes, she'd admit reluctantly, Rumple as well— ball gowns and high heels late into the night really weren't her thing. She sat at a table on the edge of the floor, having only danced a couple songs. Once for her father, mostly to get him off her back. Once with Henry because she wasn't about to turn down her son. Her feet ached from just walking, and the soft music was just enough to be lulling her, eyelids slowly lowering.
She wasn't sure if she'd drifted off for a moment or longer or even at all. But when a soft voice spoke near her, she started, sitting up straight and trying to act as completely awake as she could.
"Swan," she could hear the soft smile in his voice, and she felt herself relaxing. He was standing just in front of her.
"Hook," she answered, tilting her head slightly to meet his gaze.
Her heart fluttered a bit and she mentally blamed it on the drinks but her subconscious reminded her she hadn't had enough. He was watching her with that soft intensity that told her he'd been staring at her for a while. He was wearing a red vest over dark clothes and he looked damn attractive.
"You look beautiful, love," he said softly, and she could've sworn she heard a bit of a shake in his voice.
She tried to hold back the smile, but she could feel it ghosted across her face nonetheless. Her gown was red, similar to the color of his vest. It was sleeveless, which was nice, save the corset her mother insisted was the only decent way to go. So that made the top half bearable, yes. But the bottom was a near 50 pound nightmare and half the reason she was so exhausted. She figured walking in the dress for an hour was enough exercise to last her the week.
"It's a nightmare," she answered honestly, after a good moment. She motioned at the dress. He smiled.
"Aye, the dress is lovely as well. But I meant you," her breath caught in her throat and she felt herself blush involuntarily, and she expected his smile to turn into a smirk— but it only grew, genuinely, not teasingly. She'd never seen a smile like it on him before… but she liked it. Her eyes drifted from his for just a moment, thinking through his words.

"Would you…" he paused, and swallowed nervously, "Would you care to dance?"
For a moment she felt herself freeze up. Everything that could go wrong flew through her brain like a punch to her stomach. But the longer she worried the more superficial her cares seemed, and she felt her eyes slowly looking back up into his.
"I'd like that," she heard herself say, and staring into his blue eyes she could tell he was shocked.
It took a moment but he finally offered her his hand. She hesitantly took it, and her stomach fluttered and he helped her to her feet, leading her slowly onto the floor. His eyes drifted cautiously between her and the direction he was going. He looked frightened, almost. Vulnerable. She'd never seen the look in his eyes before.
At first she found herself glancing between him and the people watching them. Her parents, for one. Snow was trying to be inconspicuous, but inconspicuity was not her strong suit. Tink watched them too, and Belle even glanced over Rumple's shoulder. She tried to read their faces but finally they'd stopped and he was turning to face her and she didn't care. Her heart was pounding and she knew her face had to be red.
"You haven't danced much, have you love?" Killian smiled softly after a moment of just standing there. He took her right hand in his and placing it ever so gently on his left shoulder. His hook went to her waist and she was starting to feel dizzy, staring into his eyes.
"Haven't had much time to, no," she answered, comment coming out much too softly and hardly snarky enough. She didn't even have it in her to care. She knew how to dance, she wasn't a total idiot. But she wasn't exactly focusing, with those lips so close to her. And now he was drifting closer, taking her hand gently into his.
"I'm quite glad you have time, now," he breathed, nose nearly brushing hers as he began to lead her in a gentle rock.
She was glad, too.
She didn't even hear the music as she swayed with him. Staring into those damn eyes of his, that every few steps drifted closed then back open again, always staring back into hers. She could feel an energy coursing between them and it was everything she had to not close the space between them completely. God, she wanted to.
Because in the soft scenario, just a breath away from him, everything was lining up. This pirate— this man— had been at her side through all the hard things. Through all the crap that had happened through the past year he'd been there, been beside her. And he still was beside her. She couldn't tear her eyes from his to look around the room but she didn't have to to know he was the only one who hadn't given up on her at one point or another.
She felt her eyes drift shut, her heart pounding all over again. Focusing on the gentle pressure of his hook on her side, the constant soft breathing that she could only feel as warmth on her forehead. His calloused hand tightening around hers. Holding her. When she couldn't take the space between them a moment longer she took a deep breath— the breath one takes before charging into a dragons den— and took the smallest step forward. She kept her eyes closed, but pressed her forehead softly to his shoulder, beside her hand.
He tensed and her heart was racing but she forced herself to hold her ground. Frozen in time, but only for a second. He slowly began to sway again, slipping his hook arm further around her back and holding her there, letting out a slow and shaky breath.
She breathed in, breathed him in. He smelt salty like the sea and bitter like his rum and she wanted to stay there forever. She didn't care who was watching anymore.
A bit longer and she felt him on her head, burying his face into her hair. He slowly lifted his hand, hers still in it, folding it between them. The music, she slowly realized, was long gone. She couldn't hear anything but his soft breathing in her ear.
"You're a quick learner," he finally said, voice sounding almost hoarse. Emma grinned into his shoulder.
"That was definitely swaying," she answered, honestly not sounding any better than him.
"In time," he clarified, and she could practically hear his gentle smirk. His lips were still buried in her hair, "Anything can be dancing, love, so long as it's in time."
He paused again, and then pulled his head slowly off of her.
"Let me guess," his voice is trying to be as warm as before, but isn't, "A one time thing?"
Emma's stomach fluttered, and she reluctantly pulled her head from his shoulder, eyes raking the now empty ballroom. She vaguely wondered just how long they'd danced, but now it didn't matter. She forced her eyes to meet his again. He was putting on a strong face but should've known better. She could read the sadness in his eyes better than she could read herself. She felt the corners of her lips tugging upwards.
"I sure as hell hope not."
He grinned.