Chapter 2

Hook's hospital room was quiet – they'd unhooked him from all the machines the day before and he was finally getting a good rest. The head of the bed was raised and Hook's face was turned away from the doorway toward the window, his expression serene as he slept.

Emma stopped in the doorway, watching him, marveling at how young and innocent he looked when he wasn't bugging the hell out of her.

"Kiss," was the groan that came from the supposed-to-be-sleeping pirate and she wondered if he'd been awake the whole time.

"Are you going to say that every time I walk into the room?" Emma asked, nudging the door shut with her hip.

Hook slowly turned to look at her, a look of exaggerated disappointment on his face. "I can't believe you'd hold a kiss hostage from a dying man."

She rolled her eyes. "You're not dying."

He shifted slightly, wincing. "You promised a kiss. Pirates don't break promises."

"Since when? You were lying when I met you. Isn't lying kind of rule number one in the whole pirate code of conduct?" She dropped her jacket on the end of his bed and grabbed the chair that had become her second home during his hospital stay.

"Lies and promises are two different things, love."

"Well, you're forgetting something - I'm not a pirate."

"You're more of a pirate than you think, Swan."

"And who said I broke my promise?" She grabbed a magazine from his bedside table and started paging through it.

He grunted as he reached over and grabbed the magazine. "Come again?"

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Isn't anticipation part of the thrill? I kiss you, what do you have left to live for?"

He slowly licked his bottom lip and she fought to keep her expression blank. How a man in a bleached out hospital gown and five day old bed head could manage to look dangerous, she had no idea. "I'm sure we can think of something else," he said with a lazy grin. "Up the ante. I'm game if you are."

XxXxXxXxXx

"A little Spartan in here, Swan?" Hook said as he leaned against the doorway to her bedroom.

"I like to keep things simple," she explained as she turned down the bed before heading back to the pirate. She offered him her shoulder and support as he limped over to the bed and sank down with a sigh.

She hadn't factored in the stairs when she'd determined her bedroom was the best place to keep him while he convalesced with her and her family. It was a ten minute climb and one she was afraid they weren't going to be able to finish as he stopped at every step to catch his breath. Maybe she should have given him the couch instead and then she wouldn't have to give up her bed, but that seemed like the last place you should put the guy who saved your son and almost died doing it.

"Simple?" Hook asked as he looked around and took in her room. "I knew a friar once - jovial fellow, piss drunk at all times - who took a vow of poverty. I believe he had more belongings than you."

She followed his gaze and took in the dresser with no knickknacks, the end table with a lamp and a book she was never going to finish. There were pictures on the walls, but those were Mary Margaret's and she'd never spared them more than a passing glance. She thought of the place as home, maybe it was time she started acting like it. Messed it up a bit, put a picture on her dresser, killed a plant on the window sill. Stop living like she was the Emma who couldn't put down roots and trust people.

She must have been too quiet because Hook suddenly broke into her thoughts. "Swan?"

She shook her head to clear it. "Sorry." She waited for him to pull his legs up and then unfolded the quilt, tucking him in for all intents and purposes. She tried not to laugh at how surreal her life had become. "I'll bring the TV up here. Will that make things better?"

His face lit up. "The moving picture box?"

She sighed. "Yes, the moving picture box."

"I suppose that would suffice."

"Oh, you suppose?"

XxXxXxXxXx

"What are you guys up to?" Emma asked from the doorway.

"Pirate movies," Henry explained, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Hook shifted against the mound of pillows piled between his back and the headboard. He winced and groaned a bit, in obvious pain, and she fought he urge to ask him if he was okay. He was one week out of the hospital and, while not even close to a hundred percent, he was healing and that was all that mattered to her. Asking him eight thousand times a day if he was okay would drive them both nuts.

Henry was next to the pirate, legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles on top of the quilt Mary Margaret gave her. She should tell him to get his sneakers off her bed because that seemed like a mom-thing to say, but she didn't have the heart to nag him after spending so much time getting him back. The contents of the refrigerator appeared to be scattered all over the bed and end tables. Judging by the candy wrappers sprinkled on the floor, they had apparently been at their little movie marathon for a while.

Hook narrowed his gaze at the television, a confused look on his face. "Does your land really think all we do is drink rum and bumble about?"

She turned around and her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. "Seriously?" she asked and he opened and closed his mouth, any retort dying on his tongue.

Looking down, fidgeting with the frayed edge of the blanket across his lap, he muttered, "Point taken," under his breath.

"Pirates of the Caribbean." Henry pointed to the TV, the credits starting to roll as the movie came to an end. "The first one, with the skeleton pirate guys."

"I see," Emma answered, bending down to pick up the laundry that was strewn all over the floor. Amazing how the male mind works – one week in the modern world and they immediately revert to slob-mode.

"Sparrow was always a bit of a buffoon and a ridiculous showman," Hook said through a mouthful of popcorn, "but I don't recall him being such an idiot."

"Sp-Sparrow," Emma sputtered. "As in Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"Aye."

"They were mates," Henry supplied and Emma fought her grin at the way he mimicked Hook's accent.

"Not mates, lad, acquaintances. You have far more acquaintances as a pirate than mates."

"Keep your friends close but your enemies closer," Emma said dryly.

"Exactly. That's a pirate mind you have there, Swan, no matter how much you strive to deny it."

"No," she corrected. "What I have is an uncanny ability to quote just about any movie I've seen. That was from The Godfather. One we'll have to watch without Henry."

"Hey!" Henry interrupted.

"Way too violent, kid."

"Okay, next one." Henry dropped the popcorn bowl in Hook's lap and rolled off the bed to change the DVD. "The Princess Bride," he read the cover as he opened the cover and popped out the disc.

"Oh, I like the sound of that one," Hook said and she knew it was directed toward her. She met his gaze and he winked and she rolled her eyes, hoping he wouldn't see the way her cheeks flushed.

"It's one of my mom's favorites," Henry said, oblivious to the silent exchange between the pirate and his mother.

"Is that so?" Hook asked.

"It's not bad," she said, shifting the load of laundry in her arms. "By the way, mate …"

"Yes, love?"

"Tomorrow I'm going to teach you how to use the washing machine." She glanced at the glasses leaving rings on her table and the bowls of melted ice cream and grimaced. "And the dishwasher."

A slow grin spread across his face. "I can hardly wait."

Henry laughed.

"Same goes for you too, pal," she added as she left the room. "Just because the good captain is recovering from his brush with death does not mean we suddenly live in a pig sty."

Henry's loud groan of, "But … mom …" followed her down the stairs and she loved how normal it sounded – how right.

The sound of the movie floated down to her as she made her way back up the stairs after starting the washing machine. The dialogue was so familiar to her that she could practically act out the scene they were on.

"As you wish was all he ever said to her." Peter Falk's gentle voice echoed from her room.

She froze on the steps. "Oh, no," she gasped, lunging for the doorway.

She arrived just as the narration supplied that line that always made her heart stop. "That day she was amazed to discover that when he was saying, 'As you wish,' what he meant was, 'I love you'."

Hook's face was pale as he watched the movie, his expression a mirror of hers, she was sure of it. "Knack for remembering movies?" he asked, practically a whisper and she nodded.

He swallowed. "Nearly every line?" he asked and she nodded again. "Bloody hell," he said, so quiet she almost didn't catch it.

She turned on her heel and bolted out of the room.

She was in the kitchen, pacing as the kettle she put on started to heat. She should have used the microwave, but she needed the time for the water to boil to gather her thoughts.

He wasn't far behind and she wasn't surprised when he limped into the kitchen, obviously winded from his trip down the stairs. She felt a twinge of guilt – she knew he'd follow and she should have at least offered him a shoulder for support.

She hurried around the counter, pulling out a stool for him, which he sat on with a sigh. His head down for a minute, he held his hand over the bandages still wrapped around his chest and the wound that almost killed him. She held her breath, waiting to hear any tell tale signs that his breathing was worse, that he'd maybe got an infection or pneumonia or something. Her mind raced through a million things that could still go wrong with his injury.

"Relax, Swan," he said between gritted teeth. "Just a little out of practice with the whole moving around thing." Her shoulders relaxed and she fought the urge to reach out and feel his forehead for a fever.

"I know, I should chill out, right?" she said with a wry twist of her lips.

"Chill? Out?" he said, puzzlement worrying his brow.

"That's what Henry would say to me. 'Jeez, chill out, Mom.'"

"Another of your baffling sayings, love?"

She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Aye, it is."

"'Aye'? Are you making fun of me?"

"Maybe." She winked.

The teapot started to whistle and she hurried to get it off the burner before the sound became piercing. Grabbing two mugs, she sat the kettle on the island next to Mary Margret's vast assortment of gourmet teas that she kept in a teeth achingly cute basket, complete with gingham lining and lace doily edging. Choosing two bags of her favorite, she set them in the mugs and slid one in front of Hook.

"What? No rum?" he asked, predictably, and she shook her head.

"'Fraid not, pal. No rum with all those pain killers and antibiotics."

"Bollocks if you ask me. Rum works just as well as all your fancy medicines." He hunched his shoulders over his mug, idly stirring the spoon in it as the sugar he dumped in dissolved and the tea steeped.

"Rum numbs the pain, it doesn't heal it," she said, studying him as he sat across from her.

His hook was in the bedside table drawer in her room but he insisted on wearing the rigging that covered his stump – he'd grown uncharacteristically quiet in the hospital when she'd asked him why he felt the need to hide it, but she didn't press the issue. He also wore a long sleeved hooded sweatshirt over his t-shirt that she had a feeling was intended more to conceal the leather straps that wound up his arm than to help stay warm. Add in the grey sweatpants that belonged to David and she was surprised to find herself missing the leather duster and flamboyant shirt. He looked so different in "peasant clothes", as he called them - so exposed and vulnerable.

"I'd take the numb over the pain any day, love," he said, raising his head, his eyes meeting hers. She was always startled by how blue they were … and how sad they were when she took the time to look beyond the smirk and the swagger.

"Captain!" Henry called from upstairs. "Are you coming back?"

Hook laughed. "I've been summoned."

"Thank you for humoring him."

"Him? He's humoring me, lass. I'd go stir crazy up there if not for you and your son. Thank you, for giving me shelter when I'm sure it would be much less of a burden not to."

"You saved Henry – you can stay here long as you want to."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I meant 'need to' – as long as you need to."

"I have just as many needs as wants, Swan." His voice dropped an octave and his expression was pure Hook and she met his gaze, unflinching.

"So do I." She wondered if there were special points for making a pirate blush.

She gave him a couple of seconds to squirm before she changed the topic. "So, that movie …"

"Aye." He looked relieved. "That movie."

"And that line. Coincidence, huh?"

He nodded, eyes down, fidgeting with the edge of the cuff of his sweatshirt. Her lie detector was going off the charts. "Complete coincidence."

"Doesn't mean a thing."

"Bloody romantic nonsense, if you ask me." That time he looked up, but it was at the ceiling. Nice try, pal, she thought.

"Glad to see we're on the same page," she said, something odd setting in her chest – like she wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

"Mom!" Henry interrupted.

"Just a sec, kid!" she hollered back. She picked up both mugs and started walking toward the stairs when she stopped and looked back at Hook, who was following a few steps behind her.

"You haven't asked today, you know," she said.

"Asked?"

"For that kiss."

The edge of his mouth quirked up into a grin but his expression didn't harden the way it usually did when he was about to turn into Captain Innuendo. He took a step forward, almost like he was asking her to dance at prom and was nervous she'd say no. "Would you like me to?"

She shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like a teenager with a school girl crush. "Perhaps," she said with a shrug she hoped looked way more nonchalant than it felt.

"Perhaps?" he repeated and she nodded.

He leaned in, his breath warm against her face. He tilted his head, brushing her hair off her shoulder and running his thumb over her cheek. She closed her eyes and held her breath. "As you wish," he whispered as his lips claimed hers.

The end