It's Always Sunny in Storybrooke!

CHAPTER 2

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sounds of struggle, incoherent threats, and Neal's gasps as Hook tried to pierce a hole in his eye. "Okay, stop it, stop it— STOP IT!" he shouted, pushing Hook off. They glared at each other, catching their breath, until Neal held up a hand, still panting. "Look...killing each other isn't going to fix anything."

"Are we sure about that?" Hook raised an eyebrow menacingly. He had a fairly extensive range of eyebrow-raises in his repertoire: the height of the raise, degree of the arch, and the angle direction were all important variables that combined to create anything from full-on slutty to I-shall-feast-on-your-bloodied-corpse.

"And maybe..." Neal looked at him cautiously. "Maybe this is a good thing—now, don't get mad!" he scrambled as Hook's eyes widened in rage. "Calm down...breathe...breathe..."

"I'm breathing."

"No, you're not breathing,"Neal said impatiently. "You're turning purple."

Hook forced himself to breath normally. Neal waited and, apparently deciding he had reached a normal-enough color, resumed. "Maybe it's time you settled into this world a little more, you know?"

"I have. Neal, I own a talking phone."

Neal closed his eyes exasperated. "Okay, again," he said, struggling for patience, "it's just called a phone."

Hook rolled his eyes. How utterly ridiculous.

"You've made progress," Neal allowed. "You're starting to get the hang of that phone...you haven't stabbed any more T.V.'s..."

"Those are the...?"

"You called them 'demon pictures'."

"Oh, right."

"And," Neal continued, "you've been surprisingly accepting of microwaves."

Microwaves...The first time Emma had introduced the curious little box to him, he'd been rendered speechless. She'd tugged at the little door, and it was instantly flooded with light. Hook had spent twenty minutes opening and closing it, transfixed by the light that disappeared and reappeared without fail. And then after she had showed him how it actually cooked food, she spent a week trying to convince him not to worry about the price of magic every time he wanted a Hot Pocket.

"Like I said, Neal, I've more than settled into this world."

"But..." Neal trailed off cautiously. Hook narrowed his eyes.

"Go on."

"But...maybe it's time you start dressing a little less pirate-y."

There was a puzzled silence. "A little less pirate-y," Hook repeated.

"Yeah..."

"So, you're asking me—" Hook raised his eyebrows, pointing to himself—"an acknowledged pirate...to dress less pirate-y?"

"That's right."

Hook pinched his forefingers to the bridge of his nose. "I'm lost, again."

"All right, get up." Neal tugged him to a standing position. "I'll get Belle to take you to Old Navy or something today. You can borrow one of my hoodies in the meantime."

"Hoodie?" Hook creased his forehead.

"One of these," Neal explained, tugging on the hood of his shirt. Hook sighed exasperatedly.

"I don't need a hood, Neal, I need a coat."

Neal blinked a few times. "The hood is attached to the coat," he said quietly. Hook raised his eyebrows in dawning comprehension.