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Saturday Night
The evening had started out well enough. David had gone for a drink with Hook, and Snow was enjoying a quiet evening at home with baby Neal and Netflix.
The first inkling she’d had that something was wrong was when two French soldiers, who she vaguely recognised as refugees from the Land of Untold Stories, had knocked on the door asking if she were Madame Nolan and to come quickly because her husband was in a spot of bother.
As they lead her to Granny’s they explained that Monsieur Nolan had challenged each of them to a duel, but being gentlemen they’d decided not to fight a man as clearly incapacitated as he was. Apparently, this had not got through the haze of alcohol clouding his brain, and he’d attempted to duel with each of them before becoming confused, attacking a lamppost, tripping over the kerb, and knocking himself out.
“Don’t worry, Madame,” reassured the big man, who said his name was Porthos, “Aramis is tending to him. He’s very good with a needle. Your husband will be fine.”
“A needle!” exclaimed Snow in alarm. “How badly is he injured?”
“Hard to say, Madame,” said the man who’d introduced himself as Athos. “He appeared to have already gotten himself into some trouble before we chanced upon him. Someone helped us take him to the hospital, but the physician refused to see him.”
“Why?!”
The big man cleared his throat, embarrassed, “It seems he got into a fight with the physician earlier in the evening and the man was not disposed to assist someone who had lead to him needing five stitches.”
“What?!”
“Does your husband normally drink this much?” Athos enquired tentatively. “Is he often… violent?”
Snow bristled at the note of concern in his voice. How dare he imply that… “No!” she retorted indignantly.
“Forgive me, Madame, I myself have a very close relationship with alcohol,” Athos glared at Porthos, who laughed out loud at this understatement. “I merely wished to establish we’re not about to expose you to any danger.”
Despite her indignation Snow could see his concern was genuine. “No,” she said more gently, “he’s not usually violent. A little hot-headed at times, but … was he really that drunk he couldn’t tell the difference between you and a lamppost?”
“Really.” Athos nodded.
“I’m going to kill Hook.” Snow muttered. “Was he with anyone?” she asked. “A man by the name of Killian, you might know him as Captain Hook?” the soldiers looked puzzled. “Handsome man, dark hair, moustache, leather?”
“Sounds like Aramis.” commented Porthos.
“No, Madame, he was alone.”
“I’m going to kill him.” she muttered again.
The three arrived at Granny’s where a third soldier, Aramis, was bending over a semi-conscious David, trying to keep him awake. Granny was ‘helping’ by periodically splashing cold water on his face.
“Madame Nolan?” enquired Aramis, gently kissing her hand. “Please do not worry, your husband is fine. A little battered and bruised, but nothing too serious apart from a broken leg.”
Snow blushed under the intensely appraising gaze of the musketeer. His friends were right: he did fit her earlier description.
Snow passed Neal to Granny and approached her husband. “What have you done?” she asked David, tenderly stroking his cheek. David mumbled something incoherent that might have been her name. Aramis ran through his various injuries, and Granny pointed out the deep cut on his arm that had required stitches, complimenting Aramis on his needlework, and flashing him what could best be described as a coquettish smile.
Athos raised an amused eyebrow. Aramis merely shrugged and mouthed silently, “Free apple pie for a month!” Porthos grinned appreciatively.
Snow missed their little exchange, fussing over her husband. “Where’s Hook?” she demanded of Granny.
“Haven’t seen him since breakfast.” she stated.
“He didn’t go to the Rabbit Hole with David?”
Granny shrugged. “I saw David walk past about six, heading that way, but Hook wasn’t with him.”
“Who’s this Hook she keeps mentioning?” whispered Porthos to Aramis.
“Ex-navy turned pirate, or ex-pirate… I’m not entirely sure.” Aramis answered. “Handsome, charming. Hates Monsieur Gold, likes blondes, involved with Sheriff Swan. Good with a sword.” Athos raised a curious eyebrow: the musketeers didn’t praise swordsmanship lightly. “Not your level, but he could hold his own with most of the regiment.”
“How do you know this?” Porthos enquired.
“Well, you gamble, Athos drinks, I get to know people.”
“You get to know women!” Porthos corrected.
“Indeed. Well, I thought it might be a good idea to get to know Mademoiselle Swan, but I changed my mind.”
“Couldn’t handle the competition?” Porthos laughed. “That doesn’t sound like you!”
Aramis smiled. “I know a lost cause when I see one. She looks at him the same way Madame Bonacieux looks at d’Artagnan.”
Snow interrupted their conversation. “Is it safe to move him? Can you help me get him to the hospital?”
Aramis nodded, but looked concerned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? The physician threatened to kill him.”
“Leave him to me.” Snow responded grimly. She fumbled in David’s pocket and found the keys to his truck. Porthos hoisted the drunken man onto his shoulders and followed Snow down the road.
On arrival at the hospital, they carried David inside to the protests of the nursing staff, under strict instructions not to admit him. However the combined effect of Mayor Snow glaring at them, and Athos and Aramis reaching for their swords quickly silenced them.
As they lowered David onto a hospital bed he briefly emerged from his alcoholic haze and started yelling at the men trying to help him. “You!” he yelled at Porthos “You tried to cheat me!”
Porthos looked vaguely sheepish, and Athos looked at him in exasperation. “Tell me you didn’t?”
“I didn’t as a matter of fact.”
“But you were thinking about it.”
“Perhaps. Anyway, he took offence and challenged me to a duel and that’s why we were standing outside the tavern when you arrived.”
Snow turned to Athos. “And why did he want to fight you?”
“He insulted my honour, Madame, and I asked him to apologize.”
“What did he say?” she asked curiously.
“He called me a Belgian.”
Snow looked confused but Aramis and Porthos threw disgusted looks at David. “A Belgian!” Athos repeated incredulously.
“And you?” she turned to Aramis.
“A theological matter.” he replied. Snow looked even more confused. “He used the Lord’s name in vain. Repeatedly.” he clarified. “I demanded an apology and he refused.”
“And you were going to fight him for it?”
“Of course not!” all three replied as one.
“We merely suggested he sober up, and perhaps he’d feel more apologetic in the morning.” Athos explained. “Sadly he did not feel so inclined, so it was necessary to draw our swords to defend ourselves.”
“I’m sorry,” Snow apologised, “He’s not normally like this. I can’t imagine what came over him. What must you think of us?!”
“Actually, it’s a pretty average day for us.” Aramis assured her.
Porthos nodded in agreement. “You’d be surprised how often things like this happen to us.” he smiled.
“Will you be alright now, Madame?” Athos asked. Snow nodded and thanked the men for their assistance, and with that the three musketeers bowed and took their leave.
To Snow’s relief, Dr Jekyll appeared. “You shouldn’t have brought him here.” he said worriedly, “Dr Whale is furious!”
“What happened?”
“Apparently, David was having a few drinks in the Rabbit Hole when Victor arrived. He started chatting to a woman when suddenly David got up and punched him in the face. Twice. Split his lip open. I had to give him five stitches. When those men showed up here with David, Victor went ballistic, locked the doors, and refused to let them in.”
Snow shook her head in disbelief. Men. “Can you look him over for me? That soldier thinks he’s broken his leg. Can you set it?”
Dr Jekyll nodded and began to look David over.
An x-ray and a couple of hours later, David’s leg was in plaster and Snow was finally left alone with her intoxicated husband. She sank into the chair beside him with a sigh, her expression hovering between concern and fury, a million questions whirling around in her head. What on earth had happened to cause David to end up in this state? She suddenly felt very tired. She called Granny to ask her if she could look after baby Neal for the rest of the night.
Earlier that night
“Don’t wait up!” exclaimed David, kissing his wife on the forehead and heading for the door. He had planned to drive over to Emma’s to pick up Killian, but it was such a nice evening, he decided to walk.
“Have fun with your new drinking pal!” she called after him. The growing bromance between David and Hook amused her no end. Not long ago, David had threatened to kill Hook rather than let him date their daughter, but somehow a friendship had emerged over the last few months. She was glad. The pirate would not have been her first choice for Emma, but there was no doubting the depth of his feelings for her, and Emma deserved a little romance and joy in her life. It was a relief to know Hook and David could be friends.
“What are you doing in there?” Emma asked, through the bathroom door.
“Making my devilishly handsome self even more presentable.” Killian answered smoothly.
Emma rolled her eyes. The man spent longer in the bathroom than she did. If she’d known how long he spent in the shower she might have thought twice about asking him to move in.
Then again… her father had just texted to say he was walking over and would be a little late, so maybe Emma could work this situation to her advantage…
She grinned slyly, and sidled into the bathroom, pulling off her shirt.
Killian regarded himself in the mirror as he trimmed his moustache. Not bad for a three-hundred year old pirate, he thought, admiringly.
“What are you doing in there?” Emma asked, through the bathroom door.
“Making my devilishly handsome self even more presentable.” he answered. He could tell she was rolling her eyes, even through the closed door, and grinned to himself.
Suddenly a pair of arms slipped around his waist and bare flesh pressed up against his back. “David’s going to be late.” Emma whispered in his ear. “What can we do to keep you entertained?” she purred, trailing kisses down the back of his neck and gently nibbling on his earlobe.
Killian growled in appreciation. “I’m sure we can think of something.” he smirked, twisting round so he could kiss her.
A few minutes later and they had both completely forgotten about his play date, lost in the sensation of exploring each other in the shower.
“Emma? Hook?” David called out as he opened the front door. There was no answer. “Hello?” he tried again. Still nothing. There was nobody downstairs so he climbed the stairs. “Emma? Hook?” he called again. Still no answer. He was puzzled. Surely they wouldn’t go out and leave the front door open? There was no-one in the bedrooms, so he pushed the bathroom door open…
David fled the house. Literally ran down the road until he was out-of-breath and forced to slow down. He shook his head and blinked rapidly, desperately trying to dislodge the image of his daughter with her legs wrapped around Hook’s waist, her head tilted back against the wall of the shower, eyes closed, as Hook…
Oh God, he was going to be sick.
He need a drink. A really stiff drink. Or two, or three.
They hadn’t even seen him; had been completely unaware of his presence. He shook his head violently, trying not to think about Hook’s right arm crooked under Emma’s left leg, his left arm (and presumably hook) pressed into her back, pressed up against the shower wall. The water running down his back, dripping from his hair, where one of Emma’s hands was tangled, the other gripping his shoulder as she moaned.
David felt like his head was going to explode. He needed to get very very drunk. Or hit something, or someone, or both.
He wanted to punch Hook, but right now he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing him again. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know they were sleeping together. Emma had invited Hook to move in shortly after their return from the Underworld. It’s not even like he minded, not really. Hook had proved his feelings for Emma many times over and there were much worse people for his daughter to end up with.
But seeing it? Actually seeing them in flagrante? It was too much! His relationship with his daughter was still so new, sometimes he couldn’t help feeling as protective as he did towards baby Neal. After all, he’d only known her for a few short years.
He had no right to feel this way, he knew that, and yet he still did. Emma was his baby girl. He wasn’t ready to see her being ravished by a pirate. By anyone, for that matter! What if Henry had walked in on them? he thought angrily, looking for excuses to justify his feelings. It was irresponsible of them. How dare Hook be so selfish and thoughtless? David knew he was being irrational and that Emma was an adult and clearly complicit in what he’d just witnessed, but he was also a father and not ready to see the evidence of his child being a fully grown woman.
He needed a drink. He was going to go to the Rabbit Hole and get very very drunk: maybe shoot some pool or play some cards and try and forget about what he’d just seen; drown the urge to punch Hook in the face and probably wreck his relationship with his daughter in the process.
Sunday Morning
When David woke, everything hurt. His head was throbbing like hell; he couldn’t move his leg; there was a long red gash in his arm; and everything ached. Worse still, his wife was sitting beside him with a face like thunder.
“Where am I?” he croaked, trying to sit up, his head exploding in fury.
“In hospital with a broken leg.” Snow responded.
“What happened?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” she said ominously. “Preferably, before Emma gets here. Victor has lodged a formal complaint against you.”
“Victor?” David repeated, confused. What was Snow talking about?
Something suddenly erupted through the fog in his head. “Emma!” he groaned, closing his eyes, trying to block out the images in his head again.
“What about her?” Snow frowned.
“I… I…” he stumbled over his words, “Oh God. I interrupted her and Hook…” he groaned, “in the shower. Together.”
“You mean…?”
David nodded miserably.
“Oh!” Snow’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. “Is that what this is all about?” She fought the sudden urge to laugh.
“I’m not exactly sure what this is,” David grumbled, “but, is that why I got drunk? Yes. She’s our little girl, Snow…”
“Did they see you?” she interrupted
“I don’t think so. I left as fast as I could.”
“Good.” breathed Snow, relieved. “Let’s keep it that way. Emma will be here soon. You better come up with a good excuse about why you punched Victor – twice! He needed five stitches, David, FIVE!”
“Serves him right.” muttered David uncharitably.
“Seriously? That again? How many times do I have to remind you… WE WERE CURSED!” Snow all but yelled.
By the time Emma arrived, Snow had calmed down enough to play along with David’s rather lame excuse about what had happened. She promised to try and smooth things over with Victor but confiscated David’s deputy badge temporarily. “Do you want me to use magic on that leg?” she offered.
“Yes!” said David. “No!” said Snow, at exactly the same time. David glared at her.
“No,” said Snow again firmly, “there’s always a price, and that’s his price for being an idiot.”
“What’s going on?” Emma whispered to her mother as Snow followed her out of the room, “What on earth got into him? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Don’t ask. And try to keep Killian away from David for a few days.”
“Why? What’s Killian got to do with it?” Emma asked, looking worried. “Why didn’t David show up last night? We both texted a dozen times, but he didn’t answer.”
“Nothing, nothing.” Snow hastened to reassure her, making a mental note to delete the messages on her husband’s phone before he saw them. “Just trust me on this, please? Your father is not quite himself. I think we should just leave him be for a few days.”
Something in her mother’s tone warned Emma not to push it, so she gave Snow a hug and returned to the station, leaving an angry David to confront his wife about not letting Emma heal his leg.
“That’s your punishment for hitting Victor.” Snow stated flatly. “And by the way, as soon as you’re up to it, you also need to go and apologise to three very nice French soldiers you insulted, who were kind enough to look after you rather than run you through with their swords. Three very polite, very handsome French soldiers.” she added, just to annoy him.
One day, they were going to have a good laugh about this, she thought, but maybe now was not the time. He might be an idiot, she thought affectionately, but he’s my idiot.