Remember when Emma and Killian made pancakes and all was right with the world? And how everyone’s minds turned to all the smutty goodness that was and could have been, especially considering the large and sturdy nature of that table?
Well MY mind went somewhere completely different. As it does.
700ish words of nonsense. Thanks to @spartanguard for the pep talk
The Heist
“What are you plotting, pirate?”
Lost in his own thoughts, Killian looked up in surprise and straight into the face of Granny Lucas, coffee pot in hand and piercing gaze giving him the once over. Something in her eyes made him feel sure she could indeed read his thoughts - a feeling both disconcerting and with some potential.
An accomplice of Lady Lucas’s standing could be just what he needed - but first, he would need to be sure of her loyalties.
Mock offence at her assumption seemed a good starting point. He clutched his hand to his chest, shock plastered on his face. “That’s quite the piratical stereotype you are perpetuating milady. Why would you think I would be plotting…”
“Cut the crap, Captain,” she interjected, eyes rolling skywards. “You don’t work a diner for 30 years and not learn to read your regulars. That’s your plotting face. So, what cockamamie scheme is that water-logged brain of yours cooking up?”
Killian narrowed his eyes at his interrogator, sensing something amiss in the way amusement twinkled behind her stern facade. There was something not ringing true about her confidence, despite all assertions about her long years of skill-building. There was more to her inquiry than met the eye, of that he was certain.
The older woman’s steely gaze shifted for the briefest second, and suddenly it all became clear.
“Ah, Emma’s mother has been in this morning, I assume?”
To her credit, Granny held her composure for longer than he had predicted, before the twitch at the corner of her lips gave way to a full blown chuckle.
“She seemed quite flustered when I told her about the weekly specials,” she said, indicating a coloured chalkboard behind her. “Could barely look me in the eye when I mentioned my ultimate pancakes.”
Served her right for her lack of courtesy, Killian thought, perhaps a little uncharitably,but Granny wasn’t finished.
“Not much for keeping secrets, the poor dear, so it didn't take much to get the whole sordid story out of her,” Granny grinned. “ Just make sure you two keep your “pancake making” out of my establishment, thanks very much. I don't want the health inspectors around.” The delight in the woman's face as she exaggerated the air quotes spoke volumes about how long she had waited to have the upper hand in their ongoing banter and Killian found it hard not to reward her with a grin.
Especially as he knew full well that ship had already sailed. Several times, in fact.
A confirmation of that fact was unlikely to net him an ally in his endeavours, however, so he held his tongue. Not so his companion, who seemed most eager to hear every detail Snow White had been unwilling to share, and for whom no question seemed too forward.
Given the way he had teased her over the years, he could hardly take offence.
“Did you really tell her you were going for a cold shower?”
“Aye.”
Granny chortled happily at that thought. “You’re incorrigible, Captain.”
“Pirate,” he stated with a shrug, confident at this point in their conversation that he had indeed found the accomplice he needed. She was enjoying Snow White’s discomfort far too readily to have qualms about a tiny bit of banditry...
“Speaking of pirates, are you going to let me in on the plan now? Back to your old vengeful ways? Someone walking the plank?”
Oh yes, she was exactly who he needed.
“I was actually thinking about a small heist. Game for a spot of petty larceny?”
“Is Leroy a loudmouth?” she said with a grin. Without another word, she reached around and untied her apron strings, folded the garment carefully and placed it on the counter before leaning towards Killian and beckoning him to do the same. “So, what are we after?”
Killian ran his fingers across his chin, the image of a flustered Snow White mingling with the memory of cold, cold water on his skin. Frustrated in every possible sense, he had no intention of a repeat performance and he was going to do whatever it took to ensure that eventuality.
“You and I,” he began, pausing slightly to enjoy the excitement in his partner’s eyes. “We are going to retrieve a key.”
This is for @gusenitsaa, @xemmaloveskillianx, @captainswanmama, @fergus80, @spartanguard, and @kat2609, thanks to this conversation.
Rated D for Drunkenness
word count: ~ 800
“You’re out, mate,” Killian grinned.
David nodded in agreement as he barely managed to stand from his chair and keep from throwing up at the same time. Killian had to give him credit, though. Three shots was more than he’d originally have thought the man could handle. He watched David slink over to the booth on the side and slide beside his wife and son, where he promptly put his head down on his folded arms.
He turned back to his table, one chair empty now that Prince Charming was gone. That still left… Emma, himself, and the reigning contender.
Granny.
Truth be told, he was certain Snow White had been pulling his leg, when she claimed that the women in the town far outdrank the men. He had laughed, foolishly he now realised, when she pointed to the widow Lucas as the previous record-holder. Who drank more than a pirate? he’d said with a grin.
Werewolves, it seemed. Werewolves had a phenomenal tolerance for alcohol.
“You still in,” he heard, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. Granny had the bottle of scotch in her hand, hovering over his glass. He nodded and winked to her.
“But of course, milady.”
Two shots later, he was mulling over whether or not this was still a good idea when Emma pushed her chair back.
“I can’t,” she muttered with a sigh. “Go on without me, I’m not interested in the hangover part of winning.” She joined her parents at the booth, where steaming coffee had been brought to comfort the fallen.
He no longer wasted energy on a wink, just a quick nod to Granny to indicate his intention to continue. She filled his glass, and then her own.
“You should know,” she said quietly, “I’ve been known to win a couple of these contests in one night.”
He leaned his elbows on the table and flashed her a grin. “Then you should know, my dear, that I’ve been known to win and then celebrate with another bottle.”
They lifted their glasses together and knocked them back, each wincing at the burn of the scotch as it went down. In all honesty, he was feeling the effects far earlier than he should have been, the alcohol of her choice clearly one more potent than that favoured in the taverns he used to frequent. He shook his head and plunked the glass down on the table.
“Another,” he said, and she obliged. Raising their glasses in mock salute, they drank up the next shot, and the one after that, and he suddenly found that he could no longer feel the burn, and the diner had suddenly drifted away from the town and was bobbing madly on the waves.
“You okay, Killian?” he heard Emma ask worriedly, her hand on his arm. He managed to nod, and the room stopped bobbing enough to get his bearings. Another full glass sat before him.
As he reached for it, he felt Emma tug at his jacket, her mouth bent low beside his ear as she whispered, “You don’t have to win.”
He spun wildly, knocking her nose with his as he attempted to focus on her face. It was harder than it should have been, not that he would admit it.
“Wha’?” he managed. Eloquence and wit, that was his motto.
She leaned in again, and he could just make out the smile in her voice. “You don’t have to win the drinking contest. There are other… games we could play instead.” He was already imagining a few scenarios that threatened to speed up his already-racing heart when she added softly and sensuously, “Captain.”
He gulped.
Killian swung his head back to Granny, picked up his glass, and drained it in one swig, watching as she did the same. With a groan, he pushed his chair back and stood, his legs far wobblier than suited an experienced pirate such as himself. The room pitched drunkenly, and he refused to admit that it just might have been him.
“You’ve bested me, milady,” he said, pleased that his voice was only slightly slurred. “I’m out.”
Emma quickly pulled his arm around her shoulders and led him to the door. Before she could yank him from the diner, he twisted back and smiled to the room. “It was fun, mates,” he said, not even sure who could understand his mumblings, and not really caring. “I could have finished this as the victor, but I’m afraid I must attend to my love.”
Granny only grinned and picked up the bottle. Without a word, she put it to her lips and drained the rest of it in a few long pulls.
It had still been half full.
His jaw dropped, eyes wide, and he found himself finally knocked speechless, as Emma dragged him home.
