A/N: An outtake that centers around some worries and family feels for Hook and Emma as they confront something we all must at some point, and the first appearance of Hope Swan-Jones in our little universe.
~For TeamHook~
Bleariness clouded Emma's vision as she woke, eyelids blinking away the late morning sunlight that streamed through the window and lit the soft whites and creams of their bedroom. She rolled the kinks from her neck and stretched, enjoying the crisp coolness of the sheets against her sleep warmed skin.
She must have overslept – the house was uncharacteristically quiet for a Sunday, and even though it had been years since Storybrooke had been disrupted by anything more villainous than teenage rebellion, something about the peacefulness pushed her into abrupt wakefulness. She lurched upright in bed, snatching her robe from the back of the door and wrapping it around herself as she stepped into the hallway.
The sound of something sizzling in the kitchen soothed any immediate worry, but still, she peeked into Hope's room to make sure everything looked normal – her comforter made and folded neatly below the pillows, as it always was when either of her dads oversaw the morning routine. It was definitely a far cry from when Emma was in charge and the entire wad of blankets and sheets was left knotted at the foot of the bed, a tangle-haired little girl hopping up and down on one foot while pulling on socks and trying to brush her teeth.
She let the smell of bacon lead her quickly down the stairs, the floors cool against her bare feet. Her eyes caught the clock and she frowned – it was earlier than she expected her husbands to be back and making breakfast on a Sunday. Usually they were somewhere between Granny's and the docks with Hope until at least nine.
"Hey," she murmured, coming around the corner into the kitchen and seeing Hook bent over the stove, the last pieces of bacon dropping onto a paper towel lined plate from the fork in his hand, neither Killian nor Hope anywhere in sight. "Just us this morning?"
"Aye," he smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes in the way that Emma loved.
"What's wrong?" she asked, concern rising up the back of her throat as she moved behind him, standing on her tiptoes and resting her chin on his shoulder, her arms encircling his waist – taking what reassurance she could from his solid presence.
"Everything's fine," he insisted, his smile broadening as he flicked off the stove and dropped the fork beside the spread of bacon and eggs, turning in her arms and pressing a kiss to the top of her hair before meeting her eyes. "I just thought today I'd stay in and take care of breakfast. Killian and the wee lass should be back from 'pirate practice' soon enough."
"Well, I'm glad you're here," Emma teased, her hands traveling along his sides and sweeping upward to find the open edges of his button down, her fingers curling around the fabric and settling in his generous chest hair, silver and dusky against his tan skin, "and I'm not gonna lie, bacon that's already made is a bonus too."
She pressed her toes against the cool floor and sought his lips, humming against them when she tasted the salty sweetness of maple bacon.
"Look's like someone was stealing pieces out of the pan again."
"Pirate," he reminded her, his brace and fingers pulling her more firmly against his chest as his mouth slanted hungrily over her own, their tongues rolling together with practiced ease – what Emma had intended to be a lazy, morning kiss stoking that familiar need in them both.
He backed her insistently against the kitchen table, fingers tugging at the drawstring of her robe as she pushed into him, thoughts of breakfast fading as she considered the other things they could be doing on the table, but her movements stopped suddenly when the press of her hand against his shoulder was met with a hiss of pain. Hook stepped back from her, his own fingers moving to soothe the hurt she hadn't known was there.
"What happened? Are you hurt?"
"No," he sighed, an edge to his voice that she didn't often hear. "Simply a stiff neck this morning, love."
"I'm sorry," she faltered, wanting to simply place her palm against his hurt and make it disappear, her intention clear enough in her face that he pulled back, taking her hand in his own and giving it a squeeze. "You should have woken me up. I can just – "
"No, Emma, it's fine. I can't have you –" he paused, placing a breath of a kiss against her knuckles, looking for all the world as if he wanted to pull her into his arms again, but was afraid of what moving too swiftly might do. "Perhaps I'll just set the table and the strain will work itself out on its own."
Letting her hand fall back to her side, she watched as he crossed the kitchen and opened the cabinet, pulling out plates for the four of them.
"Is that why you didn't go with Hope and Killian to the docks?"
It had become something of a longstanding tradition for Hope, Sunday morning with her dads. They would stop at Granny's hot cocoa and then take in the cool sea air, some mornings spent sharing stories and others spent sparring – something their daughter lovingly referred to as 'pirate practice', all three of them armed with blunt wooden swords.
It was the first time she'd ever seen Hook miss one.
The plates clinked against the table as he sat them down heavily.
"Aye," he rumbled, fingers scratching behind his ear before running through his mop of hair, the black holding much more silver now than it had six years earlier when he'd tumbled into their lives and hearts.
"You know that Hope doesn't care how she spends time with you. You're her father. That's all that matters. She just wants to be with you, whether you're swinging a sword or not," Emma pointed out softly, watching him carefully as his jaw tightened, insecurity warring with what he knew in his heart. It wouldn't be the first time that Emma had seen it – the way he'd started frowning at himself in the mirror, silently mourning the slow march of grey across his head and scruff. "It doesn't make a difference to any of us."
"It makes a difference to me, Emma," he ground out, turning abruptly and gripping the edge of the counter as he stared unseeingly out the window into the yard beyond.
"Jones," she sighed, closing the distance between them and pressing her body to his back, feeling every tight cord of tension running through him, "Killian..."
She didn't call him Killian often – the three of them had decided early on that it was simply too confusing for everyone – that Jones would do, or Hook – but every now and then Killian would slip from her lips when he needed to be called back to them, when he needed reminding of who he was and who they both saw and loved.
He exhaled heavily, letting his worries fall from his lips as he relaxed into her.
"I know it doesn't make a difference to our little girl, Emma, but...this was the first morning that I woke and truly felt the age that I see in the mirror – and then I watched Hope bound down the porch with her sword already swinging, Killian at her heels and I just...I don't want to fall behind. I feel like I'm falling behind."
"Hey," she murmured, urging him around to face her, palm against his rough jaw, "that's not possible. We're family. We're in this together, and that won't ever change – whether you're running after her or not. One day she isn't going to want sword fights and treasure hunts, or someone to draw a smiley face on her pancakes with whipped cream – she's gonna want a shoulder to cry on when her heart gets broken..."
A low growl hummed in the back of his throat, his jaw twitching beneath Emma's fingers at the thought of anyone hurting his little girl.
"...or someone who can look over her shoulder when she paints and tell her just the right shades of purple and red to use for a sunset. We're all gonna get older and change, but that doesn't mean anyone is falling behind – we'll just be moving on to new adventures...together."
"And what of us, Emma? Five years from now when there's only gray hair and wrinkles, when I've grown softer than I used to be, what will you and Killian think then?"
"None of that is going to change how much I want you, how much I love you..." her fingers found the place where his heart was beating solidly in his chest, pressing firmly and reminding him of just how they'd gotten here. "None of that is going to change how much Killian loves you."
"Aye," he murmured, fingers looping with hers as they both remembered the fear that day had carried – the day they put an end to his curse entirely – all of it washed away by hope and love and leaving them standing here. "You'll have to forgive the insecurities of an old pirate, darling."
"Our pirate," she chided. "Besides, did you want me any less after I'd added a few more stretch marks to my stomach and my hips got wider – when my boobs sagged a little more after years of nursing?"
"Your breasts, Emma, are still perfect works of art," Hook promised, looking affronted at the mere notion that they were any less beautiful than they'd once been.
In fact, he loved them all the more for having watched her nurture and care for their child, feeding her through the long hours of the night and comforting her when the trials of the day were simply too much for a little one to stand. That type of love – a mother's love – it was something Alice had never known as a baby, and he worshiped his wife a little more each day for having given that gift to Hope. There wasn't a mark left on her body that he didn't cherish, that wasn't a reminder of the depth of her heart.
To him, she was a goddess.
"If you can still look at me and see beauty in all these stretch marks – then you can't doubt it's the same when we look at you – and some more gray hair and a rum belly won't change that, not ever."
"Well, let's not allow things to deteriorate to that point, shall we?" Hook muttered, his cheeks reddening at the remembrance of Emma's story – of her meeting with aging Captain who no longer existed, a future that he'd thankfully avoided by following the Seer's advice and seeking out a small town called Storybrooke, a town that held not only the promised end of his curse, but the rest of his happiness for days to come.
"I'm just saying," Emma whispered, her fingers dragging along his skin as she pressed the smile of her lips to his own, "it still wouldn't matter, Jones."
He swallowed her surprised gasp as his hand slipped into the loosened folds of her robe, calloused palm glancing along the warmth of her skin before the sound of the door flying inward had them both pulling apart – the stillness of the house shattered by the return of their yet-to-be-tired-out daughter.
"Hope," Emma sighed, tightening her robe and turning just in time to catch the tornado of long, dark locks and flailing limbs running headlong into her arms, barely leaning her head out of the way in time to keep from getting whacked with an errant wooden sword. "What have I said about not throwing the door open? You're gonna break it down one of these days."
"And you know the rule about swords in the house, my love," Hook reminded her, plucking the wooden toy from her hands and placing it on the counter. "Now, where's Dad? Did he make it home, or is he still outside bemoaning the loss you surely handed him?"
"Let's not be hasty – I wouldn't go so far as to call it a loss," Killian insisted, stepping through the door and easing it closed behind him, his own wooden sword dropping into the umbrella stand near the entrance. "Our little lass put to use some very impressive evasive maneuvers – quite insistent on hurrying home this morning."
"Did she now?" Hook laughed, "and what could have been the cause of that?"
"We missed you, Papa," Hope explained, reaching out and squirming until Hook plucked her out of Emma's arms, jogging her into a seat on his hip. "And bacon."
"Ah, now we get to the truth of the matter," he murmured, placing a lingering kiss on their daughter's curls, nearly as dark as he and Killian's, though her face was the tiny, spitting image of Emma. "I suppose it's a good thing I made bacon then – because I missed you as well."
"It was a quiet morning without you," Killian added, still shucking his jacket as he met Emma's cheek with a kiss and then leaned over their daughter to brush his lips against Hook's as well. "Despite this one being up well before the sun, I seem to have failed at running her ragged even in the slightest – we'll have to take her out for some more sparring this afternoon."
"Aye, that we will."
"That all sounds great," Emma agreed, grabbing the abandoned stack of plates and placing them down neatly in front of the chairs at the table, "but I woke up to the smell of bacon and still haven't gotten to eat any – so let's make plans after breakfast, sound good?"
"Aye aye, Captain!" Hope yelled, her words devolving into a stream of giggles that she buried in Hook's chest as both her fathers protested that Emma certainly didn't hold the qualifications to captain a ship.
"Mama's captain of the house – the house!" their daughter squealed, trying desperately to bat away Killian's fingers as he tickled her sides, eventually settling for throwing herself out of Hook's arms and running to the other side of the kitchen, the table a staunch line of defense against any further onslaught. "I've heard her say it, so it's true," she insisted, blue eyes glimmering with the type of conviction only a four-year old can muster.
"Well, you must be right then, lass," Killian relented, raising his hand and hook in surrender before pulling out a chair. "Now, come, sit and eat – before the Captain has us all walk the plank. You know how grumpy your mum gets when she's hungry."
"I do not get grumpy," Emma growled playfully, the mock indignation in her voice doing nothing to quell the smile lines around her mouth or the soft crinkle at the corners of her eyes.
Hope jumped into the seat Killian had pulled aside for her, eyebrows raised halfway toward her hairline as she watched Hook carry over the plates filled with fresh eggs and bacon, her feet kicking the underside of the chair in a steady rhythm.
"Can we go to the park this afternoon?" she asked, two pieces of bacon already gripped tightly in her small hand before any of her parents had even noticed her snatch them from the plate. "I want to have a treasure hunt."
"Of course we can," Hook smiled, sitting down and watching as their daughter munched happily on her bacon, his gaze drifting to Killian as he doled out eggs and Emma as she made her own plate, stealing some bacon from the pile that had somehow doubled in size on Hope's plate.
Emma's eyes lifted, meeting his own over the table – her green gaze so filled with warmth and love that he immediately felt foolish for the fear that had overtaken him that morning, for thinking that something so simple as time could ever make them drift apart, could somehow make them less than what they were and had always been destined to be – a family.