In my Once Upon A Time fanfic, Adrift, Killian has been hit with a wicked curse that sends him back to being the villain that he once was – and then some. It’s up to Emma to rescue him, but it’s also up to Killian to believe he can be the man she fell in love with once more.
In this scene, Killian and Emma are playing a game of Liar’s Dice, and Killian is determined to find out more about the life he led with Emma – A life he has no memory of now…
“And what about us, Swan?” He pushed two more markers into the pile.
She took a big drink of her rum. “What do you mean?” she answered, evasively.
“You know what I mean. Were we together?”
He slammed his flask down on the table. “Don’t be so damned coy. You know what I mean. I had you in my bed, in your quiet little reality, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s what fed this delusion.”
She looked at him in shock. “Delusion? You think I’m delusional?”
“One of us is, love.” he glanced down at his cup. “Your bet.”
She stared angrily at her dice, her mind working overtime. He thought she was delusional. All this time she thought she was making headway, and he was just humoring her. She needed to find Blackbeard, and goddammit, he was going to help her. She pushed her remaining markers into the pile.
“I’m all in.”
“So am I,” he answered, pushing all of his markers into the pile next to hers. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
She heaved an enormous sigh, rolling her eyes. “Yes. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“It’s a start.” He leaned back in his chair, taking another swig from his flask. “Did we have a drunken interlude? Or was it more?”
“Does it matter?”
His eyes went hard. “Humor me.”
Emma’s eyes slid away from his. “It was one night,” she said quietly.
“And the following morning.” She took another drink. “Are we still playing? I called your bet.”
“All night and the morning after,” he mused, rubbing his beard. “And that was it?”
“Yep.” She took another drink, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Now either show your dice or I’m going to declare myself the winner by default.”
“I’ll show them, but first – you have to really answer my question.”
Emma was getting annoyed. “I did.”
“No, you didn’t. I asked if there was more, and I wasn’t referring to a length of time.” His eyes were burning bright, and he handed her his cup. She took it, glancing down at his dice and then looking up at him.
“You won,” she said.
“Aye. Now answer my question.”
“I’m going up on deck.” She stood up, turning quickly so that she could make her escape, but he was too fast. He stepped between her and the ladder.
“Answer me.” His tone was steel, and she felt like she’d been cornered. It irked her and she shook her head.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. We’re done here.” She moved to go past him and he stepped in front of her again.
“We’re far from done. Answer my question.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of me, but – ”
“Dammit, Swan!” he grabbed her arm. “Were you my woman?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m my own woman.”
“You know what I mean.” He moved in dangerously close, and she closed her eyes against the pull of him.
“It was just one night,” she repeated. She opened her eyes, doing her best to keep her face as expressionless as possible.
He let out a forced chuckle. “What a pity. If you’re going to fantasize about me, love, you should at least have tried for more than a simple plowing or two between those lovely thighs. I’m sure it would be a good, long while before I tired of you.” He leaned down. “Now, how about that kiss?”
Emma drew back her fist and hit him in the face as hard as she could, sending him staggering before she ran for the ladder, and up onto the deck.
Hook rubbed his jaw gingerly, wondering if she hadn’t loosened a tooth with that hit. Damn, but he’d forgotten how strong she was. He tasted blood, so he walked back to the table to get his flask, wincing at the sting the rum made on his shredded inner cheek.
He supposed he had that coming. It was a callous remark, but she’d infuriated him with her words, as usual. It was just one night, she’d said, as if it were of no import beyond the passage of time. How many times over these past two years had he lain awake, fantasizing about such a night with her?
He was sure she was either delusional or under some kind of spell herself, so why did it bother him that she hallucinated only one night? Did a fantasized night carry less weight than a fantasized month? Or year? It was pointless to get worked up about it, yet he’d done just that, and all because her words had stung him so.
It was just one night.
Once again, one carefully placed word made all the difference.
In his fantasies, they were never “just” anything.
Hook threw himself down into the chair, propped his booted feet on the table, and reached for his flask again.