"Emma, is that you?" Mary Margaret calls over her shoulder, her hands in the sink. "Did you get the eggs I—" She stops suddenly, her eyes bugging as they fall on Emma and Henry's laden hands. "Honey, when I asked you to stop at the store…"

"I wasn't sure what to get," Emma breathes quickly, depositing her two full grocery bags onto the kitchen island. Henry follows in suit, grunting loudly with the weight. She begins pulling objects out of the brown paper bag.

"I mean, one the one hand, I thought fish—he's a pirate, pirates like fish, obviously, right—and on the other I was like, well he's probably really sick of fish—so then I bought chicken, but I also wasn't sure so—"

"Emma!" Mary Margaret screams, her eyes wide, and Emma belatedly realizes that she's been calling her name the whole time.

Pull it together.

"What's this about Hook, now?" Her mother asks after taking a moment to compose herself, exhaling with a small smile.

"We invited him to dinner," Henry pipes up, as he withdraws from a bag what Mary Margaret thinks may be an entire pumpkin pie. He opens the refrigerator haphazardly, and from behind the door adds, "He's coming at seven!"

"I see," Mary Margaret says in a cool voice, her eyes shrewdly flicking between her daughter and grandson.

"Yeah, you know," Emma exhales shakily, "I figured we never really thanked him and he's still acclimating so…I thought…it might be nice."

Mary Margaret smiles thoughtfully. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the, ah, fishing trip you two were whispering about this morning, would it?"

"If it did," Henry replies smoothly while shooting Emma a look that isn't smooth in the slightest, "we still couldn't tell you about it."

PHASE 2: CASTING THE BAIT

At seven on the nose, a rapping sounds at the door. Emma nearly drops the handful of forks she's carrying to the table, and just as she's about to set them down and move to the door, Henry comes barreling down the stairs at full speed, almost knocking David over as he hits the ground.

"I'll get it!" He cries, rushing to the door. He swings it open, revealing Hook standing with his arms tucked behind his back.

Emma revels in the slight flush he has dancing along his cheekbones, telling her he'd either walked very briskly or the pirate is actually…blushing.

"Hello lad," Hook says brightly as Henry gestures him inside. Blue eyes sweep around the apartment, drinking it in with great interest.

While he's preoccupied inspecting a family portrait hanging to his right, Emma takes the opportunity to observe him. She actually double takes, so taken off guard by Hook's outfit for the evening. He looks downright sinful, like an off-duty rockstar walked into her living room.

He's wearing his leather pants and black boots as usual, but instead of his billowy pirate's top, he dons the oatmeal-colored Henley shirt she'd given him this morning. He's buttoned it lowly so that a small tuff of dark chest hair remains well in sight, and the combination of his pirate wardrobe and a modern shirt actually makes Emma swallow palatably.

We are both indeed.

"Hey, nice shirt," Henry says appreciatively.

David takes a step forward, his arms folded. "Yeah," he murmurs suspiciously, "it's nice."

A wry look crosses the pirate's face, his eyes on Emma. Before Hook can cut in with what she's sure will get him inevitably socked in the jaw, she swiftly takes both men by the elbow and leads them to the table.

"We're having fish," she announces, leaving them there as she gathers three wine glasses from the cupboard.

"Oh," Hook laughs. Emma frowns, glad her back is to him. She knew fish was a stupid idea. Should've gone with chicken, or steak. Of course he's sick of fish; it's probably all he ever eats.

Why are you over-thinking this?

I don't have to answer that.

Sure you don't, but you're the one who brought it up.

Oh, shove it.

"What's so funny?" Emma asks, taking a moment to shake her thoughts from her mind.

Hook turns a little, revealing a medium-sized, dark velvet satchel hanging from his belt loops. She's surprised she didn't notice it before, actually. He nimbly untangles it and lays it onto the tabletop. A moment later, he pulls out a small package wrapped in yellowed parchment that smells distinctly of the ocean.

"Well love, I also brought you a fish," he says, giving her an upturned smile. "Caught it this afternoon."

"Romantic," she deadpans.

"Anything to keep the spark alive," he banters back, his eyebrows high on his forehead. It takes her a moment to realize the connotation of their conversation—held in front of her parents, no less—and she flushes, swiping the fish from his hand and marching over to the fridge. "I wasn't sure of your customs, so I—what was the expression—ah, yes, covered my bases," he adds.

He turns to Mary Margaret, who has been watching the exchange with calculated eyes. "I also brought you candles for your table," he says, handing her two long, twisted black candles, elegant and gothic looking.

"They're black," Mary Margaret echoes, staring down at them.

Hook actually looks a little embarrassed, as if just realizing that himself. "Yes, well sorry darling, I used up all my pink ones just last week," he says lightly, recovering.

"No, no they're great!" She rushes to add. "I'll just…go find some candle-holders."

He turns to Emma, looking nothing short of mischievous. "Worry not love, I have something special for you as well," he says lowly, fingers tapping on the tabletop. "After dinner, of course. I want you to open it…in private."

She regards him with an unimpressed look. "What, did you get me a peg-leg shaped—"

"Is it normal for pirates to bring presents to dinner?" Henry interrupts, and they both jump, wondering how the boy had snuck up so silently.

Slowly rotating away from Emma, he flashes the lad a toothy grin. "Perhaps not for a pirate, but for a gentleman it is customary. And as I've told your mother, I'm always a gentleman first." He winks at Emma as she hands him a glass of red wine. She holds his gaze, her eyes narrowed, wondering what exactly he's playing at.

Honestly, she's just confused. She doesn't know what she had been expecting exactly, but she sure as hell hadn't assumed he'd show up bearing gifts of all things. He's acting off, too. Not like he's lying or anything, but there is a suspicious amount of anxiety riddled behind his eyes. But why is what's nagging at her. It's not like they all hadn't shared several meals together, back in Neverland. Her parents are used to Hook by now—the good and the bad.

Deep down however, she knows this is different.

It's as if he's nervous. As if he's trying to impress them. As if...as if…Emma doesn't really know what bringing home a boyfriend to her parents would feel like, but if she has to pick a comparison…

David suddenly huffs loudly, possibly as if to remind everyone he's still there. Emma's glad for the gesture, as she uses it to reprieve herself of those dangerously confusing thoughts.

As Henry polishes off setting the table and Mary Margaret fusses with the oven, the others take their seats. From the head of the table, David curiously stares the pirate—who in turn, curiously stares at the knife clenched unknowingly by the prince's hand.

Emma's eyes flick between both silently.

"Ta da!" Her mother cries, interrupting the thoughts of the three as she places a steaming tray onto the table. "Pan-roasted salmon with white beans!"

"Salmon?" Hook repeats incredulously, his face lighting up with boyish desire. "I haven't had salmon in nay 300 years! A rare treasure indeed. It's one of my favorites, even."

"Hey, it's my favorite too," Henry says proudly as his grandmother hands him a serving. Hook grins appraisingly.

"I think I will never get used to your land's, ah, accessibility to delicacy," he announces, staring down at his own plate greedily. "The day before last I saw peaches for sale. Peaches! I used to have to cross entire oceans to find the bloody stones. Of course they were Milah's favorite, she'd always—"

Hook cuts off abruptly, his form going still as his head dips down. All eyes are on him. Emma swallows. Only she knows the name, but the others can glimpse the meaning.

Hook's silence lasts only a moment. He inhales deeply and snaps upright, a docile smile on his features. "She'd always demand we go in search of them annually. Nearly cost me a few men each time," he finishes, in a careful tone that fools no one.

Emma exchanges glances with her mother, but before either can say anything, it is surprisingly David who speaks up, shattering the tension.

"You're telling me," he says, leaning forward on his elbow with an easy grin. "When Snow was pregnant with Emma, she had horrible cravings for chocolate covered strawberries. But—"

"Chocolate was about as rare as it got," Mary Margaret finishes, looking wistful. "I remember. I must've sent out over half a dozen palace guards in search of it. God, and now I can just walk two blocks!"

Her family exchanges comfortable laughter, but Emma watches Hook, who is grinning broadly, at ease—to the untrained eye, at least. She sees the cool control in the quirk of his lips, the measured confidence. Her thoughts are confirmed as his eyes dart to hers, finding relief flooded in the pools of blue.

Hook's expression sharpens under her gaze, allowing her to glimpse any vulnerability for only a moment shedding any trace of it. He blinks away.

He takes a bite of his dinner, and this time, when he smiles, Emma knows it's genuine. "It's delicious, Mary Margaret," he says to the dark-haired woman, who beams.

Emma, however, frowns. "Why do you assume she made it?"

Hook throws her a smug grin before turning to David. "You're right, lass. Highness, that was terribly presumptuous of me."

"That's not what I meant," Emma snaps, ostensibly offended.

"Darling, you lived on my ship for long enough to gauge your culinary skills," Hook replies without missing a beat.

"Big words from a guy who's probably had three lifetimes worth of scurvy," Emma jabs back.

He laughs openly at that, the sound low and deep. Despite his (often) juvenile sense of humor, he has a very guttural, masculine laugh. Emma clears her throat, finding a smile on her lips. "Anyway, you think this is good—next time we'll take you for bagels and lox. That's salmon done right."

"Next time?" Hook says from under his eyelashes, his voice quiet and looking suddenly very young.

"Uh," Emma says, trying to keep her tone neutral as all eyes rotate to her, "yeah."

They eat in silence for a few minutes after that, then making casual conversation about the sailing conditions in Storybrooke bay or the updates at the station. The banality of it all is enough to make Emma's head spin—months spent clawing their way through jungles, dueling Lost Boys, stabbing shadows, fighting off mermaids—and here sits her father and her pirate chit-chatting about the weather.

Did you just refer to him as your pirate?

Before she can ask herself any more questions, Henry announces its time for desert. "Pumpkin, because it's my mom's favorite," he adds, clearing the finished plates.

Hook glances at the blonde across from him. "Pumpkin?" He mouths, looking perennially amused as usual. His response is a kick to the shin from under the table, which only makes him grin wider.

After everyone has been served, Emma locks eyes with her son, who suddenly nods and flashes her a grin Hook would be jealous of. Without a word he turns to the pirate, regarding him with a thoughtful look, his chin propped up in his palm.

Slowly, Hook swallows, sensing the boy's brown eyes on him. "Yes, lad?" He asks, glancing at Emma again.

Henry is silent for a moment, and Emma can see the calculations being done in his head. Uh oh. "You know," Henry starts, his voice clear and confident, "my gramps' name is David."

This time, all the eyes shift to David, who freezes mid-bite, the pumpkin pie halfway to his lips. Hook's eyebrow rises halfway to his hairline, but Henry goes on, "Yeah. It's a good name. David."

"Is there something I need to know?" David murmurs, but Henry's attention is still wholly on Hook.

"Sometimes I call him Gramps. Sometimes I call him David. But sometimes I even call him Davey. Do…you like the name Davey, Mr. Jones?"

At that, Mary Margaret begins to sputter and choke on her slice of pie. Her husband rushes to hand her a glass of water, his hand going to make soothing circles on her back. While others turn to her mother, Emma pins her gaze on Hook, whose face is fixed in a darkly unreadable expression. He meets her eyes and raises a cool, challenging eyebrow.

By the time Mary Margaret stops coughing, Hook is already standing, moving to clear the emptied plates. He deposits them near the sink and taps his hand to his thigh, eyes off and unfocused.

"As lovely as the evening has been, I think perhaps it's time for me to take my leave," he says lightly, but with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

There is a pause. Disappointment flutters over Henry's face, but both he and Emma know he may have pushed too far. Hook kicks off from the cupboard. "Emma, a word?" He asks, crossing the kitchen and gesturing for her to follow.

Emma narrows her eyes at her son before pushing her chair back and following the pirate to the door. She sighs heavily. "Look, I—" She stops suddenly, and looks down to her hand, where Hook has thrust a small wooden box. Her mind races, immediately latching onto the most extreme option despite her better judgment. "You're not going to get down on one knee, are you?" She says jokingly, expecting him to smirk.

But Hook just blinks and closes his hand over hers. "Open it later. I'll see you tomorrow, pumpkin."

To perhaps both their surprise, Emma doesn't pull her hand away nor does she question the new nickname. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes, didn't you say we were going to obtain a locked…what was it, bagel? I don't know what it is about your preoccupation with locks, love, but—"

"Lox. L-o-x," Emma replies distractedly. "And hey, I never said—"

"See you tomorrow, Henry!" Hook interrupts, yelling over Emma's shoulder. He grins, and turns back to Emma, his voice low once more. "I sense the lad has something he'd like to ask me, darling, and as it is, instinct tells me that's not a boy to leave festering with a thought."

Emma can't deny he's right. Knowing her son to be much like her in that regard, Henry's dedication can only evolve into obsession at this point. And maybe they should just get the whole "operation kraken" thing over with, even if that idea sets off a pang in her chest.

"Alright," Emma agrees after a moment of inward consultation. "Granny's, ten o'clock. Henry doesn't have school tomorrow, so I guess that works."

"Lovely, pumpkin," Hook replies, his eyes bright.

She groans at the pet name as she opens the front door for him. "That's here to stay, isn't it?"

He steps into the hallway and pauses to throw her one last heated look, something behind his eyes, gleaming in the low light. "Among other things."

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So that took forever to get out, sorry about that! I think some of the most challenging writing comes from describing a scene where almost nothing happens, you know what I mean? But I also find dialogue much more rewarding to pen than a fight/action scene.

Anyway- yes, this is shamelessly fluffy. Since most of my writing always focuses on trying to work within the canon, it's fun for me to be able to break away and do something that is so very, er, fanon.

But it's also very stressful, because I keep convincing myself it's OOC, when in fact the scene which i placed the characters in is what's actually OOC. I think/hope. If that make sense. Anyway, one more chapter and that should wrap up Operation Kraken. It definitely won't be as long as this chap.

Please review! It makes my day and encourages me to write more and faster. :)

Next up:

Phase 3: Reeling In the Catch