Life is made up of moments, her father had once told her. Good ones. Bad ones. But they're all worth living.
And this, right here? This is a good moment.
The town, for once, is quiet.
No new flying monkey bite victims. Nothing from the Wicked Witch. And while all nefarious villains are undoubtedly planning and plotting more nefarious deeds, tonight, Emma Swan does not care about any of that. (She doesn't even sort of care.)
What she cares about is the black-clad, self-proclaimed scoundrel sitting across from her whose more nefarious days seem to be tucked away behind him for safe keeping. The black-clad scoundrel currently looking at her like a confused puppy, slight head tilt included.
"And what, pray tell, is pizza?" he asks, as he reaches for his mug of beer. Granny's been trying out a few new brews on tap (that Emma is pretty sure some of the dwarves have been concocting illegally, but she doesn't have the mental capacity to check into that any further at present) and has roped Killian into taste testing one of them for her. Killian, never one to see a lady in peril, needed no arm twisting and was happy to oblige. "I gather it's valuable in this realm, if you would stoop to homicide to attain a slice of it."
Sometimes she truly can't tell if he's messing with her, when he talks like that. The internal lie detector she'd developed as a child to tell when another foster parent or sibling was bullshitting her, then honed as an adult to tell when even worse people were bullshitting her, sometimes gets a little fuzzy around this particular man. (Or she quite possibly gets distracted by his face and the way he tends to stand so close to her. Who's to say, really.) It's what she would blame, if pressed, for why she left him up on that beanstalk oh so long ago.
(Which is something she is very grateful he has never brought up again.)
It's definitely not the fact that he stands so much farther into her personal bubble than literally anyone else on the planet, or the fact that he watches her with those insanely intense eyes of his, gaze fixed on her in that knowing way like he not only sees her, but he gets her, reads her like a book sitting out and open on a coffee table. It's incredibly unnerving. But what's even more unnerving is how she is finding that the longer she knows him, the less she really seems to mind.
Sometimes, she feels like he stepped straight out of a Jane Austen novel, when he talks like that, and she can't tell if he's hamming it up on purpose. She's very well aware he's not from this time, or realm, or whatever. She never actually forgets that—how could she?—but she almost forgets, sometimes. Until moments like now, when he's staring at her like a quizzical puppy. A puppy who apparently doesn't know what pizza is.
There's a little bit of beer foam on his upper lip, caught in his mustache, which she's always noticed is just a little darker, just a little more pronounced than the rest of the stubble dusting his jawline. She's wondered before if that's where the silly mustache comes from, on the cartoon version of Captain Hook from the Peter Pan film. (Not that Emma has spent an inordinate amount of time admiring the artfulness of his facial hair, God no. And there's definitely no intrusive thoughts of licking said beer foam off his upper lip, no, definitely not. That's never happened to her before and it's definitely not happening now.)
All she'd said, grumbled beneath her breath as she stared at the menu she had memorized, was that she'd kill for a decent slice of pizza right about now. A perfectly normal bit of hyperbole.
His bright eyes dance, trained on her as they so often are, but the hint of a smirk pushing at his lips is masked by his mug as he takes a sip of his beer. He licks his lip, and just like that, the foam is gone, and takes with it the distraction it was causing her.
"Wait, hold on, back up," she says, as if finally registering the words he'd actually said. "You've seriously never had pizza before?" She's not sure why it surprises her, really. Nothing should surprise her by now. But pizza? Come on. Everybody's had pizza.
He just raises his eyebrows at her. "It's some form of food, I gather?"
She huffs a little laugh. "Yes, it's food."
It's at that moment that Henry reappears from his trip to the bathroom and slides in next to her. Something in her heart clicks back into place as he tucks in at her side. "What's food? Did you order something yet? I'm starving."
"You heard the lad," Hook says, and Emma's heart tugs like a bite on a fishing line at the way his eyes soften as he looks at her son. "What will it be, Swan? This pizza that has you so up in arms and calling for blood?" He says "pizza" like he's trying the word out, two distinct syllables that sound foreign to him.
Henry just blinks up at him, and Emma explains, "He's never had pizza before."
Her son's eyes bug out in unfiltered shock. "What?"
"I know," Emma says, in a what-can-you-do sort of tone, as she reaches across and snags Hook's mug of beer from him. She can feel him watching her, and she pointedly does not look back at him as she takes a sip from it. The home brew is thick, and hoppy, and... Emma smacks her lips a few times. "That's actually... not bad."
Hook shrugs with one shoulder. "I've certainly had worse."
"I've never seen you drink something that wasn't out of your flask," she comments wryly.
With one fluid motion, he reaches across their table and steals his mug back from her, taking another sip. Kissing, her brain blurts out for thankfully only her to hear. Share a drink and it's like you're kissing was the old playground tease from her childhood. Eagerly and yet very unhelpfully, her brain then supplies her with an image of the first time she'd kissed this particular man, in a hot, sweaty, evil magic jungle, and something low in her stomach bursts open like a big, hot balloon. Get it together, Swan, she chides herself.
Thankfully, Hook doesn't seem to notice that she's having an internal error of some kind, and simply says, "Contrary to popular opinion, Swan, I'm actually a fairly well traveled and well rounded individual with many refined tastes."
"If you say so." She finds herself leaning a little closer to him as his foot bumps hers beneath the table.
"But you've never had pizza before?" Henry asks, still so very very confused about how on earth someone can just go about life never having eaten his favorite food before. Stumped, Killian just stares at the boy, frowning slightly. Emma comes in for the save.
"Well, then, let's change that tonight, shall we?" she says, with a can-do attitude rivaling that of her mother. "That settles it. Let's order a pizza." Her eyes flick to Hook. "Unless you had other plans for dinner?"
"I am at your beck and call tonight, my lady," he says, and though the innuendo in his tone is only mildly implied for the sake of her son sitting across from him, Emma still can't help but roll her eyes.
"Can we get fries?" Henry asks hopefully, and Emma can't help but smile at him.
"I was thinking onion rings. But sure, kid. Fries it is."
"Get both," Hook suggests casually. "Dinner's on me."
"No, it's fine," Emma insists, "I got it."
"It makes no difference to me, love."
"Do you even have money?" She's never stopped to think about it before, how he's getting around, how he's been paying for a room here or what he's been using to buy food. It's such an obvious question, and yet she's never thought to ask him.
"You have no idea what the exchange rate is for gold in this town," he says simply, as he takes another sip of his beer, and she raises her brows at him.
"Okay, well, that's a question for later," she says. "Good to know." A better sheriff would look into that further, all the presumably stolen gold and other treasures he has in his possession, and the people in town so willing to turn a blind eye and take it as payment, but it's literally the least pressing problem in her life at this point. It's not even a problem; she has no way to prove he's stolen anything, and even if she did, she finds she just doesn't care. The fact that he has any number of gold pieces and random treasures on him at any given point in time with which to pay for goods and services is… oddly endearing.
But, she probably should pay for her own dinner. Otherwise, he might get the wrong idea about what this dinner is. "I've got it," she says again, a finality in her voice with which he decides not to argue further.
"If the lady insists."
Henry, bored of their conversation, has been staring down at the laminated menu in front of him. "What do you like on your pizza, Killian? Well, I guess you wouldn't know that. What do you think you'd like on it? Pepperoni, bacon, Canadian bacon–which is just ham–mushrooms, extra cheese-" he rattles on a list of all the available toppings, still staring at his menu, and completely misses the look that comes over Hook's face when Henry uses his given name. Emma, blessedly, had looked over at him at just the right moment, just when Henry had said "Killian", and beheld for herself the way Hook's whole face had softened.
"Pardon?" Killian says, clearly confused. "I'm still not quite sure what it is we're ordering."
"All right, Henry, help the poor guy out," Emma says. "Define pizza. Go."
Henry shakes his head, incredulous as he stares at Hook. "Wow. You're like, Amish or something."
At that, Emma can't help the laugh that bursts out of her. Killian Jones could not possibly be further from an Amish person if he tried. For his part, Hook just frowns, mouths Amish? to himself.
"Okay," Henry goes on, "You have the crust, which is basically like bread." He holds out a hand horizontally, then stacks his other hand on top of it, alternating them with each layer he describes. "Then the sauce. Then a bunch of cheese, melted. Then whatever you want on top. Mom and I usually get the supreme, no green peppers, extra bacon, extra mushrooms. But we can get whatever you want. What do you like?"
Killian just looks at him, flabbergasted. "Supreme is fine, I'm sure," he finally says. Emma would feel a little bad for him if this wasn't so damn funny.
"Cool." Henry snaps his menu shut and sets it aside before turning back to his mother. "Can I get a milkshake?"
"Definitely not," Emma says. "You had that donut at the station earlier, remember?"
"Oh yeah," Henry mumbles, disappointed.
It doesn't matter though, because when it comes to her son and sugar, no one in this town seems to listen to her. Ruby automatically brings out a hot chocolate with cinnamon on top and sets it in front of Henry without even asking permission. "Sorry," she says off Emma's look, sounding distinctly not sorry, "On the house. Granny insisted."
"Thanks," Emma says wryly, sounding distinctly not thankful.
"How's the beer?" Ruby asks Killian, who smiles up at her politely.
"Very good. My hat's off to whichever dwarf concocted it."
"That would be Bashful. Though he's too shy to take credit for it."
"I imagine so," Killian says with a smirk.
"Dwarf?" Henry asks, confused.
Crap, Emma thinks, and tries to think on her feet, "Uh, the mining crew in town gave each other funny nicknames. Right, Ruby?" She shoots Killian a look, and he has the good sense to look abashed at his slip up.
Ruby's eyes are wide, as if she also completely forgot they were supposed to be a completely normal town in front of Henry. "Right! They're funny that way. Anyway, I'll tell him you liked it. And I'll tell Granny to keep it on tap." She pulls out an order pad from the half apron at her waist. "What'll it be, folks?"
"Well," Emma starts, "Killian's never tried pizza before..."
"So we're going to change his life tonight," Henry finishes for her.
Ruby, expectedly, shares in their shock. "Never had pizza?" She stares down at the pirate like he's suddenly grown an extra head. "What are you, lactose intolerant or something?"
"Excuse me?" Hook asks, as the mountain of his confusion just continues to grow ever taller.
"He's just not from around here," Emma reminds Ruby pointedly, and a look of understanding washes over her.
"Ah, right," Ruby says, "I forgot. Okay, yeah, let's change a life tonight! Pizza it is. What'll you have on it?"
"Supreme is fine," Emma says, and Henry pipes up to add, "No green peppers, please. Extra mushrooms and bacon." Ruby writes it down, along with the side orders, and promises to be back soon with a batch of fresh onion rings for the table.
A comfortable silence befalls them. Killian seems relaxed, Emma notices, as he lounges against the wall, and she's surprised to find herself settling comfortably into the booth, as well. This is... nice. They haven't really had a chance to do this, her and Henry, and just hang out with someone else from her life. She's had to dance around so many things with her son, dodge so many questions, hide things and explain (read: lie) things away, with his memories gone. It's been exhausting, frankly. But, since he already knows Killian, spent an entire road trip from New York to Maine in a small car with him, this has felt fairly easy. And Henry seems to like Hook. A lot.
But Emma should have known that this was going too well.
"So, Killian," Henry says after a minute, having sampled his hot chocolate and found it satisfactory. "You're not from around here?" Emma's chest clenches in anxiety at whatever he's about to ask next. Please don't ask him how he lost his hand, Emma begs from behind the bars of her brain. She's not sure she can handle the amount of ducking and weaving THAT particular conversation would take.
"That's right," Killian hedges, eying Henry closely, though he still looks completely at ease and prepared for whatever might possibly fall out of her son's mouth next.
"Are you from Great Britain? Like, England?"
It's almost imperceptible, the way Hook's gaze darts to Emma before he takes another swig of his beer, and she steps in with an answer.
"Uh, yeah," Emma says, affecting a tone that makes her sound semi-sure but also looking to Killian for clarification, "London, right?"
He takes the answer she hands him on a silver platter and nods easily. "That's right. What gave me away?"
Henry rolls his eyes, but any rudeness behind the gesture is dissipated with the smirk he attaches to it. "Uh, the accent, mostly."
"Ah," Killian says with a wink. "Well, guilty as charged."
Emma's not sure if they even have a version of London in the Enchanted Forest, or whatever part of that realm Killian is actually from. She vaguely remembers the Peter Pan film being set in London—probably?—but that's about it.
There's a little wooden peg game hiding behind the napkin dispenser on their table, pressed up against the wall. One of those little pieces of wood with holes drilled into it, with little pegs you're supposed to jump over each other until there is only one left. Emma knows for a fact that each of the booths has one, and that they were each hand carved by Marco. Henry watches as Hook toys with it, jumps a few pegs over each other, and Emma's heart gives a little squeeze as Henry asks, "Do you know how to play that?"
Learning to play that simple, weirdly addictive little game was one of the staples of their Granny's dates, in the first year she lived in Storybrooke. Every time they would sit and eat together, without fail, Henry would pull out the little piece of wood from behind the napkin dispenser and move the little pegs around. Emma caught herself doing it a few times, too, even when Henry wasn't with her. Just stabbing the little golf tee picks into their tiny holes while she waited for her food. It was weirdly satisfying and oddly addicting.
And now Henry has forgotten it.
For all the memories they share of their "pretty good" life back in the big city, she knows there are a dozen more here, in this quiet, strange, terrifying little town. And while she wouldn't trade that year she had with just her and Henry for anything in the world, she can't help but grieve the loss of the memories she made with him here, in Storybrooke.
Hook's voice pulls her out of her thoughts. "Aye. Want me to teach you?"
Of course he knows how to play the silly little peg game. She watches as he explains, simply, the right strategy to win in the fewest moves. Hook slides the piece of wood over to Henry, who takes it and flips it around, eager to try for himself.
Perhaps emboldened by the fact that he doesn't have to look at Hook when he asks, and can instead stare down at the little wooden pegs, Henry asks, as casually as possible, "So, how'd you lose your hand?"
"Henry," Emma starts. She can't help the sound of a scold that wraps around her tone.
"It's fine," Killian says easily, though this time he doesn't look at Emma to give an answer for him. His left arm had been relaxing across his lap; he shifts, and brings his forearm up to rest on the table. For the most part, he had taken to wearing his prosthetic hand around Henry, in lieu of the hook. Emma and her son both can't help but stare at it as Killian rests it on the table.
If she's honest, Emma misses the hook. If she's honest, she never really actually thinks of Hook as an amputee. She's seen him make a few creative alterations to movements more able-bodied people would traditionally use two hands for, sure. Using his teeth to pull a cork from its bottle, or to sexily tie a scarf around her bleeding hand, for one.
She knows he's missing a hand. Logically, she knows this. She called him "Hook" 99.9% of the time, until she had to stop when Henry was around. It rolled off her tongue so easily, and several times, she's had to stop herself from blurting it out in front of Henry. But it's almost as if half the time it doesn't even register in her brain that there are some things he can't do as easily or as quickly as other people.
Now, as she stares down at the leather-wrapped prosthetic on the table in front of her, she finds herself missing the namesake to his more colorful moniker. To her utter horror, when she realizes she's been very obviously staring, she glances up at Hook's face, and she finds he's been watching her for a while now. Emma feels heat pool in her cheeks instantly, and she leans back. But graciously, Killian only smiles softly at her, seeming, yet again, to read her thoughts easily. As if he knows she misses the hook. The bastard has the audacity to wink at her.
Oblivious to the unspoken conversation happening right beside him between his mom and the strange man across from him, Henry pipes up, "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to." He sounds nervous, like he realizes the gravity of his social blunder and suddenly wants to give Killian an out. "Really. I… I'm sorry I asked." He shoots an apologetic look to Emma, who tries her best to look stern.
There's a moment of silence that stretches out between them where Emma genuinely doesn't know what Hook is going to say next. So many directions this conversation could go, so many versions of the truth, the unbelievable truth, that he could go with. Emma is very aware that she's holding her breath, but she can't seem to let it go until Killian says something. It's the one thing in this moment she feels like she has control over.
"Truth be told, lad," Killian finally says on the end of a sigh, "It happened so long ago, I hardly remember what it's like having two hands."
Emma releases the air she'd been holding captive in her lungs, and in place of the tightness in her airway comes a little pang in her heart. She knows this story, but she's never asked him about this story. They've never talked about that moment, just the two of them, when Milah was murdered right in front of him, and then he had his hand cut off. It's horrible, truly. She takes the horror of it for granted, and she suddenly very much does not want Henry to hear this story, even in whatever veiled shape Hook wants to tell it. It's Killian's story, his hand that was lost, and it's his right to tell Henry whatever he wants about it. Emma's heart grieves for this man before her and the tremendous losses that have shaped him. But she does not want her son to hear this story. She's not even sure she wants to hear this story.
Life has softened Emma too much, she fears, because while she imagines herself as being quite tough and immune to the awfulness of the world, she knows these feelings are showing quite clearly on her face and in her eyes, which are shining just a little brighter as she watches Hook. He looks up abruptly, meeting her gaze, and her heart leaps like she's just been jump scared.
"So you were just a kid when it happened?" Henry asks, and Hook huffs out a little laugh through his nose.
"Not exactly, no."
Henry frowns. "I don't understand."
Emma doesn't envy either of them in this moment, but she especially does not envy Hook, whom she watches with nothing but sympathy.
And in the end, Hook goes for the blunt, almost-truth of the matter. "Lost it to a Crocodile." When he looks up at Henry, it's with a smirk playing across his features. One that Emma sees right through.
Henry's mouth falls open in shock, like that was literally the last thing he was expecting Killian to say. "No way! Seriously? A crocodile bit your hand off?"
Even Hook can't disguise the smile—a genuine one, this time—that comes over his face at Henry's utter, boyish exuberance at this answer. Emma's heart swells an extra size, watching them. Of course Henry would think that was awesome, the idea of someone's hand getting bitten off by what is essentially a modern-day dinosaur. "Aye," Hook says, shooting Emma a knowing glance. "As I said, I lost my hand to a Crocodile."
"What, like in Australia or something?" Henry asks.
"Something like that."
The beauty of this moment is that Hook doesn't even really have to lie to Henry. He seemingly doesn't have to do anything more than slightly bend the truth; Henry's too amped up to even listen to the full answers to his questions, and Killian can continue to dole out the most vague answers on the planet.
"Did you live there?" Henry asks. "When you were a kid?"
"Lad, I've lived in and seen more places than I care to count," Hook says, with a gleam in his eyes, "And none of them, I assure you, are more interesting and alluring than this very town."
Emma doesn't imagine his gaze flitting over to her when he says the word "alluring". She knows she doesn't. And yet, he's so quick about it, keeping his focus entirely on her son, that she can't be sure.
"Really?" Henry asks, dubious. "This town? Storybrooke?"
"Aye," Killian says, "I promise you, my boy. There's more to this place than meets the eye. You just have to be willing to see, for yourself."
It's the kind of answer an old, wizened Santa Claus would tell a kid in a Christmas movie about a town that was secretly the North Pole or something. It's probably the corniest thing she's ever heard him say that wasn't a pickup line. And yet, Emma is surprised to find warmth prick her eyes at his attempt to make Henry feel more at home here, more interested in this town that her city boy son has written off entirely as Boringville, USA. And she gets that—she really does. She didn't exactly think Storybrooke was hip-hop and happenin' when she first rolled into town, either.
Then again, she also didn't think it was full of fairytale characters. Literal royalty from another realm. Evil queens with magic. Humanoid crickets, for God's sake. Henry's family is here. Whether he knows it or not, everyone in this town knows him, and so many of those people love him, would die for him in a heartbeat. And while she can't pretend she isn't ready to take him back to New York City the second this is all over, it hurts her heart that he doesn't even remember those people.
All talk of special towns and missing hands cease, however, as Ruby returns and sets a massive, loaded pizza in front of them.
Emma has the satisfaction of watching Hook's eyes go wide. And whatever she expected him to say, it isn't the ineloquent, "Whoa," that falls from his mouth. Emma and Ruby both can't help but laugh at him.
"Looks pretty great, huh?" Henry says, already grabbing himself a plate and eying the slice he wants.
"One life-changing pizza, as ordered!" Ruby says with a grin. "Prepare to be dazzled, Captain."
Henry looks over at Emma, mouthing Captain?
"Navy," Emma whispers, thinking quick on her feet. Henry shrugs and starts piling his plate up with pizza. He carefully positions his chosen slices to make room for the fries that Ruby sets in front of him.
"There we go, folks," Ruby says, leaning back with her hand on her hip to inspect the table. "Anything else we need? Refill on that beer, Killian?"
Emma gives a mental tip of her hat to Ruby for how easily the name Killian rolls off her tongue, like she's said it a thousand times. Hook, for his part, looks momentarily taken aback that she even knows his given name. "Uh, yes," he says, "Sure, I'll take another."
It's a true delight, Emma finds, to see one of the most eloquent, loquacious people she knows (next to Gold, probably, which is a noticed similarity she will not be sharing with Hook) so continuously dumbfounded. It brings her great joy, actually, to keep seeing him rendered speechless by such average things.
"Sure thing." Ruby nods and reaches over to snatch up his empty mug. "Coming right up."
Ruby leaves, and Emma shakes her head at the absurdity of it all. A werewolf, giving a refill to a pirate of a beer that was illegally home brewed by a dwarf. What even is her life anymore? These are the things she didn't even know she was missing in New York. Not for the first time, there's a pang in her heart as she wishes she could share in the joke with Henry. She looks over at her son, watches him squirt ketchup over his fries like he's trying to torture information out of them. Something of these thoughts must show on her face, because after a moment, she feels a little bump on the toe of her boot. When she looks up, Killian is looking at her, his expression soft, and he offers her a small smile.
It'll be all right, Swan, his eyes seem to say, and she feels herself relax a fraction. She smiles back at him, thankful.
Whatever moment that's happening between them is interrupted by Henry. "Killian," he says, though the name is turned to absolute mush by the food in his mouth, "Pizza!"
"Good Lord," Emma says, shaking her head at him, "Who raised you, kid? Don't talk with your mouth so full."
Henry takes a few gulps from his Sprite, swallowing it all down. "Ah, sorry. I said, 'Killian, pizza.'"
Hook, for his part, looks thoroughly amused. "Yes, lad, I'd gathered that." He looks down at their gigantic round entree with what can only be described as suspicion. "Do I just dig in then? No forks with you savages?"
Emma huffs a laugh. "Only weirdos eat pizza with a fork." Though, as she watches Henry hang onto a particularly large piece with two hands, she adds, "Unless that's easier for you. Then be as weird as you want."
Killian waves off any concern on her part with a flick of his hand. "When in Storybrooke, eat as the Storybrookians do and all that." He slips a slice of pizza off the stand, letting it fall onto a plate with an audible plop, which he frowns down at.
"Storybrookians?" Emma laughs. "No way. There's got to be something better than that out there."
Hook shrugs, quirking a brow at her. "I'll have to check with the mayor."
"She's nice," Henry pipes up, mouth blessedly less full this time. "She took me out for ice cream."
Emma and Hook, for what feels like the thousandth time this evening, swap glances. Henry, too engrossed in his pizza, doesn't seem to notice.
Moments later, when Ruby returns with Killian's beer, being the spectacular mind reader she apparently is, she also comes bearing another Sprite for Henry and a second iced tea for Emma.
"You're amazing," Emma tells her.
"I know," Ruby responds with a wink. "I'll come check on you guys in a bit. If you need anything, just give a whistle." She turns on her heel and heads back toward the kitchen, leaving them alone with their life-changing pizza.
"All right," Emma says, and her tone sings time's up, buddy. "Eat up or shut up."
Killian chuckles, shaking his head at her. "That the saying, is it?"
"Yup," Emma says, popping the "P" on the end. "Sure is. Pizza time. Time to really become a man of the times." Hook eyes the loaded slice of pizza on his plate skeptically, and Emma thinks of young Simba right before he tried a grub for the first time. "Hakuna matata, pal."
Henry, immediately getting the reference, laughs loudly at her side, and Emma beams. Hook looks between the two of them, once again a confused, eyeliner-wearing puppy. The poor man shakes his head, as if he's just completely done trying to understand everything they say, and as they continue to snicker at his expense, he reaches down, scoops up his slice of pizza with his hand, and takes a bite of it. The thing is so loaded up with toppings that a few black olives abandon ship and fall back down to the plate with a soft tink.
They both watch him expectantly. Hook, being the good sport he is, lets them stare at them while he eats. He swallows, then washes the rest of it down with a swig of beer.
Emma and Henry give him a solid three seconds before they say, simultaneously, "Well?"
"I've certainly had worse, by way of sustenance." Hook says, shrugging, and they both groan.
"Are you kidding me?" Emma says. "You try pizza for the first time and that's all you have to say about it? You've had better?"
"I believe what I said was that I've had worse food, Swan," Hook clarifies, pointing at her with the prosthetic hand, "Which is a compliment."
"In what realm is that a compliment?"
"He's right," comes Henry's sigh. "This pizza is mid at best."
Mid? Killian mouths to Emma. She shrugs, for once just as lost as he is.
"The pizza back in New York is way better," Henry says, and Emma can't argue with that.
"He's right. New York City does pizza like you wouldn't believe."
"Yeah," Henry says, "Remember the cart guy by our apartment that would sell it by the slice?"
"Yes!" Emma cries. "Pizza Phil!"
"You bought pizza from a man in a cart?" Killian asks, looking truly befuddled, clearly envisioning some kind of horse and buggy roadside pizza situation in the congested streets of New York City.
"Not that kind of cart," Emma clarifies with a smile. "Like a little… stand, I guess. He'd make it there, in this brick oven on wheels thing he had, and then he'd just sell it by the slice."
"It was awesome," Henry says emphatically. "Best pizza in town. Sometimes Mom would let me have it for breakfast on our way to school."
"Yeah, well," Emma says wryly, "Those weren't exactly my best mothering moments. Sometimes we overslept, and pizza for breakfast it was."
"I disagree," Henry says around his straw, as he finishes off the last of his second Sprite. Another not great mothering moment, Emma thinks to herself. But tonight is a special night. Henry goes on, "I think those were actually your best mothering moments."
"And this cart man's pizza was better?" Hook asks, slowly, making a very valiant effort to keep up with them. "Back in New York City?"
"New York pizza has a thinner crust," Emma explains. "So you get more of the cheese and toppings. It's pretty great."
"The best," Henry asserts. "I wish we could have had you try it before we came here." There's something wistful in his tone that hurts Emma's heart. She knows full well the bagels, pizza, and honestly food in general in Storybrooke leave much to be desired, and that her son misses the big city. She wants to make it up to him, somehow. He's been so patient with her, through all this, and so trusting, and her heart swells with affection for him.
"Alas," Hook says, with a wry look to Emma, "My experience with New York City cuisine leaves much to be desired." Vaguely, she remembers something about barbaric brigs and being force fed something called bologna. She shakes her head at him, though she doesn't even bother trying to hide her laughter.
"Yeah, yeah," Emma says with a roll of her eyes. "All right, so we're not as well-traveled as you are. Sue us. We're simple folk. We like our pizza."
"And I will not begrudge you for that, Swan."
"Are there any other pizza places in town?" Henry pipes up.
"I don't… actually know," Emma says, glancing at Hook, who shrugs.
"We should definitely find out," Henry says. "We gotta try everything this town has to offer while we're here, and compare it to back home."
Emma's heart squeezes. She can feel Killian's eyes on her, but she knows if she looks at him, she's going to lose the battle against the tears suddenly pricking her eyes. Her voice is a little husky when she answers with, "Yeah, kid. Sure thing."
"You'll come with us?" Henry asks, looking to Hook. "Be brave again, try some more pizza?"
Hook chuckles lowly, but nods and says, "I think I can be brave, Henry."
"Good," Henry says, and the grin that lights up her son's face makes Emma's breath catch in her throat. He has the best smile, and she hasn't seen it enough lately.
They finish their pizza, or as much of it as they can eat, with Henry making the biggest dent. Hook, brave as he is, finishes his slice, and then dares to go for a second, which Emma counts as a win. She doesn't keep Henry up too late, but they stay late into the evening, much later than Emma had originally intended when she took her son to Granny's for a hot chocolate and offered to buy Hook a beer.
And for the first time in a long time, with wicked green witches, curses, her son's missing memories, and flying monkeys abounding, a peace settles into Emma's heart. And for the first time in a long time, at least for this moment, she truly feels like everything really is going to be okay.