A/N: When I originally conceived this idea, it was going to be a one-shot. Now it's going to be a five-shot. You don't mind, do you?
When the Evil Queen had passed on her reluctant invitation to her latest soirée, Hook had every intention of letting her down gracefully. He knew the invitation came from a sense of obligation, rather from any real desire to share his company. Furthermore, he already had plans for the evening, and none of them involved making forced conversation over pretentiously small servings of food, in the same room as the Crocodile and his new fiancée.
He wasn't daft. He knew the gathering was more important to Regina than she would readily admit. A way to celebrate having successfully vanquished another foe, yet another familiar face from the Enchanted Forest with newly returned memories and an axe to grind. Didn't they all, these days? Moreover, the Evil Queen and the Savior had actually worked together to accomplish the task, pooling their magics, with the bare minimum of snarky comments exchanged, which was certainly a turn up for the books.
He didn't begrudge the Evil Queen the small measure of acceptance she had gained in the town. Living in the same community as all those you'd cursed for 28 years, and having them remember that fact, couldn't be easy. Easier if she just hadn't cast the damn thing in the first place, he'd thought. But then, Hook was hardly in a position to cast stones when it came to going to extraordinary measures for vengeance, innocent bystanders be damned. Love made fools of them all.
As such, he didn't begrudge her a small step on her path to possible redemption, towards earning the love and trust of her son. But he still would have rathered spend his evening as he had originally intended, sequestered in his quarters aboard the Jolly Roger, getting uproariously drunk, alone.
And he would have, had that blasted fairy not intervened.
"Of course he'll come," she'd answered for him, stepping in front of where he sat by the counter at Granny's, eyes gleaming with mischief as she smiled up at the Queen. "Hook's never one to turn down free drinks."
Regina had looked amused at the interjection, but before Hook could refute her words, she'd already nodded her assent, making her way to her booth in the back where the rest of the heroes were busy gorging themselves on a generous platter of something called "chilli cheese fries".
As soon as she was gone, he grabbed the erstwhile fairy by the elbow with his hook, pulling her back to hiss in her ear. "And what the bloody hell do you think you're doing, dictating a man's social calendar without his consent?"
If Tinker Bell was intimidated by his ire, she didn't show it, whirling around to face him, a sly smile on her lips.
"Helping," she'd replied in that annoyingly self-assured way that all fairies had about them, wings or no.
"Helping?" he scoffed. "What the devil makes you think I want or need your help?"
"Emma will be there," was her sing-song reply, nudging him with her elbow.
"Of course she'll be there," he growled in a low voice, swiveling his chair around to face her better. "She's the bloody Savior. Everything that happens in this town, she's always right at the center."
"And she's been sneaking glances over here ever since you sat down." She gestured to her left with her eyes in way that didn't even approach subtle, and Hook couldn't resist following her gaze to the corner booth, where his Swan and her family sat.
She was nestled in the booth beside her lad, both bent over his famed storybook in apparent concentration, her golden hair spilling out onto the tabletop in gentle waves. Feeling very much like young man chasing his first lass, and slightly ridiculous, he began to doubt the veracity of the fairy's claims. Until Emma reached out a hand to push her hair back behind one ear, at the same time surreptitiously glancing up from the page, her green eyes meeting his from across the room. Something warm bloomed in Hook's chest as he held her gaze, the tinge of color on her cheeks as she hastily averted her eyes almost enough to make a man hope.
He hadn't told Tinker Bell that he'd scaled back his efforts to win Emma's affections since their return to Storybrooke, that he'd promised Baelfire he wouldn't stand in the way of their reconciliation, if that was her choice.
He hadn't told her much of anything, really, but being the persistent fairy she was, she'd gleaned enough. And so Hook had avoided her as best he could, unable to stand watching her eyes light up at the idea of a dread pirate pining after a bloody princess of the realm.
He especially hadn't told her of the way he'd almost ruined all his good intentions when he'd found himself caught in her chambers during their return celebration. He'd already been well on his way to intoxication, and regretting his latest attempt at good form when she'd happened upon him. For her own reasons, she'd stayed, the temptation to close the distance between them driving him to surliness, and further into the bottle of whatever glorious concoction she'd brought upstairs with her. Even so, he hadn't been able to resist stealing a goodbye kiss as he beat his hasty departure, a kiss that teetered on the edge of friendly, keening towards darker avenues.
He'd never claimed to be perfect.
Another evening spent in her general vicinity was certainly a bad idea, an unnecessary test of his resolve. And yet, glancing back towards the booth, from where the Savior was studiously not looking at him, he supposed he couldn't see the harm in one night of revelry. He had been invited, after all.
He'd never before merited an invitation into the Mayor's residence, but the reality proved to be every bit as grandiose as he would expect from Regina, the stark white columns, vaulted ceilings and distinct lack of personal effects very much a reflection of the woman herself. Beautiful, but cold. Lacking in the warmer details.
From the looks of the townspeople who were milling in the foyer, their expressions a mixture of awestruck and fearful as they took hesitant steps further inside, he knew he wasn't alone in feeling the Evil Queen's imprint upon the place. The crowd around the refreshment table was thin, Madam Mayor's predilection for contaminated foodstuffs preceding her. There was a much larger crowd clustered around a handful of dwarves, who'd rolled a few barrels of ale out onto the patio, and begun distributing foamy servings in garishly colored, flimsy looking cups. And though he regarded them with no small amount of suspicion, Tinkerbell had one thing right about him, he wasn't the type to pass up a freely offered beverage. He accepted his offered cup with a grateful nod, before disappearing back inside.
From his chosen spot beside a table of untouched savory confections, piled high on silver platters, he was ideally placed to watch as Emma made her eventual entrance, trailing just behind her parents, somewhat flustered when the attentions of near everyone turned to their arrival. He wasn't sure whether to be aggrieved or relieved that she seemed otherwise unaccompanied, with no sign of Baelfire by her side.
Gods, she was beautiful.
Her golden hair had been pulled up into some intricate style, the lean lines of her neck exposed. She'd been outfitted in a dress that was not in her usual style, soft and pretty, pink lace flaring from the waist.
She looked like a princess.
Moreover, she looked uncomfortable.
Every few seconds her hands would ghost over the fabric, tugging at the hem of the skirt, adjusting the bodice. Whilst he appreciated the view, Hook would bet any treasure that the garment had been something her mother had forced upon her, with Emma too polite to refuse. The matching shoes, leaving her standing taller than her usual boots, seemed to be unfamiliar to her, every few steps forward accompanied by a small wobble, as she struggled to maintain her balance. It was somewhat endearing, watching so capable a woman struggle outside of her comfort zone, and yet too stubborn to admit defeat. How very like her. It equally made him want to wring her mother's neck, for so obviously parading her daughter around in such a way, as if she were a doll rather than a grown woman, with a child of her own.
So distracted was Hook with watching Emma's entrance, that he crashed headlong into a man wearing a tan coat walking in the other direction. At the collision, his ale slopped over the rim of his cup onto Regina's pristine tiled floor, and he held out his hook to rest upon the man's shoulder, steadying himself.
"Sorry mate, I-" His words of apology died on his lips when his eyes clapped on the man's face, whose eyes grew wide behind his spectacles.
It was the Cricket. The man he and Cora had imprisoned in the hold of the Jolly Roger just a few weeks prior. The man from whom he had extracted Storybrooke's closest guarded secrets. He recalled the particulars of the interrogation with a cold clarity now, as he saw a familiar rush of fear flood into the man's eyes. The sharpened tip of his hook biting into the man's flesh. The secrets tumbling from trembling lips.
He shied away from the memory, jerking backwards suddenly, extracting his hook from the man's shoulder. The man, Archie, he reminded himself, had gone pale, his previously genial smile twisting into something entirely more horrified as he stood rooted to the spot, unaware of his own beverage tipping over onto the floor.
Over the centuries, Hook had done a lot of bad things to good people in order to get what he wanted. This man's treatment at his hands was simply one of the latest in a long line of questionable deeds, and one more instance of collateral damage in his never-ending feud with the Crocodile hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things.
But seeing this man, this good man, regard him with so much naked fear, Hook felt something white hot begin to burn uncomfortably in his blood, something he scarcely knew he was still capable of feeling.
Shame.
With a short glance back into those terrified eyes, he took another step back, eyes darting around for the nearest exit. "I'm sorry," he said again, though he knew the words were empty. "Truly." And without a backwards glance, he turned on his heel and strode from the room as fast as he could manage without running.
This was one of many reasons Captain Hook preferred the open ocean, and the sparse company of his loyal band of miscreant crewmen. Why his occasional trips ashore were dulled by the distracting combination of willing women and fine ale. It was much easier for a man to live with his misdeeds when he didn't have to encounter them again in polite company.
He'd already been plagued by enough phantoms as it was.
Following his run-in with the Cricket, he'd taken temporary refuge outside, walking out past the orchard, finding himself seated before the hollowed-out shell of what he supposed may have been a pond of some kind, which was now simply an empty grey expanse, scattered with leaf litter, blessedly free from prying eyes. He would have just headed back to the Jolly Roger, returning to his previous plans of drinking himself into a welcome stupor, but he knew if he left the party without being glimpsed by Tinkerbell, she'd become even more unbearable than normal.
He'd go back in and find her when he was ready, when the thirst for more of the surprisingly good ale became too insistent. But in the meantime, the company of the stars was enough, unfamiliar though they were.
Or so he'd thought, until he'd heard the soft rustle of approaching footprints on wet grass, and he cursed, having thought his hiding place rather inspired. With his run of luck, it would be the Cricket, come to enact his revenge. Or the Crocodile's betrothed. Or Baelfire. Or even the Crocodile himself. Any one of the parade of faces of people he'd injured or otherwise disappointed.
He lifted his head, surprised to see the figure of Emma Swan approaching quietly in the dark.
She looked like a forest nymph. Her hair had been pulled free from its confines, the tumbling curls appearing silver in the pale moonlight. Her feet were bare against the grass, as she wound her way through the rows of Regina's orchard. The uncomfortable shoes from earlier dangled by her side from a single curled finger, no longer impeding her every step.
She was otherwordly. She was beautiful. And he was in so much trouble.
"I didn't even know Regina had a pool," she remarked in greeting, seeming almost impressed, as she came to stand a little ways behind him. He imagined she was talking of the hollow structure to which he'd found himself drawn, and he shrugged, patting the ground softly beside him, inviting her to sit. Pool. He filed the word away.
He felt her hesitation, her weight shifting from one foot to another, before she eventually sighed in resignation. She sat down beside him, one leg curled under her, the other dangling over the edge, brushing the dark leather of his boots before she quickly readjusted her position.
"Everything alright, Swan?" He asked softly, keeping his eyes averted from her face, as if she was a sprite that could be spooked back into the darkness if he got too close. That wasn't so far from the truth, he thought grimly.
She let out a long breath, her fingers returning to picking uselessly at the hem of her dress. "It's just a lot, you know?"
She looked at him then, and he dared look back. There was fatigue behind her eyes he hadn't seen before, a tightness to the way she held herself that was about more than just her unfamiliar costume. The Savior was exhausted. And if he had to guess, more than a little overwhelmed by her responsibilities.
"Finding the strictures of your position a little daunting, love?"
She let out a small, unfunny laugh, picking up a leaf from the pool's edge, rotating it between her fingertips. "And which position would that be, again? Sheriff? Savior? Mother? Daughter? Petty ex-girlfriend?" She averted her eyes at the last title, letting her gaze fall to her lap.
Ex-girlfriend, he noted with a guilty stab of dark satisfaction. Not lover. Not girlfriend. Not yet.
"Why are you still here?" She asked suddenly, shaking him from his hopeful thoughts. "Here in Storybrooke, I mean," she clarified.
"Why?" he asked slowly, waiting until those green eyes returned his way. "Do you wish me gone?" He cocked one eyebrow, anticipating her response.
"No, though maybe I should," she muttered, her eyes widening when she realized she'd delivered her accidental admission aloud, and she hastened to fill Hook's stunned silence. "I mean, are you done going after Gold?"
Was that her concern? That he would return to seeking his vengeance at any cost? After everything he'd said in the Echo Caves? Or after? After he'd allowed the Crocodile passage on his ship, all in the name of rescuing her boy?
"Well, I can't see us knocking back pints together at the Rabbit Hole anytime soon," he answered wryly, and she frowned. "But... I've agreed to stay out of his way if he stays out of mine, and that's probably the cuddliest arrangement we could have hoped for." She nodded, apparently satisfied.
"So what's next for the daring Captain Hook?" Her voice flooding with an enthusiasm which did not suit her expression. "You've still got that shadow strapped to your sail, right? You could go anywhere. Do anything."
It certainly sounded as if she wanted him gone. Though if that was because she actually wished it, or just because she wanted the complication of him out of her life, he wasn't sure. Or maybe it was simply a test. He never could be entirely certain when it came to this woman. But even as uncomfortable as his run-in with the Cricket had been, he'd meant it when he'd told Baelfire he was in this for the long haul. Emma was used to those she cared for leaving her. He didn't intend to be the next. And if that meant building a life in Storybrooke, a relatively law-abiding life, he was prepared to at least try.
"You've seen the state of the Enchanted Forest, love. It's not the glittering realm of possibility that it used to be..."
The land ravaged by Regina's curse was certainly a much different land than the one he remembered. Ogres running rampant again. Dark witches scrambling for power. Armies of the dead marching through the plains. He had no doubt the seas were similarly chaotic, left unattended by royal navies for so long, all manner of beasts grown plentiful and confident in 28 years without interruption.
"And the hot showers of this realm are indeed a marvel worthy of a more thorough examination," he smiled. He'd let an edge of innuendo creep into his voice, knowing she expected nothing less. And when she rolled her eyes, as he'd intended, it made him feel warm, this return to their usual push and pull.
"I have no immediate plans to return to the Enchanted Forest, lass," he finished.
"Yeah, well, I feel like it is my duty as Sheriff to remind you that in this realm, piracy is a crime."
"I'll have you know, Swan, that piracy is a crime in every realm. That's why it's called piracy, and not..." He searched his mind for an alternative, tongue captured between his teeth. "...sharing," he supplied at last.
Emma rolled her eyes again, but she couldn't quite hide her smile. "It's just that piracy doesn't work in this world like it does in the Enchanted Forest. There's the Coast Guard, and if they don't get you, the Navy will. And there is no way a boat like The Jolly Roger stands a chance against their superior technology."
"A ship, love," he corrected automatically. "And are you telling me this realm of yours is truly devoid of piracy?"
"Well..." she considered this. "I mean, we have them. Just, pirates these days are more into burning DVDs than making people walk the plank."
"DVDs?" He was lost.
She waved away his question, returning to his original query.
"Fine, there are pirates in this world. Not a lot, but some. Usually lingering off the coast of war-torn countries, preyed on shipping vessels, or in between the islands of nations too corrupt or poor to patrol their own waters. But they aren't like you."
"No?" He leaned forward a little, eyes fixated on her. "And what separates me from these men, Swan?"
"Well, for starters, they have machine guns," she shrugged. "Maybe a bazooka or two."
"Ba...zooka?" His voice was uncertain, letting the unfamiliar vocabulary roll across his tongue.
To his surprise, Emma laughed. "It's a..." She shook her head. "Never mind. All I'm saying is, I wouldn't recommend you embark on a career in piracy in this realm. As the sheriff. And..." A beat of hesitation. "... as your friend."
"Friend?" He repeated, with more than a hint of incredulity.
"Yeah, you're right," she said glancing up at him. "That's a stupid idea. Let's not do that." She stood up quickly, as if to physically distance herself from the suggestion.
She had turned as if to leave, and Hook had swung his legs back over the edge of the pool as if to follow her, when both of them froze at the sound of hushed laughter making its way through the trees. Someone was in the orchard. Two someones. And by the sounds of it, they were being quite amorous about it.
The she-wolf, and her doctor beau, perhaps. For Swan's sake, he hoped it wasn't her parents. Some things no child ever needed to see. Hearing the tangled footsteps moving closer, Hook made his choice, pushing himself over the pool's edge and skidding down the sloped curve until he reached the leaf-littered bottom.
"Swan?" He asked, uncertain, raising his hook for her to take. Her saw her bite her lip, looking from him to the trees where the couple were, and back. Eventually, though doubt was sewn across her face, she nodded slowly, reaching out gingerly to use his hook as a guide, before stepping off the edge.
She let out an involuntary squeal as her bare feet skidded along the grey slope, clutching onto the hook for dear life, letting out a stream of uncharacteristic giggles when she finally slid to a stop beside him. He'd never heard her sound so much like a lass before, heart unburdened by the stresses of real life. Hook found he liked it very much, this hidden side of Emma.
She caught herself, of course, stifling her giggles and stepping away from him to lean against the cool grey slope. She looked back at him, but didn't say anything, and neither did he. They both listened for signs of the couple, but there was no indication the pair had heard anything, busy though they were. Slowly, he lowered himself down to lean on the slope beside her, still managing to keep a respectful distance. His self-control was strong, but it wasn't that strong, and her proximity was already compromising his precious few morals.
"I never did congratulate you on your defeat of Storybrooke's latest foe," he remarked quietly, when the sound of her steady breathing in the dark beside him became too much to bear.
Even though he could barely make out her face, he knew she was rolling her eyes. "I didn't really do anything. David's the one who found his cave. And Belle's the one who found the counter-spell. Regina's the one who knew how to cast it. All I did was wave my hands around a little."
"You and I both know there's more to magic than that, love," he chided. "It takes discipline. Strength of purpose. In your case, a pure heart."
She scoffed, probably at the heart comment. If only she knew.
"And I hear you and the Evil Queen made quite the pair, united against a common enemy. Dare I say the two of you are beginning to get along?"
"Well, I can't see us knocking back pints together at the Rabbit Hole anytime soon..." she replied, repeating his own words back to him with a smile.
"Touché," he chuckled, bowing his head.
"You've been different," she noted, her words careful. "Since we got back to Storybrooke."
There lay dangerous waters. How to explain his recent behavior without alluding to his promise to Baelfire? Best to simply waylay her.
"Good different, or bad different?" He asked.
"I don't know," she replied honestly. "Just different."
He couldn't see the path her eyes took, but by the way she faced him, he was sure she was making a thorough survey of his face, trying to determine from his expression what he wouldn't say with words.
"EMMA!" had come a man's shout nearby, from somewhere in the orchard. Baelfire. It was Hook's turn to shift away, guilt at being powerless to resist her company once again flooding in his veins. He was a terrible friend. And Emma, well, she had scrambled to her feet, peering over the edge of the pool, seeking out the man's figure in the darkness.
"I've got to go," she whispered quickly, eyes casting around for a suitable exit. "Give me a boost?"
He wasn't exactly sure what she had in mind, but in the end, he allowed his Swan to use his knee as a step-stool as she tried to pull herself up onto the edge. Hook's hand came up to encircle her bare ankle, the brush of skin on skin vibrating in his blood, which he tried desperately to ignore. Cupping the heel of her foot in his hand, he helped lift her higher, until she could successfully scramble out.
"Thanks," she replied quietly, as she rose to her feet on the edge, voice a little breathless. "You gonna be able to get out of there?"
Her concern for him amused him. Like it always did.
"You needn't concern yourself darling. Captain Hook is not one to be bested by a humble pool."
"Well, at least one of you is humble," she mumbled under her breath, bringing a small smile to her face with her own cleverness. "Suit yourself," she shrugged, wiping the dirt from her dress. And with nary a backwards glance, she headed back into the line of trees, and out of his sight, back into the company of her former lover.
Her uncomfortable shoes were still sitting on the pool's edge, when he too eventually clambered out, after much swearing and exertion on his part. Perhaps he should have asked for assistance, but a man had to have his pride. He looked around, but there was no sign of Emma. Nor Baelfire. Nor the amorous couple. He took the shoes with him when he left, stuffing them inside his coat.
And if Emma knew how they'd come to appear on her desk at the Sheriff's station the next morning, as she walked in, still blurry-eyed, the only keys to the place still clutched in her palm, then she didn't say a word.