Orchestra music played softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and scrape of knife against fork. Emma Swan looked up from the menu, nervous to be on her first date since...well, ever. Her only actual relationship in the past thirteen years had been Neal, and lifting candy bars from the convenience store and sneaking away to a cheap motel to eat them and fuck each other's brains out didn't exactly constitute a date in her book. She was treading in entirely new waters tonight.

Cobalt blue eyes regarded her with amusement as he caught her gaze. She knew without a doubt that he was smirking at her from behind his own menu. Flashing him a nervous smile, she wracked her brain for something to say that wasn't related to queens or witches or magic-anything people outside the little Maine town of Storybrooke might find strange, really. The last thing Emma wanted to do was raise any eyebrows on her first trip outside Storybrooke since Manhattan. All she wanted was a quiet evening with Killian for their first date.

Even if it was Valentine's Day.

Tonight, things were going to change between them, and that was good enough of a celebration for her. They'd spent months circling each other in an awkward, unspoken dance since the witch had been defeated and Neal had been laid to rest. Months in which they had spent a great deal of time in each other's company, taking walks, getting ice cream with Henry, introducing Killian to modern clothing and technology, discovering mutual interests in snippets of conversation, setting sail at a moment's notice when the stress and the emotions of all the harrowing events they'd been through in the last several months were just too much... And still they had never so much as held hands, much less shared another kiss or explored their real feelings for one another.

Hook-Killian, she reminded herself, so she wouldn't slip up in front of the waiter (he was wearing his prosthetic tonight anyway)-had been a patient man. Entirely too patient, in Emma's opinion. For though she valued the comfortable friendship that had developed between them, she wanted more than that. So, following up on her father's advice to look for the good moments in life (something she always had with Killian; foolish not to realize it sooner), Emma had done something completely out of character: she'd cornered the pirate on the Jolly Roger two days ago and asked him out on a last minute date for Valentine's day.

Thankfully, she still had connections back in Boston from her days as a bail bondswoman. She felt a little bad that some other couple had had to be bumped back in order to fit them in, but it wasn't like they wouldn't be able to eat at all. And who had been through as much as she and Killian? They both deserved a night to relax and enjoy each other's company, didn't they?

She closed the menu and folded her arms in her lap. "This shouldn't be so hard, you know," she said, reaching for her drink. She stirred the ice cubes around with her straw. Emma had ordered a Coke, figuring herself the designated driver of the evening since, well, she was the only driver. But Killian had surprised her, ordering lemonade instead of alcohol. The significance wasn't lost on her. It was the drink Henry had introduced him to; a drink that Killian could enjoy while bonding with her son, much the way rum had facilitated Emma's bonding with Killian in the early stages of their relationship. That he chose to honor her son in his absence spoke volumes for his affection for Henry.

Emma felt her heart warm.

"Aye," he answered her. "It probably shouldn't." A corner of his mouth quirked up. "Perhaps if we just pretend it's another day?"

"A little hard to do in pantyhose and heels," she grumbled, "but I'm game."

His gaze traveled down her figure, lingering at the neckline of her little red dress, and his eyes ignited with heat. "As I said before, love. You look ravishing. I'll make the trouble up to you."

She blushed. "No, I-I wanted to dress up. I'm just not used to it anymore. Too many months spent chasing psychos in jeans and tank tops, I guess."

"I've no objection to those, either." His gaze positively smoldered, scorching her where she sat. "They accentuate your...assets...in a different way than that dress."

"There's the hopeless flirt I know," she laughed, relaxing at the familiarity of it all. "I was wondering when he'd make an appearance. "

He considered her for several moments, a thoughtful look on his face. "Perhaps this is a new experience for us both, love," he admitted. "Easy to forget ourselves in all of this." He gestured with his good hand, sweeping across their view of the busy restaurant around them.

"We could go back to Storybrooke," she offered. "Where it's quieter."

"And eat at Granny's for Valentine's instead?" He snorted. "Not a chance."

"My parents are eating there," she protested, before his words fully hit her. "Oh." She blushed again. "You know."

He arched an eyebrow. "I may be...quite a bit older than you, Emma," he said, choosing his words with careful regard for the crush of people around them, "and my experiences different, but I'm not oblivious."

"Oh."

"And as for your parents, they're a bit settled and happy with routine for my tastes. Like a couple of town elders trapped in the bodies of people much younger," he finished.

Emma grinned. She knew exactly what he meant, however cryptically he put it. Her parents were like an elderly couple sometimes, set in their routines and bickering over trivial things like where Snow had misplaced her favorite sweater, but adorably and hopelessly in love with each other just the same. "That's not such a bad thing, is it?" She glanced up at him, uncertain.

"Not entirely," he conceded. "But I've a bit more fight and adventure left in me before I succumb to that, I hope." He smiled crookedly.

"Yeah," she agreed. And while the idea of settling down with Killian to grow old with him has a certain appeal for her, Emma doubted her pirate's enthusiasm for adventure would ever fade completely. It was one of the things she loved most about him, the knowledge that he could keep up and fight alongside her, whatever may come.

"So," she said, taking a sip of her Coke, "since I can't for the life of me forget this is a date, let's treat it like one. Tell me about yourself," she invited.

He smiled. "It's not just another day," he agreed. "Thought the idea might help you relax, though."

"Not a chance. So just...start talking, all right?"

"What do you want to know?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Whatever you want to share."

He issue her a searching gaze, during which the waiter approached their table to take their orders. Killian ordered the salmon-a choice that should not have surprised her, now that she thought of it-with risotto and seasonal vegetables, but Emma decided steak was the way to go (Why not? She was paying, since she'd asked him out) with a side of grilled vegetables and garlic mashed potatoes. The waiter swept away, menus tucked under his arm, and Emma watched Killian fidget with the collar of his grey dress shirt.

"So, you were saying?" she prompted.

"Was I?"

"Yeah, you know. The whole sharing something about yourself bit."

An impish grin lit up his face. "I hate peas."

She made an exasperated noise. "You know what I meant! Tell me something meaningful."

He nodded once, lifting his glass of lemonade to take a long sip. He set it down again, his expression faintly mournful. "You remember I had a brother once?" he inquired hoarsely. "You asked about him on the island?"

"Yeah."

"He was my inspiration for sailing. He bought a commission into the Navy as soon as he was old enough, back when Mum was still alive. Thought it the best way to support both of us after Father left. I wanted to follow him in when I reached the proper age, but Liam wouldn't have it. Said Mum needed looking after. He was right, though I was too young and self-absorbed to realize it at first. When Mum became ill-" he hesitated, fiddling with the fork he had unraveled from his napkin.

"Go on," she encouraged.

She wanted me to promise to wed Niamh, a girl from our village that she'd selected for me." He smiled faintly. "She'd been trying to set us up all summer. Thought she was being subtle, but we knew what was going on. When Mum fell ill, she pressed the issue."

"What happened?"

"I couldn't do it," he admitted. "She was a fair lass, and sweet. Willing enough."

"But?"

"I felt trapped. Resentful," he confessed, traces of shame etched in his features. "I'd wanted to buy my commission, like my brother. Instead, I was obligated to stay home with my mother, pressured into keeping Niamh company, and never able to stray far from home, lest Mum take a turn for the worst. " He sighed. "I regret disappointing her like that, sometimes. The look on her face when I rejected the match haunts me still. I was a terrible son to her."

"No you weren't." He looked up, blue eyes blinking at her in confusion. "Killian, you were young. Of course you wanted your own life, to make your own decisions. That's natural. So were your feelings. Caring for someone terminally sick is difficult, even for a trained professional. It takes a toll on your mind and your emotions. Your feelings, however conflicted at the time, didn't make you a bad son. A bad son wouldn't have stayed behind for her. A bad son would have put his own desires first and abandoned her. You didn't do any of that. And as for Niamh, had it occurred to you that your mother wasn't disappointed about the match, but that she wouldn't live to see her son happy with a woman he did love?"

Surprise flared in his eyes. It was clear from his expression that such a thought had never occurred to him in his life of well over three hundred years. "Touché," he murmured after a moment. Then, "Thank you." Sincerity shone through the soft smile he offered her, and he reached across the table to clasp her hand.

His hand was warm, the skin rough and calloused from centuries of pulling ropes, hoisting sails, and all manner of maintenance on the Jolly Roger. It was the hand of a man who worked as hard as he loved. The hand of a man who fought for who he loved and what he believed in, despite fear or danger. The hand of a faithful man. The hand of a man who had always believed in her when she needed it most. The hand of a man she could no longer imagine her life without.

A hand she never wanted to let go of.

So, she didn't.

"You're amazing, Swan," he told her, breaking the intense silence that had descended between them. "That wasn't even the story I meant to tell." She blinked, and he grinned in response. "I'll save the stories of my years in the Royal Navy for another time," he murmured, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, and looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Next time?" she managed, her laugh half-strangled by the rush of hormones that hummed in response to his simple touch.

"Come now, Swan," he flirted, leaning toward her, his eyes smoldering with intent, "you wouldn't say no to courting your pirate proper, would you? Let's call this what it is, darling," he purred, his face inches from her own.

Emma's heart beat rapidly. She swallowed slowly. Half-hoping, half-praying that he would kiss her again, she breathed nonetheless, "And what's that?"

"Fun," he whispered, lips ghosting across hers in a caress that set her aflame with its tenderness. He pulled away, leaning back into his chair, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "And I make the most of my promises when I deliver them, Swan. This is not a one-time thing, by far."

"That's, ah, good to know," she said, clearing her throat awkwardly as the waiter arrived with their food.

Killian released her hand as plates were arranged on the table, and Emma took the opportunity to properly catch her breath again. She hadn't reacted quite this way to a man since...well, never. But she'd also never felt for any other man what she felt when she was with Killian.

"Tell me something about you, love," he said after the waiter left again. He picked up a fork and tucked into his salmon while he waited for a response.

Emma thought of several stories she could share, but discarded them. They were all depressing. She didn't want to ruin the air of promise that lingered between them. There would be plenty of time to share the darker segments of their pasts later. On a different date, farther in the future.

She selected something lighter instead.

"All right," she said after she swallowed a spoonful of potatoes. "I have a tattoo."

He glanced at the buttercup that adorned her wrist in amusement. "Is this revenge for my earlier snarkiness, darling? I must say, I find it as alluring as I do irritating. Well played."

"No," she said carefully, concentrating in detail on the food that sat on her plate. "Not that tattoo."

He blinked, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. "There's another one?" he inquired, eyes heating with desire as he set his fork down.

"There is," she affirmed lightly, purposefully neglecting to tell him where. What could she say? She loved screwing with him.

His eyes raked across her figure, trying to discern just where it might be located underneath her clothing. "And this other tattoo would be...where?"

"You'll find out someday," she teased, ratcheting up the torture, "if you play your cards right." His expression became faintly pained. "Do you want to hear the story?"

"Aye," he answered. "I could use a good distraction at the moment."

She fought back a smile, pleased to have that affect on him. "It was after I got out of jail," she began, using the steak knife to cut up some of her meat. "I'd been working as a bail bondswoman for a couple of months, and I didn't really have anything else to spend my money on after rent and groceries, so I thought, why not get another tattoo?" She shrugged a shoulder for emphasis. "But the problem was, I had no idea what to get. So I thought about it and leafed through designs, but I still couldn't make up my mind. The guys at the tattoo parlor got tired of seeing me walk through the door," she smirked.

"I mean, I got the buttercup when I was a teenager, you know? Before Neal." When she had still been innocent about some things. "I wanted something different this time. Something that fit me and my life better, where it currently was." She grinned, lifting a forkful of steak to her lips. "And then I saw the perfect design. Something that symbolized both who I had been and who I had become: a former thief and a newly minted bounty hunter," she teased, placing the juicy morsel in her mouth. She chewed slowly just to keep him waiting and wondering all the longer.

She really loved screwing with him.

"What was it?" he asked with a hitch of impatience in his voice.

"Oh, I think you'd recognize it," she laughed as she paused in her meal. "After all, no self-respecting pirate ship sets sail without flying one."

His eyes widened in shock. Whatever he had expected, it hadn't been that. Pleased at his reaction, Emma busied herself with her meal again while she waited for him to speak. It took longer than she expected. Somehow, she'd thought he would inundate her with innuendos, but it appeared she had genuinely stunned him into silence for once.

"You didn't," he said haltingly, when he recovered the power of speech. "You didn't really get a Jolly Roger tattooed on you somewhere?" He leaned to the side for a better view of her figure, his eyes roving again. If she'd been kindling, he might have set fire to her altogether with the intense way his eyes caressed her.

"Underlaid with crossed cutlass and pistol," she confirmed.

Breath huffed out of him, and he loosened the collar of his shirt. He stared at her again, eyes dilated, his cheeks visibly flushed. He seemed to have lost the power of speech again.

"What, no comment?" she teased, enjoying his flustered manner.

"No," he said huskily. "Actually, I've been contemplating the best way to sneak you away from this restaurant, into a bed, and out of that dress."

"That's a nice idea," she agreed, "but not tonight."

"You're a cruel woman, Swan."

"The cruelest," she affirmed with a smirk. Her face fell, and she became serious again. "It's just that I've taken too many men to bed on the first date, with no expectation or intention of ever seeing them again. I want this to be different."

"Understood," he said with a soft groan. "But in the future, try not to stoke the fire unless you're prepared to let it, ah, burn to its natural end," he finished with a leer. "Otherwise I may find it very difficult to contain myself. Pirates are not known for their patience. They take what they want when they want it."

She raised an eyebrow. Now there was an interesting idea to explore in the future. "I'll keep that in mind," she said.

They resumed eating, maintaining a comfortable silence for a while as they each cooled off a little and considered what the future might hold with each other. Had they consulted each other, they would have found that their thoughts followed a similar path, filled with long nights spent holding each other, weekends spent sailing, afternoons in the park with Henry...and maybe, down the road, a more permanent arrangement.

But neither of them said a word about these dreams. It was too soon, no matter how strong their connection was. And there was too much that was new to be lingered over, savored, as they explored their new relationship together.

So they communicated in a language of shy smiles and meaningful glances instead, punctuated by the occasional light remark or funny story, but delving into nothing deeper or more significant until after dessert was finished and the check paid. They'd bickered good-naturedly over that: Emma insisting that she pay because she invited him, and Killian refusing because it wasn't gentlemanly to let her do so. To which Emma pointed out he was just as much a pirate as a gentleman, and Killian gloated that pirates didn't like debts, and if he let her pay, he'd be in debt to her. And did she really want an indebted pirate around, trying to even the score?

Neither of them remembering, of course, about the rather interested audience eavesdropping nearby, who by this time had long concluded that all this talk of pirates was some manner of kinky foreplay leading up to more interesting pursuits taking place later that night.

"Dammit," she swore in reply to his final argument. Somehow, he'd managed to maneuver them into a situation which was a win for him either way. He'd bested her. And the hell of it was that she didn't even care.

"Yes," she finally said with good humor. "I think I'd rather like having an indebted pirate in my company." She let her gaze creep down his body for once, her expression arch. He caught her meaning immediately, and straightened, practically preening under her gaze. "But," she warned, "I don't settle debts easily. Might take you a while to pay me back."

"Ooh, tough lass," he approved. "You drive a hard bargain indeed."

And Emma bit back any number of innuendos she could have said in reply, opting to gulp down the last of her soda instead. Killian's eyes glittered with humor, as if he knew each and every naughty thought her mind harbored. "Let's go," she told him, standing up after she signed the receipt and tucked the credit card back into her purse.

He walked around the table toward her, lacing their fingers together, and led her out of the restaurant. "Let's walk a bit, sweetheart," he murmured. He turned down the sidewalk outside the restaurant, pulling her a little nearer to him. "Are you cold?" he asked, noting the way she'd shivered a bit in the cool evening air.

"A little."

Killian pulled his jacket off without another word and slipped it over her shoulders. "Having a good time?" he asked, slipping his hand into hers again as they resumed walking.

"Aren't I the one that's supposed to be asking you that?" she smiled. "I asked you out."

"But I always have a wonderful time with you, Swan," he said sincerely. "I thought you knew that."

"I...I never let myself think about it much, or what it meant," she admitted.

"So are you?" he pressed. "Having a good time?"

She halted, pulling him to a gentle stop. He eyed her sidelong, and before she knew it, Emma had pressed him up against the wall of an old brick building, kissing him with all the fervency of someone who had been starved of it her whole life. And in some ways, she had been. But the hunger in this kiss had nothing to do with her affection-starved childhood, and everything to do with who he was and the way that he made her feel. It was a kiss that tasted of playful smirks, heated gazes, afternoons in the sun, laughter and teasing, quiet conversations, and days spent at sea in each other's quiet company.

Emma pulled away, gasping for air, brushing back a lock of curls that he'd crushed to limpness in his enthusiasm. The shell-shocked look on his face almost made her laugh. Was this how he'd looked after their kiss in Neverland? She hadn't taken the time to tell. What a pity.

Cupping his chin between her hands, she administered a gentle, more chaste kiss to his lips. "I'm having a wonderful time," she told him, "with my friend."

"Friend?" he asked, his tone darkening a shade, his expression growing guarded.

"Best friend," she amended. "I wouldn't want to-how do you put it?-court anyone less."

"You've a strange idea of friendship, Emma Swan," he smiled, understanding beginning to glint in his eyes.

"Well, you know what they say," she told him, taking his hand in her own this time.

"No, what's that?" he inquired, falling into step beside her as she tugged him down the sidewalk again.

"Love is friendship set on fire."

"Hmm," he mused after several heartbeats of nerve-wracking silence. He gave her a long, searching look. "I rather like that idea."

Emma grinned to herself. "I rather thought you would." She stole a shy glance at him. "Happy Valentine's Day, Killian."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Emma."

A/N: There was a movie reference in here. Did you catch it? It's one of my favorites.