Ow, is the first thing that passes through Emma's head. Even behind closed eyelids, the light seems blinding as she comes back to the land of the living.
The last thing she remembers is taking a drink from tall dark and handsome, thinking hey, this can't hurt. Sure, he may have been dressed like a ridiculously attractive version of Captain Hook, but she was choosing to put emphasis on the ridiculously attractive part of the description.
It can hurt, actually, she determines, and groans, burying her face in the pillows. She can handle her liquor, thank you very much, but she hasn't been this hungover in a long time. Her head pounds and her mouth feels dry and filthy. She's thirsty and her stomach is flipping nervously.
God last night must have been monumentally stupid. She would happily stay in bed the rest of the day, but her flight back home leaves at two and she's pretty sure it's well into the middle of the morning. Plus, as she slowly starts to realize, taking in the smell of the pillow her face is buried in, this is decidedly not her room. Cracking one eye open and wincing at the brightness, she confirms it. She's been spending the past few days in a cheap single room, and this is far from that. The bedroom is massive, a larger room visible through an open wide archway and a lot of marble through another.
Rolling over, she finally pries the second eye open to take in the other person in this massive swamp of a bed. His face is buried into the pillow, so all she can see is a head of scruffy dark hair and an impressively lean back covered in scratch marks.
Whoops. Closing her eyes, she tries to fumble through the vague memories of the night before, most of it a blurry mess. She has one surprisingly vivid picture of ripping a shirt open with her teeth? And yup, the man lying naked next to her is in fact the wannabe pirate from the night before.
Careful to not wake him, she sits up, pulling the sheet over her chest as she watches him. She remembers blue eyes and a charming smirk, but neither are there now; eyes firmly shut, face loose in sleep. From what she can see of his neck, there's a line of dark bruises littering it that she's one hundred percent sure were not there when she met him. It's been a long time since a one night stand let her do that.
Sure, he's attractive, especially like this, but, she decides, he's probably not worth the pounding headache currently stabbing her eyes. God, the flight home is going to be a nightmare.
Well, his room looks like it's practically an apartment; there's got to be some water and some aspirin around. Quietly disentangling herself from the bed, she reaches for the first thing she finds; conveniently enough, his shirt, a handful of buttons at the bottom torn clean off. It's not exactly like he needs it right now anyway. She slips it onto her shoulders and pads around the bedroom, peering quickly into the gorgeous bathroom, complete with a huge jacuzzi and glass-sided shower. Nothing there, of course, so she moves into the other room. There's a couch and desk, a huge window that overlooks the city, complete with balcony. The view looks familiar, but she's never been out here before and she couldn't pick out the city's infamous landmarks if she tried. There are fountains not too far away, and a pretty imitation of the Eiffel Tower.
Turning away from the picturesque scene, she spots the area that looks like a kitchen. She quickly finds a bottle of water in the fully stocked fridge, and a collection of pill bottles that she'd rather not consider the contents of.
It's a nice suite; really nice, in fact. Nicer than any hotel she's ever stayed at.
She wonders what her Captain Hook does for a living that he can afford this. In Las Vegas, nonetheless.
Slowly, she meanders through the rest of the rooms before making her way back to the bedroom. She sets the water and the pills down on the bedside table and starts searching for her clothing, tossing them in a pile on the bed before she turns back to the water.
Picking up the pill, she eyes it carefully one last time, making sure it is indeed aspirin. She pops it in her mouth and unscrews the cap on the bottle of water, tipping it back and downing half of it in one go.
It's only when she pulls the bottle away from her lips that she notices for the first time the glint of something on her left hand.
She nearly chokes, coughing hard to clear the water out of her air pipe as she blinks owlishly at her hand.
There on her ring finger, clear as day, is a simple silver band, sparkling gems inset on either side of the delicate centerpiece, a crystal clear diamond. She blinks again, not really processing what she's seeing. It's a gorgeous ring, sure, something she would appreciate if it wasn't quite firmly set on her hand with no memory of how it had gotten there.
"Emma?" a groggy voice calls from the bed, clearly awoken by her hacking, and she snaps around to him.
He's just sitting up, rubbing at his eyes and squinting at her worriedly.
It takes a lot to make Emma Swan panic. This, this isn't panic. It's a perfectly understandable reaction.
"What the hell is this!?"
He winces at her tone as she waves wildly at her left hand. She's seen this movie before; missing memories, strange bedfellows, diamond rings…it's like a fucking romantic comedy. Except there's nothing romantic about this. Not even when he smirks and raises his own left hand, pointing at the plain band that encircles his ring finger.
"It's a wedding ring, love. Thought you might remember that, though I suppose I did blow your mind not too much later," he says with a wink, but she's still stuck on the matching ring on his finger, it's a wedding ring like she should accept the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"A wedding ring," she repeats numbly.
A wedding ring. On her finger.
A goddamn motherfucking wedding ring.
Fuck her life.