Since when is there a phone on this ship?

The question filters through the solid layer of sleep, piercing holes in the foggy cocoon surrounding her. Coming awake slowly, Emma blinks, then frowns, then sits up in bed.

It's not her bed, though.

Oh, and she's naked.

She's also alone, but the space in the bed beside her is still warm, so she hasn't been alone for long, and what the hell is that sound?

Ringing phone.

To be more precise, it's her ringing phone, which is kind of a good thing, because if she follows the sound of her ring tone, she just might be able to find her jeans.

She manages to tug the top blanket off the narrow bunk, wrapping it around her toga-style in an effort to feel not quite as exposed, then miraculously finds her phone - and her jeans - before it stops ringing.

She doesn't recognise the number, but she does notice the time on the display before she answers, and God, is someone really calling her at seven in the morning? This is what she gets for diverting the station's switchboard to her cell phone after hours. Surely it's David's turn this week? "Sheriff Swan."

The next few minutes are quite surreal. She's standing half-naked in the captain's quarters of the Jolly Roger, listening to a disgruntled Storybrooke resident complain that someone keeps knocking over his trash cans and stealing his newspaper from his front porch. Resisting the urge to ask who the guy's alter ego was in the Enchanted Forest (usually she likes to know in advance exactly who or what she's dealing with, but she just can't face it this morning) she makes the required soothing noises and promises to pay him a visit within the hour.

And so begins the juggling of business and pleasure, she thinks as she ends the call.

"Stealing away in morning's early light, Swan?" An arm slides around her waist, tugging her backwards against a lean, hard body. "Is this where you tell me how much you hope we can remain cordial, but this shan't happen again?"

Her breath leaves her in a soft woosh. She hadn't heard him come back into the room, but she's certainly not complaining. "No." She slides her hands along the arm that's wrapped around her waist, momentarily startled to discover he's already reattached his hook. Turning in his embrace, she splays her hands across his chest, pleased that his morning activities haven't yet reached to finding a shirt for himself. "But duty has already started calling, unfortunately."

"Is someone dead?"

"No." His chest is warm and solid beneath her hands, and the thin cotton trousers he's donned are doing nothing to disguise the fact that he heartily approves of her current state of undress.

Bowing his head, he presses a line of soft open-mouthed kisses along the line of her collarbone, then her bare shoulder. "Mortally wounded?"

She closes her eyes, swaying against him. "Not as far as I know." She really, really wants a hot shower and to clean her teeth and find some fresh underwear, but when he slants his mouth over hers, his tongue tracing a delicate line over her bottom lip, none of those things seems to matter.

"Then perhaps it's not quite as urgent as your caller might think," he murmurs, his lips teasing the corner of her mouth, his hand sliding between the folds of the blanket to stroke a bare breast, and she has to agree that vandalised trash cans and stolen newspapers don't really constitute an emergency, and oh God -

They kiss for a long time - slow and soft but still heated enough to make her toes curl into the wooden floorboards – and when he finally lifts his head, his breath is coming short and sharp in his chest, a perfect match for her own. He rests his forehead against hers, his hand stroking the length of her spine, venturing lower with each downward swipe, until she's almost melting into him. "I brought you some fruit," he says, clearing his throat on the last word as he nods towards the wooden table beneath the porthole. "I thought you might be hungry."

She glances in the same direction and smiles. Slices of orange are piled onto into a metal bowl, along with two tankards of what looked like fresh water. "Thanks for not dishing up any apples."

He grins, his eyes gleaming. "Yes, well. I have an inkling you aren't very fond of that particular fruit."

A few minutes later, her clothes are still on the floor (along with the discarded blanket and his trousers) and she's kissing him again, and this time his mouth tastes of oranges, his skin faintly of lemon soap and sweat and her. He tumbles her gently back onto his narrow bunk, and this time he keeps the hook on and she's falling, falling, falling, lost in his mouth and his hands and his body, white hot pleasure shuddering through her, kissing him fiercely as he falls apart in her arms.

It's past eight o'clock by the time she finally extracts herself from his embrace. "I really have to go."

He presses a lazy kiss to her shoulder, his answer muffled against her skin. "As you wish."

She narrows her gaze as she flings back the covers, making a mental note to ask her son if he's been feeding Hook modern movie trivia lately, because come on. Deliberately putting some distance between herself and the bed (because she has to go), she dresses quickly, making a face at the feel of yesterday's underwear and clothes. Behind her, she can feel the avid gaze of a very appreciative audience, and suspects her blush could be seen from space at this point. "I should be free tonight." Feeling suddenly wrong-footed (which is ridiculous, considering the last twelve hours) she turns to look at him. "If you'd like to see me, that is."

His smile is answer enough, and its warmth sinks deep into her skin. "My nights have been my own for a very long time, Swan." He's propped up on the haphazard array of pillows, his dark hair looking for all the world as though he's been pulled backwards through a hedge and enjoyed it thoroughly. "And now they're yours."

Turns out, she isn't free that night, or the next nine nights after that. Drunken bar fights, Gold's shop being egged, Henry fighting with Regina (and her) about not wanting to go back to school, Mary Margaret and David spreading out ovulation charts all over the dining room table every night. Every time she makes plans to vanish discreetly in the direction of the docks, something or someone thwarts her plans, and she's starting to feel as though she's being punk'd.

A week and a half later, that 'alone time' is still to materialise, and she's not entirely sure how Hook feels about the situation, but given that she feels as though she's going to split her skin with every new moment she's not touching him, she can certainly guess. The days are busy, at least, but the nights - when she finally staggers to her bed – are filled with dreams so erotic she can hardly meet her parents' eyes the next morning.

Today is the tenth day since she spent the night on the Jolly Roger, and it looks like it's is going to be yet another day filled with people and problems both great and small. She's not entirely sure how Hook is filling his days but again, she can take a guess. He'd told her once that there was always work for a captain to be done aboard his ship, but she knows he's also been flitting in and out of the library (which had been more than a little awkward at first, at least until he'd issued an even more awkward apology to Belle for his past conduct, one which she'd graciously accepted) and then Granny's, library books still tucked under his arm.

His voracious need to learn everything he can about this new and unfamiliar realm doesn't surprise her - he's a man who has spent the last three centuries keeping one step ahead of anyone and anything who might take him by surprise, after all – but she can't help wishing that he was filling his days (and nights) with her instead.

As he has every single day since that night on the Jolly Roger, Hook appears at the Sheriff's station at precisely three o'clock that afternoon, carrying a tray with three takeout coffees from Granny's. He's taken to bringing one for her father as well, and it amazes her how easily the two men can fall into conversational step with each other. That said, she's not sure David is ready to hear that his new friend, aka the dread pirate Captain Hook, is sleeping with his daughter.

Sleeping? Emma sighs to herself as Hook makes his way across to her desk. Make that slept, and only once at that.

He offers her the tray with a shallow bow, and maybe it's just her imagination, but he may have just clicked his heels together. Good grief. "Your coffee, milady."

"Thanks."

He picks up his own coffee - he drinks it black with no sugar, immune to the lure of syrups and flavoured creamers - and looks around the office. "And where is the Prince this afternoon?"

"My mother called." She wrinkles her nose at him over the top of her coffee cup. "He's gone home for an hour or two."

A devilish gleam comes into his bright blue eyes. "Ah."

"Don't say another word, I mean it." She shakes her head as she buries her nose in her coffee cup. She so doesn't want to talk about the fact that her parents are trying to get pregnant, let alone think about the fact that her deputy, i.e. her father, has left work in order to make another attempt at achieving that goal.

Hook perches on the edge of her desk, close enough for her to hear the creak of his leather coat, his gaze sweeping over her. She's got her hair drawn back in a ponytail today, and he seems more than a little interested in the exposed length of her neck. "What's good for the Prince is good for the pirate, don't you agree?"

And just like that, her pulse spikes like she's just run up three flights of stairs. She tilts back her head to look at him. "Meaning-"

His smile is slow and insolent and makes her think of fingernails digging into sweat-dampened skin. "Meaning that if the Prince can take time away from his public duties to pursue a dalliance with his love, then surely the town sheriff can be afforded the same privilege."

Staring up at him, she sees the exact second he realises that the word love is lingering in the space between them. He tilts back his head, watching her with hooded eyes, waiting for her to speak. "Well, maybe, but that would mean everybody in town knowing our business," she mutters hastily, putting her coffee to one side. "And I don't really want to do that yet."

His gaze locks with hers. "So you keep saying, love."

Such simple words, but she hears the anxiety threaded through them. She bites her bottom lip, trying to find the right thing to say, but how can she explain it properly to him when she doesn't understand it herself? In the end, all she can do is try. "I just want something that's just mine, at least for a little while." The tense set of his jaw softens, and she reaches out to catch his hand in hers. Holding his gaze with hers, she lifts it to her lips and presses a lingering kiss to his palm. "It's nothing to do with how I feel about you." His hand shifts in her grasp as he threads his fingers through hers, but still he waits, letting her lead, just as he always does. "Look, I should be finished here by five." She squeezes his hand lightly. "Why don't I pick up some dinner and bring it to the Jolly Roger?"

Leaning down, he brushes his nose against her temple, his breath warm on her skin. "That would be grand, love," he mutters, his voice low and rough, "but while I'm on the brink of expiring from deprivation and hunger, it's not for the bloody food."

Oh, God.

She turns her head, blindly seeking his mouth with hers, her grip on his hand tightening as his lips brush against hers in a maddeningly light caress. "Uh, maybe I could make it four o'clock instead-"

"Emma, you here?"

Hook swears vividly under his breath, straightening up as the outside door to the office is flung open to reveal an irritated looking Leroy. "Did you get my message?" he asks loudly as he stalks into the inner office, pulling up short (no pun intended) when he sees she's not alone, his frown changing to a sneer.

"Pirate."

Hook merely smiles at him, blue eyes glittering with amusement. "Dwarf."

Emma clears her throat loudly, partly to cover up a laugh. "I haven't got to your message yet, sorry." Leroy looks at her, then at Hook, his expression clearly indicating what he thought she'd been doing instead of working, and even more clearly indicating what he thought of the idea. "What did you want to tell me, Leroy?"

"There was another break-in at The Rabbit Hole overnight. Black slime and weird footprints tracked all through the storage room."

"Black slime? Really?" Emma sighs, not looking at Hook. She already knows she'll see her own frustration mirrored back at her. "Tell them I'm on my way."

That night, she dreams of the rocking of the ocean and the feel of his hands on her. She wakes with a start, alone in her own bed, her face wet with tears she doesn't remember crying, and wonders how something so simple can also be so very complicated.

The next afternoon, three o'clock comes and goes without any sign of her usual visitor. Her father, always a quick study, jokingly checks his watch at ten past the hour. "I don't want to alarm you, Emma, but we're going to need a caffeine hit pretty soon."

She rolls her eyes, trying not to show that she really really cares that there is a Hook-shaped hole in the room. "Did you want me to go to Granny's?"

He waves away the offer. "No, I'll go."

She watches as he gathers up his phone and keys, then takes a deep breath. "Hey, David?"

"Hmmm?"

"If we get any late calls tonight, do you think you can take care of them?"

Her father looks at her carefully for a moment, then nods. "That's not a problem."

She knows she doesn't have to explain, but she tries to, anyway. "It's just - I just need a night off."

A fleeting (and all too knowing) smile tugs at her father's lips, but he doesn't mention Hook's name. "You want a bear claw with your coffee?"

"Yes, please."

It's after seven when she finally locks up and leaves the station. She'd sent David home earlier, seeing as he was on-call for the evening. The cold night air is a shock after being stuck indoors for so long, and she pulls her light jacket around her a little tighter. Still no word from Hook, and she hesitates as she pulls the security door shut behind her. Home? Docks? Rabbit Hole to get wasted in a corner booth alone? Damn him, she thinks with a sudden flash of all the times for him to pull a vanishing act, the one night she's actually got some free time -

"Swan."

"Jesus, don't do that!" She doesn't exactly clutch at her racing heart, but it's a close thing. He, of all people, should know not to creep up on her in the darkness. "What are you doing out here?"

Hook pushes himself off the wall beside the station where he'd been lurking in the shadows. Typical pirate behaviour, she thinks with a private smile. "Waiting for you."

She gives him an arch look as he slips his arm around her shoulders. "And where are we going?"

"To my ship." To her surprise, he steers her away from her car and starts marching them both in the direction of the docks. "Now, before you receive yet another electronic summons that will keep you from my bed."

She's glad he's got his arm around her, because her knees suddenly seem to be made of jello instead of bone and cartilage. "But my car-"

He doesn't miss a step. "I know you're proud of your little yellow machine, love, but it stands out like barnacles on a mermaid's bum."

She laughs, and he flashes her a pleased grin. "I'm quite serious, Swan. Your townsfolk catch a glimpse of that bright yellow carriage, and they'll be flagging you down to tell you every single minute mundane problem of their little lives."

They've reached the Rabbit Hole's block, and her heart sinks as an all too familiar sight comes into view. "Shit, squabbling drunken dwarves at twelve o'clock."

He grabs her hand, pulling her across the road. "I believe your official duties are finished for the day, Sheriff. Let the Prince sort it out."

She knows then that he's talked to David today, and she should be annoyed that they're talking about, well, her, behind her back but she can't seem to summon the required indignation. If anything, it makes her think that maybe her father won't summon the dwarves for a pickaxe party if he finds out that she and Hook are seeing each other.

Then again, she still might tell her mother first.

A few minutes later, they hear the sound of a car alarm going off on Main Street, but his hand merely tightens around hers. "Ignore it."

"Planning to."

When she sees Archie and Pongo in the near distance, looking for all the world as though both man and dog intend to stop for a long and in-depth chat, she sighs. Is it just her, or is the whole town out having an after-dinner stroll and/or making mischief? She tugs on Hook's hand. "Quick. Let's make a break for it."

"Sheriff Swan! Captain!" They both stop in their tracks at the sound of Archie calling out to them. "Is everything alright?"

She doesn't dare look at Hook. God, is it that obvious that they're in a rush to get somewhere? "Uh, just checking out a disturbance near the Captain's ship." She smiles at man and dog in turn. "Probably nothing serious, but you guys should maybe head home."

Archie tips his cap to her, then offers Hook a smile that is only slightly strained, proving once again that Archie is second only to Belle in the forgiveness department. "Will do."

After that, they take no chances, practically jogging towards the docks, darting between the shadows. Not exactly what she was planning on doing after a full day's work, but the clasp of Hooks' hand is warm, his long fingers threaded through hers, the simple touch making her feel as though she's grounded and flying at the same time.

"Is this really what my life's become?" she asks as they finally reach his moored ship, wrapping her arms around herself. Despite the unexpected exertion that's warmed her blood, the night air by the water is still cold, almost frigid, and each word is a white ball of heat floating in the air between them. "Playing hide and seek with the whole damned town just to get a few minutes privacy?"

There's a dark swish of leather, then his coat is being draped around her shoulders. She barely has time to register the welcoming warmth of his coat - it's thick and heavy and smells just like him with a whisper of lingering magic - before he's stealing a move out of her Neverland playbook and gripping the lapel and hauling her against him. "Only a few minutes?" His lips brush hers, a fragile caress that still manages to send a rush of heat straight to her groin. "You greatly underestimate my stamina, love."

The last ten days have done nothing to dull her memory of their night together, and she knows that's not an idle boast. "That wasn't a challenge, you know."

"Wasn't it?" She shivers, not entirely from the cold, and he smiles. "Come below, Swan." His hand tightens on the lapel of his own coat, tugging her even closer, his stubbled chin scraping against her throat with a deliberation that makes her whole body shiver once more. "I'll warm you up soon enough."

Sometime before dawn, she reaches for her phone, and taps out a text message to her father.

Staying at a friend's place. Taking the morning off. Will be in after lunch. If it's an emergency or Henry needs me, send me a text? E xo

She hesitates briefly, then takes a deep breath and sends the message on its way. It's out there now, winging its way to her father's phone, which will mean that soon enough he and her mother will put two and two together and come up with Hook, and that's strangely okay, because this is the happiest she's felt in a week and a half and she knows that's what will be important to them.

Eventually, anyway, she thinks wryly.

She slides back under the covers, fitting her body against the long, hard warmth of his. He murmurs in his sleep, his arm slipping over her hip, one lean thigh nudging between hers as effortlessly as though they've been sharing a bed for years, rather than hours. Closing her eyes, she slowly sinks into the blissful oblivion of sleep and this time, if she dreams of the rocking of the ocean, it's quite real, the soft ebb and flow of the tide keeping time with the beating of her heart.

The next morning, they sleep late.

That afternoon, he brings her and David coffee at three o'clock precisely.

That night, he comes to the loft for dinner at her mother's insistence and ends up in a ferocious video game battle with Henry until midnight. Very bad form, Swan, letting your son keep me up so late.

The next night, she parks her very conspicuous little yellow carriage next to where the Jolly Roger is moored, where it stays until long after the sun rises the next day.

By the next morning, the whole town knows their business.

She doesn't care.

They sleep late.