A/N My first Captain Swan fic, and I believe somebody initially did something similar to this; a drunk!Emma found by our gentleman Killian, but I believe I have made mine at least a little different from that glorious piece of work (because I have read it and I adored it.) Read, review, and ship on, shipmates. We shall sail yet!
XXX
It was days like these that made her wonder why she even bothered.
Everything was a mess, no matter what she did. The cannons were aimed against her, the storm ready to burst, the town filled with complaints and fears and mysteries she was being ordered to solve, all whilst trying to be a mother to the son she had only just met.
The stress was tying her in innumerable knots, and she could do nothing about it.
She lay her head on the cool desk in the Sheriff's office, refusing to let a tear fall from her eye as she struggled against the melody of disaster playing in her own head.
What would life have been like if this had never occurred, she wondered despicably.
But thoughts like that like questioning why humans needed air to breath or why these very fairytale creatures around her enchanted thousands without even knowing it. There was no way out of this life, she thought grimly.
This was what she had been destined for, apparently. She laughed bitterly and collapsed again, settling into the desk like a lost little child.
But Henry made it all a little more worth it. Having her son back in her life was like letting in a ray of sunshine after years spent in the dark, and she was glad the kid had drug her to this nonexistent little town in the middle of nowhere, and brought a whirlwind of adventure with him.
She giggled against the cool texture of the desk, hand unwittingly twitching towards the bottle that lay askew a few inches away. She loved that kid, but she missed him so much.
He was gone with Regina on some sort of adventure again, and the wicked bitch of the west had made it quite clear that Emma was not invited.
Right after she had gotten back from that madness that existed just beyond the edge of the world, the old land from where Mary Margret and David—her parents—hailed.
Thus her state at the moment, curled up on the desk in the Sheriff's office, a bottle of wine nearly finished and a few bottles of beer scattered out of sight.
So perhaps the new, cool pressure on her shoulder was simply an illusion of her alcohol-soaked mind, but perhaps it was not. Either way, it certainly wasn't important enough to make her raise her head to see what or who had invaded her private pity party.
"What are you doing here, love?" She answered the soft tone with an unintelligible groan. A chuckle filled the Sheriff's office, and Emma held a hand to her temple, trying to block out the noise.
"Drowning your sorrows in the drink and then expecting quiet isn't the best way to go about things, Swan." The voice told her mockingly, cold pressure moving from her shoulder to lift her chin. She looked up blearily into shaded blue eyes above, and nearly collapsed again.
"Go away." She mumbled, shifting in the chair to entertain a more comfortable position, shoving the hook holding her chin off to the side.
"Ah ah ah." The pirate chuckled again and lifted her head off the desk with his good hand, forcing her to look him in the eye.
"How much have you had tonight, love?" he asked, not unkindly, but with a dark twinkle in his eye.
"Don't know what you're talking about." Emma slurred, all whilst indicating the abandoned bottles that adorned the floor. Captain Hook stared around him, impressed by her consumption.
"And what, might I ask, encouraged you to do as such?" he was seated on the desk before her in a moment, and she nearly fell onto the floor at the sudden movement.
"Why do you care?" her words were not careful, like they were in the bright of day when she challenged him so wittingly. Their edges blurred into one another, like notes of a reeded instrument, he mused, when the mouth grew tired.
"Who's to say I do, love?" he asked in response. "But I assure you, it was not what I expected when I came in tonight."
Emma glared at him, trying to gather herself into the proud Sheriff she was. "Regina." The name was clearer than anything else she had said to him that night, and he nodded understandingly.
"She has your lad again, does she not?" Emma nodded dejectedly, cuddling a stray bottle affectionately.
"Not to worry, love." A casual arm was placed around her shoulder, but she made no move to shrug it off, instead glaring at the owner of said arm as he grinned brightly at her. "I'm sure the witch queen will do the lad no harm. You know this."
"Don't have to like it." Emma grumbled, moving to shove his arm but missing by a long shot.
Killian laughed at her as she growled at him, shooting mock punches into his gut as he rested above her. "Come on now, sweetheart." Suddenly, he was there, before her, and she smelt his rum-laden breath as it mixed with hers. "Have a little trust, will you?"
Emma pushed him away and made to stand, stumbling towards the door of the office with as much haste as her incapacitated form could manage, which, mind, was not much. Killian moved shortly behind her, much more steady on his feet.
"Darling, not to offend you," he told her as she tried ever so hard to ignore him. "But you'll be killed walking home tonight."
"Shut it." She growled, unsteady feet tripping over themselves as she walked the hall towards the door. Killian rolled his eyes.
"Emma, please, accept some help and let me be a gentleman—" he was cut off almost immediately by the smashing force of the blonde's lips onto his.
It was sloppy and short, but he stood staring after the Sheriff in shock as she tried so desperately to make it to the door.
"I don't think so, Miss Swan." The edge in his voice grew strong as he caught her again, and she was up against the wall, the door not a few feet away.
"You are well and truly intoxicated out of your bloody mind, aren't you darling?" he asked her, staring into acutely dilated eyes.
Emma looked up at him for a moment, expression as blasé as fresh milk. "Probably." Was all she said before gently bringing his mouth back to hers. "Are you really complaining?" she whispered, nipping his bottom lip gently.
He was shaking in that moment, as her hands started to toy with the high collar of his jacket, encouraging him to shake it off and join her in this mutual state of desire. "Emma," he groaned, hands tangling in her thick blonde curls before he kissed her once again. "I may not be the best man, but I can act a gentleman."
He backed away in that moment, and Emma lay half conscious against the wall, whimpering at the disappearance of her warmth.
"I won't take you while you're gone above the clouds, love." He whispered in her ear, moving to hoist her over his shoulders. He struggled with the light switch before moving them both out of the door and onto the darkened streets of Storybrooke. Emma rode on his back like a limp bag of jewels, but he did his best not to disturb her.
"You're still completely crazy, you know that." She murmured in his ear, drifting between the blissful realm of sleep and his painful realm of wakening.
"Of course I am, love." He answered. "Why else would I be carrying the most bloody beautiful woman back to her home when I could be taking her against the wall of the Sheriff's office?" Emma snorted and shifted, wrapping her legs around his abdomen. "She's not complaining." She told him, hic-ing delightfully.
He left her at her bedside, watching her curl into bed like a contented kitten, wrapping herself in a thousand layers of fluff and out of his reach. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and laughing at himself, the great pirate, fallen prey to a drunken woman's honor.
He respected her, and no matter how he wanted her, he wouldn't win their little challenge when she was like this.
He kissed her gently on the cheek before leaving her bedroom, closing the door softly behind him, and went to lay in wait on the couch.
She would be a pain in the morning, he was certain, but his dreams would make it worth it.