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So, what do I call you now? Captain Hand?
His hand shakes, just a little, as he holds out the rose.
He can't take his eyes off her. She's always been beautiful to him, but right now she defies all description. He's never been a man of the written word, but the way she looks at this very moment inspires him. He'd write sonnets to the glow in her cheeks, the curve of her pulled up hair, the blush of her dress. She far outshines him, his radiant Swan.
She catches his hand, turning it over in her own. Her fingers are warm, and their slow, deliberate, searching caresses only amplify his trembling.
"It's only temporary," he says, caught between the desire to tug the hand that is magically his but also very much not his away from her and letting her do as she pleases with it because it might not be truly his but he can feel it, feel her.
"Why?"
"It's magic, love. Magic comes with a price, always. This time it just so happens to be exactly that: time," he replies.
"Until midnight?" She smirks at him as though that should be funny.
"Indeed."
The smile drops replaced by a look of incredulity. "Seriously?"
He lifts an eyebrow, and she laughs softly. It makes her shine even brighter.
"How very fairytale," she says, and she steps away to find a vase for the rose.
Henry takes his moment to pounce.
"No eloping," the boy says, sternly, and then thinking for a minute, continues, "Or getting involved with magic or curses or time travelling or--"
"I think that's enough, kid," Emma says, returning and ruffling the boy's hair with an affectionate grin and sideways look of amusement at Killian. "It's only dinner."
"No eloping," Henry says again, pointing his finger at each of them in turn.
"Not on the menu tonight, kid. I promise," Emma says, crossing her heart with her fingers.
"Perfect gentleman, I swear," Killian adds, and both Emma and the boy look at him with wide eyes before bursting out laughing.
"What? Why is that amusing?" He crosses his arms across his chest, twitching a little as his new hand brushes against the coat in his new ensemble.
"Just be yourself," Henry parrots. "Only not the you that murders people and steals things. The, uh, hero you."
Emma blinks, her shoulders slumping in an uncertain line, and Killian isn't really sure how to salvage that, only knows that he needs to.
"The hero me is the only one that exists now; all thanks to your mother here," he says, turning to grin widely at her and hoping that he's said the right thing.
She returns the smile, and though there's an undercurrent of bitterness in it, he thinks he's done well enough. He holds out his hand--the one that actually belongs to him--and waits for her to put her own in it. She does without hesitation.
"Bye, mom! Have a good time!"
Henry herds them both out the door, and Killian breathes a sigh of relief once the door swings closed behind them. Emma's family is not made up of terrible people. They are, in fact, rather good people, but he's not used to good people. He finds himself irrationally annoyed by how good they all are, in truth, and the longer he spends in their company, the more likely he is to say something terrible just to balance out the overwhelming outpouring of nice. Even the boy, raised by an evil queen no less, is just as pure as Snow White. It's all wonderfully terrible, and small doses are all he can take.
Of Emma, though, he wants the largest dose she'll allow.
They walk through the quiet town in the last glow of evening light, and he doesn't know what to say. He's asked for this, this date. He is over the moon and back that she finally asked in return. But to say that he has forgotten how to do this properly would be an understatement. He never knew how to do this to begin with. The wining part he understands. The dining part? Well...
“Why?”
He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, uncertain about what she’s asking. She tugs on his hand and motions to the other one.
“I wanted...” he begins but shakes his head with a sigh. “I wanted this to be nice, to be better than what you expected. To be complete.”
“So, what, this was your way of...dressing up?”
He laughs but it is not a happy sound. “Trust you to turn my gesture into something as small as that, Swan.”
“I didn’t—no, wait. Killian.” She stops and turns to face him, keeping her hand tightly wound around his own. “That’s not what I meant.”
He looks up at her through his eye lashes, feeling a little as though this is somehow his fault even though the momentary flash of anger seemed justified.
“I appreciate it, I do. I just don’t want you to think that...you need to be something that you’re not,” she says. “I like the hook.”
He raises the magically attached hand to stroke her face. “Ah, but do you not like the hand better, love? It’s flesh and blood, warm and soft.”
He leaves out the self pitying follow up that his hook is cold and broken in comparison.
She catches the hand and pulls it away. “Sure. It’s great! And I am really touched that you did this for me, I am. What I’m saying is...this would have been just as perfect without it.”
He looks at her for a long time in silence, trying to spot the lie. He cannot. So he surges forward and presses his lips to hers.
“You are a marvel, Emma Swan,” he says into the warm space between them, pressing their foreheads together.
She laughs. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re beautiful,” he counters.
“You’re not broken,” she replies and his whole body tenses up. He tries to pull away, feeling vulnerable because even here, out in the open in the middle of town on the street, she has still managed to worm her way into the deepest parts of his soul and completely undo him.
She holds him fast, presses a dry kiss to the side of his mouth.
“I like the hook,” she says again.
He takes a deep breath and bestows upon her a shaky smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“See that you do, Captain Hook,” she says with a wink, and she tugs on his hand as she walks forward.
“I didn’t really fancy being called Captain Hand, at any rate,” he mutters, gratified when she laughs.
“Doesn’t have the same ring to it,” she agrees, and he squeezes her hand just a little.
“No, that it doesn’t,” he says, and she leans her head on his shoulder.
“I like the new coat though,” she says.
“Aye, I thought you might.”
“You could keep it,” she suggests, turning her head ever so slightly to look up at him. She’s grinning, and he rolls his eyes.
“As you wish, milady,” he says, and she squeezes his hand back.