AN: I think one chapter every other week is as fast as it's gonna get, so that'll simply have to do. You may recognize the chapter title from the old sea shanty "Drunken Sailor", it seemed fitting. Also you may notice that I like to refer to songs and movies in my stories, I own none of those (unless I say so), nor OUaT or it's characters. As the title hints at there will be more of Hook (and alcohol, don't try this at home kids), and I hope you like my take on him.

One final thing: I know Emma's birthday is supposed to be in October (or at least during fall) but I needed to change it in order to fit my story, so I used Jennifer Morrison's birth date instead, which is mid-April :)


What Shall We Do with a Drunken Sailor

I angrily paced through the corridor, cursing under my breath. Miss Swan, you're fired. And I had thought she was starting to soften?! Clearly I had been delusional. You're dismissed. Feeling the need to act out some of my exasperation I chose the stairway over the elevator, figuring that rushing down the steps would let me blow off some steam. I didn't want to risk damaging any of the office's properties. Miss Boyd will manage on her own for the remainder of your shift, you may leave right away. Like I wanted to stay.

It didn't take long until I was stomping back into the breakroom, panting from the exercise as well as my emotional state. I had just been gone a few minutes and everyone was still there, our breaks not yet over. The first to address me was someone with a significant Irish accent.

"Well lookie here, the lass is back from her brush with evil and she doesn't look merry. May I dare ask-"

"You shut up!" I cut him off, pointing demandingly at him.

"I see," he continued anyway, his hands casually held up in mock defense. "It didn't go very well."

I growled, for lack of words, and gave him an annoyed eyeroll. Obnoxious as he was, he was right. It hadn't gone well. I chided myself for my foolishness, my naivity. This job offer had been too good to be true and the turn of events shouldn't have surprised me. But I couldn't very well have anticipated her twisted view of fun, could I? It was still beyond me why she had looked so damned satisfied while crushing my hope. Did she genuinely enjoy inflicting pain on others? Did it keep her warm at night? Turn her on? Perhaps she had some weird fetish? I knew I was out of line but the anger relentlessly kept surging through my body as I made my way about the room.

This was a reminder – apparently a well needed one – of who the mayor was. A reminder that she was a person I should loathe, keep away from, and not waste any more of my time and energy on. However, her actions had only spurred me on. I was not going to let her get away with this. No. This was war. I was going to find a way to figure her out, whether she liked it or not. I had a creative mind, she had said it herself, and surely I would be able to come up with something.

For now though, I just needed to compose myself and refrain from making a scene. Retire with dignity. I took a deep breath to gather myself before I slumped down in my previous seat at the table with Ashley and the old woman, both of them turning their attention to me with inquisitive looks.

"She fired me," I muttered.

"What?" the younger woman said, staring at me with a look of surprise and disappointment. "Why?"

"One of the regular part-time employees wanted to work full-time," I stated bitterly. "And that person is gonna get what they want."

"But...you've worked so hard. You learned our routines in less than a week and you never turned down a request or complained. Regular worker or not, you're an asset. We're a small group of cleaners and honestly, some of the others aren't very...commendable... I don't understand why she wouldn't prioritize you."

If I really was doing as great as Ashley claimed this had to be about the car, I couldn't think of another motive. The mayor probably still held grudge against me for damaging her precious ride. How unforgiving of her. I had apologized, I had paid for its reconditioning, what more could she possibly ask for? Did she want me to kneel before her? Kiss her boots? Neither figuratively nor literally would I ever degrade myself to such an act and I could definitely think of better places to kiss her and God no, where was I even going with this?! Things went viral so fast in my mind sometimes and I quickly repressed the images that had been evoked.

"I have an idea of why but it doesn't matter, she made it pretty clear I'm not needed anymore."

"Maybe she's afraid of a little competition," the Irishman said, appearing beside me with a smug smile playing on his lips.

The old lady across the table excused herself and left. My guess was that she wasn't very interested in listening to the cheesy eyeliner-wearing guy and his theories. I was curious though and gave him an encouraging look. What exactly was he implying?

"Can't have too many fine ladies working here, cause then perhaps her pet would stray and her sheep would get distracted," he replied cryptically and claimed the now vacant seat.

"Sheep? Pet? Why are you speaking in riddles?" I questioned, ignoring the fact that he had – quite indiscreetly – complimented my looks.

"With sheep I was referring to basically every male employee at this place. She herds them well, can't argue with that. And pet, well, don't tell me you haven't noticed the humble Mr Humbert and his moony eyes?"

I looked at Ashley for confirmation and she nodded. Hmm. I hadn't exactly noticed, no, but then I hadn't paid much attention to said man. I had never been very interested in the love life of others, or love in general. The physical part, hell yes! But the emotions and feelings and, ugh, they were just troublesome. Love was an illusion and sooner or later that illusion would fade away and reveal that truthfully, you had been alone all along. No, I didn't give much for love. Love was not real, and it was stupid.

"So he's into the mayor?" I questioned.

The Irishman and Ashley shared a knowing look. Apparently it was a well known fact around here.

"And she?"

"Well, what do you think?"

The guy across the table said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"The mayor is basically that 'Oh No!'song with Marina and The Diamonds personified, sticking hard to 'don't do love, don't do friends'. But she sure uses Humbert's infatuation with her to her advantage. I mean, he's chief of staff, control over him means control over the rest of the employees in a way she wouldn't quite have otherwise. Maybe she felt threatened you'd steal her puppet away from her and decided it's best to get rid of the threat before anything happened between the two of you."

The two of who? The mayor and me?! Oh, no, of course not. Me and Mr Humbert. I couldn't contain my amusement and the loud and mirthful snorts that escaped earned me quite a few questioning looks. The unwitting man's theory was a good one, for entertainment.

"What's so funny?" he asked quizzically.

"Oh, nothing," I said, managing to stifle my laughter. "It's just that...I'm pretty much as gay as a gay can be."

It was ridiculous to think that anyone would feel threatened that I – at least deliberately – would steal some guy away from them. Especially funny had the part about something happening between me and Mr Humbert been. Like, yeah, something could definitely happen, we might wave hello to each other occasionally. I chuckled to myself, trying to read the others faces. They didn't look too shocked. Good for them.

"Anyway, for whatever reason she fired me she sure was serious about it. She basically told me to go home and that's what I'm gonna do now."

"Yeah, and our break is over," Ashley said with a tired sigh. "It's been great working with you, even if it was only for a short time. I'm gonna miss it."

"Yeah, I'm gonna miss it too," I said with a friendly smile and got out of my seat. "Perhaps not the work itself, you know, I put up with that mostly for financial reasons."

"Totally understandable," she said, meeting my smile with one of her own. "Bye Emma."

"Bye Ashley. And have a nice life you all!" I said, the last phrase directed toward everyone in the room.

I began to exit but stopped in the doorway and turned around again.

"Not you," I sneered at the irksome Irishman. "I wish you a very unnice life and a boring night alone with your drinks."

"Alright, cutie," he nodded cockily and saluted. "Ten pm at The Rabbit Hole if you change your mind."

I flashed him an annoyed and highly sarcastic smile before I left the breakroom.

There was a whole lot of leaving to follow. I left my work clothes, my key card, second floor, the elevator, the lobby... Once outside I failed to hold back the angry tears that ached to come out. I didn't want to cry, especially not over something like this, but nonetheless I did. All my bottled up anger and disappointment transformed into these salty drops, escaping from my eyes and travelling down my cheeks until they finally fell and settled onto my jacket. I glanced down at the red leather and noticed how the view was similar to when it was just starting to rain. But it wasn't raining now, was it? I lifted my gaze toward the sky and it was blue and clear, the sun shining bright and eager this spring morning. Just my tears then...

"Let's go home," I said to the tears.

I tried to wipe them away from my face, succeeding to at least some extent. My hands got wet.

At home I surrendered to mope in front of my TV. Netflix became my escape and it almost felt like old times. Almost. I kept my mind occupied with comedies, rewatched Devil Wears Prada, and saw the mayor instead of Miranda. The film had a happy ending, kind of, and reality struck me. This, what I had now, was not a happy ending. Neither was it the beginning of something new and exciting. It was just...pitiful. If I only had gotten just another week. Or a day even. Had this happened any other day of the year I wouldn't at least have felt as... It was just so... Why did it have to happen today?

This morning had been such a roller coaster ride. The banter with the mayor that had actually led to a rather congenial moment. The overdose of persuasive cheesiness in the breakroom – not counting my sandwich, which had been damned delicious once I'd been able to eat it – that had not led to anything at all. And then, war. I had gotten fired and I didn't deserve to be fired and I didn't accept to be tossed around like this and it was my birthday...


I was standing at a floating dock down by the harbour, looking at the craft in front of me. This was insane. How had I ended up here? The night's events replayed before my eyes.

...

I hadn't wanted to be alone on my freaking birthday, that would've been too depressing. It was one of the few occasions I actually cared about and liked to celebrate. When the sky began to darken my mood had done the same. I had poured myself a drink, and then another. Then another. And then the bottle of rum had been empty. But it hadn't been sufficient, drinking alone rarely was. I had checked the time, half past ten, and with my judgement clouded it had suddenly not felt as such a terrible idea after all. Maybe...? I knew roughly where the pub was located and it hadn't been too hard to find the place.

"Took you forever," the Irishman had remarked with a self-assured smirk when I turned up beside him at the bar counter.

"I had to get a little drunk before I could convince myself that spending time with you wasn't the worst idea I've ever had," I had retorted, causing him to throw his head back and laugh loudly.

"Drinks are on me tonight," he then declared, and I hadn't expected any less, not under the prevailing circumstances.

Did that make me a bad person?

"What do you want?"

"Something strong."

I hadn't wanted to be alone on my birthday, and neither had I made any friends here in Storybrooke yet. Except maybe Ashley, but she was pregnant and couldn't possibly have joined me for drinks. Visiting my parents had been out of the question – even while still being fit to drive – because I didn't want to tell them I had lost my job. I hated to disappoint them and if I had gone, they would've figured it out. They read me too well, my parents, especially my mom. She knew how I acted when I was keeping secrets from her. 'Mother's instinct' she claimed every time I asked how she had known. I was pretty sure it had more to do with the twenty-three years I had spent living with her.

I had been telling him about how it was my most special day of the year when my drink arrived.

"It's your birthday? And she picked this particular day to sack you?"

"Mhm," I had affirmed grumpily, with a bitter nod.

"That's mad, darlin'! How young are you know?"

"Twenty-six," I had replied, my voice slightly raised to be heard above the noise around us.

"Cheers to twenty-six!"

We had clinked glasses, the big gulps of liquor I had procceeded to take burning my throat and distracting me from my gloomy thoughts. Which, to be frank, had pretty much been the point of being there, so all good. A few drinks later the guy beside me had fallen back into his habit of using awful nicknames and things had begun to get a little hazy.

"I knew you'd come to your senses and join me tonight, babes. You sure about that lesbian thing? Have you ever tried-"

I had punched his arm, hard, and had my glass not been half empty its contents would've spilled onto my lap and soiled my jeans.

"Keep it in your pants, you hooker!"

He had just grinned at me, seemingly unfazed. This is just great, I had thought to myself. I better watch out for this skeeve. I didn't know him very well but what I had known – even then – had been telling me to keep far far away from him, at least it had while I was still sober. But at the bar I hadn't been sober, far from it, and instead been dulling my mind with toxic liquids, trying to forget all about today and tomorrow and yesterday. It had all been about forgetting. Forgetting and escaping.

"Shouldn't it be 'gigolo' since I'm a male?"

"You're not even near classy enough! 'Gigolo' is such a weird word anyway."

He had shrugged and leaned closer, his breath hot and steamy against my ear.

"Either way, I assure you that for you, love, the fee is free."

I had shot him a disgusted look and gotten a pair of wiggling eyebrows in return, his drunk self just as terrible as his sober one. Probably worse. I just hadn't been in a state able to determine that at the time. A while later I had begun to feel sick – but not from him as much as from the alcohol – and decided it was time to head back to my apartment.

"I'm going home."

"Already? It's barely past midnight!" the Irishman had objected and put an arm around my waist, yanking me closer. "The fun's just started!"

It had definitely not been 'barely past midnight' and the fun had definitely never started.

"I should go."

There had been a short moment of stillness, a fraction of time – but long enough to be noticed – passing by in silence.

"Alright, let's go," he had suddenly agreed with a shrewd look on his face.

I had objected. He was not coming with me. He had insisted. I was coming with him.

"You've got to see my boat!"

My words had been just as slurred together as his, but his accent – intensified with every drink – had made him sound much worse and sometimes I hadn't been able to understand what he'd been saying. But this I got.

"You have a boat?"

"Cabin cruiser," he had told me. "Home, sweet home."

"You live on a boat?"

"I do," he had confirmed with a supposedly seductive look on his face.

"I guess I'll have to upgrade your nickname then, Captain Hooker."

He had laughed and dragged me out of the bar. I had let him, wanting to see his cruiser with my own eyes, not quite believing him. We had headed down toward the docks, staggering, stumbling, and leaning onto each other for support. Neither of us had been able to keep a straight line for more than a few steps in a row. Luckily the pub was pretty close to where his boat was docked and we had made it there eventually.

"Hop onto my ship, baby!" he had exclaimed, presenting his residence.

It had indeed been a boat, a wooden and fairly large one to be specific. The poor lighting had made it impossible to distinguish her name but I wouldn't have been able to read it anyway since I was pretty much seeing double.

"Are you out of your mind?! What if I fall into the water?"

"Then I'll rescue you, princess!"

...

Back in the now, I suddenly wanted it all gone. Regrets. This had been a mistake from the beginning. Why had I gone to the bar, to him? Why had I been drinking so much, with him? Where had my common sense been hiding all night?! I was not entering his boat. I was simply not going to put myself in a small closed off space, with an almost stranger, drunk, in the middle of the night. It was not going to happen. I took a step back and shook my head.

"No," I said, still shaking my head. "No."

"You don't have to be scared, I've done this a zillion times. It's safe."

No, I thought, it's not. And I don't want to be here anymore. I remembered the promise I had made to myself, to my parents. I was going to be more careful. Drinking oneself shitfaced and following a stranger home was certainly not being more careful. It was being more reckless.

"I need to get home," I stated. "Thanks for the drinks."

Had I really thanked him? I guess I had. Oh well. I turned around – too quickly it proved – and faltered for a moment, barely managing to keep myself from falling into the blackness next to me.

"Oi, easy there! Sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"I'll be fine."

With some struggle I managed to find my way back to the street we had come from and started my journey back. I had lied though. I was not going to be fine. Firstly, there was the issue of walking straight, I was simply incapable of it. Clearly a disadvantage when travelling by foot. Secondly, there was the nausea, which was getting worse by every step. And lastly – but certainly not leastly – I realized that I wasn't sure which way home was.

I kept zigzagging my way through the – for the most part – empty town, hoping that I was heading in the right direction. That I would, miraculously, find myself outside my apartment, eventually. But my head just kept spinning and I felt so sick. So sick... Too sick. I stopped and bent over. Regrets. And again. More regrets. Oh, this was just terrific, now my mouth tasted like vomit. I hoped I hadn't got any on my clothes or in my hair. And again. Why. Well, at least my stomach felt much more at ease now.

I started moving again, resuming to rake my gaze up and down the streets seeking something familiar. A building, a shop, a sign, there had to be something, somewhere, that I would recognize. Just something. Anything... But my search was a futile endeavour and I found nothing, absolutely nothing, that indicated I was even close to my neighbourhood.

I was lost.


AN: Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger ;)