Apologies on the delay in updates for this collection! I've been busy plotting/writing the first few parts of a multi-chapter adventure fic starring Henry Mills on his own quest in the Enchanted Forest with Mulan (bc I miss her and Henry deserves a little adventure too). The fic is called Forest of Worth. Check it out!
In the meanwhile though, I was feeling domestic today and decided to bake something chocolaty, which led to this little nugget of inspiration.
Killian vs. the oven/baking/modern cooking. Mild fluff toward the end.
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A putrid burning smell filled the kitchen of the Charming's apartment and Killian cursed his way to the oven. His hook pulled the oven door open and he braced himself for the onslaught of ash and failure that lay helplessly before him in unrecognizable clumps on the baking sheet.
"Bloody hell, not again."
Was it really too much for him to want to bake something edible for Emma Swan? He could fend for himself in the Enchanted Forest, fish off his ship or cook over a fire as need be, but the devices and appliances littered throughout the kitchens of this realm were beyond any reasonable understanding without proper tutelage.
He sighed heavily in defeat, his gloved hand taking hold of the baking tray, ready to toss the latest batch of burnt dough into the garbage bin. Perhaps he should have simply asked for help instead of trying to do this on his own, but for once the apartment was empty and no one would be back for the remainder of the afternoon. It was a rare window of opportunity that Killian refused to waste.
It had taken several weeks of subtle observation and light questioning, but Killian thought he had a decent handle on the concept of modern cooking techniques, at least enough to bake a batch of those bloody chocolate chip cookies Emma seemed so fond of. Mary Margaret wasn't the easiest person to nonchalantly follow in the kitchen, with the way she flitted effortlessly between bowls of dessert batter and main courses and appetizers all while entertaining her infant son. There were several times he was certain the princess knew what he was up to when he asked a particularly specific question and her eyes narrowed in consideration. If she had figured it out, she held her tongue.
He had watched the woman use the electric mixer and the oven countless times. Had seen the exact buttons she pressed to turn them on and off and even control the speed of the mixer and set the oven's timer. As far as he could tell they were the only two unfamiliar items he needed for this endeavor.
He certainly wasn't at a loss for ingredients. David had been hell-bent since his son's birth to take as few trips to collect food each week as possible, lest he somehow miss a key milestone in the infant's life. His effort resulted in the apartment being nearly overrun by crates of eggs, mountains of flour and sugar, frozen vegetables, and a near endless supply of coffee and chocolate chips, among other essentials.
It was even easier finding the recipe Mary Margaret used. He was confident in his observation skills and memory but he wanted this done right, and that meant following the bloody instructions. The book was always laid out on the kitchen counter from constant use, and was covered in the remnants of meals past. The page with the cookie recipe was spattered in streaks of something brown and spicy smelling mixed with what had to be the sugary sweetness of honey. How those ingredients came to fall on a page completely unrelated to them was one mystery Killian had no need to solve.
Combining all the ingredients together had been a strange but ego boosting lesson in using the electric mixer. He was immensely happy at having mastered the device. The thought of having to mix the ingredients with one hand while holding the bowl balanced in his hooked arm had weighed on him when he thought the electric mixer might be out of his reach. So even though some of the dough now painted the wall of the kitchen from when he turned the mixer on too high, and a good spattering now covered his face and the apron he had borrowed from Mary Margaret, for the most part it had remained obediently in the bowl.
Perhaps that was where his false sense of confidence had originated. The relative ease with which he had mastered the electric mixer made him cocky in using the oven and led to his current downfall.
Ovens were hardly a new concept to Killian or anyone from the Enchanted Forest. What was strange about the contraptions here was the idea of being able to so minutely control everything about the inside of the cooking space. There were lights that could be turned on and off inside, a temperature control that required nothing but the push of a button, and no obvious fire as a heat source. When he tried to ask Mary Margaret how the blasted thing worked she had pointed to several coils lining the wall of the oven, and spoke of how the heat collected in there and radiated into the closed space of the oven.
Well of course it bloody did, it was an oven. But how was it so finely controlled? The temperature could be held within a matter of tens of degrees without fear of changing.
She didn't have an answer for him.
The dough that hadn't gone spiraling from the bowl yielded four trays of cookies, but for some bloody reason Mary Margaret had seen fit to cross out the recommended time and temperature for cooking the treats in the book and Killian couldn't for the life of him decipher what was written underneath the black ink of her pen. So he decided to try one tray at a time in the hopes that at least one of them would turn out edible.
The first tray was decidedly undercooked, so he placed it back in the oven and turned up the temperature. But after another round in said oven the dough turned crispy and too dark. He tried not let it bother him, told himself he knew it wouldn't be as easy as Mary Margaret seemed to make it look, and that he had three whole trays left to experiment with.
The second tray was put in for a few minutes less than the first, at the same temperature, but yielded the same black ashen monstrosities. So into the garbage bin they went to join their predecessors.
The third and most recent tray was put in for even less time but yielded charcoal blobs instead of entirely crisp wafers. He dared to taste one of them before throwing them out. It was black and burnt on the outside, but still doughy and uncooked within.
Killian had never known such a thing to be possible when baking or cooking. Perhaps it was an ailment found only in this realm's kitchens.
By now the entire apartment stank of charcoal and Killian was tempted to open a window to let some air in. Hopefully it would clear the stench from the room before Emma and her parents returned from their walk. He only had one tray left and he would not let it go to waste. He lowered the oven temperature, and vowed to check the dough every minute to see if they were ready.
It was after fifth oven check that he swore he heard muffled voices coming up the stairs and Killian panicked.
Bloody hell, it was too soon! They were all supposed to be on their forest walk for another hour at least!
Killian was as much of a right mess as the kitchen and the apartment still reeked of ash and his culinary failures. He didn't want to be caught in such an embarrassing state but knew it would be foolish and cowardly to hide whilst his efforts were discovered.
And the last batch of dough wasn't even done yet! So there was nothing but burnt lumps to show for his efforts thus far.
"Does anyone else smell that?" Killian recognized Henry's worried voice even through the thick door.
"I'm sure it's nothing. Might be a neighbor cooking something. Yes they are! They're all cooking dinner and soon we'll be cooking dinner too!" Mary Margaret's placation quickly turned into cooing her infant, who was no doubt being bounced in his mother's arms at that exact moment.
The voices came closer, and he heard a key slip into the lock. Killian watched in horror from where he stood next to the oven as the doorknob slowly twisted open. The Charmings waltzed casually into their apartment, flanked by Emma and Henry, baby Neal gurgling from his mother's arms as she excitedly talked to him.
Each stopped short when they caught sight of Killian standing helplessly in the kitchen, his eyes wide and fearful. Caught under the scrutiny of four pairs of eyes gaping at him he was at a loss for words and opened and shut his mouth in the hope that something would come out.
"Swan," He squeaked. Gods above, he was Captain bloody Hook, he did not squeak. Why did the first thing out of his mouth have to be squeak? "You're back early?"
"Were you… baking?" Henry asked. Killian couldn't place the look in the lad's eyes, or anyone else's eyes for that matter. Whether it was awe or pity in those depths, he didn't want to. Didn't want to linger on their gazes if there was even a remote possibility of disappointment or anger in them.
Mary Margaret's was the only face he could read at that moment. Her eyes were bright with mirth and comprehension. She had known exactly what he was up to the past few weeks. Knew what his questions and glances to the kitchen were in preparation for. The ghost of a smile gracing her lips was one of amusement but approval, and he felt the tiniest bit of tension leave him.
"This is why you didn't want to come on the walk this afternoon," Emma whispered, meeting his eyes with green orbs that never failed to captivate him. It was said with such softness that Killian didn't know what to make of it. Was she disappointed he was wasting her parent's food on a burnt disaster? Did she think him foolish for trying to go it alone in one of her realm's kitchens? It would have been one thing if he had a batch of cookies ready for her, but all he had was a mess and complete fiasco laid out for her and her parents perusal.
Emma said nothing, her face unreadable as she marched forward toward him with purposeful strides. Killian stepped back against the counter, ready to face a verbal assault about wasting food and how stupid it was of him to try and do this himself when all he had to do was ask for help. Nothing could have prepared him for Emma pressing herself fully against him, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him for everything he was worth.
He gasped in surprise and she took the chance to tilt their heads and dive her tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his in a brief but delightful sword fight. On instinct he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, lost in the feel of her and the sheer relief that she wasn't angry with him. Kissing him like this had to be a good thing because it certainly felt like a good thing.
He moaned into her mouth when her tongue brushed against the roof of his mouth and pulled her impossibly closer, ready to move his hand under her jacket-
"Ahem!" They sprang apart, faces bright red as David glared at them with look that could have struck Killian dead. Killian was still dazed from the sudden kiss but Emma was surprisingly unapologetic, biting her lips and making it very difficult for Killian to keep from puling her into his arms again. Emma never was one for such bold public displays, especially in front of her parents and Henry, not that Killian was complaining; the spontaneity was most welcome.
David's face was still annoyed, Mary Margaret was smiling gleefully, and Henry looked just a little confused. Killian caught Emma's eyes and the pure astonishment and glee he saw there was enough to let him know she was more than happy to have walked in on him like this. That she was happy to find him doing something like this for her.
Silence continued to fill the room for several moments, and it was Mary Margaret who spoke first.
"Killian, is that another tray in the oven? Why don't you pull it out and we'll see what you've got so far."