Smooth Sailing (With A Chance Of Definite Passion)

by sandra70

picks up right at the end of season 3... and tries to answer the question "Where is the relationship going?" (without obstacles like Elsa and Marian; but others might appear) The rating has officially changed to an "M" now...

11. Something Called Baloney

First of all, thank you to all who decided to stay on board with me for this journey which has started out as my first CS fic. Thank you especially to those who took the time to review, here or on other media, and all the follows and favs. Most of you know that it hasn't remained the only one, because these characters are just too good not to write them.

---

Although they all were tired after an eventful night with very little sleep, nobody really got to rest very much. Everybody had still way too much adrenaline running through their veins and had to exchange what they'd lived through. Both Mary Margaret and David had Emma tell them again and again how she'd managed to make the prophecy on Maleficen't staff visible where not even Regina's magic had been able to; both Mary Margaret and Emma poked David about his short trip to the Enchanted Forest with Hook, even if that hadn't really been that eventful.

At some point though, tiredness got the better of them, and Mary Margaret declared she needed a little rest before the big dinner event. Emma lied down for a bit, too, but she wasn't really used to sleeping during the day; besides, these days she found it hard to fall asleep without two certain strong arms wrapped safely around her. "Lass, you have it bad," she grumbled, mocking herself about the obvious, and put a pillow over her head.

In the master bedroom, Mary Margaret was trying to soothe the baby into sleeping after feeding him, so that she could go downstairs and start with the preparations for the meal. Luckily, Neal was always the most peaceful right after being fed; if he should make trouble up later, his father would have to deal with it.

"So," David asked almost casually while watching her, "Hook's coming over too, right?"

"Yes." She shrugged. "I suppose from now on there's no family dinner without him, right?" She spoke in a singsonging voice, as she was looking at Neal while talking to her husband.

Instead of an answer, David scrutinized his wife closely. "Does that bother you?" he wanted to know.

"Would it make a difference?" she asked back over her shoulder and shrugged again with an ironic grin. "I guess he's maybe not so bad after all."

David was a little relieved about her attitude; they'd barely had time during those last few days to touch the subject of their grown-up daughter being romantically involved with the pirate, and even if he had made his peace with the possibility of that happening already quite a long time ago, he wasn't so sure yet what Mary Margaret really felt about it. For him, on the other hand, it couldn't be any clearer that the handsome former rogue was exactly the man he wanted to see his daughter with; as weird at is may seem, given how they'd started out, David Nolan had come to the point that he would blindly trust the pirate Captain Killian "Hook" Jones with his own life any time – and, more so, even with his family's. Besides, he knew by now that Hook really loved Emma – and she obviously felt the same for him. And seeing his daughter finally happy was everything he'd ever wished for her.

But David also knew that it was never wise to try and push Mary Margaret to see something his way if she wasn't convinced of it herself, so it was probably better not to show too much enthusiasm, in case she still needed more time to warm up to their daughter's pirate boyfriend.

"Yeah, I guess he has his good sides," he therefore replied carefully and cleared his throat. "It looks like they, sort of..." – he shrugged – "...care for each other."

"They sort of care for each other?" Mary Margaret echoed incredulously and turned around to face him with an amused twinkle in her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, David. They are madly and irretrievably in love," she remarked almost solemnly, not sounding one bit annoyed about that fact.

David thought he had heard wrong and leaned a little forward, his mouth gaping open. "Ah... what?"

"Come on," she chuckled and turned to the crib again, carefully pulling a blanket over Neal who had finally fallen asleep, "we of all people should know. They keep finding and saving each other, they seem to be inseparable, they argue and bicker, she knocked him out, gave him a hard time and kept running away from him, on the other hand constantly seeks his advice... sounds familiar?" She raised her eyebrows ironically to underline the rhetoric of her question. "I might be stubborn at times, as you so charmingly put it the other day, but I recognize True Love when I see it."

David didn't bother to hide his pleased grin and nodded. "And last but not least, he traded his ship for her," he added matter-of-factly.

Mary Margaret whirled around on her heel. "He did what?!" she gasped.

He shrugged. "Yeah, he sold it for a magic bean," he explained. "That's how he got to New York." Absurdly, David felt even a little proud of his mate.

Mary Margaret folded her arms and shook her head slowly with a little smirk. "That sneaky bastard," she murmured thoughtfully, although there wasn't much surprise in her voice. Then she threw her husband a questioning glance. "Did you already give him the speech?"

David didn't have to ask what she was talking about and nodded. "I threatened him with bodily harm if he hurts Emma."

Mary Margaret raised her hand. "Same here. I think we're good then." She shrugged again. "Not that I'd think it's necessary."

He laughed and pulled her in his arms. "Have I told you today that I love you?"

---

It was ten minutes to seven, and the whole kitchen area was smelling deliciously of Mary Margaret's sauce bologna. The lasagna was in the oven, the cheese on top melting and forming a crackly crust, and Emma left the bathroom after putting on a light touch of make-up. Her mother slipped into the bathroom right after she'd left and murmured something about quickly throwing some laundry into the washing machine before the dinner guests would arrive.

Emma had her hand on the doorknob of her room and – unusually for her – a little soft tune on her lips, when Mary Margaret called after her. She turned around and saw her mother standing in the bathroom doorway, holding up a crumpled garment with one hand, the other hand at her hip in a somehow standoffish manner. "Emma, we have a little problem here," she told her with a no-nonsense tone to her voice that matched her pose.

Emma frowned. Since they'd been living together, they'd always more or less shared the household chores, so she wasn't really sure about what her mother was referring to.

"Uh... next time I'll do the laundry?" she offered.

Mary Margaret shook her head. "It's not that." She waved the garment like a flag, and Emma saw that it was one of her blouses. "I'm not going to fix this," she declared firmly. "Even if I had the time to do so, I'd need like..." – surprisingly, the corners of her mouth twitched, and Emma had no idea why – "...eight identical buttons."

Emma frowned cluelessly, then looked at the blouse again and blushed crimson red when she realized it was the blouse she'd worn on her second evening with Hook. Her eyes widened, her blush deepened, and she felt like bathed in hot lava when she remembered how it had come off; he had ripped it off with his hook, after she'd urged him to. Or begged? She didn't even remember. The fabric had remained intact, but the buttons had all sprung to the floor of his bedroom where they were probably still scattered.

She had completely forgotten about that when she'd come here the morning after to change before work and thoughtlessly stuffed the garment in the laundry basket. Really?! God, how stupid had she been? What had she been thinking? Damn, of course she knew what she'd been thinking; she'd been rewinding the steamy scenes of the previous night in her mind over and over again.

"I... uh..." she stuttered and quickly blurted out the first lie that came to her mind: "Whoa, where did that come from?" She waved her hand vaguely. "I haven't seen this thing in ages!"

Mary Margaret had her features very much under control in the light of her daughter's blatant, not even very creative lie. She smiled sweetly and added a little, well-dosed confusion to her facial expression. "Well, that's odd," she commented and blinked innocently. "The last time I did the laundry, like two days ago, I left the basket empty." Emma chewed nervously on her lips and had to avert her eyes; what wouldn't she have given for a portal opening up in the floor at her feet, swallowing her right here and now. "Oh, never mind, honey," her mother said brightly, "you know what? I'll try and fix it when I get the time."

Emma nodded in relief that the inquisition was over and murmured a barely audible "I'm sorry", looking up again and smiling feebly and oh-so-guiltily.

"Oh, don't be," Mary Margaret waved her off and smirked mischievously. "You probably just got..." she paused for effect before she added: "...hooked somewhere." Emma's jaw dropped, and she stared incredulously at her mother. Except that, in that moment, she wasn't her mother, a royal princess or even Mary Margaret Blanchard, her friend; she was every inch Snow White, the bandit, and there was a devilish twinkle in her eyes that reminded Emma so vividly of Hook that she rolled her eyes.

"Thanks, mother," she growled, barely able to cover up the annoyance in her voice. Really, she'd missed the teenage years with her parents, only to get back all the embarrassment that came normally with it tenfold now?

As if on cue, a determined knock at the door was heard; it definitely sounded like solid metal on wood. Mary Margaret wiggled her eyebrows and commented: "Speaking of the devil..." She looked at her watch and smirked. "More than in time." She nodded appreciatively. "I must say, I like that good form thing of his. Even if he interprets it a little unconventionally sometimes." Emma rolled her eyes again and disappeared into her room without a reply to get dressed; despite all her annoyance and embarrassment, her stomach fluttered at the mere thought that in a few minutes she would be able to sit close to him again.

Mary Margaret laughed at the slamming door, threw the damaged blouse back in the laundry basket and hurried downstairs to let the visitor in. Although she'd made him wait, Hook hadn't repeated his knock but was patiently waiting outside, looking maybe a tiny bit nervous. "Well, if that isn't the other half of the dynamic duo," she greeted him.

Hook raised a clueless eyebrow. "Pardon me?"

She laughed and waved him off. "Never mind. Come in." She stepped aside and let him pass.

He strutted into the apartment in his typical way now, steering right to the kitchen isle. "This smells intriguing, love," he commented. "What's it called?"

"Lasagna bolognese," Mary Margaret replied with only a little self-satisfaction in her voice.

His blue eyes widened with an expression that came surprisingly close to utter horror. "You were saying...?"

Of course he wasn't so familiar with modern days' food yet. "Lasagna bolognese," she repeated and started to explain: "It's..."

"Ba-lo-ney?" he gasped incredulously, gesticulating almost hectically with his hook. "I've had that in New York when your daughter had me thrown in the brig, and it almost killed me!" He pointed his ringed index finger vaguely in the direction of the stove, obviously upset, and went on: "That is devil's work. Indigestible."

Mary Margaret frowned. "Well, I made it, Hook, and it won't kill you," she told him a little sternly.

"Bloody sure it won't," he growled and waved his hook in a standoffish gesture, "because I'm not partaking of any of it."

Mary Margaret had had enough of that nonsense, Emma's True Love or not. She took a step nearer and narrowed her eyes; even though she was much shorter than him, her expression was surprisingly intimidating. And for a moment, Hook was intensely reminded of Snow White, the bandit, wanted for murder, treason and treachery – her fierceness and fearlessness had always shone through and had always impressed him, even before he'd actually seen her in action as her past self. "Listen, pirate," she told him now through gritted teeth, "this is not New York. Let me tell you how it works in my kitchen." The glares she shot his way would surely have intimidated a lesser man. She raised her chin. "I'm the captain here – I make the food, you'll eat it. Are we clear?"

He drew a deep breath and growled hesitantly, through a tightened jaw: "If the lady insists..."

"She does," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Then she raised a hand and tugged roughly at the lapels of his leather coat. "And take this coat off." Another glare, less threatening this time, more gruff. "Make yourself at home."

He couldn't help but grin at her words and bowed ironically, swaying out his good arm before him. "At your behest."

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and shook her head, and Hook turned around to take off the coat and hang it up; it felt a little unusual to get rid of that garment that had almost become a second skin to him, but definitely not unpleasant. When he turned around again, he found that Emma's mother was still standing in front of him, arms folded, head slightly tilted, and scrutinizing him closely.

He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Anything else I can be of service to you with, Milady?" he asked a little cluelessly.

Mary Margaret nodded slowly. "Sure. You can tell me about your adventure with my husband." He frowned in question, and she went on: "He tends to hide things from me that might make me worry." She raised her chin. "So, tell me – do I have to worry? Is this episode over?"

He tilted his head in a nod, a little flattered that she sought his advice, like she'd already done before. "I think we're good for now," he told her.

"And did she really use a magic bean to send you back?" she inquired almost casually.

Hook scratched behind his ear a little uneasily. "Aye..."

Mary Margaret slowly shook her head, as to express her utter disbelief. "Who knew there were still some of them around?" she commented, and he grinned a little sheepishly, not really feeling comfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. "Precious little things, aren't they?" Emma's mother went on pointedly, and it dawned on him where she was aiming at. "Almost unaffordable." For a moment, her probing gaze lingered on his face before she shrugged. "Well, I guess everything has its price..." She raised her chin again. "As long as there's someone willing to pay it."

For a moment, he averted his eyes. "Well..." he murmured. "True, that goes for most things." He tilted his head and rolled his tongue through his mouth; but more in a thoughtful, not in a lewd way. "But some things are..." He looked at her again firmly, "...priceless."

Mary Margaret scrutinized him closely. "Worth every sacrifice, you mean?"

Damn the bandit, she knew. Of course, the prince hadn't kept it to himself. Oh well, let her know then. He blinked slowly, his blue eyes withstanding her gaze, then inclined his head in a nod. "Something like that, aye." He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. "Although... it's not really a sacrifice if you do it light-heartedly."

The silence stretched out and seemed to linger in the air between them, but it wasn't really uncomfortable; Mary Margaret's eyes bore into his for endless seconds, until she finally nodded briefly and the ghost of a smile flew over her face. "Make yourself at home," she told him again, this time with a touch of softness to her voice, and motioned her head invitingly to the living-room area. He watched her walk over to the kitchen isle, and a small, admiring, and a little unbelieving smile curved his lips. He then let his gaze sweep over the vast room and saw the boy sitting on the little couch at its other end. Henry had spotted him and waved briefly in his direction; Hook returned the gesture.

"There you are!" David had descended the stairs and greeted him with a nod and a slap on his shoulder. "Care to join me for a beer? God knows I need one." Without waiting for an answer, he fetched two bottles from the fridge, opened them and offered Hook one; he eyed it a bit suspiciously, not being used to drink anything else than strong liquor – rum – directly from the bottle. Beer normally came from barrels. But, modern times.

He tilted his head. "I never decline a decent ale," he then replied and took the bottle. "What's the distress, mate?"

David sighed and motioned with his head to the kitchen isle. "As Mary Margaret is cooking, I was on baby duty. Neal's a bad sleeper, obviously."

"More joys of parenthood?" Hook chuckled and raised his bottle to his lips to take a sip.

"Yeah..." David threw him a sarcastic glance. "Go ahead and laugh, Hook," he challenged. "Some day soon I'll be laughing at you." He merrily watched the pirate choke on his beer and then took a sip himself.

Hook swayed back and forth the balls and heels of his feet, still not sure he'd heard right. Had the prince just made an allusion at him and Emma having a child? A family? Until that moment, he had never really thought that far, but... his eyes darted quickly to David's, and he saw the teasing glint. Not really sure about what to say, he licked his lips nervously, but was saved from the situation when said Swan came down from upstairs. Both men turned to her.

"Hey, guys," she greeted nonchalantly.

Immediately, he found his inner dashing rapscallion again. "Hello, beautiful." Hook tilted his head and raised his bottle to her with a grin.

Emma felt that damn, unusual blush creep over her face again, when she saw him standing there in his usual pose – legs slightly spread, left arm a little crooked at the elbow, hook resting against his belt – and heard his husky voice and the teasing tone. And her father standing right beside him. She flashed Hook a glare, but couldn't even come near to hide her happiness to see him there; deliberately nonchalantly, she sauntered over to her father and her pirate boyfriend, a little clueless about how to behave, her hands shoved in the back pockets of her jeans. Quickly, her eyes darted to David who rolled his eyes.

"Emma, really," he huffed. "Just stop that. You two are..." – he frowned, looking for a word that wouldn't be too weak and not too strong, and waved his hand between his daughter and the pirate in a very Hook-ish way – "... together. We all know that." From the kitchen isle, a loud clatter could be heard. David grinned to himself and went on: "Just behave normally."

Hook couldn't scratch behind his ear as he had the bottle in his hand, so he looked down at his feet for a moment and shuffled them. Emma cleared her throat. Behave normally? She didn't even know how to do that, never having been in such a situation. Well, about time to find out then, she thought and took a step nearer, standing so close to him now that their sleeves touched. She noticed that he had taken off the coat; somehow, she liked it. As if he was trying his best to blend in. He turned his eyes to her, looking at her from under his eyebrows, the same slight uneasiness on his face, although she was oblivious to the real reason of his current embarrassment. She took a deep breath and tentatively slipped her right arm underneath his left, wrapping it around his trim waist, leaning slightly into him. If he was surprised, he didn't show it.

Unexpectedly, David gave them a barely perceptible nod. "Care for a beer?" he asked casually, and Emma nodded quickly. Her father turned away from them and went over to the fridge again.

She smiled up at her pirate boyfriend, and he threw her a wink, cocking his head. "Your Highness," he mockingly greeted.

"You heard David," she teased back, "there's no need to be formal."

"Don't worry, I'm not the one to stand on ceremony," Hook replied and bent his head slightly down to murmur into her ear, his hot breath licking like flames over the side of her throat: "You might be my princess by day, but once I'll... have you in my bed again, you can be certain I shall make you beg for more, just like the next wanton wench." His wicked tongue flicked along his lower lip. "Repeatedly."

She gasped and elbowed him roughly, stepping away from him. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" she hissed, although his words had hit her right into the stomach – and deeper – with a burning sensation, like one of Regina's infamous fireballs.

He raised his eyebrows and fluttered his illegally spectacular eyelashes innocently. "What? Your father said, behave normally."

"Sometimes I really can't..." she growled, but he interrupted her with a chuckle.

"You're blushing!" he stated.

"I'm not..."

At that moment, David patted her gently on the shoulder and, when she whirled around, handed her a bottle of beer. He frowned when he saw her face. "What's wrong, Emma?" he asked. "You look... feverish."

Hook could barely hold back his laughter; his sparkling eyes betrayed the enormous amount of his amusement which fueled her annoyance. "Your father is right, love," he replied, "you've gone red!"

Emma drew a deep breath, but before she could think of an adequate reply, a knock at the door saved her from the situation. "Never mind!" she snapped and shoved the bottle back into David's hand. "Just enjoy your beer, mates!" And with that, she whirled around on her heels. "I'll get the door, mom!" she called out to Mary Margaret a little harshly.

David turned to Hook and threw him a clueless glance. "Maybe she'd adapt better if I punched you in the face from time to time?" he suggested with barely coated irony in his voice. Even David Charming Nolan could take only so much obnoxiousness from his children, and dealing with cranky baby Neal the better part of the afternoon had worn his patience thin. Sometimes he really didn't understand his daughter, and he didn't even want to know in what hormonal uproar she was right now. Really, he'd missed her teenage years and was still getting the bad sides of them now?

"Perhaps." Hook tilted his head in a shrug and grinned. "If all else fails, we can always give it a shot," he replied dryly, and David rolled his eyes and chuckled.

Emma crossed the room with angry steps, hands clenched to fists at her sides. Really, Hook was too much sometimes. She did her best to adapt to a for her completely new situation – how do I handle my slightly unorthodox boyfriend in front of my slightly unorthodox family? – and, slowly, she was getting there. And then the damn pirate went and whispered dirty things like that in her ear in her father's presence, as if he enjoyed embarrassing her. Maybe, one day, she would be able to laugh off a remark like that, but right now, she was much too... God, just thinking about what he had said made that damn blush well up again, she could feel the heat in her cheeks. And the worst thing was that she could feel it not only in her cheeks; no, the heat and electricity were flowing through her whole body and seemed to pool heavily in the center of her being.

Damn, they hadn't been a couple for long and just started to... enjoy each other, and she was already addicted to that man and his touch... the way his lips felt on hers; the way his body hair tickled the skin of her palms when she ran her hands all over him; the way his intoxicating scent filled her nostrils when she kissed her way down his body; the way her skin burned and broke into goosebumps at the same time when he branded her with his fingertips, his hook, his tongue; the way his hard body molded into her soft one and pressed her down on the mattress, anchoring her so safely, when he took possession of her... and they hadn't made love in two damn days now, two endless days, and she already missed so embarrassingly desperately to feel it and in fact couldn't wait to get her hands on him again and to have him do things to her that would make her... no. She stopped herself and closed her eyes for a second, shaking her head to cast off those impure thoughts. Oh, and that damn bastard knew, he knew exactly. She was sure his feelings of withdrawal were as urgent as hers, but unfortunately he just could handle them way better than she could. She would make him pay later. Oh great, Emma. Not helping.

Still upset about Hook and herself, Emma almost yanked the door open. Regina had arrived, and with her Robin's adorable little boy. He was carrying a pie form and smiled from ear to ear, showing off his dimples. She couldn't help but smile. "Hey. Come in." She stepped aside invitingly, and after a short hello nod, Regina entered the apartment, softly ushering Roland forward.

Mary Margaret came over to greet the visitors; she smiled at Regina and then hunkered down to be on the boy's eye level. "And what have you brought us, sweetie?" she asked.

The little boy beamed. "Apple pie!" he announced proudly and handed the pie form over to Mary Margaret who took it with a barely suppressed grin.

Emma raised her eyebrows at Regina. "Really?"

The former Evil Queen shrugged graciously. "It's my other specialty."

Mary Margaret nudged Emma's arm. "If your boyfriend can eat my baloney, you can eat her apple pie," she told her dryly.

For a few seconds, the three women exchanged glances – grumpy, ironic, embarrassed... and finally, amused. Then Mary Margaret chuckled, Emma grinned reluctantly, and even the corners of Regina's mouth twitched. She shrugged off her coat and hung it next to Hook's enormous leather coat, then helped the little boy get off his jacket. Mary Margaret carried the pie form over to the kitchen isle and peeked over at said boyfriend who was just about to sit down on the couch beside Henry, ushered by David.

Mary Margaret smiled to herself and called over to them: "David! Could you help me out here for a minute?"

Emma threw her a questioning glace, but she just ignored her daughter and nodded when she saw her husband trot over to her, leaving Hook and Henry alone.

"Not one minute of peace," David grumbled as he got up from the couch again and shrugged apologetically in Hook's direction. "Sorry."

Hook tilted his head. "Never make a lady wait," he replied in an amused tone.

Henry, who was keeping himself occupied with the telephone in his hand grinned to himself without looking up. "Especially not grandma," he commented. "Not if you want to be on her good side." He raised his head and threw Hook a conspiratorial glance, and the pirate nodded.

"I'll bear that in mind." He motioned to the flat, rectangular device in the boy's hand. "What are you doing with that telephone?" he then asked with genuine interest. He was trying his best to adapt to a new situation as well, even if on a completely different level than Emma. "I thought it's used to talk to others who are not in the same room?"

"Oh yeah, that too," the lad replied. "But you can do a lot of other stuff with it, too. I'm texting."

Hook raised his eyebrows in a frown. "Texting?" he echoed cluelessly.

Henry nodded. "Yeah, that's like..." he contemplated for a moment how to explain the wonders of a modern smartphone to a three hundred years old pirate. "It's like writing a message, and if the other person has a phone too, they can directly read it."

"Seems more reliable than a pigeon," Hook mused.

"And it's fun!" Henry grinned and nudged his arm. "One day we must get you one. You could text mom."

"Ah..." Hook shifted a little uneasily on his seat. "We'll see..."

Henry put the phone away and turned his full attention to the man in black. "Speaking of which... so, you're my mom's boyfriend now?"

That was it. Hook couldn't stand it anymore. He put the beer bottle on the coffee table and was finally able to scratch behind his ear. "It would appear so," he then replied slowly and scrutinized the lad closely, trying to detect the faintest hint of what was his attitude about that development. Granted, he had already made them understand that he was fine with his mother "dating" him, but seeing him here, in the family surroundings... Hook just hoped that Emma's son didn't see him as an intruder. After all, the lad had was just twelve years old, and he'd gone through a lot of terrible, confusing things lately.

But the boy just nodded in obvious approval. "Cool."

Hook frowned, and Henry grinned at his clueless expression. "It means it's okay," he explained. "I like it."

"Oh." Hook relaxed visibly and moistened his lips. "Good to hear that."

"You're good for her," the boy commented, and when he saw the cutthroat pirate's embarrassed little smile, he motioned his head to his mother and elbowed Hook slightly, adding: "I mean, just look at her."

Hook of course never missed out on an opportunity to look at his Swan, especially when she wasn't noticing it, and let his gaze follow the lad's.

She was standing beside her mother at the kitchen isle and sticking her finger in the sauce pot. The princess bandit, all captain of her kitchen, scolded her and slapped her wrist, and Emma actually sort of giggled and licked the sauce off of her finger. As if she felt her boys' gaze rest on her, she raised her eyes and looked at them over the depth of the room. She caught Hook's gaze and smiled: quietly, radiantly almost; it was like there was no one else in the room. She looked completely at ease with herself, carefree – simply happy. Never thought I'd see one of those...

"Besides," Henry's voice woke him from his warm and fuzzy thoughts, "you're the only one she listens to, except for me."

Hook tilted his head and scratched behind his ear. "I'm not so sure about that..."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Really?!" Hook was taken aback at how much Henry looked and sounded like Emma in that moment. "You know that without you, she would be in New York now, or in the Enchanted Forest." He shook his head. "You two are so alike, do you know that?"

Hook raised his eyebrows in question. "Come again?"

"It took my mom almost a year to accept that she's the Savior," Henry explained, "and then another year to accept that Storybrooke is her home and that she belongs here. And both was only possible because you and me, we believed in her." Not for the first time, Hook was astounded by the boy's clear-sightedness; and he realized that they had much more in common than one would think – the truest believer and the once so cynical picaroon. The boy's undeterred belief in his birth mother had never ever faltered; and Hook, he had believed in very few things in his long life – his gut feeling, the indispensability of good form... and in Emma Swan, always Emma Swan. And that belief – the boy's at first, and then his, later – had helped her to recognize who she really was and finally believe in herself.

He smiled at Henry. "That we do indeed, lad."

"And that's why she needs us," Henry replied and pointed his right index finger at Hook. "And you're even worse," he went on. "Look at you: why can't you ever accept it when someone's acknowledging you for something good you did?"

Hook tilted his head thoughtfully and looked down at the dangerously gleaming hook that was resting in his lap. He had surely spread a lot of dread through the centuries, his dubious reputation always preceding him in full sail; and mostly, rightfully so. Finally he replied quietly: "Maybe because nobody ever did." He fixed his eyes on the boy's – earnestly, honestly. "There was not much good to acknowledge," he admitted soberly.

Henry shrugged with all the wisdom of his twelve years. "Things change," he said and added, after a quick sideways glance to Regina: "People change." He smiled openly at Hook. "You just gotta get used to it."

Hook returned the smile just as openly and nodded. "Aye, perhaps."

The boy nodded in confirmation and picked up his phone again. Hook assumed that the conversation was over and reached for his beer bottle, when Henry addressed him again. "Killian, can I ask you a question?"

Hook stopped the bottle halfway to his mouth. "Sure, boy."

"Could we go down to the harbor one day?" Henry asked almost casually, much to his surprise. "You could teach me something about sailing, like, I don't know... how to use a sextant?" He looked at Hook expectantly.

"Sure, if you wish," Hook replied and tried not to sound too eager; but deep down, he was thrilled by the lad's demand, especially because his Swan had asked him the same thing only a few days ago. Out of the blue, he heard Mary Margaret's voice in his head: if you want to be a part of this family...

"I'd like to learn more about my father," Henry went on, and that floored him a little. But that feeling lasted only for one moment, because the boy added with a sincere smile: "...and about you." He grinned. "I could teach you how to use a phone. You could impress mom."

Hook chuckled. And wasn't there a little pirate in the boy, too! "You're quite the tough negotiant, young sir," he mocked benevolently.

"Is that an aye?" Henry teased back.

Hook resisted the urge to ruffle the boy's hair. "It's..." he frowned, "how do you say it? Cool?"

Henry laughed. Before he could reply, Mary Margaret called over to them: "Gentlemen, it's ready!"

The boy put down the phone immediately and leaned over to Hook in a conspiratorial way, like he'd done before. "We should go," he said. "She really hates to wait."

Hook nodded gravely. "Then we should make haste indeed." He leaned to Henry, mirroring his gesture, and motioned vaguely over to the gathered family. "Take it from me, lad: rule number one..."

Henry grinned. "Never make a lady wait?" he offered.

"Guys..." came Mary Margaret's warning voice from the table, and both guiltily almost jumped to their feet.

The little dinner party gathered around the table, and, without any particular order, they all sat down, Emma to Hook's right. For a moment, she ran the back of her left hand over the loose sleeve of his black linen shirt in a casual caress. He threw her his heart-stopping smile, and, a little grumpily still, she smiled back, her earlier annoyance about his shameless innuendoing forgotten.

Mary Margaret gave out the steaming lasagna, putting an abundantly filled plate in front of everyone; Hook eyed his suspiciously. David poured red wine for his wife, Regina and Emma, the kids had apple juice, and he himself and Hook had their beer. After everyone was provided with food and beverage, David raised his bottle and declared with his sonorous voice: "Here's to another crisis overcome with united forces." He looked at Mary Margaret who answered his unspoken question with a smile and a barely perceptible nod and added: "To family!"

"To family," Mary Margaret echoed just as firmly and raised her wine glass, letting her gaze sweep over each and every one of them, to make sure everybody felt included. The others raised their respective drinks and murmured something in return, too.

Henry beamed at Emma, and Hook and Regina exchanged a furtive glance and an ironic little smile that went completely unnoticed by the others. Without being aware of it – but nevertheless suspecting it somehow – both were thinking the same thing at that moment. Villains don't get their happy endings? Well, Greg, guess what? Surprise.

Mary Margaret waved her hands invitingly. "Now, everybody – eat, before it gets cold," she ushered them.

Hook grumpily stared at his plate for two full minutes, poking the suspicious dish a few times with his fork. Although he had to admit that the scent rising from the plate was really delicious, he couldn't forget the horrid stuff he had tasted back in New York, when his Swan had him locked up because he had "assaulted" her. For a moment, his mind wandered free, and he smirked to himself when he thought that nowadays, she'd probably do anything to get him to "assault" her like that... a blow against his leather-covered ankle woke him from his thoughts when Emma kicked him under the table. He turned to her and raised a questioning eyebrow, and she gave him a stern look, motioning with her head to his yet untouched plate in a silent order. Sourly, he clenched his jaw, and Emma grinned; only after having admired the twitching muscles in his face. In fact, she'd always loved the thing he did with his jaw.

Gruffly, he jabbed his fork into the lasagna, drew a deep breath and shoved the bit of food into his mouth, bracing himself against the horrible sensation of tepid, greasy meat, rancid cheese and slobbery noodle dough against his palate. His eyes popped open when the delicious taste of Mary Margaret's lasagna literally exploded on his tongue, and he started to chew carefully, incredulously. The pasta was anything but mushy, and the meat sauce was hot and well-spiced. He swallowed and quickly helped himself to another bit, all too eagerly repeating the sensation.

When he looked up again, he saw Mary Margaret's glance resting on him. She scrutinized him closely, a mocking expression on her face. "So, what do you say, Hook?" she asked ironically. "Will you survive or perish?" Emma and Henry exchanged a conspiratorial smile, and David grinned to himself.

Hastily, Hook swallowed his second bit. "I have to apologize for my earlier skepticism, love," he admitted a little sheepishly. "This does indeed taste as fine as it smells."

"I'm so relieved to hear that," Mary Margaret replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Hook tilted his head apologetically and motioned to the plate with his fork. "Who knew the baloney is so much better in Storybrooke than in New York?"

"Most things are," Emma threw in without thinking, and suddenly there was complete silence at the table when everybody stopped eating, and everyone's eyes – except for Roland's who kept on munching happily – flew to her. When she realized what she had just said, and that everybody's attention was on her now, she shifted a little uneasily on her chair and hastily looked down on her plate again, vigorously attacking the lasagna with her fork.

"Hear, hear," Regina commented with benevolent irony, "that's a very satisfying statement for a Mayor to hear." After a second or two, general laughter erupted, and Emma was relieved when everybody turned to their plates again and resumed the meal.

From under her long eyelashes, she threw a furtive glance in Hook's direction and found his sapphire blue gaze resting on her. His smile was very tiny, just so crinkling the skin around his eyes a little and making the corners of his beautiful mouth twitch. So much better than in New York. Almost shyly, she returned the smile and averted her eyes again, busying herself with her plate once more. Yep, she thought, nothing brings a family together like a good homemade lasagna.

The rest of the dinner was filled with chatter and laughter and the exchange of their respective adventures and experiences during the last crisis. Emma and Regina had to explain once more how it had happened that the prophecy had finally appeared on Maleficent's staff; the former Evil Queen, on the other hand, was very interested to hear how Emma had managed to open the portal. David and Hook were teased by everybody that they had been rather passive and little heroic in the whole adventure, being trapped in a cage through all their time in the Enchanted Forest. The whole time the atmosphere was filled with lightness and relief that they had come back safely – and, maybe the most unusual thing for all, harmony.

No leftovers remained; Hook made a big deal of asking for seconds and praising Mary Margaret's "baloney" in an almost exaggerated manner, until she warned him not to overdo it. After the main dish had been finished, coffee and tea were put on the table along with Regina's apple pie, and as good as the former Evil Queen was dishing out, she could also take ironic remarks that were made. Mary Margaret was the one to roll her eyes at her daughter when Emma commented that this pastry was totally "to die for".

Shortly after the dessert, Roland started to yawn and rub his eyes, and Regina ruffled his hair in a motherly gesture. "Time to get you to bed, I'd say," she remarked.

"But I'm not tired!" the little boy protested. Then he obviously had an idea, and his face lit up. "Can Henry come with us again?" he asked enthusiastically, and when he saw that Regina threw a questioning glance at Emma, he turned to her, flashing her his dimples. "Emma? Pleeeease?"

Emma grinned. "Sure he can." She turned to Henry. "But you're taking your school stuff with you. I want you to go back to school tomorrow."

"Aw Mom!" Henry whined.

"No backtalk," Regina scolded, "your mother is right."

Emma threw her a mildly surprised sideways glance, and Henry rolled his eyes. "Really?! You choose this moment to agree? Wonderful."

Everybody laughed, and Henry rose from his chair and disappeared in the direction of his room to get his book bag, Roland eagerly traipsing after him. Regina got up and went to get her coat and the boy's jacket. Chairs were pushed back, causing scraping noises, and the general goodbye-ceremony started.

"Thanks for the invitation," Regina said a little stiffly to Mary Margaret; she wasn't very used to accept friendly gestures yet, let alone from her former foe.

But Mary Margaret understood. "You're welcome," she replied and specified: "You're welcome here."

"The next lasagna is on me," Regina remarked dryly and opened the apartment door when she saw Henry and Roland coming downstairs. The boys started their goodbye-tour.

"Regina, wait..." Emma stepped outside for a moment, pulling the apartment door almost shut behind her. The other woman stopped and turned around, a question in her eyes. Emma shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "I'm aware that the situation here is not ideal." She motioned her head vaguely to the door behind her. "And I'll be looking for a place to live for me and Henry soon." Regina didn't reply, she just watched her intently, with an almost unreadable expression in her eyes. "I'm sure we can work out a permanent arrangement once all that's settled."

Regina tilted her head in a minimalistic nod. "That would be great, Miss Swan."

"Look," Emma went on, "I don't know if we'll ever be bosom friends, but..." She drew a deep breath. "We both love Henry and want what is best for him."

"That's right," Regina agreed carefully.

"And," Emma went on, "I think for once we agree on what's best for him." She paused for a moment before she declared firmly: "I'm his mother." Regina pressed her lips together, and Emma added quickly: "And so are you. I'm sure we can make this work."

The other woman hiked her beautiful dark eyes to Emma's, and only a little gleam showed that she appreciated her words. Then her lips curved into the tiniest of smiles. "I'm sure we can, Miss Swan. Emma."

The door was pushed open from the inside, and when Emma released her grip, Henry left the apartment, his book bag thrown over his shoulder, and little Roland following him on his heels. Quickly, he let his probing gaze wander to and fro between his two mothers. Even though lately they seemed to have found a state of some kind of mutual respect, with these two you never knew.

"You moms okay?" he tried to lighten the situation, in case it was necessary.

Emma laughed, and Regina gave him one of her unique, genuine smiles only reserved for him. "Yes, kid, we're okay," Emma replied and ruffled his hair. "We'll talk tomorrow, after school."

"Cool!" He nodded and grinned, then he rolled his eyes when Roland tugged at his sleeve, pulling him forward. "Alright, alright, I'm coming!"

"Wait by the car!" Regina reminded them and turned to Emma again. "Let me know if I can be of any assistance about finding an apartment," she told her.

"Yeah, I will," Emma nodded, "thanks." And while Regina turned away after one last friendly nod, Emma called after Henry who was just disappearing around the corner: "And listen to your mother, kid!"

Only the tiniest slowing down in her steps and straightening of her shoulders showed from behind that Regina had heard – and furthermore realized – what Emma had said. She kept her smile to herself.

Meanwhile, inside Hook was watching everybody more or less depart – David had disappeared to look after the baby, and Emma's mother was rummaging in the kitchen isle – and took it as a general signal that the evening get-together was over. It had been a very pleasant occasion, he admitted to himself; it had felt new and at times a little awkward for him, but slowly, he started to adapt to that – being accepted, a valued member of a community... a family. You can be a part of something. It seemed like that was coming true not only for his Swan, but also for himself. And he was surprised that he liked it more than he ever thought he would, especially after being alone and on his own for three hundred years.

A pleased smile was playing around his lips when he went to the coat rack and reached for his heavy leather coat.

"And where do you think you're going?" Mary Margaret's voice came from behind and woke him from his thoughts. He turned around on his heels and saw her standing directly in front of him, a kitchen towel thrown over her shoulder, her arms folded. Bloody hell, the women of this family were talented in sneaking up on him. She was eyeing him almost severely.

"Oh, I..." he motioned between his coat and the almost closed door, "I think I should..."

The princess bandit took a step nearer and lowered her voice a little. "I want my daughter to stay here tonight," she said firmly, and Hook scratched behind his ear and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, she went on: "And we both know where she wants to be." She patted his leather-clad chest. "You're staying."

Hook thought he'd heard wrong and tilted his head with a clueless frown. "Pardon me?"

"You heard me," Mary Margaret replied almost grumpily and turned her back on him without waiting for an answer, leaving him completely bewildered. But before she walked away, she looked over her shoulder again and added quietly, with a soft expression on her face: "Last night she almost went insane with worry when you and David had fallen through that portal. She tried to hold up, but the mere possibility of losing you..." she shrugged. "I know how she felt." And with that, she left him standing there, having amazed him once more.

He couldn't believe that she'd just compared Emma's feelings for him to her own feelings for David. Damn that princess bandit, she was worse than himself when it came to always having something up her sleeve. He rolled his tongue through his cheek and shook his head to himself with a little amazed grin, then he threw a last glance at his coat – hang in there – and tucked his thumb in his belt.

Emma entered the apartment again, after having said her goodbyes to Henry, Roland and Regina and saw him standing a little clumsily beside the coat rack, assuming he was about to take his leave, too. "Hey, you already leaving?" she asked and casually brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand that was resting against his belt buckle. "Let me just help Mary Margaret with the dishes, and we can..."

Hook had found his wits again and shot her his dazzling smile. "No need to make haste," he waved her off nonchalantly. "Looks like I'm staying, love."

Emma frowned. "What are you saying?"

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in a shrug. "The lady of the house invited me to spend the night here."

Her jaw dropped, and she looked at her mother putting away something in the fridge, then turned her wide, incredulous eyes back to him. "She did what?!" She was sure she'd heard wrong.

He quirked a mocking eyebrow. "You don't seem all too thrilled, Swan," he commented teasingly, "I thought you'd missed me? Would you prefer me to leave?"

She smiled that coy little smile that was reserved only for him and averted her eyes for a moment to steal a glance on his beautiful mouth that was curved into his tiny smirk. "I think not," she replied in a flirtatious voice. "I'm just a little... surprised."

"Good." He winked when he started to walk past her, and she was taken aback for a moment. "Come on then." He chuckled hoarsely at her clueless frown. "Didn't you want to clean the dishes?" Emma's gaze followed him approach the table with her mouth hanging open, and she watched as he loaded himself neatly with empty plates, deftly using his hook in the process.

He carefully balanced them on his hand and carried them over to the kitchen sink where Mary Margaret was busying herself. "What are you doing?!" she huffed and took the pile from him. "You're not going anywhere near my plates with that thing!" she told him and nudged his hooked arm a little roughly.

Hook tilted his head and held up his metal attachment. "Why, Milady, are you telling me that you trust me to handle your..." – he paused to grin mischievously – "...children with that thing, but not your tableware?"

Mary Margaret flashed him an amused glare. "Neatly observed, pirate."

He pursed his lips and swayed his head from side to side, putting on a theatrically thoughtful face, and briefly touched his scruffy chin with thumb and index finger. "I really don't know if I should feel offended or honored by that statement."

Mary Margaret threw a sideways glance at her daughter who was cleaning up the table with a slightly confused look on her face; then she stepped into Hook's personal space once more and bore her eyes into his. "And I think you know that exactly," she told him with benevolent irony and gave him a little push. "Go get yourself another beer and find a cozy place to sit. Emma will be with you in a few minutes."

He cocked his head in his ironic little bow, carefully hiding how happy he was about her casualness with having him in her home, and Mary Margaret waved him off dismissively, her attention already turned to Emma who was approaching the kitchen sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. Somehow, she had it in her guts that a little mother-daughter talk was coming up.

"Where's dad?" Emma asked.

"He's taking care of Neal," her mother replied with a sigh. "Your brother's a bad, bad sleeper."

"I'm sorry to hear that, mom..." Emma started to scrape the remnants on the plates in the waste bin, but then paused what she was doing and looked at her mother probingly. "Tell me... how can you stomach all of this?"

Mary Margaret turned to her daughter, eyes wide open in surprise. "Are you thinking of having a baby?" she asked almost eagerly.

"What?!" Emma was taken aback. "God, no!"

Mary Margaret shrugged. "Well, it's not that far fetched, is it?" She threw a sideways glance to the couch in the back of the big living room where Hook had just sat down and stretched out his long legs in those damn black leather pants. "I mean, you two are..."

"Mom!" Emma scolded, but then her gaze followed her mother's. That thought hadn't even crossed her mind, the thought of having a family, a baby with him... a little boy maybe, with blue eyes and dark hair and dancing eyebrows, and... she blushed and slapped herself mentally. What the hell was she thinking? "Really?!" She leaned towards her mother, carefully keeping her voice down. Hook really didn't need to overhear any of this. "We're together like... four days!" she pointed out.

Mary Margaret grinned to herself and tilted her head ironically. "You keep telling yourself that." Emma didn't reply and busied herself with the dishes. "Anyway," her mother went on, "if you weren't talking about the joys of parenthood – what did you mean, how can I stomach it?"

Emma put the plates down again. "The constant worrying," she replied and, when her mother furrowed her brow in question, explained: "How many times have you feared that you'd lose dad?"

"Oh, that." Mary Margaret put her hands on the sink as if to steady herself. She nodded and looked at her daughter. "At some point, I stopped counting," she admitted.

Emma scrutinized her closely. "Have you never wished..." – she shrugged – "that you didn't love him? So you could have avoided all that pain?"

Mary Margaret's expression went serious when she understood what was on her daughter's mind. She nodded. "You know I have. I even tried it with the forgetting potion." For a moment, her gaze drifted away, lost in another world, another time.

"And how was that?" Emma wanted to know. "How did it feel?" She knew all these stories, she knew them from the book, but she still had to learn so much more about them.

Mary Margaret's smile had a sad touch. "I got what I wanted," she told Emma, "a quiet, peaceful existence." She shrugged. "No pain. No feelings at all." A shadow flew over her face, and then she focused on Emma again. "I was just comfortably numb." She shook her head. "But that wasn't living. Inside, I was dead."

Emma nodded slowly. "I think I know what you mean." She sighed. "It's what I tried most of my life..." She heard her mother's voice, from a long time ago: That wall of yours, it may keep out pain, but it also may keep out love...

Mary Margaret turned to her daughter and put her hands on her shoulders. "Emma," she said softly, "when you love someone – a friend, a child, a lover – , at some point you will always suffer. But you'll also get so much in return."

Emma looked down at her hands. "I know," she murmured.

Her mother brought her right hand to her cheek, a very motherly gesture, and Emma faced her again. "All you have to ask yourself," the dark-haired woman said, "is if it's worth it." Emma nodded again, and Mary Margaret smiled. "And I think you answered yourself that question already."

Emma returned the smile and put her hand over her mother's. "Thanks, mom."

Mary Margaret leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, then she rolled down her sleeves with determination. "You know what? I'll leave that for tomorrow and see if your father needs my help." She winked at her. "Don't stay up late." And with that, she turned around and headed for the stairs.

Emma turned around and looked over the room at Hook who had put his beer bottle on the coffee table and was resting his head against the backrest of the couch. His whole composure was relaxed, like he belonged there. She felt a cozy warmth spread through her body and smiled when she crossed the room to join him. He had closed his eyes for a moment and only noticed her when she was standing right beside him. As if he had sensed her presence, his eyes flew open. Like so many times, their absolute gorgeousness hit her right into the pit of her stomach. He added his heart-stopping grin on top, and she felt the all-too-familiar weakness already in her knees.

She smiled down at him and asked playfully: "May I have a seat?"

He tilted his head in a pleased nod and tapped the empty couch at his left side invitingly with his hook. "It's always a pleasure to have you. Beside me," he quickly added with a mischievous grin.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head but eagerly settled on the couch, crossing her legs like a schoolgirl. He had his body turned to her, and his hooked arm was resting almost nonchalantly on the back of the couch. It warmed his heart to notice that she moved in close to him with absolute naturalness and bare of any hesitance, until she was comfortably leaning into him. Emma rested her head on his shoulder, and for a few wonderful quiet moments they just enjoyed the nearness and peacefulness, the mutual warmth; then, she brought herself into a more upright position so she'd be able to look at him.

Half incredulously, half amusedly she inquired: "Did my mother really tell you to stay here tonight?"

Hook tilted his head and pursed his perfect lips into a grin. "What can I do, she has apparently a soft spot for me."

She raised an ironic eyebrow. "Please, "she chastised. "You think every woman does."

He ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. "I have yet to meet one who doesn't."

Although her stomach had done a minute backflip at his sinful gesture, Emma rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you're obviously God's gift to women."

He let out one of his damn little amused chuckles that had always made her toes curl. "I used to be indeed, from what the fair ladies told me." She threw him a glare – she really didn't need to hear how many ports he'd made for in the past – and he dropped his voice even lower. "But, nowadays I give meself only to one of them." He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows teasingly. "She's one jealous lass. Wants me all to herself."

Emma suppressed her grin. "She does?" she retorted ironically, and he just nodded gravely. She shook her head and clicked her tongue. "How selfish. And does she have other issues, too?"

The fine crinkles around his eyes deepened affectionately, and that teasing glint was dancing in his blue irises. "Aye, some," he replied.

"Sounds like a hard piece of work..." Emma's voice was still playful and teasing, but there was a little seriousness floating in a nuance somewhere underneath the surface, and maybe also a hidden apology and a question.

Hook swayed his head thoughtfully and scratched behind his ear. "Maybe she's just a little... complicated."

She swallowed and thought for a moment how lucky she actually was that despite all her efforts to keep him at arm's length, he'd never allowed her to push him away for good. "You really, really don't like to give up, do you?" she asked, her voice a little croaky all of a sudden.

He saw that her eyes were glittering suspiciously and smoothed out her hair with his hook in that familiar, almost casual gesture that was so typical for him. "Well, I'm quite persistent," he told her lightly and popped the 't' a little. "And I do love a challenge."

She averted her eyes for a moment and smiled at the memory of him saying that to her when they'd been climbing up that beanstalk, ages ago. No, he'd indeed never taken her behavior as off-putting; persistence was his middle name. And look how far we've come, she thought. Then she hiked her eyes up to his face again, only to find his eyes resting on hers, almost caressing her with his gaze, and she asked in a girlish, almost anxious voice: "Is she worth it?"

For a split second, his face fell and his jaw clenched when a hot pang of anger about her question, her searching for reassurance shot through him – not anger at her, but anger at all those people – men – in her past that had made her think she was not worth it. Then he blinked and replied slowly, deliberately, never taking his eyes off of hers: "All the treasures in the world wouldn't be enough to measure the value of her smile."

For a brief moment, Emma had to avert her eyes and nodded with a smile. Why had she even bothered to ask; that man had not only risked his life for her on numerous occasions, he had actually given up his life for her – at least his life as he knew it – without ever expecting or asking anything in return. No, for the most part of her life she had never had anyone put her first – but she knew by now that she meant the world to him, and more. He would always put her first, because she was worth it. Because he loved her. It was time to take the last leap of faith and let him know unmistakably that she felt the same about him. She looked into his eyes that were still calmly resting on her face and swallowed.

Then she took a deep breath. "Killian... what I said to you yesterday..." – her mouth was so dry she had to moisten her lips before she went on: "I really meant it."

Mirroring her gesture, Hook ran his tongue over his lips, but it wasn't a lewd or sinful gesture at all this time; a little nervousness scraped at the back of his neck. He knew all of a sudden what she was aiming at; she had told him that she loved him, yes – but it had been in the light of impending danger, after a reluctant goodbye with the terrifying prospect of perhaps never seeing him again, the adrenaline and fear running through her veins. He knew that hadn't been the reason for her to say it, only the trigger. He knew her feelings were real, that she'd really meant what she'd said. But she probably thought she had to confirm. As much as he would have loved to hear the words again, he didn't want her to feel obliged to say them, only to underline their sincerity, if she wasn't ready yet.

He raised his hand, as if trying to stop her. "Swan, 's alright. You don't have to..."

Emma sat bold upright now, but also leaned a little forward, piercing his eyes with hers, to make sure she had his full attention. She really needed him to understand that for her saying the words was almost more important than for him to hear them.

"Yes, I do!" she contradicted firmly and licked her lips again. "Look, I know that you... know it. That you knew long before I did." She shrugged. "I know that you probably know me better than I know myself, open book and all, but..." She paused for a moment, obviously searching for the right words, while Hook listened attentively, barely daring to breathe. His Swan didn't look like she felt obliged to do anything she didn't really feel comfortable with – on the contrary, she looked like she was bursting with the absolute urge to take the final leap of faith, bigger than anything she had said or done with him during these last four days. It astounded him, however, that she didn't look scared at all. No, she was obviously more than ready. Then who was he to stop her? She drew a deep breath. "You and me," she finally went on, "we both deserve the words."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and they just looked at each other. Emma's expression was serious, almost solemn, and the tender skin around Hook's eyes slightly crinkled when he smiled that tiny smile of his that was reserved only for her, full of love and encouragement. It was that same smile he had given her down there in The Dark One's vault, when she had thought she'd never get to see her home, her family again, and then suddenly, when she had been thinking about her home and how she missed it, her magic had resurfaced and the magic wand had started to glow; Hook's smile had, like always, made her feel instantly better, and more – it had said See? You should really have more faith in yourself. I told you you could do it. Now it tenderly prompted her to go ahead: Tell me everything, Swan. I'm listening. I'm not going anywhere.

She didn't even feel the tears that were welling up in her eyes; she just smiled. "I love you," she said slowly, deliberately, clearly – savoring every single word that once seemed so difficult to voice and now fell so effortlessly from her lips. "I didn't believe it would ever be possible, but..." She shrugged and added in an astonished voice, still full of wonder: "It's so easy."

Hook blinked and looked at her in awe – he knew it hadn't been easy for her to allow herself to love again, to trust anybody, and he knew that he of all people hadn't exactly been easy to trust in the beginning. All the more impressive it was how she seemed to have forgotten all of that and turned over a completely new leaf for him – with him. I'm in the book now. So that was it – there was no going back from this. Not that he had expected it anyway, butin a way, he still couldn't believe his luck – it still seemed a bit unreal to him. After all the things he'd done in the past, the life he'd lived, all the years he'd wasted, he'd found a soul as damaged and lost as his own, and suddenly everything had fallen into place. He didn't reply; he just waited. She looked like she wasn't done yet.

Emma could read on his face, in his glittering eyes that he was asking himself the same questions she'd been asking herself when it came to his obvious feelings for her, his unfaltering persistence and quiet patience: why me? How do I deserve this? And she wanted so much to explain it to him, she wanted to make him understand why he deserved it, why she loved him... and then she realized that she couldn't.

Sure, she could have added that she loved the way his eyebrows went up all the time and all by themselves and the way he scratched behind his ear when he was embarrassed; or the way he tilted his head instead of a nod or a bow or a shrug; that she loved his gorgeous eyes that were bluer than the ocean on a sunny day, and the way they'd always looked through each and every one of her layers and walls, right to the bottom of her soul, like no one ever could; his melodious voice and his very own way of speaking with that little accent, and the way he talked with his hand; his swagger, that heavily grounded way he walked, trained by centuries of steadying himself on swaying planks; oh, and the way he rolled his tongue through his mouth... she loved all that about him, but none of it was the actual reason for the depth of her feelings.

She also didn't love him because he'd always been there for her, at her side, having her back, and never abandoned her; she didn't love him because he'd given up his ship for her to bring her home and then had really brought her home in so many different ways; she didn't love him because he was the only one who could always make her smile and feel better, no matter how awful and desperate she was feeling – and on the other hand never shied back from calling her out on her bullshit whenever he felt she needed to hear it; and no, she didn't love him because he was obviously a heaven-sent sex god with the amorous skills of a hellish devil that regaled her with sensual pleasures and ecstasy she'd never felt before and never thought possible – although that surely didn't hurt. All of these were facts, granted – but they were not the reasons why she loved him. There was nothing to explain, in fact – because love cannot be explained. She simply loved him because her heart told her so.

So, she just shrugged, almost apologetically. "That's all I can say. I love you."

Hook swallowed the lump in his incredibly dry throat, and for a moment, his jaw tightened. His eyes were still smiling. He took one of her silky locks between his ringed fingers and let it run through them like a string of priceless pearls, watching the reflection of the dim light on the shiny strand. Then he looked up at her again, and his eyes found hers which were sparkling at him brighter than the finest emeralds he'd ever seen.

"And I love you," he finally replied, his voice maybe a little huskier than usual. "Perhaps more than you'll ever know." He let go of her hair and put his hand to her face, his rough fingertips just-so touching the delicate skin of her cheek, as if he was exploring it for the first time.

Emma smiled at him and waited, waited for him to move. They were on equal terms now; she had taken the final step after he'd patiently waited for her to call every single shot. And he understood, because it was so clearly readable in her eyes: she was as much and completely his as he was hers, and he didn't need her permission or anxiously check her reaction before making a move. When she had kissed him on the porch outside Granny's, four long nights ago, everything had been different – overwhelming, unsure, new. Although he'd seen her intentions in her eyes back then, he'd waited like paralyzed, waited until she'd come over to him all the way, until he'd felt her lips actually touch his before he'd dared to put his hand to her head and finally respond to her kiss. Now, it was still overwhelming and new, but all insecurity had gone. She wouldn't back off; there was no danger anymore that this was too fast, too far, too much for her. She'd just laid her heart at his feet without hesitation, trusting him not to crush it. Emma Swan was truly and completely his.

He slid his hand to the back of her head, his fingers combing through her hair, and leaned forward, pulling her nearer at the same time, until their smiling lips touched.

They kissed tenderly, slowly... as if they had all the time in the world. They were swaying back and forth a little, like a reprise of their kiss on Granny's porch, but although it looked similar, it was so different. This kiss was so much more intimate because it was shared with utter confidence from both sides, completely open and natural, and in the cozy privacy of a living room. Emma's father or mother could have surprised them any moment, but that didn't bother either of them. They felt both completely at home with each other. The kiss was soft and sweet, but also firm and with a trace of passion at the same time and the intimate knowledge of what that passion could and would lead to... and the promise it held. Not only for now, but for the future that lay ahead for them. Emma felt a warmth spread throughout her body and a soft humming of her skin, and it was unlike anything she had ever felt before. And then she started to glow; there was no other way to describe the soft, indirect light that seemed to seep through every single one of her pores and surround them and bathe them in a faint silvery light. It was pure magic.

After what seemed an eternity, their lips finally parted, and for a moment they just sat there, foreheads resting against each other, eyes still closed. Then a little laugh shook Emma's chest.

Hook tilted his head back to look at her. "What?" he asked softly, and she licked her lips and shook her head with a smile.

"I'm in love with Captain Hook," she murmured, "how the hell did that happen?"

"Oh, that." He chuckled and tilted his head in a shrug. "Well, I for one knew it the moment I laid eyes on you, love," he commented nonchalantly.

"Oh yeah?" Emma raised her eyebrows. "And which moment was that exactly?" she demanded to know, an obvious teasing in her voice. "When I grabbed your hair and held a blade to your throat or when I tied you to a tree and then held a blade to your throat?"

Hook pressed his perfect lips together in a fake pout. "Perhaps a little later," he replied smoothly. "But by the time we set foot on that beanstalk, you were doomed, Swan. Admit it." When she cocked her head to the side and gave him her best really?-glare, he scratched behind his ear and added generously: " You're not to blame for that, love." He smirked, all dashing rapscallion. "I'm a force of nature, after all."

Emma couldn't help but laugh. "I think it's safe to say that," she gave in benevolently.

He flashed her his heart-stopping smile and smoothed out her hair with his hook again. "You look tired," he told her softly. "We should go to bed."

Emma grinned a little sheepishly and had suddenly lowered her voice to a whisper. "Regina says we're noisy..."

Hook cocked his head to the side and whispered back, eyebrows twitching: "We are indeed noisy, love. Which is mostly assignable to the fact that you..." – he poked her chest slightly with his ringed index finger – "...can't keep your voice down..." Her green eyes widened and her head snapped back, but before she could give him a fiery reply, he added with a smooth grin: "Of course, I'm more than glad to be held accountable for that."

She shot her finger at him like a bullet. "I can..."

"Oh please, Swan," he drawled in an amused voice, "I think it's safe to say that everybody within not so short distance of my bedroom knows my first name by now."

She blushed deeply and slapped him on his chest with the back of her hand. "God, Hook, you're such a smug..."

"Besides," he interrupted, still whispering, "I meant – let's go to sleep. Not what you had on your wanton mind, wench."

"I hate you," she hissed, yet obvious in her teasing.

"Too late to pretend," Hook chuckled, reveling in the truth of his words and in the secure feeling that she finally had accepted that truth and reveled in it, too. He made a move to rise from the couch, but Emma held him back by his sleeve.

"No, let's just stay here for a little longer," she demanded and, when he sank back on his seat again, explained: "It's such a normal thing to do." She looked at him questioningly; not sure if he had understood what she meant, but of course he had. It was about bloody time for some normal things like this family dinner tonight; having fun with the kids in the park or by the water, like he was planning to do soon; or just snuggling up to each other in a cozy place, doing nothing but talk – or not even that – and enjoying quiet moments and each other's nearness. Instead of a reply, Hook just sat down in the corner of the couch again and raised his left arm invitingly; Emma flopped down beside him with a smile and found her place in his embrace again, neatly snuggling up to his left side, her left arm draped over his chest. Before she nestled into a comfortable position, she pressed a kiss to the left side of his warm, scruffy throat and murmured: "Only ten minutes."

Emma heard his reply like a soothing hum deep in his throat: "As you wish..."

She smiled against his skin and barely managed to finish her thought about how good he smelled before she fell asleep.

Some time later, Mary Margaret descended the stairs to fetch a bottle of water; since she'd been breastfeeding Neal, she often woke up in the middle of the night, burning with thirst. She was a little surprised to see there was still dim light on; the first thing she noticed when her eyes scanned the spacious living room was Hook's silhouette on the sofa, and she slightly shook her head to herself. Had the pirate thought he was supposed to spend the night here downstairs on the couch while Emma would be tossing and turning alone in her bed? He was really overdoing it with that good form thing.

She approached with gentle steps, a slight frown creasing her brow. Only when she'd halfway crossed the room, she realized that Emma was on the couch too; she was asleep, a slight smile curving her lips, and Mary Margaret could have sworn that the faint ghost of a glow was hovering over her daughter's skin. While Hook was sitting in an upright position with his feet on the floor, her legs were up, folded to the side, and she'd snuggled closely up to him, her head on his shoulder and her left arm wrapped tightly over his chest, while his hooked arm was carefully draped around her and his hand was resting on hers. He was awake, his gaze lost somewhere, a slight smile playing around his lips.

Mary Margaret smiled fondly when she took in the intimate, tender scenery that unfolded before her eyes. She slowed down her steps, not wanting to wake Emma up. The pirate raised his head that had been touched to Emma's, and tilted his head at her with a sheepish grin. She folded her arms and shook her head at him.

"Hook," she addressed him quietly, "what are you doing here?"

Slowly, he turned his head to face her, careful not to disturb Emma in her sleep. He looked at Mary Margaret over her daughter's blonde head that was still resting against the side of his chest. "Why, Milady, I believe you bade me to spend the night under your roof," he replied in an amused voice.

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes in that typical way that made him always fear they'd get stuck somewhere inside her head; Hook had seen many a woman roll their eyes at him, but none had literally elevated that to an art form like the princess bandit. "You know what I mean," she huffed and waved her hand impatiently. "There's no need for you to sleep on the couch. You were supposed to stay in Emma's room." She folded her arms and raised her chin in that haughty way of hers. "We're all grown up here."

He tilted his head again and grinned a little sheepishly before scratching behind his ear. "She fell asleep," he explained almost apologetically and tenderly pushed one of the blonde locks out of the way that had fallen over Emma's sleeping face.

Mary Margaret pressed her lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to suppress her smile. "I can see that," she replied softly and gestured towards the sleeping figure of her daughter huddled against the leather-clad chest of her pirate. "Why don't you just wake her up and get her upstairs?" she suggested. "You're cold and uncomfortable."

His gaze dropped on Emma's head, and his lips curved into an almost absentminded smile. He murmured under his breath: "That's a cross I'm willing to bear."

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes once more and snorted an ironic little laugh while slowly shaking her head at him; then she wordlessly picked up a quilt from a basket beside the couch and threw it loosely over Emma and Hook's lap. Emma stirred a little in her sleep and sighed. He picked up the plaid at the corner and pulled it more up, carefully tucking Emma in, then he cocked his head at Mary Margaret; it was his very own ironic little bow.

"Thank you, Milady," he purred and winked at her with a grin.

And suddenly, Mary Margaret was catapulted back to the Enchanted Forest again, to the foot of a beanstalk, where he had said the exact same words to her, in exactly the same husky voice and with that same wink – although with a great deal of lewdness added on top back then that was completely missing now. And she, instead of loosening his bonds, would've gladly thrown a sack over his handsome smirking face and dragged him back to the ogre lawn, stringing him to a tree and leaving him to his fate. Her own experience of being an outlaw had taught her to smell trouble a mile against the wind, and the moment that fake blacksmith had revealed his true identity, the moment she'd pulled out the perilously gleaming steel hook out of his satchel, she'd known he was trouble, and she'd been right.

But then, much later, she'd started to see him with different eyes – after she'd learned the hard way how easy it was to give in to the dark side when the hunger for revenge became the driving force of your very existence and every means seemed justified to get it. When you got so consumed by hot rage and cold hatred that your soul was burned and blackened by the fire and frozen to death at the same time, sucking out all life, all love. All that went through her head when she saw him settled down there on her couch like he belonged there, after having helped to save her family yet again, tenderly cradling her daughter's head against his leather-clad chest like it was the most precious thing in the world to him.

Well, she knew that, in some ways, Hook still believed in that – that the end, the greater cause justified the means; she'd been astounded to learn from David that he had traded his ship for a magic bean because it had been the only way to get to Emma after the second curse had brought them all back to Storybrooke and she'd been stuck in New York with Henry, but without any memories. Yes, she'd been astounded, but – if she was honest – not really surprised.

Mary Margaret just gave a barely perceptible nod of her head and quietly replied: "Good night, pirate." Her voice held nothing but unveiled fondness.

She turned around and crossed the room silently. When she climbed up the stairs, Hook grinned and kicked off his boots. He put his feet up on Mary Margaret's coffee table and leaned his head on the backrest of the couch, tightening his embrace around Emma's shoulders. She stirred again in her sleep, murmured something unintelligible and nestled the top of her head against his scruffy chin.

It looked indeed like they were in for some smooth sailing.

---

A/N:

I'm not ashamed to say I love this story so much that I just can't let goo that easily, so there will be a short epilogue soon. So, if you liked it, you might want to watch out for another little bit and stay tuned.

Acknowledgements:

The first one to give me positive feedback about the first bits I'd written and encourage me to continue was the wonderful emeraldromance who also edited the first seven chapters. If you find that my style (and grammar) deteriorated a teensy tiny bit after that - yep, that's all to blame on me. She is an extremely busy woman, and it would be inacceptable to occupy the little free time she has by asking her to edit my stuff... her own writing is much too important to neglect it. Thank you so much, I think you know what your encouragement meant.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm very, very grateful for my muse Silvia who accompanied me almost through the whole journey of writing this. She provided me with ideas, with feedback, with endless brainstorming sessions, lots of laughter and profound talks about things that made us both blush like schoolgirls; she did research for me and helped me piece my document together after my computer crashed one night, and I can say we've really become friends. She's my fairy godmother and soulmate, she's the Elsa to my Emma, and one of the best things that happened to me in 2014, and I'm so happy I'm going to actually meet her this year.