Henry let out a curse as his sword was thrown to the side, falling with another loud clatter onto the deck. His head fell back in frustration, a quirk that reminded Killian so much of his Swan, it made him smile.

"Hey, language," shouted a warning voice up above them. Killian looked up and to his left in delighted surprise as he saw Emma standing at the edge of dock, a take-out bag from Granny's in her hand.

He picked up the fallen sword, catching it swiftly with his hook, before turning back to Henry. He ruffled Henry's hair with his hand, earning a joking swat from the boy. "S'alright, lad. You're improving admirably. Now, take this," he held out the swinging sword on his hook for him to take. "And bring it back up to the helm and let's have some lunch."

After a quick "aye, aye," Henry jogged up the steps to the wheel and Killian tried to hide his smile as in his peripherals he saw the boy practicing his form, slicing the air a couple times. He returned his sword to its home on his hip before turning his attention back to Emma.

"You better not be teaching him swear words," admonished Emma, though her tone held little annoyance.

"Ah, I assure you I'm not worse than you are, darling," he teased back, eyebrow raised. He quickly sauntered up the few steps to the edge to meet her just in time to catch her eye-roll. The sun illuminated the jade in her eyes and the freckles on her cheeks. Those cheeks, when lifted in her purest smile, made his knees weak and his heart light. They were his only anchor to the ground sometimes.

"Permission to come aboard, or are you just gonna stare at me?" Her voice brought him out of his reverie, his lips curving into a smile as his hooked arm bent behind his back and he lifted his hand, palm up for her to hold.

He bowed to kiss her hand when it touched his. "Always, m'lady," he whispered, squeezing her hand gently when he stood. The smile she graced him with sent a jolt to his chest because, though her cheeks still pinked, she freely allowed him to give her the attention she'd always deserved and every day he thanked whatever Gods lived above them that he was the one to do so.

He led her down the steps to the table and chairs she magically brought up from below deck. Henry ran over and grabbed the bag of her hand. "Finally, I'm starving."

They both chuckled at the very teenage boy, who seemed to have an endless stomach these days.

Days like today were his favorite, just their small immediate family enjoying each other's company on the Jolly. Henry may not call him dad, but Killian called him son, and the unspoken bond of protection was always there. In addition to Emma, gaining a son was something he couldn't have ever prepared for; it was when he most felt like the man Emma told him everyday that he was.

As they ate their grilled cheese and milkshakes, Henry told his mother of his progress with a sword, as well as new sailing techniques he'd been shown that day. Emma listened intently, love in her eyes for her growing son–which changed to bewilderment when he practically attacked her unfinished plate when he was done with his.

"You're not running my son ragged, are you?" Emma chuckled as Henry shoved yet more fries into his mouth.

"Swordsmanship is a thrilling skill, love. All that adrenaline pumping through a growing young lad…well, this is what you get." He broke out into a laugh when Henry glanced back at them, his cheeks full like a chipmunk's, as if he just tuned into their conversation.

"You know, Mom, I could probably beat you now," Henry said confidently after he'd swallowed.

"Is that so," Emma smiled. She paused, then looked at Killian beside her, a sudden spark in her eye. "What do you say, Captain…Want to teach me a few things?"

Excitedly standing up from the table, he grinned at her before leaning down, one arm on the table, the other on her chair, trapping her inbetween. "Let's see just how much pirate is in you, Swan." His eyebrows rose as his head tilted at his challenge. He surprised her with a chaste kiss to her smirking lips before jogging up to the helm.

After retrieving his cutlass and the one Henry had stashed, he came back down to find the table no longer in the middle of the ship. His gaze drifted to Emma and he would lying if he said his steps didn't falter a fraction when he noticed her now-bare shoulders, her jacket flung over a barrel.

"What's the matter, Captain?" Emma leered as she confidently raised a boot on the step in front of her and brought a hand to her hip, her hair now thrown up into a ponytail.

He chuckled lightly as he stepped on the hatch in the center of the ship, stopping a few feet from her. "Oh, Swan, you wound me. Even a woman as beautiful as you shall not lessen my skill." He twisted the cutlass in his hand swiftly so he could hand her the hilt "And I have no intention of letting you win this time." His thoughts traced back to their first sword fight, to a moment when his body lay over hers just enough to spark the electricity that hummed between them.

"This time?" He saw her eyes bug as the memory hit her. Her eyes remained stern, but he saw her body lean back slightly in doubt. "You did not let me win."

His only response was to unsheathe his sword from his hip, the satisfying sound echoing in the wind, and pointing it toward his partner in silent challenge. "Prove it," his voice putting emphasis on the t.

His sword lifted up as she made the first move, sending a clang in the air as steel hit steel. He quickly recovered by jumping down to the deck and swinging the blade back under, allowing her the confidence to stop it. He knew she had the natural skill in her, if only due to her strong survival instincts–which is what precisely made her a pirate in his eyes. It was how she learned best, he knew, so he kept his play at a mild level, carefully watching and waiting for her to be ready for more.

Her feet moved gracefully as she moved forward. When she managed to catch his cutlass with hers, she slid it down to the hilt. With it came her body as she leaned above him from her place on the hatch, her exuberant smile sending jolts to his already racing heart. His back almost completely arched, he grinned as he used his hook to give him the leverage to push her back. She rocked back on her feet and ran up the stairs to her left the led to the helm.

Never was he more in love with her, he thought, than when her playful side came out–the side only he seemed to have the pleasure of seeing. His lips curved in a helpless smile as he dramatically sidestepped over to the other side instead of following her. She was angelic in her movements as she walked backwards, keeping her eyes on his as they moved. She passed the wheel and suddenly they were face to face. His foot stopped on a step above the other on the stairs and he realized then how much he loved the control she exhibited when she stood above him, but unlike the moment before, their swords hung forgotten by their side as their heads moved closer to each other, eyes flickering between gazes, lips, and flushed cheeks.

He was lost in the wetness of her lips, his throat tightening when her tongue brushed over them in anticipation. His eyes closed, bracing for home when he felt a sharp prick against his chest.

He had no need to look down at the cutlass being pointed at his sternum, at her trick. He simply stared at her, tilting his head as he pushed the tip away with his hook.

"You dare trick a Captain on his own ship, Swan? Using yourself as a ploy." He clicked his tongue in pseudo disappointment. "Bad form, very bad form."

She giggled. Outright giggled, the minx.

She backed up a foot, bringing the sword back up between them. "Stop going easy on me, then," she dared.

He jogged up the last step so that he was equal with her. Not giving her a moment to prepare, he swung his weapon out, clanging it with hers. He stopped her advance from the side. Knowing his ship gave him the advantage of moving backwards with ease as she chased him back down to the deck, his feet unfaltering down the steps. Their blades clashed and swiped at each other as their bodies turned and danced. He watched with pride as her feet moved more elegantly across the wood, noticing the technique she was already learning, the same with her maneuvering of the cutlass.

Their movements became less serious as the light competition became pure fun and laughter bubbled out of both of them. The sun was quickly setting against the ship, casting them in golden shadows. With one last flourish of his arm, their weapons connected above them. They watched each other until she stepped forward, sliding her blade down his until she reached the middle and with a quick twist his cutlass went flying to the side and landed with a definitive clatter.

"Ha, ha!" Emma cheered. Her heels bounced slightly before she collected herself and raised her sword back up, pointing the tip at the level of his chin. His palm and hook rose on either side of his head in surrender. His tongue swiped the side of his mouth as he grinned.

"I win," she sung, smiling in triumph.

Locking his gaze with hers, he pushed the sword slowly up with his index finger until it stood straight in her hand, closing the distance between them as he did so. He took the hilt out of her grasp and tossed the thing to the side before grabbing her hips and pulling her against his chest, crashing his lips to hers. His hand moved to the back of her neck to dip her slightly while his hook caught the small of her back. He chuckled at the moan she let escape, relishing his ability to wipe the smug grin off her face only to weaken her in seconds.

Killian smiled when her lips continued to chase his as he pulled back. "On the contrary, love," he spoke softly. He cupped her cheek in his palm, his thumb wiping the slight gleam of sweat off her skin. He looked at his Swan and once again wondered how the blazes he'd gotten so lucky. "It is I, who has won."

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "You're such a sap."

"Mmmm, but you love me."

"I do," she whispered, tiptoeing up to kiss him again.

("You guys are disgusting.")