Author's Note: For the lovely Kara, aka lonelyiridescence on tumblr, whom I had the pleasure of being assigned for the first ever Captain Swan Secret Santa. Of her requests, this is the one I'm most nervous about, because it's been a long time since I've written anything other than for a class. I do hope you like it dear.
On another note, I'm not quite sure how many parts this will be broken into. There is a good bit that I want to say with this fic, and I haven't even begun to scratch the surface. At least, not at the posting of this.
Within an hour of posting this, I'll have uploads availible on AO3 and . Just in case some of you have trouble reading it on my blog ;)
Finally, the title comes from the song Parachute by Train.
It ends like this: gently, warm, and in the cover of darkness.
A meeting of lips, soft feather-like touches, with cinnamon adding a layer of spice. Shaking breaths, steady hands, steadier gazes.
The buildup has been a long time in the making, and she knows that when she pulls back he'll have that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. But she does not care, because this thing between the two of them has been growing for a long time. A hell of a long time, if she's being honest with herself.
Somewhere behind them, she knows Henry and her parents are sitting in folding chairs. She hopes they're preoccupied with watching the fireworks display in the sky and not with the display of different sort of fireworks happening with her and Killian. She makes a note to herself to thank Mary Margaret later for helping set this entire thing up. As pissed as she might have been earlier, Emma has to admit that the New Year is beginning on a high note.
Dragging her lips from his to gulp down air, she chances it and sees that he is smiling, but it isn't the smug look she's been expecting. It's gentler somehow, and she can feel the warmth from it all the way in her toes. His grin takes her back to another time and place, when breaking into a giant's home to steal a compass was the only way back to Storybrooke. He'd be just as infuriating that time, and utterly irresistible. But she had resisted him and his charm, the desire to get back to her son stronger than her libido. Things were different now. Dear God, how they were different.
She sees his lips move, follows them with her eyes, but her ears don't hear the words over the sound of her thudding heart. Mouth as dry as cotton, she swallows in an attempt to wet it. "Can you repeat that?"
Ah, there is the smirk now. His eyes are still warm, though, which softens the look. "Distracted are we, love?"
"Shut up." She smacks him on the shoulder, but it lacks any real strength. "Seriously, though. What did you say?"
"Happy New Year, Emma."
It begins like this: in a grocery store, with an argument over the last of the cinnamon sticks.
"Why do you even need cinnamon?" Emma demands. It's the last item on the list Mary Margaret gave her when she stopped by her home with David earlier. Supplies for the New Year's party, she's told. Why her mother couldn't have gotten them earlier, Emma isn't sure.
Hook sighs, the aforementioned cinnamon still locked firmly in his hand. "If you must know, Emma my love, I'm making bread."
Her eyebrows go up. Bread? Really? "What, your hook seconds as an attachment to a Kitchenaid mixer?"
It's been like this for half an hour. The two of them, trading jibes, attempting to get the other to concede defeat. A few passersby stopped earlier to watch them, but they left a long time ago muttering something about being in denial.
Emma is not in denial.
She is going to get that cinnamon.
"Look, you are not going to need all of that cinnamon." She doesn't even need all of that cinnamon, and she's helping with a party. "How about we split the bag? You pay half and I pay half?"
He tilts his head, as if considering it. "That is a reasonable proposition. Of course, seeing as how I have the cinnamon, it is also reasonable to say that I can just take it and pay myself."
"Oh come on, Hook! I'm trying to meet you halfway here."
He takes a step forward, and Emma is aware of just how empty their part of the store is. He's been true to his word so far, always the gentleman, but she's waiting for the moment when all of that self-control snaps and he drags her bodily to the Jolly Roger. Which might sound romantic in a Harlequin book of the month sort of way, but Emma isn't really big on being kidnapped by the Captain Hook of legend.
The brush of his fingers on her chin makes Emma jump, and she realizes that his face is only inches from hers. She can see all of the tiny details that make up his handsome face, from the scar on his cheek to the tiny flecks of gold in his irises.
She's breathing like she's been running for miles, but her body isn't tired. If anything, it comes to life under his touch. Heart rate increasing, pupils dilating, goosebumps breaking across the skin despite the layers she's wearing.
Her vision narrows, until all she can see is him in front of her. He leans forward, and she wonders if he's about to kiss her. If she's going to let him this time, despite their rocky past. He's fantastic with his mouth, she knows, but not once in the past two years has she allowed herself to see just how good he is. Maybe now she would…
She blinks and suddenly he's gone. The fog gradually recedes from her mind, and everything stands out in stark contrast with her senses from only a short time ago.
What is she doing again? Oh, right. The cinnamon.
….which Hook has taken with him when he disappeared. Damn.
What is she going to tell Mary Margaret? Yeah, not having cinnamon isn't a huge deal, not in the grand scheme of things. Probably was only going to be used for the hot chocolate Henry and she enjoys drinking. Still, she doesn't like the idea of going back to her parents' home without having everything she was supposed to.
Not much she can do, though. Sighing, Emma goes to retrieve the shopping basket she'd abandoned earlier to argue with Hook and heads to the checkout counter.
Later, when she finally drags herself up the steps to her place, she hears something crunch beneath her boot. Looking down, she sees the decorative plastic bag with a note attached by string. When she opens it, she catches the unmistakable spicy scent of cinnamon.
The note reads 'Maybe next time you'll meet me more than halfway. Hook.'
Bastard.