Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Rating: T/PG-13
Genre: Angst and Romance
Warnings: Drinking, cursing, making out,
Pairings: CaptainSwan
Disclaimer: Don't own OUAT. Get it? Good.
Word Count: 1,240
Summary: Emma wants to forget for a little while. Killian just wants to remember this night, the night in Neverland when the Saviour knocked on his door, thirsty for rum.
A/N: This is a short oneshot I couldn't ignore. Un-betad. Mistakes are mine. Review, please.
Forget Me Not
1/1
"I need to forget."
Those sweet, sweet words from Emma's lips are the ones that start his evening. He's about to sleep, to fall into a silent slumber, when she knocks on his door and makes her confession. He knows what she means.
So, silently, he takes a flask of rum from his desk and pours some into a glass for her. She refuses, taking the flask and jabbing the glass at him instead. Henry's been gone for almost a month, now, and although she wants to believe things will be okay, she can't.
Pan (the sick bastard) moves often. The plants eat them alive and all she's had to eat in the last few days are berries.
Emma swirls the drink around a little, peering into it.
"So…" Killian says in attempt to start a conversation. "Talk."
She shoots him a glare, but he simply shrugs.
"Neither of us will remember in the morning. Might as well get it off your chest. Relieve the pressure."
Emma looks absolutely horrified.
"Funny you should assume that, because I simply meant talking."
"For once," she retorts and he grins slyly. "I hate Neverland."
He raises an eyebrow. "Do you now?"
She nods. "I fucking hate this island."
The corners of his lips twitch. "As do I."
"Cheers." They toast and down the alcohol, letting their brains get fogged over. She kicks her feet up and rests her head on her hands.
"Do you think we'll ever get out of this goddamn place?" She's hopeful.
"Don't know." Not what she wanted to hear, but oddly comforting.
She's always likes this about him. He's honest. He never lies to her (ironic for a pirate) and he has a sense of honor. Neal lied to her to "protect her," which is almost as bad as being lied to in order to hurt her. In her eyes, at least.
Killian's eyes are dilated, distracted. He stares blankly at his bedpost.
"Are we going to talk?"
"About what?" she asks, looking at him.
"The kiss." He stares at her intensely, watching her stiffen.
"It was a onetime thing," she claims, though deep down she hopes it isn't.
"It doesn't have to be."
"It does, though. I don't know if it's selfish or what, but I—can't get into a relationship. Especially not with you."
"Why not me?" It's not defensive, just curious.
"Because I know you care," she answers easily. "And that makes it harder to leave you."
"When did leaving become so prominent?" he asks.
"It's always been prominent."
"Of course. Why would you ever let yourself be happy?"
"Why do you keep pushing?" she accuses.
"It concerns me," he defends.
"It doesn't."
"Oh, but don't you see? It does. I care about you, Swan."
"I know."
"I wasn't finished. I care about whether or not you're happy. And if Baelfire makes you happy, then so be it. It would destroy me, but you matter more."
Neal has never said anything like that. Ever. It's always, "I'm better because _" or "Pick me because _." It's never been, "Emma, you do what makes you happy."
She likes it. She likes knowing that he respects her control.
Unfortunately, her flask is now empty as well as his glass. He stands to get another bottle. This time, it's whiskey.
It burns her throat but soothes her mind, alcohol slipping down her neck and past her chest, clouding her mind, her judgment, her emotions. She rocks back a little on the chair before letting it hit the floor again. "Thanks."
"For what?" he asks, surprised she's acknowledging him.
"The drinks." He resists the urge to say something along the lines of And here I thought you wanted me for my body.
"Thank you," he answers instead.
"For what?" she asks, playing along.
"The company."
"Anytime." And then, rather uncharacteristically, Emma giggles.
Hook pours another glass and sips it. "No. Not anytime. Other people need you."
"You're so serious," Emma laughs. It's strange how he can go from completely wasted to somber. He looks so sad, like he knows that this night will end eventually and all the damage he's done to her walls will be repaired. He smiles sadly because he knows that it's exactly what'll happen. She'll regret it, she'll push him away, she'll use him up and leave, and then when she needs him again, she'll come back.
It's the coming back part that keeps him going. He wouldn't do this, wouldn't let her do this to him if he didn't think she would come back. She's his weakness-she's the one he loves (not that he'd ever say it, not because he's shy, but because he'd scare her away). It's the promise of return that stops him from taking the glass and asking her to leave.
"Sometimes," he agrees, gulping down some alcohol.
"More like never. Aren't people supposed to drink to be happy?"
"I am happy, love."
She does realize that somewhere between the Enchanted Forest and Neverland, it became "love," not "lass," although she isn't sure where at the moment.
"Right," she drawls disbelievingly. "Because being completely drunk on a ship in the middle of hell's ocean is the definition of happiness."
"What do you think makes me happy?" he asks, smirking.
She shrugs. "Iono. Riches, plundering, the ocean, women, rum."
"I have two of those things at the moment," he returns. "But the rum's the only important one right now."
She laughs because it's true. The only thing she cares about is the rum. And him.
So she listens to that part of her brain for once and presses her lips to his in a feverish kiss. His arms are around her in seconds, pulling her closer until they're pressed up against each other. He holds her waist and growls a little, nipping her lip and sliding his tongue across her teeth.
His hands are warm as they slip under her shirt and up, up, up until they reach her ribs. The flesh is soft.
He wants to do more. Gods, he wants more. But he also doesn't want her to do something that she might regret.
Instead, he tugs her towards the bed and lets her lie down. "Sleep, my love," he whispers.
Emma notices the "my" stuck in there, but she's too tired to care.
She wakes up the next morning in his room with a monstrous headache, feeling careless for not leaving sooner. His hand is subconsciously running through her hair and she allows herself comfort for a moment.
It doesn't last. She's gone by the time he wakes, and he's not surprised.
This time is different though. He sees her on the main deck as they sail along the shore in search of Lost Boys, and then she winks at him.
He's surprised, to say the least. In return, he smiles and she nods. "Thank you," she mouths.
"Anytime, love," he mutters, not sure if she'll understand. But she does.
She never tells anyone about that night, where she admitted to needing someone to listen. She never tells anyone that the someone she went to was Killian. She never tells, but she never forgets either.
So one night, back in Storybrooke after they defeated Pan, she knocks on the door to his room and he opens it.
She doesn't say much. She just holds up a bottle of wine and says, "I need to forget."
And he lets her.
A/N: Review maybe to make me happy?