Emma led her little band through the entry arches of the mall's largest department store: Kohl's.

Mary Margaret, David, and Hook were all eyes.

"So this is a shopping mall," her mother mused.

David looked up. "There's two floors. Of clothes."

"Yep," Henry said, drawing out every letter in a tone of resignation that spoke to previous, unfortunate experience. "And lots of shoes."

Emma glanced at Hook. He was slack jawed, taking in the quadrants of clothing racks, the human-sized posters hanging below the ceiling on the walls, the cash register counter in the middle. To their left, a group of middle school girls were rifling through the Justice clothes by the door. Hook flinched when they squealed.

In retrospect, this was probably not the best entrance to have used.

Emma reached out with her little finger to bump his hand. He looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow. He nodded. He was okay.

"Right," Emma cleared her throat. "Henry, do you think you can manage Grandpa?"

"Hey!" David said.

"Sure thing." Henry knocked his elbow into David's. "Are we allowed to go anywhere?"

Emma held up a finger. "He needs one tie. And then you can go to hunting store."

A guilty smile that looked freakishly similar to Hook's guilty smile spread across her son's face. "Wow. You are good."

"Uh-huh." Emma told Mary Margaret she could go wherever she wanted in Kohl's, but she was welcomed to join her and Hook on their clothing mission. Mary Margaret said she would catch up to them when she was done checking out the, ahem, shoes.

"You keeping an eye on him?" Henry nodded at Hook.

"Oy!" Hook ruffled Henry's hair. "I thought you were on my side, mate."

"Keeping you out of jail is being on your side, pirate."

Emma watched Hook smile when Henry used what had practically become her term of endearment for him. She tried not to think about why she was so pleased they got on. "Yes, I'll keep an eye on Hook. We're here on a mission."

Henry snickered. "Buddy, are you in for it now."

"When did you get so cynical?"

"Mom, I'm a boy. We are all born with an innate sense of doom and disaster upon entering a clothes store."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Go take your innate sense of doom and disaster to the tie department. Hook and I will be in men's casual trying on jeans."

As they departed their separate ways, Hook hastened to catch up with Emma, asking as he went, "Swan, what are 'jeans'?"

Emma held three pairs of jeans to her chest as she slid hangers down the rack. Since Hook's clothes had no sizes, she had to start with her best guess and hone in from there. It's not like she had tons of practice buying men's clothes.

"Please tell me this is not how 'jeans'are intended to be worn."

Hook stepped out of the dressing room, all salty- and leathery-pirate glory on top . . . and a pair of dark denim jeans about four inches too short on bottom. Emma laughed. He still wore every single one of his rings—she couldn't get him to take them off—and his red pirate vest. Compared to the three hundred year old leather coat, however, she probably didn't need to worry about the rings drawing too much attention.

"I shall interpret your amusement at my ridiculous appearance as confirmation that this is not the desired effect."

Emma handed him a size larger. "Try again."

He sighed when he accepted them. "I cannot actually breathe in these pants."

That was just too much. Emma lost it.

Hook's lips lifted in a quirky smile. "I'm glad you are amused Swan, because so far I have been nothing but embarrassed. Did you know that there are other people that will just enter the changing quarters unannounced? I thought the purpose of you standing here was to keep intruders out."

Emma slugged him on the arm. "Oh my goodness, Hook. You're supposedto go into the little rooms!"

Hook frowned. "The doors? I thought they were closets."

"No! They're changing rooms. You've been undressing in the hallway? Oh my gosh." Emma closed her eyes and pinched her nose bridge. "It's a wonder we haven't gotten arrested."

Hook swept his hand towards the door.

"Then the serving staff should not put such a large and splendid mirror in the area unintended for changing. What is the purpose of that?"

"Ssshhh!" Emma glanced over her shoulder. People were staring. "Just—go change, please. In the changing rooms," she added.

He turned to go, but he was jostled by a twenty-something kid in jeans and a hoodie. The kid stared at him half a second longer than necessary, brushing past him as he muttered. Emma caught the word "freak."

Hook watched him go.

"Hey," Emma touched his arm, "he was just laughing at the pants. They are a little short. Try the ones I gave you."

Hook looked around. There were a few people searching the racks of discounted shirts, tossing glances their way about every twenty seconds. Emma noticed them several minutes ago. Hook must have seen them too, because he glanced down.

"Perhaps we should go."

Emma popped onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Hook returned to the changing room. While he was gone, Emma hurried to the discounted shirt rack and pulled a plain green t-shirt from the hanger. Hook reemerged and they decided they finally had the size right, but the cut was wrong.

"They're still too tight." Emma gave him a pair of relaxed fit jeans. "These are more natural. See how you like them. Oh—before you do that, switch me."

Emma pulled the coat off his shoulders. She grunted when it fell into her arms. This thing must at least weigh eight pounds. When she dropped it into the black standing cart, it rocked. Hook eyed the green shirt she offered him.

"Just to avoid unnecessary questions while we're still in the pants stage," she said.

"So I should put this on?"

"Yes."

Without hesitation, Hook tossed his vest into the cart and then—

Oh my gosh, please no.

But oh yes, he whipped off his shirt. Right in the middle of the aisle. He stood there completely innocent, in his dark denim jeans and his leather cord necklace and his hooked brace, with absolutely nothing else on top.

Oh yes. Now people stared.

"Hook! Put your shirt on!" Emma clamped a hand over her mouth when she realized she was shouting.

More people staring. Terrific.

He looked flustered as he took the green shirt from her. "What? You told me to—"

"I didn't mean out here! We have decency laws, for Pete's sake." Emma groaned. This is not his fault, this is not his fault, she chanted to herself. You have to be precise.

A rotund security guard approached them. He eyed the cart full of leather wear and the half-dressed man in jeans, struggling to put on his t-shirt.

"Uh, ma'am, the store has a 'No shirt, no service' policy . . ."

"Yes, sir." Emma nodded. "Sorry about that. Just a miscommunication. It won't happen again."

The guard glanced at Hook. Thank heavens he had gotten his shirt on. But the relief was short lived because the shirt had short sleeves, exposing his brace and his hook to all watching eyes.

"Also, we have a no weapon policy . . ."

Emma cleared her throat. "I understand, sir, but as you can see he, uh, doesn't have . . ."

The guard caught on. He reddened. "Right. Well, let's just mind the shirt rule, then."

"Thank you."

While he shuffled away, Emma glanced around, and suddenly everyone was busy studying price tags.

Hook shifted. His good hand held his brace. "I, uh—"

"It's okay." She found a long-sleeved shirt for him and added it to the relaxed fit jeans. "Try those."

Hook's eyes lingered over her shoulder at all the people passing through the store.

"We're almost there," Emma said softly. "Just trust me. You'll feel perfectly fine in a minute."

A twinkled warmed his eyes. His spirits seemed to rise as he bent towards her ear. "Did you notice how quiet all the young ladies got a moment ago?"

"C'mon, Casanova. We've got lots of wardrobe to find, yet."

"I'm being strangled!"

"For crying out loud, Hook, it's just a tie."

"You're trying to kill me."

"It's formal wear."

"It's a noose."

"You need it."

"Get it off me."

"It's perfectly fine!"

"It's tightening its grip. I can't breathe."

"Hook, it's just a tie."

"Then why is the bloody thing constricting?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe because you're pulling on it?"

Emma groaned into her hand. Hook writhed in front of the mirror and tugged on the silk tie threaded under the collar of his dress shirt. He was making gagging noises and if he kept that up, the idiot probably would strangle himself. Emma caved and untied it.

Hook massaged his throat. "We are not buying that," he rasped.

Despite many trials and persecutions, Emma had built up his wardrobe to consist of seven pairs of jeans, half a dozen dark t-shirts, four dark button-up shirts, two vests, one black hoodie, and one human-sized leather jacket. (Hook had found it in the coat section and ran up to her with beaming eyes. When she told him he had enough leather to open a beef jerky factory, he planted his feet and folded his arms and looked nigh close to throwing a tantrum if she refused him this).

The only thing—the only thing—she still wanted to do was find him a single, solitary suit in the event he needed something formal.

You'd think I asked him to give up rum.

First the dress pants were too uncomfortable—"I rather like that jean stuff, love. This is scratchy."—and then the dress shirts were too constrictive—"Why on earth are there collars around my wrists? Is it not enough I can't breathe? Must I strangle every part of my body?"

And then, heaven help them all, Emma had been foolish enough to bring out a tie.

"I thought you used to wear a uniform," she finally said, hands on her hips.

"That was a long time ago." Hook thrust the tie at her with a pout. "I am not wearing that."

Lightbulb.

Emma let out a slow, smooth smile. She bit her lip. She blinked. "But you looked so good in it."

Hook stopped.

Emma swung her shoulders around and clasped her hands behind her back. She blinked and smiled some more.

"No."

She tilted her head to one side.

"What do you take me for?"

She bent her knees and tucked one foot behind the other.

"I know what you're doing."

Emma looked him right in the eyes and turned everything on high. She ducked her head and lifted it with another smile that destroyed Hook's frown.

He looked away with a head shake, muttering, "Bloody siren."

Emma hid behind her hands as she held up a finger. "Just one more time?"

When he couldn't take it any longer, Hook laughed. Emma smiled at her victory and held out the tie. "This time, let's do it right." The grey vest he'd picked out left the shopping cart, and Emma pulled a black suit jacket from the wall display. She slipped the vest onto his shoulders and buttoned up the front.

"I do like the service here," Hook murmured.

She took her time adjusting it. Her fingers went to the collar of his dress shirt, making sure everything lay as it should. "Okay. Here comes the tie. Just relax." She looped it behind his neck.

Hook held his breath.

"That's not relaxing." Emma poked him in the gut, and he flinched away, laughing. Emma pulled him back using the tie. With a smile and a hum, he settled his arms around her, clasping his brace with his good hand at the small of her back. He swayed ever so slightly as her fingers worked the knot.

"And where," Hook whispered in her ear, "am I expected to wear this . . . 'tie'?"

"Formal occasions. Weddings. Ceremonies. Big parties. Anytime you want to look particularly nice."

Hook tilted his head to the side so his eyes could see hers. "Is there dancing at these places?"

"Sometimes."

Finished with the tie, Emma wanted to put the suit coat on him. He kept her where she was and dropped a kiss onto her nose. "I'll wear the noose," he whispered, "if you promise to dance with me at the first occasion."

"Deal."

As the final portion of the experience, Emma helped his arms into the black suit coat. She adjusted the cuffs and buttoned the front. When she was finished, she took a step back to get the complete affect.

Emma nearly fell over.

"Well?" Hook said.

Dang.

Hook looked down at his pants, and then back up at her. "Is there something wrong?"

Some part of her brain told her she was gawking, but a larger portion said she didn't care.

"Swan?"

The dark hair and the dark facial features kept him a pirate—well, okay, so did the eyeliner—but the black contemporary suit sharpened his edges. The man was devastating. Somewhere, it was illegal to look that good. If he ever, ever found out what this outfit did to her, he would never take it off.

Hook waved his hand for her attention. "Is it presentable?"

Emma turned him by the shoulders so he faced the mirror. "See for yourself."

Hook stared at the figure before him. He reached for the glass as he drew near. "And this is acceptable in your world?"

Under no circumstances would Emma let out the laugh building inside her. She had to choke to keep it down. "Yeah. You look fine."

Except for his hook, he was indistinguishable from any regular person walking down the street. He could enter the places of merchants without making their door guards stiffen. He could speak to people without receiving stares.

Although Swan was staring. Swan wasn't even blinking, she stared so hard.

"Are you sure this is satisfactory?" Hook said to her. "You look taken back. Should I try again?"

Her mouth didn't quite close and she acted like she hadn't heard.

And then it clicked.

A slow smile spread across Hook's face that lifted the corners of his mouth nearly to the corner of his eyes. "I look good, don't I?"

Emma snapped out of it. "Um, yep. You look fine. Let's go check out."

Hook caught her arm with his namesake. To escape him, she stared at the garment racks with undue interest. "You like this," he said, arching an eyebrow.

Emma swallowed. "It's—not bad."

A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. "Lands and stars, you do like this."

Emma threw her hands into the air. "So you look good in a suit. That's not shocking."

His other eyebrow shot up.

She bit her lip and looked away.

Hook laughed. "Sweetheart, I'm going to need more of these nooses."