The night air isn't what she'd normally call cold, but she's still glad of the fire. It's something real, something normal in a place where nothing is what it seems, where time seems to fly and stand still in the same moment, and her son is still being held captive by Peter freaking Pan. Oh, and where Tinkerbelle is real and apparently doesn't have her wings anymore because of something that involves Regina.
In other words, just your usual day in Neverland, she reflects darkly.
On the other side of the fire, her parents are curled up around each other, and the sight makes her heart ache. It also reminds her just how long it's been since she's felt that secure in someone's embrace. Sometimes she doesn't think she's ever felt that way.
She doesn't know how long she's been sitting here, staring unseeingly at the fire, when a voice cuts through her thoughts. "You alright there, Swan?"
It would have to be him. She's already feeling turned around and back to front. The last thing she needs tonight is to have to grapple with the complicated emotions he always seems to churn up inside her. "What doyou think?" she shoots back flatly, hoping her lack of enthusiasm will be enough to keep him at arm's length.
It doesn't, of course. Apparently he really does like a challenge, she thinks, and she scowls at the fire, determined not to look in his direction.
"I think you're angry and worried for your lad, both of which you have the right to be." His words are so unexpectedly gentle and reassuring that she forgets her resolve not to look at him. She turns her head in time to see him shrugging out of his heavy coat. As she watches, he drapes it over the fallen log beside her, letting the leather spread over the earth beside her. "I also think you need a drink."
Too late, she realises she's been staring at him, taking in the graceful way he moves, and tears her gaze away to glare at the fire once again. "I guess rum really is your solution to everything."
"Perhaps," he answers softly, and she can hear the smile in his voice, "but on this occasion I actually meant something less potent."
She's not quite sure how it happens, but a few minutes later he's sitting beside her on the ground, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he reclines on his leather picnic blanket, balancing a coconut in the palm of his hand. "Care to share my coat, Swan?"
Maybe if her parents weren't sitting right there, she might have taken him up on the offer – so sue her, the ground is hard – but it's easier to refuse than deal with the consequences of saying yes. "I'm good here."
"Such a tough lass." He flashes her a mischievous smile that makes her face grow warm in a way that has nothing to do with the fire. "Now rum can be a grand way to forget your troubles, love, but it can also sear them into your thoughts all the more." He tosses the coconut into the air, and catches it effortlessly. "Sometimes you need something a little less complicated."
There's a small pile of coconuts on the ground beside him (God only knows where or when or even how he'd gathered them) and as she watches, he expertly spears his hook into the top of the one in his hand, giving it a slight twist. The whole process only takes a few seconds, then he hands it to her with a gallant flourish that shouldn't sit well with the whole pirate thing he's got going on, but it does. Not for the first time, she wonders if his boast about being a gentleman might actually hold a kernel of truth. "Thanks," she mutters as she eyes the coconut in her hands, knowing that he's still watching her, knowing she can't afford to let him see that she can't quite think straight when he's around.
"My pleasure." He spears a second coconut, then a third, his hand and hook working in perfect harmony. To her surprise, he offers those to her parents, apparently to their surprise. After hesitating for a few awkward seconds, her father accepts them with a brisk nod of thanks, then Hook sinks back down beside her. If she reached out her hand, she could touch him easily, she thinks, and hastily raises the coconut to her lips, as if that might drown her muddled thoughts. She's not exactly sure what to expect - she's had coconut milk and cream dozens of time in cocktails and curries - and is relieved to find that coconut water is neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It's a little weird, but it's wet and it's something different, and that's good enough for her.
They sit in silence for a few moments. Over the sounds of the crickets and other unseen creatures, she can hear the low murmur of Regina and Tinkerbelle talking. The two women are sitting outside the circle of the fire, with their backs to the rest of them, and Emma should be relieved that it no longer looks as though they're going to kill each other, but she can't help wondering what the hell they're talking about so intently. If it's about Henry, she muses unhappily, they should be talking together as a group.
Beside her, Hook shifts restlessly, crossing his feet at the ankles, and Emma has to make a conscious effort not to look at his long leather-clad legs. He's distracting in that dangerous way, the one that would have her cutting and running in a heartbeat in the real world. No such option here, sadly. You'd think that Captain Hook would have the decency to look as old and unappealing as his fictional counterparts, then again, since when did Hook and decency occur naturally in the same thought?
Still, apart from her parents, he's the closest thing she's got to a confidante in this damned place, and she has the sudden urge to see just how far his efforts at reassuring her will stretch. "You still think we can do this?" Even to her own ears, her voice sounds small and thin, and she tightens her grip on the coconut in her hands. She hates this so much - being needy, being unsure, being afraid – and she wants so much to wake up and find out that this is nothing more than a nightmare.
Hook gives her a smile filled with such sincerity that she can hardly believe he's the same man who stole that damned bean right from under her nose only a few days ago. She lets her eyes meet his – finally – and the breath catches in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. On the other side of the crackling fire, she notices that her parents have fallen silent, as if they're waiting for his answer as well.
He lifts his coconut to her in an oddly solemn gesture. "I know we can."
It's clear that he's including himself in that 'we', and the brittle knot of tension tightening her chest seems to ease, if only the tiniest bit. Despite everything that's happened between them since their first meeting, he obviously truly meant what he said when he offered her his ship and his services. He's been in Neverland before, she reminds herself, and if he thinks they can do this, then maybe they can.
A short time later, he gets to his feet, saying something about gathering more firewood. She very carefully doesn't watch him leave the campsite, uncomfortably aware of her mother's speculative gaze. It's only after he's gone that she realises that he's left his leather coat behind, still draped over the log and spread out on the ground beside her. She reaches out a hand to touch it, surprised at the softness and warmth of it, and the ground beneath her suddenly feels harder than ever. Without looking at her parents (thankfully, they're now talking softly to each other) she eases herself sideways, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he might have left it behind deliberately, knowing she would only be comfortable accepting his offer if he wasn't there to see it.
Closing her eyes, she leans back against the now cushioned tree trunk, the heat of the fire warming her bare arms. She cups the coconut in her hands, and is suddenly afraid that maybe there's a gentleman under the pirate after all. She can deal with the pirate but the gentleman, well, that's another story.
"You alright there, Swan?"
She blinks, abruptly becoming aware that Killian is waving his hand in front of her face. They're in the middle of Main Street, making their way home after eating dinner at Granny's, and she's just had the weirdest flash of déjà vu. "Sorry, what?"
"I only asked if you were cold and wanted to share my coat, love." He flashes her a wolfish smile. "Didn't mean to charm you into a stupor."
Her head suddenly fills with the memory of a flickering fire and the feel of rough coconut fibre and soft leather against her palms, and she grabs the lapels of his coat and pulls him into a kiss that starts out slow and ends with them both breathless and not quite steady on their feet. He tastes of coffee and salt and she kisses him again, tasting the groan that rises up in his throat, a shudder going through her as he puts a firm hand on the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.
"Not that I'm complaining, love," he finally manages when she pulls away, "but what prompted such an enthusiastic show of affection?" He keeps hold of her as he leans back, her hips still fitted snugly against his, and she grins when she feels exactly the effect her kiss has had on him. "And in the middle of the main street, no less."
"No reason." His fake moral outrage makes her grin even more. "I just remembered something."
"You're a woman of mystery, Swan." Leaning forward, he presses his lips to her forehead in a lingering kiss, then releases her with obvious reluctance, his eyes glittering with a playful hunger that makes her blood quicken. "I must remember to offer you my coat more often."