Title: Something to Celebrate
Summary: I am never drinking with Captain Hook again. That was the one clear thought running through Emma Swan's increasingly muddled mind. Never again. Never ever again.
Word Count: 2038, according to OpenOffice.
Spoilers: Set post-3x09, "Save Henry."
Characters: Emma Swan and Captain Hook, with a surprise cameo at the end.
Rating/Warning: T, mostly for language. Some Captain Swan silliness.
Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just the jealous kid next door, playing with my neighbors' toys and wishing they were mine.
Author's Note: I wanted to do a writing exercise this afternoon and this bit of Captain Swan silliness is what came out, which means y'all get to read stuff! Prompt for this was "drink" (sometimes it's a lot of fun to see what you can create out of a one-word prompt). Feedback is love. Enjoy!

I am never drinking with Captain Hook again.

That was the one clear thought running through Emma Swan's increasingly muddled mind. Never again. Never ever again.

"Come on, love, have a celebratory drink," Hook had said. "Just one for the road." Then he'd peeked over the rail of the Jolly Roger, spied the clouds floating past the hull and the sea far beneath them, and smirked at her. "Er, so to speak."

A celebratory drink was certainly called for. They'd finally managed to rescue Henry. Right now, her son was sound asleep in the captain's quarters, safely nestled under Hook's blankets and under Regina's watchful eye. She'd watched him for a while herself but Regina had relieved her, telling her to get some rest.

The only thing was Emma couldn't rest. The trip back to Storybrooke would be a long one, and really, the very notion of flying across magical realms on a pirate ship, of all things, made her brain hurt. "Just one," she'd finally agreed, making Hook's smirk soften into a smile.

Just one had turned into so many that Emma had lost count. And yet, not once had Hook left to refill his flask. He just kept pouring, slowly at first but then faster and faster when the one celebratory drink turned into something of a contest.

It started when she asked him to pour her some more and he told her he didn't think she could handle it. Which, oh hell no. The words had slipped from her mouth before she'd had the chance to think better of them: "I'll have you know that I can drink you under the table anytime, anywhere, Killian Jones."

His eyebrows had quirked up as an amused smile tugged at his lips. "I hope you're ready to prove that, Emma Swan," he'd said, pouring her a second.

The second had turned into a third, which then had become a fourth, and that was right around where Emma had lost count.

Nope, never again. "So, d'ya wanna tell me how you're doing it?" she asked when he poured both of them Shot Number Who The Hell Remembered.

"How I'm doing what, love?"

She hated that his voice sounded perfectly clear to her. Soft, because the rum had made all the background noise from the ship and the wind blend into one steady drone that muffled things like voices, but clear. She could hear the slur of her own words, and from the indulgent smile on his face, he could hear it, too. Damn.

"Pouring endless amounts of rum out of that flask. You're not secretly Mary Poppins, are you?" All of a sudden, she had a mental image of Hook flying into Storybrooke carrying an umbrella and a carpet bag, causing a very un-Emma-like giggle to escape her lips. His brow furrowed slightly, making it clear that he didn't get the reference. She sighed. Of course he wouldn't. "Never mind, but my question still stands. Or something."

The smirk was back. "Which question, the one about the rum or the one where I'm a woman named Mary?"

Now he was just playing with her. "The one about the rum. No, wait, don't tell me. Your flask just magically refills itself, doesn't it?"

"Love, you're standing on the deck of a pirate ship that's flying through the air. Stranger things have happened."

Emma gaped at him; she'd totally been kidding. Smirking at her incredulity, he raised his little glass. She raised hers, and they both downed their shots like champs.

The ship suddenly pitched beneath their feet, knocking Emma off-balance and sending her stumbling into Hook. It had taken her a bit to find her sea legs, but her air legs, especially combined with the sheer amount of rum coursing through her veins, were as yet undiscovered. Who knew flying pirate ships encountered turbulence?

"You all right, Swan?" he asked as soon as he'd steadied the both of them.

"Yeah," she replied, attempting to stifle giggles that were coming from who knew where. "I'm okay. I think I might need to sit, though."

And sit she started to do, right where she stood. "Oh, no," Hook said as he grasped her hand and attempted to pull her back up to a standing position. "Not right smack dab in the middle of the deck. Against the rail, at least."

Emma straightened, tugging on Hook's hand for stability, and allowed him to walk her over to the starboard rail. "There we go, love," he said as she sat on the deck, leaning her back against the rail. She grasped his hand and yanked him down next to her. The surprise on his face was more than comical, resulting in more stifling of un-Emma-like giggles.

"The very fact that you feel the need to level the playing field like this quite proves my original point," he said, smirking playfully.

"Still can drink you under the table any day of the week, cap'n," Emma replied, giving a mock – and to be honest, completely uncoordinated – salute.

"If you say so, Swan."

"I do say so." Which she stumbled over. Fantastic.

And of course, he'd caught that stumble. "Ready to admit defeat yet?" he asked, eyes sparkling and smirk still firmly in place.

She held up her little glass for more. "Never."

Hook arched an eyebrow when Swan raised her glass, indicating he should keep the rum flowing. Still, he poured, though he vowed that this was her last one. He'd most certainly won their little contest, so continuing to drink beyond this point was unnecessary. Not to mention he was surely already facing the princess's and the prince's wrath for getting their daughter inebriated (as though Emma weren't capable of making that decision on her own); he didn't dare fathom how much more furious they would be if she ended up ill from the drink.

So after pouring both her and himself one final shot, he tucked the flask back into the inner pocket of his jacket. Out of sight, out of mind … at least that was what he was hoping.

It seemed to work. After downing the rum, Swan set her glass aside and leaned her head back against the rail. She stared up at the sky and Hook watched her, idly wondering what was going through her mind.

If anything but muddled thought could go through her mind at the moment.

Eventually, she heaved a sigh and said, "I never thanked you, y'know."

"For what?"

"All of this." She waved her hand out in front of her, which confounded him. She'd never thanked him for thin air? "Neverland. My son. All of it. I never thanked you." She turned to him then, a sincere expression on her face. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Swan."

"And before you ask ..." To his utter shock, Swan all of a sudden leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. Though it was a very chaste, very quick peck – nothing at all like their previous shared moment in the Neverland jungle – it still sent electricity through Hook's entire being. "I believe that makes us even, cap'n," she slurred when she pulled away, leaving him still holding a surprised breath. "Just like before."

It took him a moment to come back down to earth – or, rather, the deck of his flying ship. In the time it took for his head to clear, she'd leaned her head back against the rail and shut her eyes. "No, Swan, not yet," he said, nudging her in an attempt to bring her around at least enough to stumble back to her quarters. "Open your eyes, love."

"Can't," she mumbled, her brow furrowing. "Your boat's spinning … making me dizzy." She lazily twirled her index finger in the air to illustrate her point and then dropped her hand to her lap.

Swan was out before Hook could bemoan her calling the Jolly Roger a boat. (She was a ship, thank you.) He nudged her again and then shook her shoulder, but she didn't respond. Well, this was a bit of a predicament, wasn't it?

Rousing her proved impossible and Hook's attempt to stand was clumsy enough that he had to sit back down against the rail himself. He might have been able to get himself below decks given the time but getting Swan to her quarters in her condition would have been just as impossible as rousing her.

There was just enough rum coursing through his veins, coupled with the lingering electricity from the unexpected kiss on the cheek, that when Swan shifted next to him and rested her head on his shoulder, he decided to stay right where he was. He could neither move his drinking buddy nor leave her, and now that Emma Swan had unconsciously claimed him as a substitute pillow, he was more than willing to surrender to an uncomfortable night's sleep leaning against the rail of his ship.

The bright sunlight on the other side of Emma's eyelids only served to make her throbbing headache that much worse. She didn't know why she had such a bad headache, nor did she understand why her stomach was doing flip-flops and why every single muscle in her body screamed when she tried to move. All she knew was that sleep had been keeping her from feeling all of it, and she very much wanted to go back to sleep to avoid feeling it all just a little longer.

She nestled deeper into her pillow, which was hard and kind of bony for some reason. Not that it mattered. She just wanted to sleep.

She was just starting to drift off into pleasant unconsciousness when the sound of someone clearing his or her throat startled her back to awareness. She lifted her head and blinked her eyes open and sweet Jesus, the sun was so friggin' bright. It took a moment of squinting against the sunlight while pressing a hand to her head for Emma's vision to clear enough to see Regina Mills standing over her, arms crossed over her chest. "Honestly, Ms. Swan, of all the immature things you've done ..."

Immature? What the hell was she talking about? As Emma gave a confused glance at her surroundings, she suddenly understood.

She was sitting along the rail of the Jolly Roger next to a sleeping Captain Hook. Now the bony pillow made sense; she'd been sleeping on Hook, not next to him … probably his shoulder. Both his glass and hers from the night before had gotten knocked over while they slept and were now rolling around with the movement of the ship at their sides.

Emma had only the slightest recollection of sitting against the rail with Hook and no recollection whatsoever of how they'd both come to be sleeping out here. She did, however, recall the start of their drinking contest the night before. "It's not what it looks like," she groaned, once again massaging her forehead in an effort to make the throbbing stop.

"I don't particularly care what it is or isn't," Regina huffed, "but you might want to consider rousing yourself and the pirate before Henry or your parents find you. Henry doesn't need to see this at all, and I don't have near enough patience to deal with the other two clutching their pearls all the way back to Storybrooke." Then she turned on her heel and began walking back to her quarters.

A mortified and very hungover – or perhaps still somewhat drunk – Emma watched her go before turning her head to look at the man still sleeping beside her. Bits of memory were starting to come back. The giggles – she wasn't usually a giggly drunk. Thanking Hook, which was deserved. And then … oh crap. She'd kissed Hook's cheek, hadn't she? She wasn't usually an affectionate drunk, either, and the implications behind that little kiss were far too much for her aching head to handle.

Groaning softly, she placed her head in her hands. No, she was never drinking with Captain Hook again. Never ever again.