prompt from anon: the one where emma takes killian shopping for new clothes

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—one asks oneself, 'do trousers matter?'

This was such a waste of time.

This mission was a really big deal and time was starting to run really short and she really wanted to get back home (although an impromptu vacation in New York with Hook and Henry had turned out to be bizarrely fun, when it wasn't unbelievably stressful, especially when Henry had decided that it was his duty to give Hook a crash course in the Land Without Magic that was going, by turns, remarkably well and dangerously terrible), but it had gotten to the point of being untenable.

Half of it was the shady looks he'd been getting from suspicious, pearl-clutching sorts of sixty-somethings, and half of it was the appreciative-to-the-point-of-distraction looks from the younger set (and maybe a tiny bit was morbid curiosity), but the tipping point was when he — in front of Henry, no less — was offered a job by a woman who ran a… business that catered to the sort of people who sought out men in tight leather.

"All right," she'd declared, dragging him away while trying to cover Henry's ears, "we're going clothes shopping."

He'd glanced at her, eyebrow raised. "Should I be concerned?"

Before Emma could say no, this was going to be quick and painless (if it was the last damn thing she did), Henry had chimed in with a gleefully ominous, "Yes. Yes, you should."

It had gone downhill from there, mostly because Henry had taken it upon himself to orchestrate Hook's makeover.

If Emma had had her way (she pretended), she would have just gotten him a pair of jeans and a pack of t-shirts at the closest Sears and called it a day, but Henry's philosophy was, we don't know how long he's going to be in this world, so he should have more than one outfit and come on, we're in New York, Mom, we should take advantage of that, and she really didn't understand how that had actually convinced her, except that she was deeply, unwillingly curious about what clothing Hook would allow Henry to get him into.

(She'd been torn between "overgrown goth teenager" with the tight jeans and dramatic shirt-jacket combos and "high-end shady mobster" with black button-downs and waistcoats and slacks.)

(The high-end shady mobster one was turning out to be pretty close.)

"It's a costume for a play," she told the shop assistant (who seemed far more interested in the contents of the leather pants than the reasons for them; she determined to ignore the spike of dark jealousy the girl with the measuring tape inspired). "But all of his clothes are back in Boston because someone is terrible at packing."

She really hoped he would pick up the slack; to her eternal gratitude, he did. "Wouldn't have been an issue if you hadn't been shoving me out the door, love," he said airily, shooting her an amused smirk.

(The sort of smirk that just knew she was seething with jealousy underneath her casual exterior.)

(Asshole.)

"So, I think you should get a blue vest," Fashion-Designer-And-Who-Knew?-Henry said, coming around with his arms full of different suit pieces. "You know, 'cause you have blue eyes."

"I agree," the shop assistant said (entirely too quickly).

He blinked.

"I prefer red."

"Get both," Emma offered, shrugging with casual indifference. (Jesus, he would look good in re—no stop.) "You'll need more than one anyway."

(Meanwhile, he shop assistant was taking her sweet damn time measuring his waist, to the point that even Henry was starting to notice.)

"Why don't you try it on," she said loudly, startling the girl into letting go, embarrassed. Emma shot her a glare, beyond caring about the fact that she looked like a jealous girlfriend — hell, everyone already assumed the three of them were a family, may as well work it.

He looked through the clothes Henry had pulled out, picking a loose-fitting button-down, in black (obviously), and the darkest blue vest in the lot, eyeing the dress pants with mild distaste but finally relenting and going into the changing room with a dramatic eye-roll.

Oh, dramatize, she thought. He was enjoying this, all the attention from the assistant and obvious-even-as-she-tried-in-vain-to-hide-it resentment at said attendant from Emma and (which warmed even her heart a little bit) the eager help and interest from Henry.

(And underneath the ego fluffing, he was undoubtedly happy to feel like he was part of the family everyone mistook them for, the casual domesticity of clothes-shopping he'd probably forgotten the feel of.)

She blinked when he walked out.

Maybe she just had a thing for sharp-dressed men; maybe it was the way the blue vest brought out his eyes, bright even at a distance; maybe it was just that it was unexpected, but holy shit.

"See? I told you blue would look good," Henry said smugly, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was the only one capable of speech.

"I'm not particularly attached to the trousers," he replied, crossing his arms; a quick glance at the assistant said that the exact same thought had just crossed both of their minds (then let's get you out of them) and, in spite of her grudge with the girl, she felt an odd sort of kinship at that moment.

"We can try something a little more casual," the assistant said faintly. "We have some five-pocket pants, they're a little more in your… style."

While she went looking for suitable pants, Hook — Jesus, he'd left the top few buttons undone as she should have expected and prepared herself for but it was just — watched Emma in increasing, silent, smirking amusement, and Henry rummaged through the clothes again for a red vest.

"Here, try this one while we're waiting on her."

Yes, she thought traitorously, yes do try this one.

They ended up with a couple of outfits with vests in a couple of colors (all muted, because, effort to change for the better be damned, he was still Captain Hook and he still shunned bright colors), all of which, she felt, might actually turn more heads than the leather.

"All right, let's get back to work," she declared, busying herself with shoving the (harrowing) receipt into the bag to regain control of her thoughts.

(She was pretty sure that the assistant took a few surreptitious pictures with her phone, which would have been a bit offensive except she, like any red-blooded female or so-inclined male probably would have done the same thing in her position.)

"If you can focus," Hook replied in a low, seductive voice, too close to her ear and way too obvious to be working as well as it was, and she shot him a completely-unconvincing glare.

"Please," she muttered, rolling her eyes, but couldn't come up with a great retort because he'd put the leather jacket back on and the whole thing worked, lending him a sort of dangerous, mysterious aura that was just unfair.

"Told you this was a good idea," Henry said happily.

Emma wasn't entirely sure she agreed.