5 TIMES SOMEONE THREATENED HOOK (AND 1 TIME SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENED)

5 – Snow White Chimes In

Hook had been expecting an ambush, but not one like this. An arrow fired from a rooftop fifty yards away, or a kamikaze attack by seven pickaxe-wielding madmen—those were scenarios he was perfectly equipped to deal with. Breakfast with Snow belonged to another category entirely.

"I'm utterly useless in the kitchen. How about I go back upstairs and you can bring me a tray in bed?" The words were out of his mouth before his sleepy mind could snatch them back and replace them with something more appropriate to the occasion.

"Shut up," Snow hissed. She jabbed a spatula in his direction like she expected it to shoot out of her grip and pierce him through the heart. "You're dating my firstborn." There was that word again. Hook hid his smirk; he and Emma were doing much more than dating. He had thoroughly exhausted her last night, and she had fallen asleep with her cheek on his shoulder. He could still smell the perfume of her hair every time he inhaled.

Hook took a few steps to the right, shuffling until the window was at his back and he was standing in a shaft of soft, golden light. The sun's heat was a comforting weight between his shoulder blades. He smiled, trying his best to look drowsy and innocent while tamping down on his naturally occurring aura of seduction. "Force of habit," he murmured and gave an unrepentant shrug.

Snow rolled her eyes and turned away, distracted by something sizzling on the stove. "Emma will be back soon," she said, barely audible over the exhaust fan. "She ran down to the corner store to pick up some coffee."

Well, at least she hadn't abandoned him entirely, like a rodent fleeing down the mooring lines. When he awoke, a few minutes earlier, he had fully expected to find Emma pinned underneath one of his outstretched arms. Instead, there had been only wrinkled sheets and a flattened pillow, and his bare skin was cold to the touch because his bedmate had given in to a juvenile impulse and left all the blankets in a heap on the floor. (He would make her pay for that…later.)

They were supposed to spend the weekend alone. Henry was staying with his other-Mother, while Mr. and Mrs. Charming were otherwise occupied with the decorating of their new home, a monumental task that, from what he could gather, involved such things as coordinating the wallpaper in the kitchen with the rugs in the guest bathroom and consulting with an architect on the subject of a turret-inspired addition. Her mother's domestic tyranny was part of the reason Emma had been so desperate for some time away.

They couldn't run very far, for a number of reasons, but Hook was rapidly coming to think that they should have chosen a more secure locale for their tryst. This was technically Snow's apartment, as it was her name—Mary Margaret's name—on the lease, and they hadn't bothered to change the locks (how sloppy of him). She could—and at this thought his blood curdled in his veins—drop by at any time, unannounced, and let herself in using the key that she (presumably) still had in her possession. It was due only to chance that she hadn't caught them before.

"I wasn't aware you intended to come visiting today," Hook said, in the light, airy tone courtiers affected when discussing tea in the rose garden. "If you would like me to absent myself—"

"I knew you were going to be here," Snow interrupted. "Emma mentioned it the other night when I asked her about her plans for the weekend." She paused to break an egg over a glass bowl, the sound of shell cracking somehow ominous despite the bright yellow kitchen and her small, delicate hands. "I thought the three of us could have breakfast together."

"Oh," he said. He did not say how awkward or how unpleasant. But he thought it.

"Don't worry," Snow said, her voice suddenly cheerful. "I refuse to play the role of the wicked queen who drives the two lovers apart out of malice and spite. I'm not plotting your demise. Even if you were to break Emma's heart, I wouldn't kill you."

"I'm grateful," he said.

"No, I'd find a punishment far worse, something to ensure that you never again sailed the sea or sky. I'd burn your ship and break your spirit and lock you away in the cold and dark, without even rats to keep you company. If you hurt my daughter."

Hook blinked. "I think your bacon is burning."