Written for emmaduckling's tumblr prompt: Emma and Killian are in a bar sharing stories from their pasts, Killian doubts of her theft skills so he tells her to prove it right there by pickpocketing someone of his choice.

I am not entirely certain in my ability to write drunk Emma convincingly, but that is what I tried to do.

By the way, if anyone has any Captain Swan prompts for me (oneshots only I think), I'd love to take a shot at them. Just PM me.

"Well, it's not like that was actually my first," Emma says with an eye-roll and another swig of rum. "I mean, sure, first time on a giant beanstalk stealing from a frigging giant, but that wasn't exactly my first B&E."

She doesn't remember quite how she got to this point, discussing her sordid past with Captain Hook while sharing a bottle of rum. It's all sort of hazy. There was… she had a fight with Neal, and… then she got into this big argument with David because he was trying to be all protective and it was just very much not the right time for that. And Mary Margaret was trying to smooth things over but Emma was just so insistent that she could handle her own crap, she was an adult, so she stormed out of the house like a teenager to prove her point. Ugh. But her pride won't let her go back now, and it's been such a shitty day, so - down (to) the Rabbit Hole it was.

For the life of her she has no idea when Hook turned up though. But he's here now, very much here, very close here, sitting right pressed up against her at the bar, drinking with too much composure to be fair and smirking at her and bragging about all his pirate accomplishments and Emma gets competitive when she's drunk.

"Breaking and entering," she clarifies at the blank look on his face. "Y'know. Stealing. Thievery. Looting."

"Ah," he scoffs, his stupidly pretty eyes looking stupidly skeptical. "Yes, Sheriff, I'm sure you were a regular cat-burglar."

For some reason he seems to think that Emma is this bastion of lawfulness or whatever. Well, maybe not that, but he wants to take all the credit for stealing from Anton, bragging like he broke her burglary cherry or some crap like that. Clearly that's just him trying to take credit for something about that whole venture, because Emma pretty much did all the work in the defeating the giant category, but she still has no patience for it.

"No," Emma says primly, before draining her glass. "I wasn't. I was actually more of a lights-on kind of thief," and she smirks at the way his eyes linger when she licks her lips.

"Do tell," Hook murmurs, refilling her glass before she can even ask. She sort of wants to make a joke about him trying to get her drunk, but it's a bit too late for that.

"Well, it was like," Emma flounders for a second, because Hook's reached over and is pushing a strand of hair out of her face. He takes like an hour, fingers warm and rough against her skin and she really wants to lick his pulse point. She swallows hard instead and continues, "Neal and I, we'd do these scams. He'd distract the guy at the counter and I'd filch a bunch of stuff. Or, we'd break in to people's houses while they were at work and we'd, you know, loot."

She trails off because Hook's leaned back and got this kind of distant look in his eye. It's not a nostalgic gleam so much as a grumpy one, and now that he's all of a foot away instead of so close she can't breathe, Emma remembers he knows Neal. She isn't sure how, but then she isn't actually sure she wants to know, either. But she is perceptive enough to recognize that slightly wounded expression Hook gets whenever she brings up Henry's dad. He gets all quiet and pensive in this angry sort of way, and Emma's feeling uncharitable enough towards fucking Neal right now to blame it all on him even though she knows it's likely much more complicated than that.

Also, she's drunk. Drunk enough to sit all cozy at the end of the bar talking about illegal activities with Captain Hook, anyway, which has got to be pretty drunk. Drunk enough to flirt with him too, at least, to reach out after him and pull him back and ignore the voice in her head insisting she flirts with him sober too, and to say, "Quit moving, you're making it cold."

"I'm what?" he asks, but he's already got an arm sneaking around her waist, tugging her barstool closer.

"You're hot and it's cold in here. And I don't like it cold in here so just stay there and – and keep being hot," Emma explains. It isn't at all cold in here, the opposite really, but he doesn't have a lie-detector. Ha, she thinks, vaguely, even though his smirk looks pretty knowing regardless.

"Anyway, I'm not done," she says out loud. "I didn't just steal stuff with Neal. I stole stuff on my own too. All the time. I stole, like, wallets and purses and cars and stuff."

Hook still seems doubtful. He also still hasn't let go of her even though he's finished pulling her barstool closer. He probably thinks he's pretty smooth. He probably thinks Emma hasn't even noticed. He probably thinks she's completely drunk and just talking out of her ass, but she isn't.

"Oh, you aren't, are you?" he says, and she realizes she must have said that out loud.

"Yes… Yes, I'm not."

Hook's eyes glitter and he leans in way way way too close, all smirky and hot and really way too sober for her tastes. What the hell kind of constitution does he have, anyway? They've almost finished the bottle.

"Prove it, Swan," he breathes just over her mouth. Emma's lips part instinctively at the light puff of air. Her eyes flutter for a minute and she feels dizzy, but his arm tight around her waist holds her up. God his eyes are so blue.

Then she registers what he's said and jolts up straight. She's moving so fast she nearly smacks into his face, but he jerks back just in time. Doesn't even stop smirking. Ass.

"What the hell?" she snaps. "What do you mean, prove it?"

Hook shrugs, and sips nonchalantly at his rum. "I find myself doubting your capabilities. If you were really once such a master thief –" and he rolls his eyes, the bastard "–then surely it will be no challenge for you to, say…" He turns and scans the room, then glances back to Emma. "Pick that man's pocket."

He nods across the room and she follows his gaze to the opposite end of the bar, where Leroy is sitting alone, nursing a beer and his usual disgruntled expression. Emma looks back to Hook, open-mouthed.

"Leroy?" He nods. "You want me to rob Leroy?" He nods. "You want me to pick Leroy's pocket?" He nods again, looking actually fucking giddy.

"I really didn't think it was such a difficult concept," Hook sighs, all condescending and unfairly beautiful. "Yes, love, I want you to rob Leroy."

Emma scoffs. "You're crazy. I'm the sheriff. I can't just rob people."

Hook just grins at her. He looks like a kid trying not to crack up over some stupid prank, looks like Henry getting so smug when he beats Emma at cards (the kid's impossible, a born shark). It takes a lot out of Emma to not grin back at that look.

But, petulant teenager-temper-tantrum-induced drunkenness aside, Emma is a responsible adult. She isn't going to get drawn into this stupidity just to prove a point, no matter how much it irritates her that Hook refuses to believe in her less-than-savory skillset.

"It's fine, you don't have to," he tells her mock-compassionately, smugness dancing in his stupid blue eyes. "Probably for the better anyway, princesses ought not to even think of such –"

"Fine," Emma grits. She knocks his arm off her waist and stumbles to her feet, tossing her hair proudly (and then discretely spitting it out of her mouth). She picks up her glass and drains it with a single long swallow, closing her eyes at the burn down her throat.

"Emma?" Hook sounds taken aback. Did he honestly not expect her to get up? She opens her eyes and slams the glass down hard, glaring at him. Holy crap, he actually is surprised. How can he be surprised when he just pulled the princess card? Does he actually think so little of her pick-pocketing abilities?

Emma is so offended that she drinks the rest of his rum too.

"I am going to go over there," she says, blinking her eyes wide to keep them focused and pointing at Leroy, absolutely relishing the startled expression on Hook's face, "and I am going to steal from him. I am going to do that right now. You, watch."

She shoves the glass against Hook's chest so that he's forced to catch it when she lets go, to stop it from falling to the floor. He almost misses and by the time he's done fumbling with it she's already halfway along the bar.

Emma doesn't look back at her audience, focusing instead on her target. She also devotes some attention to walking straight; standing up has made her realize just how drunk she actually is. It shouldn't be a surprise, but it is anyway and she has to pay some attention to just moving through the crowd until she hits her equilibrium. Until now she's been enjoying being drunk, but now she tries to rein it in, get control. It takes a deep breath or two but Emma's had practice with this and she can manage at least to the point that other people don't notice so much.

So, Leroy. Emma reviews him in her head: town drunk, has a thing for a nun, apparently Grumpy the dwarf. Not so much the town drunk now that the curse is broken, except he's here tonight, looking miserable and ferocious and very vigilant. He always looks very vigilant, Hook's an asshole for picking him, and holy crap Emma is actually planning on robbing this man. She is actually going to do this.

She's the town sheriff, she can't do this why is she sitting down next to him and saying hello?

Dammit.

"Didn't expect to see you here, sister," Leroy responds. Not so vigilant after all, then; you can see straight across the bar to where she and Hook were, where Hook still is, watching with a fascinated expression. Leroy must be really into his drink not to have noticed that.

Emma stops and looks at him for a moment. He actually does seem pretty miserable – and even if she doesn't really know Grumpy the Dwarf all that well, in her time on the police force she's gotten pretty familiar with Leroy the Drunkard. He's always been miserable, but in a lazy, unfocused sort of way, and this is clearly not that sort of miserable. She can't help it. "What's wrong, Leroy? I thought that after the curse broke you were done with the whole barfly thing."

He snorts. "'Barfly'? I got nothing on Lacey."

Emma snorts too, at the thought of Leroy decked out like Belle's alter ego. "No, thank god, but I mean it. You've seemed so much happier. What's wrong?"

He sighs, long and low, and looks down at his beer, but doesn't answer.

Emma nudges him with her shoulder, meeting Hook's eyes for a moment. He raises an eyebrow, and she shoots him a tight, scornful smile before turning back to Leroy. "Go on, I won't tell anyone. Or, uh, if you want me to call Mary Margaret instead, I know you guys are really good friends…"

"No!" Leroy snaps, and his scowl is truly a fearsome thing. Emma marvels at it, simultaneously aware that she would not be this fascinated with his face if she weren't so drunk, and that nothing in the world is more impressive than Leroy's glare. His eyes are like lasers. Ferociously grumpy lasers.

She sneaks a hand into his coat and makes away with her prize.

"Okay, okay," Emma says, standing up and gripping the bar tight to hide her slight wobble. "I'll let you be. Just, nothing's ever gonna change if you sit here guzzling beer. That's how you've spent the last twenty-eight years and much as I'll miss your hangovers in the morning, there are better places to be than the drunk tank."

She starts off, planning on taking the longer route through the crowd so that Leroy won't see her reporting straight back to Hook, but is stopped by a hand on her arm. She tenses; he's caught her. Fuck. Sure it's been a while, but she'd thought her sticky fingers were still pretty good; apparently not. Shit, how is she going to explain this? Shit.

But when she turns around, Leroy's actually smiling. It looks incredibly weird, but in a sweet sort of way.

"Sheriff… Emma," he says. "Thanks. You're right. I should… I should try, at least."

She smiles back, putting her left hand over his on her arm. In her right hand, she's got his stolen property closed in her fist. She hates that she loves the rush this is giving her. "I don't know if it'll work out, but… I don't think the nuns are actually nuns anymore. So, that's something, right?"

He laughs a little. It sort of sounds like wood in a mulcher, but also kind of hopeful. With a final pat on his arm, Emma disengages and works her way around the room back to Hook.

"Bam," she says, opening her fist and showing him her spoils. He stares at the car key dangling from her fingers skeptically, before glancing back up at her. She smiles at him, ridiculously proud of herself.

He sighs, though a grin's tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well, I'm forced to concede; you do have a little skill, though your judgment remains suspect. A key?"

"He shouldn't be driving tonight," Emma defends, waving her hand in the air to get the bartender's attention. He notices and nods acknowledgment from where he's dealing with another customer. "A little skill? Look at him, he has no clue."

Leroy is, at that very moment, standing up to leave. Hook doesn't even look his way, too focused on reaching out to tug Emma back onto her barstool. She collides with his shoulder, and can't quite defeat the urge to linger, giggling gently. Back with Hook, she instantly feels three times more drunk and dizzy again, and part of her is wondering how much of it is just him. His hook slides across her back, his fingers skimming down her neck. She grips the lapels of his coat, uses them to yank herself upright, then leans over his lap to retrieve the bottle of rum.

She draws back slowly, meets his eyes as she drinks the last of the bottle. She's always been like this, a little high and happy after every successful heist. It's been years since she's picked anyone's pocket, but the thrill's still there, even if it was just a small thing. Just a stupid little act of pride.

But Hook's swallowing, staring at her lips, admitting, "A fair amount of skill, then."

"Damn right," she whispers, setting the bottle down.

"I apologize for doubting your criminal past," Hook says, his voice this low rasp and his hand on the small of her back again. His smile's gotten wider and her heart's pounding, and he seems all too serious when he says, "But this only proves me right, sweetheart: you would make an excellent pirate."

And he really seems to mean it, his fingers drawing little circles of fire through the thin fabric of her shirt, his eyes locked on hers, the air humming with intensity. He seems to mean a lot more than Emma had been expecting.

She almost feels bad about what she's about to do. But her drunken pride still isn't satisfied; so she straightens as the bartender approaches.

"You done here?" he asks gruffly, showing no interest in the sheriff and pirate sitting scandalously close together. This is why she came here instead of going to Granny's.

"Yeah," Emma says with a sweet smile. "Do you accept gold?"

And she drops the handful of coins she'd taken from Hook during their fumbling embrace a moment ago onto the bar. They bounce and jingle all over the counter and the bartender's eyes widen and Hook stiffens against her side and Emma's grin hurts her face.

The bartender picks up a coin and cautiously bites it. "Uh – uh, gold is fine," he stutters greedily, staring at the little pile of treasure in front of him.

"Great," Emma beams, standing up. "Keep the change."

She starts for the door, trying desperately not to break out laughing. Hook catches her just outside, swinging her up against the alley wall and pinning her there with his body. She half-expects him to be angry, but he's grinning as wide as she is, looking at her like she's something fantastic, surprising, beautiful.

"Master thief, you said?" he asks, slowly pressing in closer. And Emma's drunk, she's high off stealing from people (of all things), she's really not in the best state of mind to be making these sorts of decisions, but she doesn't push him away.

"I'm bloody brilliant," she counters wryly, and he laughs out loud.

"That you are, love," he says against her lips, still looking at her like he has never seen anything to equal her – Emma, as if she is truly that impressive. No one has ever looked at Emma like that.

She kisses him first.