Voila my first chapter to my new fic "I'd Have Been Fine Without You'. I feel myself slowly being consumed by everything Hook. He's just so...friggin' perfect. Anyways, the idea for this first chapter popped into my head when I was swimming alone in my swimming pool (totally normal...) and I just had to publish it. Hopefully you guys find it as fluffy and corny (in an endearing way) as I do. Also, review, review, review so I know whether or not to continue.
Emma bit her lip as she forced herself to swallow the string of angry curses that threatened to escape from her mouth at any moment. As the wind whipped at her face and sent a shiver down her spine, she dimly remembered herself on her couch earlier that evening, curled up with a blanket covering her legs and a glass of wine in her right hand. Saturday Night Live was playing on the TV and Reese Witherspoon, one of the few actresses she knew, was hosting. All signs pointed towards it being a great night, but alas, something went wrong. Something always did.
An anonymous tip had been left on her cell about some ship that had been harboring at the docks of Storybrooke, unauthorized no less, and Emma was required by law to check out the situation. And so she found herself trudging her way through the cold, windy night in the rain towards the docks, hands shoved into pockets and head tilted downwards so the wind might not claw at her face. All she had wanted was one night to herself, away from Mary Margaret and David and Henry (regardless of how much she loved them, she needed some her-time) but evidently that was too much to ask. There was never any rest. Never.
As the bitter sheriff made her way towards the docks of Storybrooke, she found herself violently kicking every stone or piece of trash that was in her path and muttering angrily to herself about the 'damn whiners' who were her fellow Storybrookians. She had found that on her desk as soon as she got back layed a pile of paperwork about as tall as her awaiting patiently. It was hard to imagine that in just two weeks enough people could pose enough complaints in such a small town that the pile was so high, especially considering the fact that David had supposedly taken over her job in her absence. Apparently, though, he was more of a 'hands-on guy' and he thought that he should leave the 'mental tasks' to his 'bright and determined daughter'. Really what he meant so say, though, was that he was too lazy to do it himself. Yep, the people of Storybrooke were really getting on Emma's last nerves.
A violent gust of wind nearly toppled Emma over and she was torn from her angry thoughts and fell ungracefully to the ground. Luckily, she had brought her hands out of her pockets fast enough so that she caught herself just before her face collided with the wet pavement. Well, 'lucky' was a relative term. Now my hands are soaking wet, Emma thought exasperatedly to herself as she picked herself up and shoved her hands into her pockets again. Could this night get any worse?
She certainly should have been smart enough to know that you were never, ever supposed to think that cursed sentence.
In the distance, or about as far as she could see anything with the god awful rain, Emma made out the vague outlines of boats and smelled the unmistakably salty smell of the sea. As she neared, the scene came into sharper view and Emma was able to discern a sailboat, two jetboats and a kayak. Nothing that seemed too suspicious. It was not until she stood at the very edge of the boardwalk that she even perceived the thing that had caused so much trouble. It was sailing in the middle of the ocean and so distant that it was but a shadow of a shadow of an outline, but as it pulled closer and Emma squinted through the night and rain to see, it became apparent to her what it was. Her eyes widened with worry and she felt at her holster for her gun...just in case she needed extra protection. It was then that she realized she had left it at her apartment in her haste to leave and get this little expedition over with.
I sure as hell can't face him weaponless, can I? Emma thought, trying to convince herself that retreating home would not be cowardly but instead sensible. I have to go back and get it. Then I'll return, no questions asked. She nodded pointedly, as if to assure herself that what she was saying was completely true. Then, she turned sharply on her heel and made for her home. At least, she would have, had it not been for the fact that the docks were sopping wet with rain water, she was standing at the edge of the boardwalk and she had decided to wear her boot heels because they were the warmest shoes she owned. With all those factors working against her, however, instead of walking safely back to her home to try and work out a plan of attack, she fell into the depths of the raging and wild ocean, savage waves cascading almost immediately and violently over her helpless figure.
Killian sighed contentedly as he felt the cool wind lashing at his face and the calming rocking of his ship beneath his feet. For the first time in a long time, he was at home and it felt good. He had only to close his eyes and he could see clearly the great expanse of the crystal blue ocean before him, his crew scuttling about their chores on deck and his precious Milah by his side. Still today he could see her face distinctly, every line and wrinkle. He could picture the beautiful hazel of her eyes and smell her scent of lavender and berries as she wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled her face into his neck. The memory was sweet, just like every memory of Milah. Save one very important memory. The memory that led him here, to this cursed town called Storybrooke with its ignorant inhabitants and repulsive crocodile.
He'd been living here for over a month now, wandering the streets by day, gathering information on Rumpelstiltskin, and retreating to his ship by night. As of yet, no one had taken noticed of the stranger that lurked suspiciously around town, they were all too consumed in their mindless lives void of direction or meaning. But Killian was certainly not lacking for either of those things. If anything, that was all his life was: centered around one goal, Rumpelstiltskin's death. What he might do after that glorious task had been complete, he did not know. He supposed he would regress to his old life of thievery and women. He had always done those two things very well. And who shall be the first wench I bed? Killian thought bemusedly to himself, sorting through all the women he had seen in Storybrooke. He briefly considered the girl they called Ruby, with her long legs and plentiful...gifts...but his thoughts settled on, as they always seemed to do, the blonde sheriff Emma.
It was a relationship that was doomed to die, if it ever even kindled. She was determined to keep him at arms length, never daring to trust him or let him in (in more ways than one). She had made very careful to never get too close to him in Fairytale land and had done everything in her power to keep him there. He himself had only wanted her then to meet his own ends, but now that his revenge was inevitable, he imagined what it might be like if they could be together because they both wanted to be. The woman was undeniably beautiful, if not to the extent of that Ruby girl, but what truly attracted Hook to her was her fiery determination that he had not seen since Milah. She invoked feelings in him he would rather keep subdued, feelings that went beyond his carnal needs. He wanted her not only in the physical sense, but also spiritually. He wanted to feel loved again, even for just a little bit, like he had been with Milah. He wanted to feel cared for.
But that was ridiculous. The girl was, in fact, the thing that stood in the way of his revenge. She was the 'sheriff', the one who was forced to protect every citizen in this wretched town, including that vermin she dared to call a human being. Harboring feelings for her, even just tentative, cloudy feelings was completely unacceptable. Hook had to keep a clear mind and focus on his task. He had managed to do this for over 300 years, surely he must be able to continue for another few weeks? But how was he to get Emma out of the way without hurting her?
As if to answer his question, he heard in the distance a shrill cry and a resounding splash that contrasted sharply with the soft patter-patter-patter of the rain against the deck. He ran quickly over the side of his ship just in time to see a little, blond figure tumble carelessly into the water. The woman was pushed further out to sea as the wind whipped the savage waves in every which direction. He saw her head pop up for a split second, coughing loudly. Her hands were trying to grab at something, anything around her and a shocking fact became apparent to Hook. She couldn't swim. Smiling wickedly to himself, Hook pulled off his shirt and jacket and climbed on top of the ship's railing. Where most would see an innocent damsel in distress in need of a prince charming, Hook saw an opportunity. And so he dove.
Either the waves were getting stronger and stronger or Emma was getting weaker and weaker. She felt the strength drain from her body like water from a bath and her resolve weakened. Perhaps it was the lack of oxygen to her brain or the sudden realization that she was going to die, but Emma suddenly stopped struggling. Another violent wave crashed against her limp body and pushed her back under the surface of the water, causing her to let out a cry of pain that was lost in the depths of the ocean. She looked longingly back up at the surface, where oxygen and Henry lie, but made no move to try and reach it; she was too exhausted. Her entire body began to shake with cold as Emma's vision began to blur. The image of the night sky above her, covered with grey clouds, dimmed. Her last conscious thought was one of Henry and her parents before she succumbed to the pain and fatigue and closed her eyes.