The waves felt bigger than they looked today, Emma decided. Holding tightly onto the railing, she squinted out over the water. Her stance was even wider than normal to hold her steady over the sway, and yet her balance remained a struggle. No one else seemed to be having the same issue. The rest of her shipmates were all going about their work as normal.

She realized with a start that she was grateful to not be laboring alongside them while she was barely staying upright. It was a pleasant reprieve from her jealousy. No one would be asking her for anything at all, she knew. She was relieved by it now instead of resentful. At that thought, she smiled.

Hooking her good elbow over the railing, she dug Killian's flask out of her sling. The warmth of the liquor hummed pleasantly through her veins and since she had nothing better to do, she didn't see the harm of more. Although she'd had plenty of practice with the cap already, it gave her difficulty now. Perhaps she'd simply reattached it too tightly earlier.

Then, the flask was gone. She blinked down at her empty hand, thoroughly expecting it to reappear. It didn't work on the second or third attempt either.

"I don't think you need any more of this." It was Baelfire's voice. From behind her shoulder, his face emerged into view beside her. He shook the flask, listening to the liquid splash around inside. "How full was this when you started?" Popping the top off with notable ease, he gave the contents a sniff, assessing their potency.

"I only had a couple sips," she lied. The words were unwieldy on her tongue, and didn't fit through her lips like usual. They didn't fall out cleanly.

"Bullshit. I saw more than sips, and I saw more than a couple. You want me to ask Hook instead? Does he even know you have this?"

"Of course he knows." She was about to claim that she wasn't a thief, but bit back the words when she remembered who she was talking to. If anyone knew how deftly she could pick a pocket, it was Baelfire. Instead, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you watching me, anyway?"

"I wasn't even watching, Emma. That's the thing. I've been checking the lines. That makes me think that for every gulp I've seen you take, there's more that I haven't seen." He searched her face for she didn't know what, but she was stubbornly determined to not provide it. She clenched her jaw and stared him down, doing her best to show him nothing but defiance. After a moment he softened, the accusation leaving his expression. His brows unknit and with a sigh, he closed the flask back up. Glancing around, he verified that no one else was close enough to overhear their conversation and then leaned against the railing beside her while she turned back to the waves. "What are you doing, Emma?" He asked gently.

She still bristled at the question, but less than she otherwise might have. "It's not like there's anything else for me to do." She gestured uselessly at her injured arm. "What does it matter? I'm completely out of commission with my arm like this." Her tongue kept fumbling the consonants, but she spit them out anyway, malformed as they were. There was no point now trying to hide her state. He'd already caught her.

"So, what? You're just going to get hammered until it heals? Is that the plan?"

"There's no plan. I'm-" She cut herself off to take a breath, not sure if she had been raising her voice. "I don't have anything better to do. It's not like I'm hurting anybody. Can I have it back, please?"

He ignored the request. "I think you need a hobby," he told her.

"What, like knitting?" She scoffed. "Need two hands."

There was a hint of amusement in the way he stared at her this time. "You can barely stand up straight, but you can still manage to be a wise-ass." It wasn't a question; it was a summary. He shook his head. "No, I didn't mean knitting. I'm struggling to even picture that one, honestly. Did you think at all about what Pinocchio said?"

Emma blinked, not following. "Too much. What's that got to do with hobbies?"

He rolled his eyes at her and spoke slowly, like he no longer trusted that she could keep up. "He said you're the product of true love. If that's true, you have magic in you. Powerful magic. People with magic in them can learn how to harness it, and use it. It's a skill that they have to learn and practice. They spend time doing it. You know, like a hobby."

She tried to push away the offense she felt at his tone. She was easily as smart as he was and didn't like being talked down to, but she had to admit that her wits weren't responding the way they usually did. "You think I should teach myself to do magic?"

"I think it's a better option than what you're doing right now." He held up the flask again. "This isn't going to help you with anything but boredom. But if we're going to be having any dealings with the Evil Queen, having some magic on our side too would help our odds a lot."

"You think I could fight her with magic?" She tried raising a brow at him, but wasn't sure if the muscle responded appropriately.

He smirked. "Not right now. Even after you sober up, she's got years of practice on you. But if you build up even the tiniest bit of skill, then it's another weapon, or a defense, or distraction, or something that you don't have right now. Not to mention, she'd never see it coming. You'd have the element of surprise."

There was no way she could build up enough skill in a short time frame to compete with the queen in a purely magical duel. Emma had enough clarity to know that much, but Baelfire did have a point. They needed to take advantage of every asset that they could if they were going to go against her and hope to survive. It was a dizzying prospect to think of. "I don't know where I'd even start."

Baelfire laughed, drawing another confused look from her. "You know where she learned her magic?" He didn't give her a chance to answer. "It was my dad. He taught her everything she knows."

"Not her mom? Didn't her mom do magic?"

"Dad taught both of them." He shrugged, his attention out on the water. "The only upside to being his son is the access it can get me. To places, people, but the really useful stuff is the info I can find. I just can't always be sure whether he knows I have it, if he meant for me to have it, or if he's just looking the other way and pretending not to notice."

Emma started to nod to show her comprehension, but found the movement made her queasy, and so quickly stopped. Thinking back to the time they had spent together, access had always been easy for him. Whatever it was that Baelfire wanted, he had a talent or perhaps a sixth sense for knowing the precise right path to it. He knew exactly what moves to make or the right words to say in which tone of voice to achieve his aim. She'd considered it a gift and never gave much thought to where it might have come from. Not all gifts come freely.

"I'm not going to pretend I know nearly as much as he does," Baelfire's reverie ended without warning, catching her off guard. "I wouldn't want to. No one in their right mind would. And without any of my own magic, my experience there is limited, but I've read a lot and heard a lot, and I've used far more than my fair share of magical items. If you're willing, once you sober up, I'd be happy to try and give you a few pointers to get you started at least."

She didn't know how to respond. The idea of her wielding magic felt impossible, even if she were fully convinced of every other word out of Pinocchio's mouth, and she wasn't entirely certain that she was. Even mustering a parlor trick seemed improbable, let alone summoning power enough to have any effect on the Evil Queen. Then again, what could it hurt to try and learn while here on the ship? He was right that she didn't have much better to do.

While she dithered, he reopened the flask once more. Tipping his head back, he poured a shot into his mouth without touching the container to his lips. Refastening the cap, he handed it over to her. By the weight of it, she realized now that it was nearly empty.

"At least think about it," he urged. "Let me know tomorrow." A teasing smirk crept onto his features as he started walking away. "After you get over the hangover."