A/N: This is part 4 of the "Drinks with the Prince" series of Hook/Charming fics I've been writing as filler for the episodes as they air. This one covers the time between Neal's burial and the scene at Granny's Diner in "It's Not Easy Being Green" (3.16). Thanks to everyone who has been reading and especially to those who have been reviewing and favoriting. I really appreciate the feedback.
With Neal's burial over, the mourners were heading to Granny's diner for a gathering. Nothing interested Hook less than the thought of congregating around one of Granny's mealtime "specials," but he also wanted to be there for — and with — Emma and her boy, so not going was clearly out of the question. But what he wouldn't give to head out into the open waters around Storybrooke to clear his head and put right the ache deep in his chest. He would have to wait for a more opportune time to deal with his own feelings and hope he could at least help Emma with hers.
They followed along behind David and Mary Margaret's vehicle in silence, Emma — grimace firmly in place — glancing often in the mirror at Henry who looked out his window with a ghost of a frown and uneasiness in his eyes. Hook really felt for the lad at how confusing and disconcerting this whole situation must be. Maybe if he had enough of the memory potion for two...or that kiss had worked...things might be different for all of them. Maybe Henry would have remembered his father the way he should, maybe Bae would have had one last happy moment with his son...maybe.
Hook's skin tightened, his stomach churned, and the bile rose in his throat. He closed his eyes against the gray skies that mirrored his mood, and took a deep breath trying to quell the guilt and sorrow he couldn't shake. Shifting in the small, uncomfortable passenger seat of Swan's yellow bug (as she kept referring to it), he rubbed his hand over his mouth and beard, then exhaled sharply, avoiding the look Emma shot his way. He couldn't look at her while he felt the weight of so many decisions and choices he'd made over the past many years and recent months crash over him. The one saving grace in all of it was that each decision — right or wrong — led him here, to Emma. He held on to that thought like a lifeline in treacherous seas.
They pulled up in front of the diner behind David and Mary Margaret. While David was helping his wife out of the truck, Emma sat motionless in her seat, keys in hand on her lap, and stared off into the distance as if getting out of the car was the last thing she wanted to do too. For a few moments, the three of them sat there, the silence like a heavy wet blanket thrown over their shoulders. Henry was the first to break the doldrums when he tapped Emma on the shoulder.
"Mom, I wanna go put my coat up in our room, ok?"
"Sure, kid. I'll come up with you. I need to grab something," she said as she pulled the handle, opening the door. Hook also got out and popped the seat forward like Emma had shown him before so Henry could exit the car, too. He and the boy exchanged glances and half-smiles as Henry moved past Hook and around the back of the diner. Closing the door with a dull thud, he tried to put on face that was more somber and less dour as he turned to go inside. David was waiting for him by the gate, and when Hook got close enough, David clapped him on the shoulder in greeting.
The two men strode through the door, making the small bell chime their arrival, and behind him, Hook heard David sigh and deadpan to himself, "Oh, great. Lasagna."
David tapped Hook on the shoulder and pointed toward the counter where there were liquor bottles and tumblers set up. Before they reached it, Mary Margaret must have caught David's eye with a stern look of her own, because David cleared his throat and said loudly, "I'll just have coffee."
Hook looked over at him, eyebrow raised and head tipped as he shook it sadly. "Oh, Dave. How the mighty have fallen."
Leaning past Hook's shoulder to reach a coffee mug, David said quietly so only he could hear, "Yeah, well, hell hath no fury like a pregnant woman whose been on her feet all morning." Wagging his finger near Hook's face he warned, "Don't ever forget that."
Hook held back a snort — the first time he'd even considered laughing in more than 24 hours — and said with mock fright, "Oh, I won't."
Coffee mug filled about two-thirds full, David sat on the stool at the end of counter opposite from where Hook leaned against it between the next two stools. David peeked around Hook obviously checking on the whereabouts of Mary Margaret whom he had seen talking with Regina just a second ago in one of the booths on the opposite side of the room.
David inclined his head at Hook and asked "Got your flask?"
Hook shook his head, and smirked as he reached under his coat to pull the item in question out. "I'm starting to see a pattern here, Prince. And I think your beloved is going to take less of a shine to me than she already does."
David rolled his eyes and stuck out his mug. "Top me off, Pirate, and be quick about it."
"Aye," Hook said, filling the cup almost to the brim.
After stirring the spiked coffee with a thin wooden stick, David lifted his mug to Hook and said, "To Neal."
Without a word, Hook raised his flask and returned the salute before taking a long pull from it. He welcomed the familiar burn as it traveled down his throat then spread its false warmth through his chest and gut. Even a liquor-induced heat was better than the hollow coldness he'd been feeling since Belle figured out what must have happened to Neal back in the Enchanted Forest, moments before he died in Emma's arms.
People were slowly filing in to the diner, first some uncharacteristically timid former Lost Boys, followed by a subdued Hood and a few of his men. Hook wondered at the rather eclectic company Bae had kept over his lifetime, greeting them all as if they belonged to some clandestine society of reformed thieves and thugs — with a quick nod or knowing glance — not wanting to give each other's identities away.
David looked down into his now half-empty mug and smiled wistfully. "I once told Mary Margaret I didn't want to die here in Storybrooke. That this wasn't our home," he admitted. "But after Neal...well...as long as I'm with my family, I guess don't care where we live or die as long as we're together."
"I suppose one sea is as good as the next if I'm just going to be dumped in it at the end of my days," Hook said. "At least I'll be useful as fish food.
David contemplated for a moment, and, with a satisfied look, said, "I think I'd like a funeral pyre, myself."
Hook grinned at the Prince and teased, "Well, Prince, keep drinking the way you have been and you'll make quite the torch when you're set alight. A right proper fireball, I should think."
David chuckled into his rum infused coffee, mischievous look on his face as he finished it and put the cup on the counter. Both men simultaneously turned as they heard Emma and Henry enter the diner from the back entrance. Settling Henry into a booth, Emma ordered him a hot cocoa, then sat across from him.
David sighed as he looked at his daughter — the hard line of her mouth, the determined set of her eyes, and the way she held herself stiffly as she talked to Henry.
"This can't be easy for her," he said.
"Aye. Or the lad," Hook agreed.
It was easy for Hook to see the anger simmering in Emma — he'd been witness to or cause of it plenty of times to recognize when she wanted to lash out, but he recognized it for plenty of other reasons, too. Mainly the 300 years he lived it himself. That need to annihilate the cause of the misery, that clawing thirst for vengeance to make the deep and bottomless pit of despair full again. Hook spent all that time indulging in his revenge with no one to remind him that was not all there was in life. Emma would be luckier. She had her parents, Henry... and she had him. He wouldn't let her go down that path.
Emma stood up to go get Henry's cocoa and David got up as well. "Snow beckons. Thanks for the drink, Hook."
"My pleasure, mate. Just don't name me when she figures it out you've been at the bottle again."
"Gotta stay on her good side somehow, mate" he said with a wink as he walked past Hook toward his wife.
Thwack...thwack...thwack. Hook looked over to see Emma nailing the dartboard with bulls-eyes at practically every throw. He was impressed with her accuracy, and it was a great way to blow off steam, but letting her anger fester wasn't going to resolve the way she was feeling about the circumstances of Neal's death, or help her boy either. Taking one more swig on his flask, Hook made his way over to Emma.