Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Like a plank of driftwood Tossed on the watery main, Another plank encountered, Meets, touches, parts again; So tossed, and drifting ever, On life's unresting sea, Men meet, and greet, and sever, Parting eternally.
-Edwin Arnold

Emma cried quietly into her brother’s coat as he carried her at a fast pace down the hill. She could see the flames from the forest rising, flames that had already claimed their mother and father. The air was thick, the taste of the smoke and the acrid burning making her feel nauseous. The pine wood had burnt easily; the farm they had been lovingly raised on now nothing more than ash.

James spoke quietly but harshly. “Tell her to shut up, or we’ll leave her.”

Emma whimpered into David’s neck, trying to suck up her tears.

“James, you’re just scaring her,” he said as he stroked Emma’s hair. “It’s alright. We’re going to be okay.” Emma nodded under his coat. She snuggled into his neck and stayed quiet. “See? No need to frighten her.”

James grunted. “We need to find a place to stay for the night. A tavern is too risky, too many slavers. We’ll have to try our luck on the street tonight.”

Emma felt them start moving again, her brothers’ feet quiet on the cobbled streets. David set her down on a pile of hay laid out near a closed off alley. He gathered some rags they’d taken, mostly coats, and laid her small frame down in the pile.

“Sleep well, Emma. We’ll watch over you. We’re going to be just fine,” he whispered. David had always been like a second father to her, someone she trusted more than anything. He protected her from James’s constant tormenting, and kept things from their mother like when she snuck off to play in the frog pond, or when she beat a boy twice her size bloody for tormenting a barn cat with a stick. Emma was a terror at five summers old, and David was her grounding force.

She tried to fall asleep on the hard ground, but James was talking in hushed tones to David. Keeping still, she angled her head to hear the conversation better.

“We should leave her. We can get jobs, but she’s just a mouth to feed and a crybaby that can’t do hard labor. She acts like a spoiled princess; she’ll slow us down and we’ll get caught.” Emma felt her chest constrict. She’d been the brunt of James’s rage before, but now his tone was cold and calculated. Emma wondered, not for the first time, how he could possibly be her flesh and blood.

“I’m not leaving our sister,” David growled. “We have to protect her. We’re all she has now.”

“We could sell her to the man Father sold eggs too. The slaver.” Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She tried to stay quiet and not audibly cry. “We could get away from here and get jobs on a ship with him or as blacksmith apprentices, maybe even as a page for a knight-”

“We are not selling our flesh and blood. What is wrong with you?” David sounded appalled. “You would give her over to a life of possible torture just to fill your purse with coin? Would Mother be proud of that? Or Father?”

“Mother and Father are dead, burnt to a crisp by a war that is now in our realm. They’re ash in the dirt; they don’t give a fuck about you, our stupid little bitch of a sister, or -” A crack rang out.

Emma opened one eye to see James on the ground holding a bloody nose as David stood above him, fists balled, nostrils flaring.

“Don’t ever speak of them like that,” he said lowly. “They gave us everything; they wanted us to have a better life, to grow into-”

“Grow into WHAT?” James hissed, wiping blood from his face. He chuckled darkly. “A lord? A king? You know as well as I do we would rot with them there on that farm forever in pig shit,” he spat. “We would waste away at the farm while Princess over there was shook in front of a lord until he gave her a title so she’d spread her legs. Then we’d all go live with Lord Rich and Lady Fuck Trophy Emma until they screwed enough to make some heir. I want more, and I’m not going to sit here while you baby our meal ticket.”

David grunted. “Then get moving. We don’t need you here to try and -” Emma couldn’t hear what he said, his voice lowering in pitch for a moment, spitting out something that made James eyes gleam with malice. David’s voice rose again. “Don’t think I don’t know why Mother asked me to keep an eye on her. I know why you were stuck on the farm more often than not.”

James laughed again darkly. “Fuck you. Remember this when you’re rotting somewhere. You chose her over your twin.” Emma heard his footfalls retreating.

“And I’d do it again.” David sat down, continuing his watch as Emma finally drifted to sleep.

Over the next few days, David and Emma tried to keep away from slavers and do some begging to keep their bellies full. They managed to find a decent piece of stale bread in the rubbish on the first day, and David charmed a tavern wench for some water and a hot pie to split on the second night. They didn’t talk about James.

On the third day, James came back, humbled. He had found a small safe spot to sleep down by the docks and begged David for forgiveness. Emma felt something pull in her stomach and pulled on David’s hand, shaking her head no. Something felt wrong. It pulled at the pit of her stomach like a rope pulling water from a well, something deep in her gut responding to his words.

“Let her stay here then, if she likes,” James snorted. “I’m just asking forgiveness.”

David looked at her pleadingly.

They went.

Every step closer, Emma felt her stomach tightening into knots. The docks were covered in fog and she felt eyes peering out that she couldn’t see. Rats scuttled across wood planks making strange scratching noises, and the sea waves made wet sounds against the creaking ships. She pulled tighter on David’s coat, hiding almost completely behind his form.

“James, are we almost there? I-” She felt David tense through the coat.

“Is this them?” a low, gravelly voice said. It sounded like someone who had chewed too much devil weed, their throat permanently changed from the chew.

“Yes. Ten summers, and five summers,” James said.

“Emma, Emma run!” David yelled, pushing her back. She tried to run through the fog, but huge hands lifted her easily as she kicked. She heard David’s knees hit the dock hard.

“Ah, now brother,” James dangled a purse of coins in front of his face as a huge man covered in tattoos held him by his hair. “You and Emma have me started on my journey into knighthood. Two hundred pieces for you two, although you were worth more than her. If only she was older, then I could have bought my own house!”

He kicked David roughly in the side, laughing as David fell over holding his abdomen.

“I told you you’d regret it.” He cast a glance at Emma. “Pity you didn’t listen.” He leveled one more hard kick to David’s ribs and spat. “Goodbye.”

Emma cried in the darkness as the men carried David and her onto a boat, throwing them into an awful smelling cell filled with other small bodies. Emma cried harder, crawling over to David, checking if he was ok. She sobbed into him when he tried to hug her.

“Shhhh!” said a voice next to her. She looked over and saw a boy with tangled black hair looking down at his feet. Even in the dim light, when he looked up, his eyes were unmistakable, a brilliant bright blue. “If you’re too loud, they’ll whip you.”

Emma tried to bite back another sob, but it ripped out before she could help it. Eyes around her began to stare, looking in fear toward the door where a shadow began to appear. Emma tried to stop, panicked and hiccuping.

She heard a low voice from a different cell hiss out. “Killian, don’t you dare-”

The man had descended the stairs and had a large whip in his hands, one with several heads coming out of the handle. Emma was going to throw up and be sick; she couldn’t stop the hiccups.

“Who’s it now, makin’ all ‘tat ruckus?” said the man, opening the cell door. “Ah, it be the pretty ‘lil missus cryin’. Well now, let’s givya somethin’ to wail about, shall we missy?” He raised his hand with the savage looking whip and Emma tensed, her body going rigid, hearing its crack but feeling nothing.

The boy had rushed in front, taking the lashes, and the man laughed. He pushed the boy aside, who was now bleeding from his back and shoulders. Grabbing her by her hair, he took a small pocket knife and ran it under her ear. She could smell his rancid breath, filled with onions and something bitter.

“Lucky yer ‘lil friend thar saved yer pretty skin. One day when yer sold fer whorin’, ye’ll not want ‘dem scars, missy.” He pressed the knife under her ear and she whimpered when she felt blood run down her neck. It bit into her skin and she shrieked, feeling the sharp burn as it peeled away skin. “Now, ma dear, best ‘member who gave ye yer first scar. Bradshaw the slaver.” He dropped her, and she crawled back to David, who grabbed her close.

Bradshaw laughed, his huge gut shaking, and closed the door. He stumbled back up the stairs and Emma looked at the boy. Hands were reaching through the cell, an older boy with the same blue eyes examining the bleeding lashes. Ripping off part of her well worn and burned skirt into a strip, she crawled over to them, pressing it into the older boy’s hand.

Touching gently on the younger boy’s uninjured shoulder, she hugged him carefully, much to his shock.

”Thank you. I’m sorry,” she whispered, and scampered back to David.

She fell asleep for what felt like only seconds, when she felt hands cutting her hair. David was shearing her hair short. When he finished, she heard him slide the knife away from them.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled sleepily.

“You’re now Eric. And will only answer to that, do you understand?” David said through gritted teeth. Emma nodded, afraid. He handed her a pair of dirty men’s breeches. “Put these on. One of the boys died last night. We’re going to say it was you.” Emma’s eyes widened in shock. She looked quickly over to where the blue eyed boy was. He was sleeping, but through the cell bars, another pair of eyes the same color acknowledged her with a nod. She put the pants on without hesitation.

David nodded at the older boy in the other cell, and he nodded back. They spread her skirts over the frail body, and waited in silence for their fates, David’s hands gripping Emma’s tightly.

“No matter what happens now, until I say so, we’re brothers. David and Eric. They’ll sell us together.” Emma looked up at him and nodded again. “Good. We’ll be okay Eric. We’ll be alright.”

She looked over to the blue eyed boy, who was awake now, as who she assumed to be his brother whispered in his ear. She wondered if he was saying the same things David had. He held her ripped skirt like a talisman, as if it was the only thing that could protect him. Closing her eyes and wishing with everything she had, she hoped it would.

It felt like they had waited years in the bottom of the ship, heat and the stench of rot, shit, and piss all around them. She didn’t see Bradshaw again until he took the bodies of the lost out of the cells a few days after giving Emma her scar. He gave the skirted body a kick, muttering to himself about “girlies never making it.” Emma kept her head down. The blue eyed boy coughed slightly, and when she looked up he kicked something towards her. Picking it up, she recognized it as a knotted piece of leather. Emma smiled at him as he shyly looked down at the floor. She placed it in her pocket as she fell asleep.

They docked and were pulled out roughly, tied together by feet and hands in strange, looping knots. The auction was led by two people: the auctioneer, a loud monstrous man called Hyde, and his timid companion that collected monies, Jekyll. She and David watched as in the sun, the dark haired boy and his brother were sold to a private vessel as hands. She caught his blue eyes once more, blinking a goodbye she hoped he could see as Jekyll let the coins jangle into his purse with a lopsided grin.

A stern gray haired woman appraised them, and checked David’s teeth before haggling down the price from Jekyll. They were roped together on a leash for eighty gold pieces as the gray haired woman led them to a long ship and a new future.

Granny ran a tight kitchen galley, and Emma was the perfect size to stay compactly out of her way while washing pots and pans or peeling potatoes. David, at ten, was quick footed and small enough to climb the rigging into the crow’s nest of the ship and call down. They fell into their roles quietly and the captain of The Lion’s Heart let them know everyday that their place was beneath free men.

The Lion’s Heart was a merchant longship, stocked with silks, furs, and jewels. They stayed close to the coast furthest from trouble in the calmer currents, cutting a quick path through the water to drop off goods. The crew were hearty men, cold and stern, who did not take kindly to frivolity. While other crews could be heard at port singing raucous and bawdy songs from the taverns, the men of The Lion’s Heart found sharpening their weapons and wrestling each other a far better use of their time.

Emma and David stayed together as much as they could, accepting as much knowledge as they were given. The captain, Richard Kingsley, took David under his wing after a few months at sea. He found that David could read, keep ledgers, and was keen to learn to navigate. Emma learned about dice, climbing the rigging, and how to throw knives, as well as several of Granny’s secret recipes. Years passed, and although they were still slaves, they found their bearings like a compass held in one’s palm.

When Emma turned twelve, they gave her a birthday cake, and she felt like she almost had a family again. The crew began teaching them songs of the countries from the far West, as well as sword fighting. They taught David the traditional Northern style of heavy blades, and the Western style of quick, forceful attacks. Emma learned about fluidity, using your opponent's strength against themselves, death blows with a staff, and how to move so quickly you could shave a man’s beard without him knowing you used a scythe to do it. The latter was taught by a quiet South Eastern man with an accent, who always offered her sugar dates and pistachios. He showed her how to fold paper in the shape of stars, how to braid rope, twine and leather while telling her stories of the creatures of his desert homeland. The knotted leather piece she cherished was turned into a bracelet, braided beautifully in intricate patterns, blue beads and shells through it.

Before her fifteenth birthday, Kingsley became gravely ill. David took over much of the paperwork and the first mate, Nottingham, tried to keep the crew together. He hired more sailors to pick up the slack and for once, Emma saw Granny bristle with apprehension. Emma felt it too. Nottingham spoke in a way that reminded her of her other brother, James. It pulled at her when he announced the new, “honorable” men, and again when he said he hoped the captain got better. He had the same look James would get when he stole her meager portion of bread, leaving her with crusts.

She talked to David and he dismissed her worries, caught up in ledger balances and accounting for stock.

They left port laden with rich velvets, linens, furs, and silks, heading off towards the kingdoms that were flecked with snow. There was no way to stay on the coastline here; they’d have to cross open waters. Some of the crew seemed actively anxious as if they could feel something in the air.

Kingsley died at sea as they were crossing an icy strait the crew actually had to break apart with heavy picks. Nottingham didn’t shed a tear for his captain as he slipped under the cold, dark waters. Instead, he picked a new first mate, one with beady eyes that seemed to always be darting to something shiny - Walsh. Emma disliked him, but not nearly as much as Granny, who believed he was stealing fruit from her pantry.

The years became harder for Emma, as Eric became harder to make convincing. She bound her breasts tight as they grew, and when she got her first sign of the woman’s curse blooming red in her breeches, she used ripped burlap from potato sacks to line her sensitive parts. David was getting nervous for her as well. He’d grown into a tall teenager, muscled and strong, inheriting Kingsley’s charm at haggling with merchants. Kingsley had taught David to, in his words, “Sell a Merman pearls at full coin”.

When he’d asked if their debt was paid, Nottingham was immune to his silver tongue. Money was drying up, the newer crew and Nottingham having spent much of it on ale and taverns. Stocked goods were not making it to their buyers; rolls of velvet or silk missing, or worse, jewels and priceless valuables. David had offered to help and was whipped for insolence against the captain. Long time crew members left to seek better fortunes on the breeze with more honorable men. David and Emma were bound, however, by a contract Nottingham pulled out, signed by Mr. Kingsley before his death. When a ship got a new owner, the indebted aboard owed the new captain what was due at the time they were first bought.

They were slaves all over again.

The crew of late was mostly new folk; greasy haired, worm faced men that smelt of drink and piss. The ship was falling into disrepair, and Nottingham was having trouble picking up work. David had secured a deal to deliver ale to the next town over. A small paying job, but a job nonetheless.

Emma kept herself in the galley with Granny, trying her best to hide herself, though her womanhood was now almost entirely impossible to hide. Granny figured it out shortly after her eighteenth birthday. She had gotten Emma a heavy coat made of stiff material and breeches to match, along with a strange cup device that allowed her to bleed without worry during her curse.

“You were always too pretty to be a boy. Should have just been out with it ages ago, so Kingsley and me could have had at it. I’d have sent you to work at the tavern my granddaughter works at.” She sighed, looking down at the soup she was stirring as Emma peeled potatoes. “But now we have Nottingham and that creepy, twitchy, monkey man.” She threw pepper in the pot with force. “Can’t reason with those idiots.” In fact, the entire crew were stupid and lecherous, which was a dangerous combination.

Emma became more concerned about Granny’s warnings when David could no longer reason with the captain and his first. Walsh in particular was unconvinced that the tavern wouldn’t notice a cask or two missing from delivery. David’s protests earned him a sound lashing tied to the mast, where he cooked under the sun for hours before being undone to work until past sundown. When he collapsed in his hammock that night, sweat soaked and still bleeding, Emma was enraged. The rest of the crew joined the captain on deck to drink the ale they had no intention now of delivering.

She tended to David’s wounds, carefully cleaning them with water and a small bit of rum Granny had let her have. He groaned in misery, eyes rolling back into his head. She heard the clatter of feet above her as someone played an out-of-tune accordion.

“Stupid fools,” she muttered, ripping more cloth to wrap the worst of the rips across his back. Their singing and drinking the cargo disgusted her.

There was no warning that anything was amiss until that first crash. It felt like it was right on top of her as the harpoon split the wood easily. She screamed, but it wasn’t heard over the yells of the men on deck, drunken and scared.

“PIRATES! PIRATES OFF -” Another crash had her head spinning. She pulled David up, placing him against the landing of the stairs where a cannonball or stray harpoon would not hit. She ran on deck as fast as she could, sword gripped in hand.

The ship attacking had a black sail up, and they were drawing in fast as to her shock, they threw roped hooks into the rigging of The Lion’s Heart. The pirates flew over her head like gulls, calling out cries of war. The men on deck scattered like roaches, a few even jumping overboard like cowardly fish bellies. She took a stance, preparing to take arms to guard her brother.

A pirate landed near her with a thump. He was tall, and wore a dusty olive green long coat and a olive green tricorne hat that burnt orange curls spilled from. His face was obscured with an emerald green bandana that menacing green eyes peered out of. He moved quickly, drawing a large cutlass and lunged towards Emma.

Emma was quicker, and her training paid off. She was able to parry and dodge several blows with her own long rapier, catching her opponent off guard. She heard men dying around her and footsteps start to approach; she knew this wouldn’t be a fair fight. She moved quickly again and the cutlass caught her rapier, but not quite in time to stop it from loosing the bandana. It fell to the floor slowly, exposing red lips that smiled back at her.

“Good show, but you’re sorely outnumbered now, boy.” The revealed woman before her smiled.

Emma only gritted her teeth as she heard someone approach her from behind. Throwing an elbow back with all her might, she heard a shriek of fury as the approaching person clutched their nose.

The woman in green sighed. “Don’t do that again.” She whistled and pointed to a small form with dark brown hair, squatting on some barrels and watching with her head cocked. “Snow, show the boy what will happen if he steps closer to me.”

The one the green woman called Snow moved like water, in an instant fluidly pulling out a bow and arrow from seemingly nowhere. The arrow flew through the air with a whistle, landing in the space between Emma and the captain. The captain stood and faced her attacker.

“Now, be a good boy, and throw that sword aside - Your captain’s dead, only two men still live of your crew, and you might make it home to a sweet lass like Miss Snow here if you stand down, my little monkey.”

Emma heard the person behind her get up, and felt a knife at her neck. The point pressed hard, pricking her skin. She dropped the sword, as a voice hissed in her ear, “Ye broke m’ fuckin’ nose. I should kill ye now, ye idjit boy. Slit yer throat like a pig if -”

”Meri.” The woman in green shook long red hair from her hat, smiling placidly. “That is not how we treat those who almost best the Captain.” She felt the knife’s point weaken its pressure as the girl behind her sighed. It was definitely a girl behind her; she could feel her breasts pushed into her back, and the wind pulled tightly wound red curls in front of her own gaze.

Snow approached quietly and Emma startled. Meri laughed. “This boy’s a chicken; scared of lovely ladies.”

“Hush, Meri. He’s terrified. Captain Zelena, permission to search below?” Snow acknowledged the woman in green. In fact, the entire crew were all women.

“Go ahead. I want to question the crew of… What’s this ruddy ship’s name anyway?”

Granny came up from the galley with Snow in tow. “That would be The Lion’s Heart. I assume you’d be Captain Zelena?” She smoothed her skirts as Snow balked at her for having no fear of the sword pointed at her.

“That I’d be.” The woman in green curtsied, laughing. “And you are?”

“I’m the galley cook, they call me Granny. If you’re going to kill me and the boy, and the boy’s brother, do it fast. I tell you this, though. They’re hard workers, that lot, and so am I. We deserve a fair chance at another ship.”

“Oh, and what about the other crew members?” She pointed to an older man they’d called Rot Mouth for the stench of his breath and rudeness to everyone, and to Walsh.

Granny shrugged. “Those two aren’t worth the piss you’d get out of them.”

“And what are you carrying. Anything worthwhile?”

“Ha.” Granny spat out of the side of her mouth. “I wish. Casks of ale for a tavern, and these idiots drank half without even a deposit.”

Zelena seemed to think on it a moment, a slight frown on her face, while Meri rifled through Emma’s pockets, patting her down.

“Snow, go check on this other boy. See why he’s not up here.” Zelena made a dismissive gesture, looking around at the casks of ale.

“Yes, Captain.” Snow nodded, heading below deck once more.

“OI! CAPTAIN!” Meri exclaimed, with a dark laugh. “This ‘uns a chit! She’s a girl!” Emma’s eyes widened with fear and she looked at Granny.

Zelena, however was delighted. “Well then. This is promising. A chit like that who can hold her own against me without training for weeks.” She shot Meri a look, and Emma felt the girl tense.

Walking over to Walsh and Rot Mouth, Zelena pulled them both up and examined them. Walsh trembled in fear, while Rot Mouth swayed slightly, still drunk. Zelena smiled her placid smile, and pulled their gags down.

“Hello, gentleman.”

Walsh looked as if he was about to pass out, and Rot Mouth glared, still swaying.

“We could use a few cleaning hands on my ship, what say you? Are you up to swab some decks in exchange for keeping your necks attached to your heads?”

For his response, Rot Mouth spat a wad of yellow spit. It had barely touched the ground as Zelena’s face contorted, and her sword was up in the air for a split second before it settled, slicing his neck. Rot Mouth clutched at his throat, dropping to his knees. His body finally reacted after seconds that felt like minutes, squirting blood all over the deck.

Zelena wiped blood from her face, flicking it off absentmindedly. She turned to Walsh, the placid smile returning and eyes glittering.

“How about you, my little monkey?”

“Yes, Gods, yes. I’ll do anything,” he trembled. “I pledge loyalty to you, Captain.”

“Good. We’ll discuss this further on my ship. Let’s see who else we can drag up here.” She glanced at Snow who was dragging a barely conscious David on deck. Emma blanched, yanking away from Meri, and helped to lay him down. Meri made no moves to stop her as Zelena came over.

“What happened to him?” she asked, nudging him with an olive colored boot. He groaned, blinking slightly, before looking at Snow.

“Are you an angel?” he said slowly, looking up at her with glazed eyes. Snow visibly flinched.

“He got flogged. He disrespected the old captain by suggesting the crew shouldn’t drink the haul,” Emma said dryly.

“Is he a hard worker like your Granny says?” Zelena asked, squatting to Emma’s level.

“Yes.”

“Will you and Granny join us if we don’t take him?” Zelena asked lowly, picking up his arm and letting it drop back onto the hardwood. Emma shook her head as a firm no. “What if we do take him? You’ll stay if he dies?”

“Yes.” Emma nodded. She looked back to David’s face, and Snow wiped sweat off his brow with her sleeve. “He’ll survive though. That’s what we do.”

Zelena’s ship, The Emerald Envy of Oz was beautiful. She was sleek, as fast as some naval runners, but her speed was balanced by a lack of firepower. At only twenty odd guns, they focused on bloody battles that left her crew always in need of new recruits.

Zelena cried out to her assembled hands, “HELL HATH NO FURY!”, listening to their cries of victory as they sped away from the burning hulk of the Lion’s Heart. David was taken away from Emma by Snow and a sandy brown haired man, disappearing below the deck. Emma felt the anxious pull in her chest watching him go.  

Zelena gave little thought to having few men aboard, Emma found with at first, a large bit of admiration. The crew was made up of almost entirely women to her shock. Since the beginning of the Ogre Wars, many felt it was safer to be on the seas than on land. What safe lands were left were constantly warring, leaving only minor claims for the thrones remaining. Allegiances born of gold and steel were far more lucrative in war time than those of blood and marriage.

Zelena wasn’t too proud to nod at the ex-royalty she’d collected. There was a brunette with huge doe eyes, reading in the crow’s nest. Once a princess in a long lost realm, they referred to her as Book & Belle, but mostly the latter. Snow, who at one point may have been heiress to the ruins of Misthaven, but now took refuge on this ship while her Step Mother tried to find safety on land. Rory, with Phillip and Fa, who had been a pedigreed princess before fleeing with her betrothed and his bodyguard during a brutal ogre siege razing their kingdom. Meri, who was from the lands to the far Northeast, where tribal law decreed she must vacate her throne to one of her three brothers. And now added to their motley crew were Granny, David and Walsh. Emma didn’t mention the contract, hoping it would be resigned to the past now that they were among free folk.

The few menfolk had a small bunk area in the bottom of the ship that used to be a holding cell, Meri had explained while showing Emma around. She seemed to hold no grudge for her nose, and had cracked it back into place as soon as they had made their way down the stairs below deck, relishing in the disgusted look Emma gave her. If anything, she seemed proud that Emma had practically knocked her nose into the backside of her skull.

“Aye, I love a tough lass, that I do.” She winked with total disregard at Emma’s confusion. Nodding her head, they walked through a doorway into the normal hammocked sleeping room for crews.

“Now ‘ere, let’s get that all off of ye.” She gestured at the menswear Emma had become accustomed to. Emma glanced at Meri’s choice of dress: some mixture of trousers and a cut off long shirt. Emma shook her head.

“I’ll wait until we get to shore. That doesn’t look comfortable.”

Meri shrugged. “Suit yerself. You can untie yerself at least, if it’s wot ya be wontin’.” She gestured at Emma’s chest, and left without saying anything more.

Emma let her breasts hang unrestrained, her shirt cut to allow air under her vest, and for the first time ever, joined the crew on the upper deck as her true self.

The work on Zelena’s ship was thankless and without end, even as part of the crew. Zelena, she found, was prone to moods of madness, where someone (usually male) would draw her ire and receive the full brunt of her rage. When it was a female member of the crew, it was usually and almost certainly due to Zelena perceiving a slight or one of her port side dandies favoring someone else heavy of the purse. She could come up with inventive and truly cruel tortures, and no one wanted to be the next singled out.

Emma had acclimated to being dressed as a woman for the most part. At port, she’d taken a small stipend and several of the female crew to help her pick out some clothes. There was, however, a vast difference in style preferences. Rory, Belle, and Zelena found form with flair to be their preferred choice. They wore cut skirts, draped cloaks, capes, dark brocade corsets, bejeweled pieces of fashion, and swirling silks in exotic patterns that could hide weapons or confuse their quarry. Snow and Fa liked function. They chose dark colors and sturdy fabrics, with light armored padding that allowed them to move with quick precision. Meri was a joyful and eclectic mix of both. Bright blue damask hid light armor, exotic pants that belled at the bottom, a corset made of soft cream satin, an unbuttoned men’s frilled shirt, and an armored coverlet were among her prized possessions. Emma joined her in her style, choosing a mixture of breeches, skirts, a loose hook and eye corset, and a silken blouse.

Her outfit drew attention she was not used to, which she discovered quickly. The women hadn’t warned her, so used to it themselves that it seemed second nature when a lout tried to cup their ass. Emma’s shock brought them peals of laughter and a long conversation on the best places to cut a man that would leave him in pain for the rest of his life. When Emma experienced this first hand in a port, she found that the fat older man was not prepared to lose the tool he claimed he could use so well.

David healed slowly as the months passed, but he was soon up on the deck cleaning with Emma and showing his aptitude for maintenance on the ship’s armament. Walsh began his campaign of finding how far his head could snugly fit up their new captain’s derriere, and found that even a woman captain had plenty of space he could weasel into. The crew was stunned to find him announced as her first mate, and Meri demoted after a particularly hard week of punishment on her. In their hammocks later, Meri had tried to hide her low rumbles of tears and anger, but come morning, had found extra sweets rationed to her by Granny.

Granny in turn had come to take an extreme dislike to Zelena, who had called her food ‘barely palatable’. She’d been struggling baking the pastries and fine cakes Zelena demanded on a whim after making ports, her hands beginning to tremble from age as much as she tried to hide it. Emma and David had both begged Zelena to let at least one of them help her in the galley, but she’d refused. Emma had taken to waking up earlier to cut, dice, knead, and peel so Granny needn’t do as much with her hands, while Granny sought out the newest recipe Zelena coveted from any bakery willing to offer it.

Emma was sneaking back into the bunks one morning when a hand caught her wrist and pulled her into the shadows of the small hallway leading above. A hand covered her mouth as she tried to protest. Hot breath huffed in her ear.

”Well, look at this.” Walsh whispered. She could feel her body stiffen. “Someone is up early. They say the early bird gets the worm, and the second mouse gets the cheese.” She felt his hand slip under her shirt, and tried to pull away from him. He held her tighter, hooking a leg around her ankle. “They don’t say what happens to the sneaking slave girl that looks like a sweet.” His tongue ran along her neck, and she shuddered, feeling like her skin was trying to crawl away from her bones.

“Here’s what I propose. You get to keep sneaking around on your little jaunts to help your dear sweet Gramma, and I get to take what I want in my quarters, after the ship’s asleep. No one needs to know a thing, and you and I both get what we want.” He pressed into her, and she could feel the imprint of him like so many men before who had tried to push their luck. She struggled again, and he hissed a whisper into her ear. “Do what I say, or I tell Zelena. Think on it. I’d hate to see what might happen to a feeble old woman who serves Zelena no use, but shares the spoils.” He released her, and she stumbled away up to the brightness of the deck.

She only made it a minute before vomiting over the side.

Chapter Text

There are things of which I may not speak; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye. -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When Zelena summoned her to her chambers, Emma was sure she’d been discovered. It had been months since Walsh had forced her into illicit nights of his mouth on hers, and his hands groping ever farther into territory she wished lay unexplored. She knew the consequences if Zelena found out, but Granny’s life lay in her hands. She was the closest thing to a mother she’d ever known.

“Emma. I’ve been watching you, you know.” Zelena sat in the small space of her quarters in a plush emerald chair, upholstered in shimmering velvet and lined in golden embroidery. The cabin was narrow with a small window, filled with the chair, candles that were lit haphazardly, a canopied bed that was built into what might have previously been a small closet, a bookshelf, a cedar chest, and a small table covered in bottles. The door closed behind her, and Emma gulped.

“Yes.”

“I’ve noticed what you think you’ve been hiding from everyone.” Zelena smiled deviously, steepling her fingers. The hair on the nape of Emma’s hair stood on end. “Did you really think you could keep it a secret?”

Emma stared into the crimson haired woman’s eyes. “I don’t know-”

”You should embrace it, like I have. It’s a gift, no matter what weak minded fools say.” Zelena made a dismissive motion towards the door, her mouth curling into a sneer. “Magic is nothing to hide.”

”Magic?” Emma let out a breath of relief, her face contorting in confusion. “What are you talking about, magic?”

It was Zelena’s turn to be confused. She blinked several times, her face falling into a confused and astonished expression. “Emma, my pet, your magic. It radiates off you. Honestly- how could you not notice?”

Emma’s heart began to race. “I haven’t ever… I mean, I don’t have-”

”You healed Snow when she fell from the rigging months back. A fall like that should have broken her back.”

“That was luck, she slowed herself by catching some rope.” Zelena shook her head.

“You’ve conjured sunlight during gray days, and when you sing, dolphins and mermaids come near.”

“Mermaids are always seeking pirates to lure to the grave. And dolphins, well…” She swallowed hard. “They think we’ll throw out fish.” The candles in the room seemed to dim.

“Even right now, you’re messing with the candle light. You could be a more powerful sorceress than me even, with the right training.” Zelena’s eyes seemed to grow greener, glittering like a cat who caught the canary.

“No, I believe you are mistaken. Those are all just coincidences. I don’t even know the first thing abou-”

Zelena shot a bolt of green fire at her, and she flinched, smelling the sulfuric flame that she was sure she’d feel licking her with its acid tongue of pain soon. Her hands warmed, but nothing bit her with a burning sting. She peeked one eye open. The flame rested before her, held by a white light flooding from her palms, flickering in the cabin. All the candles were out, the green light coming from Zelena casting an unearthly shadow over everything, tinging the space emerald. Zelena’s face was a sly smile.

“When would you like to begin your lessons, my darling pet?”

Between magic lessons, her kitchen duties, and Walsh’s continued violations, Emma was growing exhausted. It didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, with the crew more sympathetic than her teacher, who in turn was much more sympathetic than the rank man in back of her.

Walsh pawed her naked breast, grunting with the other hand in his pants, rutting against her ass. She was used to his usual crassness, but he’d been pushing for more of late, seeking to take her as a woman and man joined. Emma had known for years she most likely would never be a woman who was able to save herself for marriage, but she had hoped she’d at least find someone who made her feel something other than revulsion.

A few women on the ship sought female company after unpleasant experiences like her own. Fewer still sought out the occasional male companion or consort, which generally were more common in the uncharted shores or more exotic and inhibited locales. Zelena did not like such places because they didn’t have the finer luxuries she was accustomed to.

And oh was Zelena ever accustomed to fineries, Emma was finding. Zelena has started her off with mapping and studying where various herbs could be found, along with other sundries, talismans, magickal items, and rare stones or gems. Then she’d had her chart merchant courses to create a route that would keep her coffers and apothecary cabinet stocked, and set Emma up with a book making her various unguents and potions for beauty.

Emma had proved to be moderately skilled, Zelena overjoyed and tasking her with studying more arcane magic. The magic was mostly enchanting swords, creating poisons to wipe on blades, bewitching objects, or summoning the elements to do your bidding. Emma found it easy, and spellcraft or elemental magic easier yet. After weeks of practice, she could create a flaming sword, heal small wounds, or conjure a bright burning light in one hand while a rapier was held in the other.

When Emma had found an aging Bradshaw through word of mouth, dragging his sorry hide on board per Zelena’s request for a man to test poisons on, Emma felt a delight that was almost sisterly. Killing Bradshaw with a painful combination of poisons while spittle ran into his graying beard was not quite just desserts. Emma would have given anything to have poisoned the slaver at his prime, when he had whittled away her skin for a laugh. Zelena was beyond impressed at Emma’s aptitude for cruelty and creating poison blends that caused torment. The next morning, Zelena demoted Walsh with a smirk, promoting Emma to First Mate instead. Emma would swear the woman gave her a motherly look, the unease of her company fading.

Eventually Zelena demoted Walsh, no one particularly shocked other than him, his last line of superiority disappearing. To complicate matters, Zelena had praised Emma, stating she was the most skilled in battle and hinted at making her his replacement. Meri had at first been icy, but even she couldn't stay mad for long when watching Walsh sulk was such a delight. Zelena made it very clear what his purpose was on her ship, her personal dandy to keep her satisfied until someone else could fulfill her needs. A toy, a wind up monkey, clattering around for her entertainment only. His anger was palpable on deck every time she called for him. Emma would feel bad if it wasn’t so ironic. Walsh, caught in the same net he cast for her.

Zelena began to trust Emma with more self study but never anything that could truly threaten her own skill. She was a narcissist, but a realist first and foremost. A threat was a threat, and as someone who coveted her possessions, Zelena kept them close to her chest. Or so she thought.

The first thing to escape her, whether in obliviousness or arrogance, was Walsh seeking Emma’s companionship every morning, and Zelena’s bed chambers every night that she summoned him. She was an insanely envious woman, and Walsh had caused a few women to meet her fury by trying to sneak a poke in at brothels under her nose. Emma suspected Zelena didn’t think anyone on the Oz would dare. Truly, Emma wished she could stop the entire disgusting ritual, but Walsh had been prepared.

“This is going to continue as long as it suits my needs,” he’d said as he forced himself into her mouth. “And if you say anything, to anyone, I will make sure that everyone on this ship thinks you initiated it, as well as killing your grandma myself.”

She hated the taste of him, but she hated knowing how easy it would be for him to convince Zelena that she was the instigator. He’d fallen out of favor with Zelena, and she was quick now to call him on his incompetence while using him for her other needs. Instead, after a bloody battle that left Emma breathless from the use of both her magic and blade, Zelena had praised her in front of the crew while chastising Walsh’s failure to do much more than cower.

As it stood, Zelena had just let Emma gain her trust. That trust factored into the second thing Zelena failed to notice - something even Emma barely noticed herself, at first.

Emma realized it slowly, practicing her craft at night and feeling her magic pulse all through the ship like tendrils or veins. She could feel the ocean and its currents, deep into dark waters, the night air and starlight - elements being broken down further and further until everything was light or dark or electric or an unexplainable force. She could feel that force in everything, moving in and out like the breath of some great invisible beast.

And Emma could reach a finger to touch it, if she just pushed, pushed -

A great pair of yellow eyes stared at her, unblinking, the pupil widening and shrinking as it came to focus on her being. At first they stared at each other, and each felt the other. A light and a darkness, one small and one large, one so very young, one ancient but not yet wise. She felt its curiosity as well as her own before she lost hold of the thread, falling back into her body.

She’d woken up sweating to a ruckus on deck. Throwing on her clothes, she joined a small handful of the crew, including Zelena, who were watching the sun come up and join the moon in the sky at an unnatural pace, blinding them and bleaching the night sky in its radiance before dipping back below the horizon again.

“An omen,” Zelena had said, quietly.

“Of what? When has the sun ever chased a still moon, and then raced forward before stopping? What kind of omen is that?” Emma asked, shivering slightly in the now chill air of the returned night.

“A great power has manifested itself. That’s an ancient spell that even I can’t do. It’s in a relic of mine somewhere. Starsphere manipulation, or something.” She yawned, and stretched. “I’m going back to bed. Since all of you are up, you can begin your day early.”

Emma sighed, and returned to the bunks to get dressed for the day. She blinked when she saw the book she’d been reading the night before by candlelight, realizing the cover was well worn and not the book that she thought she’d been studying. Looking at the text of the cover, she couldn’t help the chill that ran up her spine, excitement thumping in her heart like cannon fire.

“SpellKrafte of the Starspheres”.

Their latest haul had been a success, a ship taken down and heavy pockets for every one of the crew. Emma had run several men through, including the captain who had tried to shoot her with a shoddy pistol, unable to get off the shot before her sword cut through him like a ribbon. She’d smiled into his face, letting him know that her angel looks held back a demon’s blood lust. In the hold, they’d found wine, cheese, fresh fruits, vegetables, spices, and tea; and Zelena was happy to announce the coffers were full again with the gold and jewelry they looted. There were no survivors this time, simply blood, bodies and fire offered to the sea when they had finished stripping the ship. David, Snow, and Emma watched it sink into the black water, a gift happily given for another day of plunder.

When the ship had sank into the sea, Zelena gave orders quickly before going to her ledgers, and Emma took up for her in her absence. She knew everyone but Walsh was pleased that she was now First Mate, her ease and fair hands left little need for the punishments once doled out by Zelena. David maintained the weapons easily, teaching new crew members when Emma or Snow could not, and Meri, along with Fa, had made navigation a breeze. The new worlds were not so new with their residents among them.

Walsh had taken to punishing Emma for his demotion with his body, pulling her aside in the mornings when she woke to help Granny. His needs had gotten lewder and much rougher, and she found herself escaping into thoughts of her duties as he spent himself. It never lasted long, for which she was grateful; he had given up seeking anything but his own pleasure. She’d open her mouth, let him pull down her trousers or hike up her skirts, and pretended she wasn’t thinking of unfurling sails or making sure the gunpowder casks were dry.

If he thought she was bored, he’d give her a heavy handed smack which caused an annoying bruise she’d have to hide, so she tried to show slight interest in his grunts. He’d spill himself down her throat, on the floor of the store room, or more frustratingly in her skirts, hair, or on her breasts. She hated the sticky feeling of him on her skin as it were, but it was better this than letting him fill her - that was the worst. The apothecaries in a few port towns carried several potent herbs that when mixed just right, created a tincture that prevented becoming with child. Although she used it religiously, the risk of carrying some bastard scared her.

Emma never wanted children, and the idea of bringing a child into this world that had hurt her so badly made her skin crawl. Her hands were covered in the blood of men, death an old friend she helped to feed. A child did not belong in this world. She had, at many times, hidden herself for just a few moments, assuring herself that nothing would happen, nothing could happen, the fear too much to bear in an open space. Walsh would occasionally use that fear, talking about forcing her to marry and stay on shore, and on those days, her anger was palpable while frustration at her situation boiled over.

One of the ways she let off her frustration at the arrangement with Walsh was seeking out companions in port towns, finding dandies, the rare male escort, or a woman of the night. Nothing was truly satisfying, and she hated watching someone try and pretend they were enjoying something they weren’t. Even when slightly enjoyable, there was never any reason to go back or any connection.

They made port that night with coin to spend, and Emma made her way into one of the disreputable taverns where she knew trouble would not find her. Sinking into a chair, she drank heartily and let the conversations flow over her, the different crews shouting and jostling each other, many different songs from different lands weaving together into a comforting lull. Walsh had been rougher this morning; drinking helped her forget a hard day’s work on top of the bruises on her hips.

As some men were lured away by women to drop trousers and coin, one of the older patrons began playing away on an accordion to a familiar sea shanty, the liveliness thrumming in the crowd as more voices joined in. One of the bartenders pulled out a fiddle, and the place came alive with drunken singing and dancing. For a moment, Emma let herself smile into her tankard as she drank the spiced ale, enjoying the way her head spun.

When two uniformed officers crossed her line of vision, the smile disappeared. She could feel the tension settle for a moment, before the taller of the two spoke up.

“A round on me, and my little brother. Tomorrow we leave, and tonight you have the finest ale.” His shout was met with a hearty cry of appreciation from the sailors inside, and the music started up again, louder than before. The shorter brother, still wearing his hat, approached the bar near where she sat. She could hear the coins clink behind her.

A tankard appeared to her left, placed down by the younger brother. Following the arm, she looked up into blue eyes, lit with amusement. “Here you go lass.” She blinked at him, watching trays of ale go around to the other tables.

“A toast!” said the taller brother of the two, shouting again. “To fair seas, and fair weather, as far as the horizon goes!” Glasses clinked, and Emma raised hers halfheartedly. Throwing back the remnants of her first ale, she started on the second. The younger brother still hadn’t moved and was too close for her liking.

“Another toast.” Emma bristled. “To better lives, and futures.” he said, and she tried to make it clear she wasn’t interested in company.

Emma snorted. “Sure, mate.”

“Have a little hope darling.” A chair scraped and he was sitting beside her. “You never know what the future holds.”

She stared at him, seeing the glint of hope in his eyes, and felt pity rise in her stomach. He couldn’t be much older than her, but she knew so much better of waiting for brighter futures. She wanted to scream at him, tell him she had seen what his king sent men to their deaths for; that in ports all over the world, there were men that were once like him. Men that were now broken husks, full of loss.

Instead, she whispered curses softly under her breath.

“What was that lass?”

She smiled sadly. “I said, I wish you good luck, Lieutenant.” she lifted her tankard.

He smiled brightly, tapping her tankard with his. Quickly, Emma drank the rest of her ale before pulling out her chair and leaving through the open door. The night air felt good, crisp and cleansing on her face, and the moon was high in the sky, leaving plenty of light to guide her down the street. She hadn’t realized how much she had drank, her cheeks felt warmed. At this point, holding her liquor and keeping her footing were never problems unless something very strong was involved, even if she felt a little dizzy.

“Hey, hey wait-” he called out to her, and Emma turned around to appraise him. He swayed slightly, and she sighed. Not used to holding his drink yet either. Burying any emotion, she composed herself before he approached. The last thing she wanted tonight was this poor boy trying to keelhaul her; he’d lose a hand and she’d get a lashing from Captain Zelena.

“Yes?” she asked, letting the bite of irritability shine through.

“I know this isn’t good form, but I-” He stepped towards her and she could see under starlight that he’d lost his hat, his jet black hair falling out of his pulled back style. “I wanted to ask you if you’d give me a kiss for good luck.”

Emma sighed. Sailor superstition was rife, but this was ridiculous.

“You don’t want a kiss from me, mate. I’m cursed. You’ve better luck finding a toad to press your lips against.” She turned away again, and he gripped her wrist.

“I may have better luck with the toad, but I’ve asked you.” He looked down at her through dark lashes and she felt flush color her cheeks and ears. “You're beautiful, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.” He flushed, nervously scratching behind his ear. “I may have had too much to drink, and I’m usually not this forward, but I mean it. You’re stunning.” His words were sincere, ringing completely genuine. Something inside her stomach flipped, causing the bite in the night air to lose its teeth completely.

“Fine, Lieutenant.” She pressed her lips against his, and he pressed back. She’d kissed other sailors, men with chapped lips and stubble, but this was velvet soft, while his tongue asked for entry without demand. He turned his head to deepen it and she obliged, her skin licked with heat. She should have ended this instantly, but he tasted like honey, mint, ale, salt of the sea, and a rich headiness that made her dizzy. He groaned into her, and she bit his lip to illicit another. He pushed her back against a building or a wall, she couldn’t tell; she was breathless and a knee was between her legs.

Hadn’t he mentioned good form? Emma didn't care.

He seemed unsure as she rocked her aching core against his leg. Nothing ever felt like this with Walsh or any other man for that matter- there was never this hunger, the fire burning and wrapping her in a tingling blanket of sensation. She wanted more, eyes widening as she let out a moan into his ear, his fingers wrapping around her waist, his other hand stroking the neckline of her corset.

She reached a hand to his buckle, undoing the ridiculously shiny thing, and pushed down the front of his pants. In the lower streets here, it was common to see lovers, paid or otherwise, enjoying each other’s bodies.

“Here? In the street? I can’t; I don’t do this. We can’t,” he hissed, his voice hoarse. She nodded, tugging on his length, unsure of what had come over her. “We - we shouldn’t.” She licked her palm and continued, and he rutted into her hand. “We should go back and get a room,” he moaned the last word, as she twisted up and down his cock. “Oh, Gods, damn it it all!” His hands pulled down her corset, and he sucked hard on a nipple, plucking at the other. Emma felt like she was being lit, like a gun filled with powder ready to fire.

Was this what the whores in the brothel felt when they wailed into the night? What other sprawled bodies in other shadowed alleys moaned about while people looked away? Hot breath in the crook of their neck, a warm tongue laving their collar bone, a coil that tightened when his fingers found her wet and aching? Oh, his fingers!

He curled them in her, whispering how wonderful she’d feel around him, how she probably tasted like heaven. He found a sensitive spot, and she ground down on his hand. His fingers left her and she whimpered, wishing he would keep that sweet pressure on her. He instead stroked his shaft with his wet fingers and slowly, reverently, sheathed himself.

Her body trembled, and they held each other forehead to forehead for a small time. This wasn’t just sex. This was making love, or rather with the love absent, fucking for pleasure. Walsh was sex, and nothing more; this dark haired lieutenant was a push to lunacy; his body pressed into hers so tightly with the brick biting her back, his first movements making them both moan lowly.

His eyes were blown out, as she pushed his hair out of his eyes, feeling the beginning of something low in her belly rising like the breath you search for as you drown. They found a rhythm, rocking with each other sloppily. She let out a laugh that he mirrored with a grin when they fumbled for a moment and she almost slipped. He dug into her deeper, making her toes curl, her noises becoming needy pants on his shoulder as she dug her nails in his back.

“There! Fuck, yes, there!” she moaned. The new angle had him gripping her hips, sinking her body on his with groans of pleasure. The drag of him inside, hitting spots in her that had been so neglected, had that coil in her belly tight once again. Everything was taut, tense and waiting, waiting to feel something she’d been chasing for so long. She’d never gotten this close before. She felt like one of the moths that circled lanterns at night so close to heat.

”That’s it lass, come for me,” he groaned, moving faster, and the pleasure she felt had her writhing. It was euphoric, and then it was more; starlight ran in her veins, pumping through her heart to shoot back to her fingers and toes. She felt her body tighten and spasm as she cried out into his neck. He whispered into her ear how beautiful she was, sweet things that had her eyes feeling glassy, kissing her and keeping her on a sword’s edge that caused her thighs to quiver. It continued as he took, burying himself as deep as he could into her body, letting out a shuddering moan as he pulsed.

They panted into each other’s shoulders, tightly gripping each other. She snuggled into his embrace, her skirts shifting, and his cock softening. He kissed her temple as she adjusted herself with a shy smile. In this moment, drunk and soft, body sated and held tight, she let herself be vulnerable. Hazy thoughts of blue eyes, dark hair, reddened lips, and the golden buttons of his uniform that pressed into her skin broke down long standing walls. If she believed in fate, this moment would be destiny.

“See. You never know what the future holds,” he whispered into her ear, tucking back a blonde strand of hair. He let her down carefully, pulling himself from her and tucking himself back into his trousers. He helped her pull up her corset to her surprise, and pressed soft kisses to her neck. 

“You shouldn’t go.” It crept out of her lips before she could stop it. He blinked slowly like waking from a dream.

“Shouldn’t go? Where?”

Her voice was a harsh whisper. If she could save one person from the hell of dying for the King’s greed, she’d try. Especially this man, so young and full of life, who believed in good form and telling her she was beautiful.

“You shouldn’t go to whatever hellscape the king is sending you to. He only sends men to their death. It’s not my place, but please -” His hand covered her mouth, and the moment was broken. A cloud covered the moon, darkness falling over them.

“What you say is treason,” he hissed, slowly releasing her and moving back a step. She shook herself, walls coming back up with no effort, meeting his eyes. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“Do not trust your king. You’ll die if you listen to his lies. ” She watched his face harden with resolve.

“You know nothing about me, our king, or our mission.” His eyes darkened like the sky above. “We seek to end the last encampments of ogres. We’ll be saving people and children that these foul creatures kill. We will be heroes and free men!”

Emma was about to speak, to tell him about real freedom, but a voice broke the silence.

“Brother!” Someone was shouting, and he pulled away to look. “There is ale still to be drank and the night is young!” Her heart hammered in her chest, and she steadied herself. The spell was shattered, and not every man could be saved. Even this one that quickened the beat of her heart insistently. Pulling her cloak up over her head, she moved from him, pushing him aside. To her surprise, he moved to catch her arm, his footfalls behind her. They broke into a run through the town’s smoky corridors.

“Wait!” he called after her, but she knew her way through the alleys and back streets, twisting until she was back in front of The Emerald Envy of Oz. She made her way to the gangplank.

David stared at her coldly. He earned his nickname, Charming, by his expressionless face in battle and his quiet demeanor that hid a sharp tongue. She nodded at him in greeting, straightening her skirted breeches and corset under her cloak. David cocked an eyebrow, and she blushed red in only the way a sibling can embarrass you and make you angry at the same time.

“It’s not what it looks like.” She stomped up the gangplank.

David grunted. “It never is.”

“Some Navy fool shipping off tomorrow for his first bloodbath wanted a kiss.” She threw herself down on a crate, folding her arms.

Another grunt, and a snorted laugh. “So he won’t be making it to see the waters, dear sister?”

She grinned salaciously. “He’ll live, for tonight, at least. And he’s in much better spirits. I gave him a bit more than a kiss to comfort him when he dies for his King.” She winked, and watched her brother’s body stiffen, ears beginning to flush.

His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. “Things I didn’t and never want to know. Disgusting. Hopefully he dies, so I don’t have to slit his throat instead.”

Looking out over the waves, she sighed suddenly defeated. “He will. If he survives, he’ll wish he was dead.”

Her brother came to sit next to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. They sat together listening to the waves until the stars began to fade, letting words that were unnecessary between them go unspoken.

The smell of gunpowder was acrid in her nostrils as Emma boarded the small merchant ship, landing with a thud. She pulled out her rapier and lit a fireball in her other hand that glowed with an unearthly shimmer of white light. The man before her looked horrified, and his knees shook as he fumbled to pull his own sword. He never got the chance, her rapier making quick work and spattering blood as she moved through the crew with little difficulty.

A sword nicked her shoulder, held by a portly man who sneered at her. “Witch! You pirate witch, I’ll see you hanged like the filth you are!”

Emma felt her shoulder throb, her magic pulsing in time with the pain. It flickered, and she tried to focus on parrying the saber this man kept slamming down towards her. She gritted her teeth, trying to hit this man with a blast that would knock him from her and give her some distance. Her magic wouldn’t comply, though. She tried healing her shoulder and ended up searing the wound.

“Emma! Get it together!” Zelena shouted, her own sword clanging as she took on a fight of her own.

The portly man slammed down over and over on her rapier, his saber blade much heavier, and Emma saw the strike coming in slow motion. She put both hands up, reaching deep and let go, her magic uncontrolled and wild. The man was blasted back, hitting a broken piece of wood with a wet smack. To her horror, her uncontrolled blast had also thrown a few of her crewmates.

She ran to help them as part of the merchant crew launched a boat with as much as they could carry. Zelena screamed orders, but with no dinghy to give chase immediately and both ships locked together, it was fruitless. When the rest of the merchant crew was dead, Zelena grabbed Emma by the hair and dragged her below deck.

“What was that? Control your magic! You could have killed us, and our haul would be cut because of your pure incompetence!” Zelena was livid, eyes shining. “You will be training with me at night as well as every afternoon, until you can wield your magic with pinpoint accuracy through any type of pain or distraction.”

Emma could only gulp and nod, Zelena’s rage practically turning her green.

The members of the merchant crew that escaped turned out to be a blessing in disguise, however.

Word spread of a female run ship sailing the sea with no quarter. One that had a witch with magic white as swan wings, an archer that could shoot a single snowflake, a quiet swordsman who didn’t mince his charming words, and a crazed captain that would spill anyone’s blood to get her pretty things.

News spread quickly, like wildfire through dry wood or a storm over rough seas.

It wasn’t a fortnight gone when they noticed the dot on the horizon, a fast moving ship in full regalia seeking nothing other than to end the threat posed. A navy frigate. Meri had spotted it while whittling a wooden bear in the crow’s nest whistling down to Fa. She and Fa seemed to share a code made of looks and small signals, practically reading each other’s minds. Emma wondered often if they had taken each other as sapphics, or common wives, but never cared to ask.

Emma still helped Granny in the morning, met with Walsh to her growing disdain and frustration, trained with Zelena, tended to her duties, kept the books and logged their goods, trained again with Zelena, did final nightly inspection, and then collapsed in bed for a few hours of sleep. The practice had Emma lit like a candle at both ends, unable to stop the flow of magic through her body. Her body felt worn, and magic crackled in her fingertips every morning as she chopped vegetables and fruits or kneaded dough.

Granny had taken to needing more help, to the point that David had started helping her clean up at night, occasionally with Snow keeping him company. Watching her brother bonding with someone else was a highlight for Emma. She loved to hear his low laughter as Snow talked to him, her legs swinging from her seat on the counter while she ate an apple.

Granny knew that she was struggling as well, and begged Emma to push Zelena to pick up her granddaughter who could help and fight as well - but Zelena wasn’t receptive to anything but fighting off the coming assault.

Several mornings to Emma’s delight, either her magic or the smell of onions on her skin had warded Walsh from some of his fouler acts. He’d also been less rough, and she held out hope that he was finally growing bored of her and her disinterest. As long as he had Zelena to stick his cock in and stay in her favor, he still got his special privileges. Emma did dread him ever saying anything about these forced trysts, and knew that if they did end, she could be in danger of blackmail or worse.

Zelena was unaware of anything but the coming battle. The fear consumed her, and she studied the Navy ship’s pattern as well as books on its form. It would have at least sixty guns, a large crew full of experienced forces, and have a sturdy build for defensive maneuvers. She’d laid out what spells she’d need, and Emma and her worked non-stop to make a working defense.

The first step was an invisibility powder and a protective charm. Then, they’d enchant the cannons for accuracy and to fire on their own. Finally, they needed to enchant weapons so they could hold an enchanted flame or freezing shock. Zelena didn’t want this fight; normally offensive, there was nothing to gain from battle, which left her on the defense. She wanted to scare these Navy men. Let them see the witches and the women with the flaming weapons. Let them see the men who served, and the grace they wielded a sword that chilled an enemy to the bone. Emma mixed satchels of herbs, gunpowder, and magical poultices which created smoke that would bring on sleep or paralyzation.

When the sun rose in reds and purples, Meri whistled to Fa, a loud and high pitched sound that twisted at the end. Fa ran to Zelena, waking her.

“Captain, there’s a second ship. It was following closely behind the first.” Fa gasped, hands on her knees.

Zelena’s reply was graceful and eloquent.

“Shit.”

They held their breath as the Navy ships approached, obviously confused. A ship disappearing was unheard of unless sailing in shipwrecked waters, and a ship as large as The Emerald Envy of Oz didn’t just lift off the face of the sea. That was, of course, part of Zelena’s plan. The ships stopped at a small, anchored dinghy, a dummy sitting prone in its curved hull. Zelena nodded to her crew, and they watched with weapons ready as the navy sent a small boat to survey the anchored decoy.

Emma waited for Zelena’s signal, biting her lip.

A man stepped into the dinghy, hauling the dummy up, and he waved a handkerchief. Zelena saluted Emma, and Emma took a deep breath. She felt every muscle in her body tense, and the crackle of her magic rose up through her hair, wind swirling around her.

The dummy exploded, blowing the man to smithereens, and spurting strange purple goo that covered both navy ships. It stretched like tentacles, the consistency of thick molasses. Terror swept through the crews, some men stuck in the concoction, others trying desperately to get them free while getting stuck themselves. Emma laughed with wry amusement when a high ranking official jumped off the side of the ship to escape a blob. Other men tried to hit the substance with anything they had around, finding it able to hold even the heaviest barrels in its viscous grip.

Emma’s hands filled with light again, and Zelena watched with ecstatic glee as she raised them while performing the enchantment, gold spreading to their cannons. It was done. Leaning back against the mast, Emma took deep breaths as sweat beaded her brow. Zelena in turn cast a quick charm on their weaponry, lighting them with her signature green flame. Emma pulled out her own rapier, letting it light green, and joined the line of her crew.

As their ship moved closer to the goo-covered frigate and its companion, Emma smiled at the names scrawled on their hulls, now obscured. The Jewel of the Realm, now the Ew th Ream in its jellied form, on one side and the larger ‘Feared Avenger’, its own letters also covered by goo, making it the Red Ven. Without a nullifying charm, they’d be stuck for days like this.

When they were close enough to the larger ship, Zelena gave Emma one last signal. With a wave of her hand, their cannons began their enchanted firing and the invisibility charm fell. Shouts and screams of pure horror filled the air, the Navy unprepared for this level of an ambush. Her fellow crew mates answered with a roar of war cries, enchanted blades shining in the sun, as they flew to board each of the ships. Emma landed on the Jewel of the Realm with a roll, expertly avoiding the goo, and slashing the first man that ran at her with ease. Parrying attack after attack and letting her sword start fires on the deck as well as on men’s uniforms, she showed her teeth in a wide leer. Men ran terrified, the captain shouting desperately.

Shoving her rapier through another man, she set her eyes on who she assumed was the captain of The Jewel and smiled a predatory grin. The captain was tall, had sandy, coppery blonde curls, and was broad with a muscular build. She had the vague sense she’d seen him somewhere before, but that didn’t matter in this moment. She headed towards him when an attack caught her off guard. She parried back, and her attacker spun, going high. Blocking with her rapier, she aimed a hard kick in his gut, and he fell to his knees. She went to cut his throat, tipping his chin up at her with the point of her blade, when he glared up at her. Neither of them could hide their shock.

“You!?” he said, blue eyes wide and angry. His mouth pulled back into a sneer. The lieutenant she had shared her body with, had warned of death, a self fulfilling prophecy.

“Me,” she said sadly, and let the point of her rapier press into his neck. A small dribble of blood ran down to pool in his collarbone, blooming red in his shirt. Every muscle in her body felt frozen, her mind screamed at her to end his life.

He closed his eyes, and she took a step back, arm raised and unsteady. Emma lowered her wrist, unable to fight a feeling of wrongness.

The captain barrelled in to her with a roar, and she was quickly under him. He had her shoulder pinned and blue eyes that were so like the dark haired man met hers. The brother. He groaned and paled as he looked at her face, his weight crushing her. She looked down and saw her rapier buried deep in his thigh, blood gushing in spurts from a wound that meant certain death.

“Liam!” The dark haired man pulled the giant off of her, rolling him on his back as the sandy haired man turned white. She watched as they held hands, the dark haired man cradling his brother’s head. “Stay with me, stay with me brother. Please, stay with me.”

“Killian, I…” His head lolled, and Emma could see the large man go into shock. His blood coated her hands. For the first time in many years, it made her feel sick.

Emma moved to his side, and ignored the man called Killian’s rage filled protests at her approach. She was vaguely aware that not only was this wrong, it was sheer lunacy on her part. Her body moved out of her volition without regard of why. She pulled her rapier from the bigger brother, Liam’s, thigh. Throwing it aside, it clattered against the deck as she held pressure to the soaked thigh below her hands. Emma felt a blade press against her neck, Killian against her back. Ignoring it, she focused on her magic, knowing she would need to pull from that golden thread to heal something this bad.

“You killed him, you killed him you bitch. I’ll cut your neck and send you straight to hell you demon -”

The spark ignited in her hands as Killian rasped in her ear. White light poured out of her hands, and she pressed on the wound harder, ignoring the bite of the steel. Liam groaned, color returning to his face, his chest heaving with slow effort. The hand at her neck fell away as the man’s wound closed into a faint scar.

She felt the sobs against her back as Liam’s eyes fluttered open. Killian scrambled back to his brother, hugging him tight, as the battle slowed around them and her crew began retreating now that the point had been made. Snow gave a bird call, and they began to return to the Oz.

Emma picked up her rapier, wiping it on her pants, and went to walk away. A hand grabbed her wrist, and she looked down to see Killian’s tear filled eyes.

“I don’t know why you did it, I don’t know how you did it -” He gulped down another sob. “Thank you. Thank you, for -”

“Fuck off, and quit the Navy. You got lucky this time.” Emma pulled away from him, and both brothers stared at her as she carefully swung back onto the Oz’s boarding planks.

David, Walsh, Fa, and Merida poured the prepared potion on the Avenger, releasing its sticky hold on the Jewel. There were minimal casualties, besides David losing part of his finger, and a nasty gash that Fa had on her cheek. Zelena had killed most of the naval crew, and those that had bailed bobbed in the water as she took up her mantle at the wheel. Emma steered the Oz away, and the Avenger followed. Commandeered for their use the sailors watched helplessly, swimming towards the Jewel to be fished out of the water. The Oz and crew now controlled a fleet.

The former captain of The Feared Avenger flopped on the Jewel’s deck, wet and raging mad. He had caught a glimpse of one attacker, a woman glowing gold as she flew through attackers without quarter. A demon from his past sent to punish him and test his worth.

Captain James Nolan’s dear little sister was a pirate, and she had magic.

Chapter Text

But grief still has to be worked through. It is like walking through water. Sometimes there are little waves lapping about my feet. Sometimes there is an enormous breaker that knocks me down. Sometimes there is a sudden and fierce squall. But I know that many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.

-Madeleine L'Engle

It was cold. A chill permeated Emma’s chambers, waking her earlier than usual. With half the crew on the new ship they’d taken on, The Oz was a quiet, creaking thing of late, even as a running base of operations.

She started her normal morning routine of setting up the kitchen, waiting for Granny to join her and settle in for the day. As the sun rose in the dreary sky, Emma could feel the ship creaking from the caress of warm air. When the wood had stopped its moaning and Emma had finished all of her prep, there was still no sign of the old cook. Concern began to creep into Emma’s heart.

She moved to leave the galley when Walsh pushed his way in.

”You’re late.”

“Granny’s not here yet.” Glaring at Walsh, she made to move past him. He twisted her wrist up harshly, and she tried not to wince. “I’m going to check the bunk room.”

“Get back here quickly.” His eyes were red, lips tinged with a light blue. Scratching his neck, she could see his fingers were blue at the tips as well. Zelena must have gotten him one of his favorite treats, powdered poppy. Opium and drink put him in a great mood - up until it was gone. Most sailors wouldn’t touch the stuff unless they traded in it; going without was not only wholly unpleasant, but made you act deranged.

“I will,” she gulped quietly. The last time he was like this, he had demanded to indulge a particularly sadistic streak of his. He tightened his grip on her wrist until she could practically hear the bones grinding, before letting go and pushing her out the door into the hallway.

It was still chilly inside the ship, but a different type of icy chill shot down Emma’s spine when she heard David and Snow’s whispers coming from the bunkroom, their voices steeped in concern. Granny lay on a cot they had made for her when the hammocks became unmanageable for her body, her hacking cough echoing in the long room. Snow saw Emma and quickly moved to sit by the older woman’s legs. She tucked in a quilt around the edges of the cot, acting aloof when seconds before she had been holding David’s hand, her head on his shoulder as she talked low in his ear.

Emma loved that they tried to hide their affection, and until they were ready to admit anything, the entire crew played along. Granny’s cough brought her back to the present.

“I found her like this when I woke,” Snow said quietly. She picked at the fraying squares of the patchwork, eyes cast down.

“She’s on fire. Can you do magic or something?” David sounded tired, wringing a cloth in a bucket to place on Granny’s forehead. “Zelena will be worse than any cold if we can’t -”

“I’ll try. Sickness is tricky. It’s like threads I have to find that wrap around,” Emma shook her head, pinching fingers on the bridge of her nose. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s difficult and time consuming, especially so without a tincture, potion, or tonic helping along, because the body fights you like it’s fighting the sickness. I need time, and I need medicine.”

Granny coughed again, turning over with a raspy moan and vomiting into the bucket of water. Snow looked alarmed, while David simply rubbed the older woman’s forehead gently with the wet cloth that had clung there, whispering gently while she wretched. He exchanged a look with Emma, the whisper of years of silent conversations between siblings.

“We need to get on deck. We’ll do our best,” David stood, placing a hand on Emma’s shoulder briefly. “You do yours.” Snow watched him go with a look that Emma had no way of describing. It made her anxious, but it was gone just as quickly as it had graced her features, her brother disappearing onto the upper level. Snow kissed Granny on the cheek and disappeared after David.

Healing a wound was easy work, as long as blood pumped, vital organs were intact, and arteries remained without too much severage. It was when there was little blood left or blood poisoning present that tense seconds ticked by, or aid was needed from potions or ungents.

Emma could focus on a wound and feel the skin and vessels wanting to reform, feel the binding and mending of flesh, bone, blood, and viscera rejoining. It was like folding paper into shapes like she had done as a girl.

Healing sickness was the most difficult, though, even under the best circumstances. Emma had tried to save a few wayward souls that had passed through the ship’s crew, and had only once been successful. They were fulfilling a ransom for the newest Sultan of Agrabah, a princess on the run. When they found her, it was by sheer luck. She’d been delirious and rambling about her pedigree in a sick ward, skin slick with sweat and eyes hooded as she wasted away.

Emma looked at the spots on her body with pity. Contracting a bite from some insect that gave you this… what a way to die. She touched her skin, feeling the raised skew of the blotches that bloomed like dark purple petals on tan skin, heated by fever. The healers had already applied a poultice and given her a potion, which only seemed to help with the pain. The princess babbled on.

“Aladdin, I have to, I have to find the carpet and get to him!” The princess tried to sit up, but fell back with a moan.

Emma touched her shoulder, pushing down and kneeled at eye level with her. Wild, brown, bloodshot eyes met hers. “I need you to stay still, and try to be quiet. Maybe then we can get you back to this Aladdin, alright?”

Without waiting for an answer, Emma closed her eyes, and pushed the light through the woman’s body.

Immediately, she felt her magic burn from the disease. It coated the sick royal’s bloodstream and it felt like her magic was fighting through thick mud as it tried to cycle through veins. When Emma reached the princess’s heart, all she could do was focus on breaking down piece by piece any infection present, feeling the resistance and tugging to undo each spot.

The problem that remained was made easier by the potion that began to work now that the disease was mostly eliminated. There was very little left to heal, and the body’s reaction to missing components was pain. Emma worked for hours helping the princess rebuild her body, watching her moan despite the numbness that spread through her. Men had died with a tonic that helped the pain fade, sailors that had lived brutal lives. Emma watched this petite woman fight as hard as possible as her body recreated what it had lost. When she fell asleep with a sigh, Emma pulled away, confident that the sleeping princess would be okay.

Zelena looked over her work when Emma had finished, sitting exhausted by the foot of the cot.

“Good job, Emma. Impressive even. The Sultan of Agrabah will be happy to have his bride back and it’s a hefty reward for us. Your skill is unmatched.”

When the sultan’s loud and gaudy manservant, Iago, came to pick up the princess, she had cried behind her gag and struggled in her chains. When Emma heard that the Sultan, Jafar, had lost his new wife in a tragic, accidental death shortly after their marriage, she often wondered if Jasmine had ever found her Aladdin.

Cracking her knuckles, she began to focus on healing Granny. Finding the first thread was easy; its vibrant, pulsating color was streaking jagged green lines through the older woman's blood, bones, and nerves. Emma began to sweat, her magic struggling against whatever this illness was; its concentration and pattern unlike any illness she had ever tried to heal.

Granny moaned underneath her touch and Emma could feel the fever in her own blood, the pain of this ailment reaching into her own body as she worked. Looking for finer threads to start with, the intensity of the pain made her nauseated, and Emma found herself panicking. Whatever this was, it was like a burn, blistering its way in jagged splotches all over the elderly woman's body. There was no pinpointing the beginning or end of the threads to reattach or repair. Only more crooked fractures that Emma strained to repair quicker than another could crop up.

Hours passed, and both Granny and Emma began to fade. Emma was alive with growing terror and frustration as she pulled away to let Snow watch her for a short time again.

“Zelena’s asking about you,” Snow said quietly as she sat by Granny's side. “I didn’t know what to say to put her off, but she doesn’t seem to care that much this morning.”

Emma nodded, shakily taking breaths as she leaned against a support beam.

“Go get some water, and watch out for Walsh,” Snow’s eyes flashed, and flicked away from the bruises on Emma’s arms. “He’s on a tear today.”

Most of the woman-folk on the ship had realized by now that the brunt of Walsh’s rage was being focused on Emma’s body. Snow was the only one that knew for sure and in detail, catching Emma in a particularly bad way one afternoon. The growing friendship between Snow and David was one thing, but Emma found herself friends with many of the crew, Snow being the closest friend of all. When Emma had learned that the quiet woman would keep her darkest secrets, they’d bonded like they had always known each other. Snow worried for her, and Emma was immensely grateful for it.

“Thanks.” Emma stood on shaky legs, heading to fetch some water from the casks they had in the galley. She peeked around corners, and when she saw it was clear, tried to fill her cup. A slow trickle of ice water dripped out, the casks almost frozen through as well. Emma shivered, trying to stoke the small kitchen fire larger; the morning’s stack of wood barely hanging on.

When she was hit from behind, she felt the sting of her face smashing against the wood before she understood what had happened. She hadn’t heard him approach, being so tired and weak. He’d taken advantage of her like this so many times before as her forehead gushed blood and she dazedly felt him rip her corset apart to roughly grab her breasts.

“Walsh! Enough, not today, please...”

Emma let her magic spark around him, drawing it to a pinpoint, and whispered a memory charm she’d learned under her breath. Before she could finish though, Walsh’s hand found her throat. He squeezed her windpipe and she rasped, trying to get out the last words.

“Oh no no no, Emma.” His other hand slipped something onto her wrist, a cuff made of leather and metal. “No magic for you. Did you really think you could blast me away or use some charm to make me forget?”

She felt her magic abruptly stop. Felt the absolutely unnatural feeling of it stilling, a vital part of her being gone without a goodbye. Walsh grabbed her hair, yanked her away from the flame, and sent her sprawling.

“That,” he pointed towards the cuff she desperately tried to yank off her wrist, “is a neat little trinket Zelena’s been hiding away. It takes magic away from any user.” He smiled crookedly, and Emma felt pin pricks of fear rising across her skin. One of his hands forced its way under her skirts, as she tried to move away from him in revulsion.

“Walsh, listen, I -”

He hit her hard, her face slammed on the station in front of her with a crack. With the taste of tomato juice and copper in her mouth, he gave up with the skirts, instead focusing on raining down heavy blows with his fists. Her head was full of sparks and when he hit her cheekbone, she could feel her skin split. Emma fought against him, reaching back for any sort of weapon. Her side of the galley was bare, so she tried to scramble away to grab anything of purchase. Her head swam when one of his heavy handed blows caught her temple. Stars exploded as she fell back onto the floorboards.

“She said I could have you, you know. That she didn’t like her things touched, and she’d get you back. She gave me the cuff, the poison and a poppy bag. I already put the poison in the old bitch’s tea last night… ” He mumbled on, the opium mania descending in full splendor as Emma tried to scoot back away from him. She tried to process his delusional ramblings: Had Zelena found out about them, then?

Fever, vomiting, sweating, muscle spasms. All symptoms of the poison Emma had helped Zelena procure the ingredients for last week. She couldn’t heal the sickness, because it wasn’t sickness. Zelena poisoned her, poisoned an old woman with a drought that would end her life in agony, just to cause pain, just to spread misery -

Walsh managed to get a stomp in, digging his heel into her shoulder with crushing force, before her hand found purchase around a cleaver that lay under a shelf. Sliding it out, Emma pushed him as hard as she could and with his body unbalanced, dug the large blade into the side of his neck.

The scuffle had sent David, Rory, and Snow running to her as Walsh’s blood covered the front of her torn clothing, his body twitching and clawing at her as it processed that it was in its death throes. She scrambled backwards as Walsh moaned lowly, finally falling back with a final convulsion. David’s confused yells came from above her as Snow enveloped her in an embrace, but Emma was trying to get up. She had to get the antidote; they had to have an antidote for the poison.

“Can one of you take this damn thing off of me?” With voice raised and trembling, she pointed to the cuff, and Snow quickly pulled it off.

Pushing past them without explanation, Emma ran to the upper deck, pounding on Zelena’s door.

“What did you do!? Zelena, why, why, why would you do this?!”

The door opened, and Zelena grinned maliciously as she stepped out.

“Emma, pet, what could possibly bring you to my door! Aren't you supposed to be working? Or,“ her eyes narrowed, “playing with my things? How did that work out for you?”

“Walsh is dead.”

Zelena frowned. “Now that's a pity. Especially with how much fun you two had under my nose.”

“Zelena, it wasn't like that. He forced himself -”

“I'm not worried about it. He was growing tiresome anyway.” She examined her nails, and then cast a withering look towards Emma. “I suppose you're here about your Granny's antidote, then?”

“Please, Zelena, I'll take her to her granddaughter and she'll never bother you again. Your fight is with me, she's innocent.”

Zelena harrumphed, rolling her eyes. Pulling out a small bottle of corked liquid, she threw it at Emma. “Go heal your stupid Granny. While you can. Then get her useless old ass off my ship.” Emma ran as fast as she could towards the bunks.

Pouring the antidote down the old woman's wrinkled throat, Emma encouraged healing with her magic. She held her breath as the the poison resisted, finally letting a relieved sigh pass as the poison withered and Granny's body healed.

Emma helped Granny up on the deck as she explained, holding her arms as they made their way towards the small boat. Emma heard the shot ring out before she watched the older woman fall forward, face as shocked as Emma’s own, crumpling onto the deck. Emma turned and watched the smoke rise from Zelena’s pistol.

Zelena cocked her head, smiling wickedly. “Oops.”

Emma fell to her knees next to Granny’s side, stroking the older woman’s wrinkled face as David and Snow ran towards them.

“Granny, Granny, please -” Blood covered her hands, and Emma felt her heart break in totality. David slid next to her as she cried, trying to wipe the blood from her hands, even as it pooled on the deck of the Oz. “Please, pick up Ruby.” The old woman smiled, and reached for David’s hand. “I’m so proud of you both. And Emma?” she shuddered, smiling up at nothing. “When you kill that bitch, be a better captain than any you ever had.”

Granny passed, and Emma let herself shatter before standing to face Zelena. Zelena took a step back before lighting twin emerald fireballs, one in each hand. Shooting them in succession, Emma bounced them away with a wave of her hand, relishing the burn on her skin. Anything to not feel the pain of the grief she felt. To feel any other pain. Any other feeling.

Magic crackled under Emma’s skin, white light pouring from her hands as she approached Zelena. Zelena raised her sword, and Emma’s own rapier met the steel, magic and metal crashing on deck. Zelena was far more aggressive, non stop in her attacks of green flame and intense parrying that did little to buy time. Emma couldn’t focus, couldn’t feel that thread she needed that was so close; she could almost touch it if she reached - Time slowed. Emma touched the thread and felt the flare of magic flow through her, heard Zelena cry out in rage and fear as light spread in bright rays around her. Emma focused on the steady thrum of her heart, grounding her and the power she held gently in her mind. She trying to center it and keep it from pulling her apart, the strange feeling of being frayed at the edges as overwhelming as it was soothing. It felt natural and freeing, staring at Zelena and knowing she could scatter the woman to the breeze. Anger was there, a sudden greed and giddiness at what she could do, at what she could manipulate. Nothing stopped her from remaking stars, touching constellations, moving the moon. Emma looked straight into the light, the large golden eyes of this place watching her carefully.

A great noise rumbled, a voice that was so old it tasted like dust in her mouth, disembodied as it crawled through her ears.

“Beware, little one.” Something slithered beyond the eyes, a flicker of metallic gold, aged with patina. Emma’s senses screamed. “Where there is light, there is shadow.”

The instinct to let go was too great, survival over power. Dropping the thread, she retreated back onto the deck, breathing heavily. Only seconds had passed, the light that Emma had poured out attacking Zelena and scorching the ground around her. Zelena was blinded by it, making her green eyes look milky, and Emma felt the slightest pang of sympathy as the woman howled and clawed at her skin. Even her weapon had been thrown way, the heat melting the pommel.

“I’m going to take your magic, Zelena.” Emma whispered lowly. “And give you the sympathy you never gave anyone else. I’m going to take it, and you’re going to forget that you ever held this vessel and live a long life knowing you’ve forgotten something important. That is my curse for you.”

As Emma moved her hands to begin the spell, Zelena lunged forward, clawing at her in fury. This time it was instinctual, as easy as whistling or snapping her fingers. The thread was there and Emma metered its power so as to not be caught up in its enthralling pull. Zelena shot green flame at her in a desperate attempt, the witch fire falling back across her hands and licking up her arms until it engulfed her.

Emma watched Zelena burn with no remorse, giving her pity and forgiveness to the thread, its power leaving her grip once more.

Turning to her brother and Snow, Emma stood and looked over the Emerald Envy. She couldn’t do it. There were too many memories.

“Get your things. Move them to the Avenger.”

Her magic pulled inside of her and she let it crackle through her skin and tousle her hair, letting it give her wings. With a bright puff of smoke she stumbled onto the deck of the Avenger, landing palms down on the deck with a thud. Letting out a laugh, she stood, and brushed herself off while the few crew on deck looked on.

When they were ready to go, Emma tapped into that wire again, growing addicted to the feel of magic in her while just allowing the smallest trickle to pulse through her. The Oz burst into flames, and in a surge, the sails of the Avenger turned black as obsidian, banners glinting gold, soaring like some type of wings.

The crew voted on a name that night over Zelena’s pilfered wine, and in the capital city of Glowerhaven, the ship was remade and reborn into something that Emma cherished:

The Gilded Wing, with Captain Swan behind its helm, holding magic within its sails, golden wings that she felt like she was flying with. Nothing could take that away. Emma stayed true to her word and found Ruby in a tavern, ready at a second’s notice to leave and run to better things. They later found Regina, a sorceress that had been trying to return Snow to her throne with more difficulty, finally sniffing her out through a rumor spread about a magical artifact. She had initially not believed Snow had survived with Zelena, the alliance between the two shattered by a curse Zelena sent. Regina had barely survived and was nursed back to health by her soon to be husband, Robin. After begging from Snow, Emma, and eventually Robin, Regina reluctantly agreed to teach Emma better control of her faculties and to explain the fundamentals of magic - something Zelena hadn’t in lieu of power. Regina and Zelena could never access the light fully, instead falling into the easier threads of darkness. With Regina on board, however, Emma learned to control herself, to not have to see the strange golden world or rely on that golden thread to bring her magic forward.

The first battle between The Gilded Wing and another ship wasn’t even fair, two sorceresses on an enchanted ship that flew colors of black and gold ending the crew of a slave ship filled with gold from its last trade. The few slaves unsold that escaped told tale of a ship worse than the Oz, a dreaded ship that was both beautiful and deadly, a bird of prey disguised as a swan. The loot ran high, spirits higher, and for a little while everything felt right.

When Liam lay dying on the deck of the Jewel, Killian was sure Liam’s last words were to be his own name. The rage that had welled inside of him at watching the last person in his life he could trust die had almost killed the same person who saved Liam’s life; the angel (or demon) that they called The Swan. It could not have been anyone but her, and she'd saved them in a merciful act. Killian vowed to look past people more, and to control his anger - for his brother's sake.

Liam did not see the situation the same way.

“She and her filthy captain, that crew bent on spilling innocent blood; she is the reason we were there brother. Don't forget that she has killed hundreds just because she batted her eyelashes at you. She's a witch,” he'd snarled at Killian as they secured knots.

Killian swallowed hard. It was hard enough to call the woman who'd saved his kin a witch. He dare not tell Liam he'd also been brought to bury himself in her on a starlit night. Liam knew there had been someone from observing Killian gritting his teeth when he dreamed, or men's complaints about the breathy moans he gave in his sleep before waking enough to ease himself. He was thankful yet for the small lieutenant’s quarters: The Swan had bewitched him, and he would not see it end yet.

Liam had been focused solely on their new objectives and repairs being done to the Jewel, delaying them further from the king’s secret directive. They docked in a small town where Balsam wood could be used for repair, and goats were more plentiful than humans. Out in the field tending to a flock is where he met Milah. She had flirted with Liam first, offering them both cheese, spices, and milk for the galley, and then herself as a galley cook. Killian was all for the change from hard tack, but Liam firmly declined. The Navy had strict rules about dietary needs and costs.

Milah cared for neither of these, and let it be known. When she was found days away from her town as a stowaway, Killian was smitten. Liam begrudgingly let her stay, enjoying hot, palatable meals as they raced towards their destination.

Killian had never been in love, and Milah had described all the horrible men that had been in her life. Yet when he found himself in love with her, they had driven Liam crazy; sneaking off for kisses in the middle of the night, or swimming while at anchor, her breasts warm against his chest in the cold water. He still had dreams of blonde hair and green eyes, still had visions of her perfect lips under a starry sky, but Milah helped to divert his thoughts. If not quite love, deep infatuation was enough.

Milah broke rules and broke him with her warm mouth, her name on his lips when he couldn't stay quiet during her ministrations. Liam eventually approved of her when her eyes went wide, full of innocent glee, as they floated off the sea and into the sky towards the second star to the right.

Landing in Neverland, Killian couldn't shake the feeling of dread that seemed to dig at the back of his skull. It was subtle, he couldn't quite place what had him on edge, but it was there. Liam was edgier, the last correspondence from the kingdom on a possible spy within the crew shaking him. Milah had been needier as they'd left their realm as well. Though Neverland was devoid of almost all the magic it once held, it was still an unsettling place.

Milah tried to soothe him, their bodies pressed together in his small room, but his dreams were full of the same green eyes and echoed words, a variation of what she had said:

“You shouldn’t go to whatever hellscape the king is sending you to. He only sends men to their death. It’s not my place, but please, stay safe. They'll die, and you will too, in your own way.”

The dreams always seemed so real, her hair whipping in the wind, corset black in sharp contrast against a white dress, the front cut to reveal breeches. Her eyes burned into his like some fierce sea goddess. The warning seemed even more real, a plaintive portent that was spoken directly to him.

He mentioned it to Liam in passing, an innocent question as to the purpose of their mission.

“We're seeking a plant that can heal all that ails you. It will save our soldiers and anyone hurt by this horrific war. Don't let that witch get in your head, little brother.”

“Younger brother,” Killian muttered.

Later, Milah had rubbed tension from his shoulders, as he talked to her about his worries.

“I shouldn't worry you with all this,” he whispered, as she ran oiled hands over his shoulder muscles. “I shouldn't even be telling you about this really. Liam keeps saying it's privileged information. He's so on edge lately.”

“Who would I tell, my love?” she purred into his neck. “My only privilege is spending time with you.”

Flipping her onto her back, and pinning her underneath him, he grinned as she gasped. “I believe you will find,” he kissed up her neck, “the privilege is all mine.”

Liam and Killian were the first ashore on the isle and first into the thick forest that covered its shores. Liam held a map, given to their king by a decrepit man who once claimed dominion of the place, before falling for its curse. Killian shuddered. Magic was something he wanted no part in, even more so when it was dark magic.

They made their way through winding paths, over gurgling streams that he swore he could see gemstones in, and past strange fruits that smelled enticing. Everything here was a lure, a trick to stop the weak. Even absent of most of its magic, what survived was formidable.

As they crossed a forked path, he could not shake the feeling of being followed. Swearing he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, he grabbed his sword, only to be interrupted by Liam’s shouts as he pointed up towards a tall mountain peak covered in moss.

“That's where we'll find it, brother. The map points there.”

They climbed up the steep rock face, making their way to a clearing where sparse thorny plants grew. A grotto full of murky water and algae denoted what once may have been a spring or waterfall, long since dry.

Killian felt his neck hairs raise. This place was wrong. Something here was definitely wrong.

“Liam, does something feel off to you?” Killian whispered lowly, his hand once again gripping his sword.

Liam ignored him, focusing instead on the sparse growth of plants in front of him, and comparing it to his documents.

“It's brilliant, Killian! Everything is here, just like they said it would be. Dreamshade. We'll save everyone, everyone will know -” A shot rang out as Liam fell sideways, clutching his ribs. Killian turned to see Milah standing there, holding a smoking pistol, her head cocked in amusement. He couldn't even register the malice in her smile before she fired off a second gun, which resulted in Liam laying still.

“Don't move pretty boy. Let me get what I need, and I'll be on my way. I mean, after killing you, that is.”

“Milah, why? What have you done?!” Killian drew his sword, but she had readied a third pistol, pulling the hammer back with ease and aiming it at his chest. She motioned for him to throw his cutlass to the side, and he obliged.

“A woman has to eat. You thought your kingdom was the only one who wanted to be free of death and disease?” Carefully walking towards Killian and keeping her gun trained at his chest, she examined the plant and took careful cuttings of it. Placing them in a knapsack, she smiled sadly. “I did enjoy you though. In another time or place, I might have even loved you. Times are hard. I'm sorry it ends like this.”

Raising the gun to shoot at Killian, she fired as Liam got up and threw his weight on her, forcing her over the cliff. The bullet grazed Killian’s cheek slightly, but he was too busy moving, his hands reaching for Liam’s, to notice. Liam caught her knapsack as she dangled, almost going over with her, as Killian caught him and yanked him back. The strap of the knapsack broke as she tumbled, the brothers listening to Milah’s scream before it ended abruptly.

Liam was hurt, gurgling on blood, but they had the Dreamshade as they hurried to their ship. A little bit of it would not be remiss on the captain, healing him of his wounds. Killian helped him onto the desk in Liam’s quarters, yanking up his shirt to see the bloom of red where the ball had gone straight through.

“She hit a lung. Fuck, Liam, I'm so sorry -”

Pushing Killian aside, Liam reached for Milah’s knapsack, taking out the thorned plant and scraping it across his wound, squeezing its dark black sap into the exposed muscle. Killian gasped as his brother sighed in instant relief, his body relaxing. Killian had just turned around to grab Liam some water when the screaming began.

Killian dropped the glass with a crash as Liam seized, his body turning a mottled inky black, foam escaping his mouth as he convulsed, dark tears pouring from his eyes. He reached for Killian, and Killian held his hand, eventually cradling his body as it gave in to the torment.

Liam died after tens of hours of pain, the healthy man and captain’s heart unable to handle the strain from the poisoned plant. Killian sat through every agonizing minute of it, listening to his brother lose his life and cry for their mother.

It had been days; Liam wrapped in his sheets and uniform in the brig while Killian drank himself deaf to the echoes that seemed to swim around him. He destroyed his brother's quarters, tearing them apart in rage and agony. Sitting in the ruins of many books, awards, uniforms and other belongings, Killian came to an epiphany of sorts.

Who honestly cared if he was good? How had any of the precious and proffered teachings of good form saved any of the many men who had died under the king’s command? Or to say, any king, any supposed person with noble heart. Everyone he loved had died; everyone he loved betrayed him.

Lieutenant Jones died with Liam.

His hope for any life with a family or love died with Liam.

When a worried sailor asked if they could sail home, Killian was more beast than man. They sailed home, and when they landed upon a familiar sea, it was time.

Stepping out into the cool night air, he finally asked for Liam's body to be brought up from below and torches to be lit. He had ripped off his Navy uniform already, wearing only the shirt and a pair of dark breeches he'd found, unwilling to wear anything of the kingdom that used them like chattel.

Pushing Liam’s body into the sea, he turned to address the men standing there. His voice no longer trembled. He no longer served anyone and his life had one purpose: to avenge Liam.

“We are sworn to serve the king and the realm. They sent us to retrieve an unthinkable poison, one that killed our dear captain, my brother. Never again shall anyone set sail to that cursed land.” Lifting his torch, he set the Pegasus sail on fire, watching the embers float through the sky. He said goodbye to Liam one last time, his eyes burning like the flaming feathers. “And never again shall we take such orders - serving the king, fighting his wars! That is the way of dishonor! And all you who disagree, flee now or walk the bloody plank! For those who stay will be free men, and I will be your captain. We'll sail under the crimson flag, and we'll give our enemies no quarter. We'll take what we please! And we'll live by our own rules. For that is the best form of all!”

“It's time we rename this vessel. We no longer sail as the ‘Jewel of the Realm’. We now sail as the ‘Jolly Roger’. And when they come for us, I want them to know exactly what we are: pirates! For at least among thieves, there is honor!”

Under a night with no moon or stars, they painted by torchlight.

In the light of dawn, black sails rose on the Jolly Roger and its crew.

With Zelena gone, Emma had paved the way for herself to be known as an even more frightening sorceress; her ship’s name brought respect, awe, and fear wherever it sailed. Captain Swan was not to be crossed, nor was she to be disrespected. For every ounce of blood that lay across a plundered deck, another tale was told that included her name. Wild, untamed, sometimes merciful, and as lovely as the sun after days of rain.

Those who didn’t fear her made it a point to never have to. That was the way Emma liked it. Keeping the giant ship running with less than a third of a normal sized crew allowed everyone spacious living quarters and larger hauls, but it was arduous work for her magic. Enchanting every gun was tedious, but much needed, work. Not having to deal with undue toil to over stress her magic was wise. Emma took to being captain like a duck to water, her respect for her crewmates returned tenfold and then some. Her brother made an excellent first mate, able to disagree cleanly, evenly, and without bias; just as an older brother would. When a disagreement became too much, if ever, Snow was the ever efficient mediator. More often than not, the deck was alive with happiness, spoils plenty and cares light.

They chose where they sailed. No longer held by whatever whim Zelena felt, or what pastry she so fancied, they were free to explore and find new docks. The metal workers and blacksmiths in the far east sea of Xiao Bolang were exquisite and Fa, along with Merida, bartered with ease, their homes standing next to each other. Fa heiled from Soon-Tek Oh, which sat surrounded by smaller islands, lying across the way from Bear Paw Key and Dunbroch. Visiting the islands was prohibited by Zelena, who disliked the strange spices in the air and lack of baked goods.

The cities there were completely different than anything they had seen, a mixture of strong stone and delicate floral trees or paper windows, goats and sheep floating to a barely visible foggy island on small boats that were rowed by poles. Meri explained that both her ancestors and Fa’s had fallen into a portal around the same time as each other, too stubborn to do much than shake hands and decide to hack it here together. They gave up fighting the great wars of their past realms to survive, a combined dialect of speaking evolving that Meri and Fa called “a loud mess.”

After a particularly tense negotiation between Fa, Meri, and a blacksmith, Emma was delighted to be given a set of scimitars, much better suited for her needs and much more fairly priced. Their golden hilts were hammered and detailed to resemble feathers, swooping into wings where they met the knuckle bows. The pommel was simple, topped in mother of pearl. Dunbroch sold arrows, bows, furs, furniture, and other woodwork, and the crew left with their armory well stocked, but Soon-Tek Oh provided rich silks, indigo dyed linens, pottery, spices, rare ingredients for potions, and goose down pillows. The beds on The Gilded Wing became heavenly.

While stocking up in Korumpiran, the wasted land of King George, she overheard a broken ex-Navy sailor tell tale of a new terror of the seas, one with a stolen Navy ship that cut through water like a hot knife through fresh butter. Emma’s ears perked up at that. An enemy of the Navy was as good of a friend to her as any. She stood against the shop wall, pretending to be idly examining silken brocade. “Calls ’imself Cap’n Jones. Mad as one can be, ‘n still sails a vessel that fast. Changed ov’r the Jewel of the Realm to the bastard name of ‘The Jolly Roger’; killed e’er last Navy soul aboard it. Nothin’ left but soulless blackguards now, you ken?”

Emma pressed herself against a wall, pushing down the feeling that had bloomed like a flower in her chest. The Jewel of the Realm. Those poor men. She tried to shake off her heart beating faster, blue eyes locked with hers, or the taste of his lips as his stubble ran along the column of her neck. She’d warned them, saved them even to warn them again - if they had been lost to this Captain Jones, it was their own damn fault. Surely they would have left. Wouldn’t they?

“What of the old captain? Liam, was his name?”

“All dead. Jones slaughtered ‘em all, cut e’er man down until naught was left but ribbons. Took the ship for his own ‘n raised the black with his crew ‘neath it.”

“Pity. Liam and that crew were good folk, that they were. Especially for being the King's hounds, not like other Naval dogs. He and his brother were at least together.”

Her breath caught in her chest, and she finally stood, dropping the brocade and waving a farewell to the shop keep. Pushing down the thickness of whatever wanted to clog her throat and burn her eyes, she resigned her body back to numbness. Impassionate and clear, she made a note in her head:

Should they ever cross paths, Captain Jones was no foe, but neither was he a friend.

Killian Jones did not give a golden covered fuck about other pirates, sailors, merchants, Navy men, or anyone much for that matter. If he could have it minted and put on a coin to hand to crying widows or whoever else tried to stand in his quest for vengeance, he would. Any vessel with a lick of sense saw his ship flying the black and knew to surrender, flee, or fight - although he much preferred the surrendering to a quick and bloody chase or an even bloodier battle.

He’d had his first run in with another ship flying the black around the coast of Rougehelm, their well placed warning shot enough to draw Killian back into an uncontrollable rage, cutting them down until only three men stood. They left with a clear story to tell anyone who dared to cast the first stone: The Jolly Roger was not to be trifled with.

Heaps of merchant goods, gems, golden treasures, bonds, maps, furs, and spices filled their hold. He eventually had the crew vote on someone to keep track of all the shit he couldn’t be bothered with, and a man named Hector Smee became his first mate. The man was competent enough, and while annoying without rum, was easily ignored with several fingers warming Killian’s stomach. Besides a few mutinous advances that Killian cut down with ease, most of the men took to piracy quite well, especially with its lucrative and lewd rewards. Killian found himself with a heavy purse, a full glass, and as much female company as he could stand every time they decided to make way to land. He couldn’t complain, especially as the Navy pissed itself every time he appeared on the horizon and women whispered when he winked their way.

They made their slow way to King George’s kingdom of Korumpiran, picking off any Navy vessel that didn’t flee back behind its mother’s skirts. Slave vessels and merchants heavy with slave labor were another favorite of Killian’s, though if asked, he’d ignore any trend of goodwill.

Not all was easy. Men were lost as battles drew on, then replaced. His crew changed as his name rang through the seas. Will Scarlet, a quiet, sullen man in the Navy became outspoken and brash under a black sail, while new crew brought its own issues. It also brought a brooding Southerner with charcoal rimmed eyes. He had tanned skin and a thick accent, simply calling himself Z, which he handily carved into the first man who tried to cut him down. In Llörburg, Killian conscripted another two men to join, a Jefferson Hatter and August Monstro. Both earned their keep and were handy enough with a blade; even better with a flask.

Jefferson was the first to see the large Navy vessel flying black and gold as it gave them wide berth, a bold and rather dishonorable trick to fly pirate colors to escape The Jolly’s wrath. Killian gave orders to make chase, and they easily shortened the distance between the two ships. The galleon gave no warning fire but instead, let its black and gold banners stream freely; its flag not the Navy’s crown but white wings behind a stabbed heart.

Killian frowned as they grew nearer, the larger ship defensive in its maneuvering. He could see crew, but none in uniform, a handful of men instead of the normal full Navy battalion.

There was a noise like the last sigh of wind in a summer squall, and he caught the swirl of white smoke in his peripheral. Even drunk, he had his cutlass drawn and raised as the form of a blonde woman appeared, blinking in the sunlight as if she’d seen a ghost.

“You!?”

He gawked for only a moment, blaming the drink, before he smirked crookedly, giving a theatrical bow reminiscent of their last meeting.

“Aye, love. Me.”

Emma felt her stomach flop as it always did when she teleported. She was only able to teleport short distances if she was maintaining her guns on The Wing, her body jostling as it gathered itself together on the deck of the unfamiliar ship that made chase. The blasted thing was a demon built for speed, and she’d only seen one other like it. When it had come closer, she knew it for sure; it was time to meet Captain Jones and his Jolly Roger.

Landing on the deck was a risky move, but displaying her power early had always been an advantage in her book; magic was still widely feared by seafaring folk. Playing a card as a warning that was only a parlor trick in her repertoire had many a man turn tail, dragging a yellow belly away from her sight. Confidence was key.

When she caught sight of red rimmed eyes that were the same blue as the cloudless sky, her confidence was traded for shock.

“You!” Her stomach flopped again and she cursed teleportation.

The bastard bowed. He bowed to her as her cheeks flamed and his crew laughed.

“Aye, love. Me.” He smirked at her, and she took a hissed breath between her teeth so she would not burn his entire ship to ash.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she gave a smile that was probably too heavy on teeth. “Captain Swan.” She curtsied to imitate his idiotic melodramatic pandering. “May I ask why you are chasing after my ship when we both fly the black? Are you in the business of attacking other pirates? Because if you are, I do warn you -”

He took a step forward, cutlass lazily held to his side. “I believe, Swan, since you and I have been acquainted rather,” he gave a wave of his free hand, gesturing at her body and licking his lips, “thoroughly, the formality isn’t needed.”

Her face flamed again, and she gripped the hilt of her own blade. This bastard son of a whore and a goat, she’d kill him; slice him through from navel to stubbled neck!

“Oi, careful now love. I’m just giving you a bit of the attention you ladies crave,” he grinned, cheekily.

“The moon has loved me all my life. I’m sorry if your attention pales in comparison.” She drew her scimitar, and his eyes flashed. “Avert your course. I want nothing more to do with you or these antics of yours.”

His crew laughed, hooting, jeering, and shouting. He stepped closer. “Duel me.”

She laughed, scoffing at him and his arrogance. “You’re drunk, and an idiot. Avert your course or I’ll -”

“Duel me. If I win, you give me your name and your earring there. You win, I avert my course, and we part ways across the twelve seas, hopefully never to grace each other’s company again.”

“No.” She eyed him warily, raising her hand, readying her magic.

“Ah. You’re afraid.” He laughed, and she bristled. “I am not afraid of a louse like you, you pompous -”

“You’re an open book to me, love. And,” his eyes burned through her, no longer sunlit sky, but hard ice, “you are afraid.”

“Fine. We duel.” She took her stance, looking up at him as he grinned like a lunatic. He flew at her, faster than she would have thought him to be in his drunken state, as she played defense. He attacked again and again, no pattern to his movements other then offensive might and pure showmanship, theatrics even present in his style of sword. She parried easily until he spun, catching her off guard at the complete idiocy of the move itself. He caught her thigh with a hand while the other pushed her scimitar up.

“Normally,” he whispered lowly, voice husky, “I prefer to do other more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back. With my honor on the line, you’ve left me no choice. A bit of advice? When I jab you with my sword, you’ll feel it. You might want to quit.”

Heat bloomed where his hand rested, and she shivered. Emma was done with this game.

“Why would I do that when I’m winning?” she growled, throwing herself back to catch him off balance. They tumbled back, and he pinned her against the side of his ship with a triumphant grin. When she pressed her scimitar harder against his gut, however, his smile fell. “A draw, then,” he whispered lowly, and Emma could see the dark bags under his sunken eyes more clearly. She glanced over his shoulder, realizing quietly that his brother was missing from the crew seen on deck. Silence passed between them, and he stood, withdrawing his sword. “A gentleman’s word is his honor.” He extended a hand to her, but she stood bracing herself against the railing.

“You, Jones, are no gentleman.”

He chuckled lowly. “Your name then? As consolation?”

Her magic crackled around her, and smoke swirled as she disappeared back to her ship.

He almost hadn’t heard it, but it felt right when he repeated it quietly to himself in his cabin that night.

“Emma.”

Emma had discovered that sailing to a port was similar to what she imagined living in a large city would be like.

You’d wake up in the morning with set chores, cleaning house or baking bread, possibly go to market or attend to a trade. A set course of action with little deviance in routine, until it was planned. You knew your house well, the main paths to get you to your shops of preference, and had a vague idea of where other locations were.

And, no matter how hard you tried to map every section of your city, it was always changing or unvisited. Emma liked that about the sea the most. It was freedom from everything- and anyone.

When The Jolly Roger made its way to the pirate town of Redwater Sanctuary, Emma choked on her ale as its smarmy ass of a captain had sauntered into The Quartered King’s Grave like he actually belonged in the pub. His crew followed after, raucous and bawdy, causing David, Emma, and Snow to exchange looks. Tensions ran high enough here already without some green sea pup fed off a Navy tit trying to break bread. Emma made a signal with her hand, and her crew begrudgingly rose to leave as the first fights began.

She might of heard her name called over the din, but then again, who could say.

Weeks later, after a trip to the Far East to help smuggle (and pilfer) jade, they returned to Redwater Sanctuary. To Emma’s absolute bewilderment and disgust, The Jolly Roger came in only a few days after they had laid anchor - and its crew was greeted like they were old company. Even Laurel, the sour faced hag that ran the pub, burst into a grin with all three of her teeth when Jones walked in.

“Laurel! And a good evening it is, now that I am in your fine establishment. Pour a parched man some rum, lass!” He gestured to his men and a few other assorted tables including her own, “And get them something palatable as well. My gold runs free tonight!”

Laurel tittered like a school girl, and Emma’s eyes could not roll any further if she took them out to use as dice.

For what it was worth, the idiot left her alone for most of the night as everyone drank, danced, and a lone pianist plucked away at a poor excuse of a piano. Emma let herself relax, falling back into routine and the careful balance of drinking enough to feel good, but not enough to chip away at her carefully crafted walls. Drunk, but not blacked out or incapacitated. Alert enough to be aware of anything else but being… her.

The slow buzz crept through her, and she let herself smile lazily while surveying the scene.

David and Snow were gone, most likely reading each other sonnets or whatever innocent act Emma could convince herself to believe over what her brother was probably doing. Meri and Fa were spinning each other wildly to the tune playing, getting hoots from some of the onlookers. Rory and Philip were locked face to face with no signs of stopping. Belle was probably in the crow’s nest reading as she didn’t care for drink. As for the others, they were drinking heartily and laughing as they all watched Ruby leading several women away to a long hall that connected to the inn next door, looking down right predatory with the women being her prey.

And Jones? He was staring at her with blue flame eyes as he threw back another glass.

Emma gave him a nod of acknowledgment and looked back down at her own glass, swirling the contents. He looked better than the last time she’d seen him, even in her brief glance. His eyes even from a distance were more alert, not as red rimmed or full of grief. When she looked up again, he was talking to his crew and she looked again for his older brother. Still no sign of the broader of the two, though. Maybe the gossip was true, and Jones was alone. Emma chewed her lip, before letting her attention drift elsewhere.

As the night dragged on, people trickled out into the humid air or retreated to the inn. The crowd in the tavern became far thinner and the air much smokier. Card players and drunks were mostly the last hangers on, or people like Emma who simply didn’t want or have somewhere they’d like to return to. As Emma prepared herself to leave for the night, she made sure to help Fa get a very drunk Meri into a room at the inn for the night. “Aye’m not tree shades t’the wind, ken carry me’self thanks,” Merida slurred as she collapsed on a bed. Fa rolled her eyes. “Captain, I believe we closed our tab, but -”

“I’ll check Fa. Get some sleep, and keep an eye on her.” Emma gestured to Meri, who had rolled over, red faced.

“This ‘en? Oh, aye, she’s always got eyes ‘en me, don’t ye?” Fa blushed and glared daggers at the giggling redhead, closing the door.

As Emma made her way back to pay Laurel, she could hear strains of someone singing.

"I never met a maiden,

So cruel as the sea,

But maybe she's the maiden,

Who was made for me.”

A drunk Jones sang quietly while playing piano, Laurel watching intently as the last drunks slept on tables and a handful of his crew looked on.

“ ‘Cause my Father sold me for gold,

And my Brother will never grow old,

And my Mother lasted naught 6 springs,

But the sea’s a maiden who I can tell these things.

I never met a maiden,

So cruel as the sea,

But maybe she's the maiden,

Who was made for me.

I never met a maiden,

So cruel as the sea,

But maybe she's the maiden,

Who was made for me.

Yeah! She's the only maiden,

Made for me.”

Laurel wiped away a tear from her eye, clapping as Jones turned around with an impassive expression on his face. Emma quickly turned, placing coins on the long and uneven bar counter, looking at him one more time before she made to leave.

“Swan.” Hook’s voice was heard coming from behind her. He had to have ran to catch up to her, breath hot on her neck.

“Yes?” Emma turned, and forced an annoyed look at him. “What the hell do you want?” “Right, then.” He quirked an eyebrow before closing the distance between them. Emma didn’t care, frustration high and annoyance tempering her boldness. He pressed his lips to hers and they both fell into a rhythm of bruising kisses and pushing emotion aside to focus on their hands tugging each other’s hair. His tongue slid along her bottom lip and God he was so drunk, hands under her clothes branding her skin hot, cheeks flushed as he pulled her into an alleyway.

“Emma!” she heard David call. She sighed.

“That’s just my brother looking for me; ignore it.” She focused in on sucking on his collarbone, his groan sounding pained. “Hurry up, this needs to be quick -”

“You,” he took a heaving breath, flipping her to press against crates, thumping sounds of some fruit hitting the ground behind them as he kissed her with growing need. “You have,” he let out a breath, “a brother? On the ship with you?” His tongue was fire, striking sparks along her skin like a match head, laving along each curve and swell of her body, making her tremble almost painfully.

“Yes, tall one that glares at you. Called Charming, or David,” Emma spoke quickly, her breathing shallow. “Have another, but he’s gone.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, lust and dark irises giving way to something visceral; Emma seeing a mirror of her own hidden pain in his face. The air around them that once felt vibrant and alive fell flat, cloying, and claustrophobic, David’s voice echoing in the narrow space again.

“I should -” Emma whispered, pulling away. Hook nodded and relief crossed his face, the moment of weakness between both of them belonging only in this space where it couldn’t harm them. His eyes were glassy, face tense. Hook turned, his shoulders hunched under his coat as he headed to somewhere he could escape.

Walking back to her ship, she steadied her body, trying to swallow back the emotion threatening to escape through leaks in her manicured armor, his sad voice and the expression on his face so familiar. When she climbed into the massive bed in her too large quarters, she buried her face in her pillow, wearing the exact same impassive face that his eyes had betrayed. When tears over took her, she cried, knowing that feeling of loss all too well.

Months turned to years as The Jolly made its way through the twelve seas, with Killian seeking his revenge.

Time eased some pains as he took the time to read Liam’s journals, his careful and tidy script filling page after page with notes. He wrote about weather, wind patterns, currents, constellations, and sometimes Killian or the occasional memory of before. Killian found himself lost in the words of his brother, hearing his voice as clear as if he was sitting next to him. He found his brother’s careful penmanship in other places as well: the margins of books with precisely folded pages or on one of the multiple rolled maps found in his cabin. Killian had mapped currents himself, depths in various shoals and reefs for easier passage, designed his own courses with rosters, his own careful plans of attack against whatever may be thrown at him.

He gave no quarter to anyone under a crown, but he fought his battles carefully; shrewd strategy taking its hold over rage and drink. For the most part, that is. He’d had the unfortunate luck to cross paths with The GIlded Wing around once a quarter at least, and usually under the worst of circumstances. This time was no different. They’d come broadside upon a merchant vessel past a rocky outcropping, the ship raising its guns as it changed course to reveal not only damage, but the pursuing Swan as well.

Before either could react, The Jolly had fired in time with The Wing’s enchanted cannonry, and the vessel had splintered in half. He could practically hear Swan curse him before The Wing had made course directly towards their position. Raising his spyglass, he could see her form, arms crossed as her hair swirled in its sunlit tempest around her.

He motioned for his men to send a scuttle ship anyway, knowing that regardless of if he took the bounty quite literally floating his way, he’d soon pay call to her anger. It only took a few hours of both crews picking over the broken timbers for her to appear.

“Gilded Wing off port side!” yelled someone from the rigging, but it wasn’t enough of a warning as a white cloud of smoke had already appeared across his deck with Captain Swan materializing from it.

Killian could feel her tension coming off in waves, anger coloring her chest and cheeks a blushing red. No manner of flirting or stolen kisses would calm her down, and his blood boiled as well at the loss of bounty.

Even more frustrating was her constant need to settle the score by stomping aboard his ship to give him grief, smelling like honey, salt, jasmine, and cinnamon; her skin pale, but flushed. He hated the effect she had on him and, at the same time, be a complete pain in his arse.

“How dare you, you complete and utter cow's ass.” Her chest heaved, her fists balled in anger, as she paced his cabin like a caged animal. “You had to have seen our ship. You had to have noticed that we were in pursuit.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And you, love? You didn’t see that we were also, clearly, in pursuit? If we’re talking about parents, I heard your mother was probably the devil herself, considering you’re born of hell fire and malice for all living things.” He sneered at her, a cocky half smile mixed in. “Possibly dead ones too.”

“I hate you,” she snarled. “I’d rather be in league with the devil and Calypso herself than you, you pompous, overbearing, arrogant, egoistic-”

“You forgot dashingly handsome,” he said, moving to pour himself a glass of rum. “If I’m to listen to you espouse my unique qualities, I might as well have something to drink.” He waved his hand in a circle. “Dinner and a show, as it were.”

She fumed before closing her eyes and rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Look. I know you saved some brocade, so did we. Let’s not make this a complete loss for either of us. I told my crew to sort the brocade and see what is salvageable. If you tell your crew to do the same, we can each walk away with something in our coffers. I don’t want to waste time arguing with a cocksure ass of a man when the wind is fair.”

He scratched his scruff, contemplating her offer. Throwing the rum down his throat, he nodded. “Aye. I’ll tell my crew to spread it out. We’ll come back to the ledgers and see what we can split. The wind isn’t the only thing that’s fair though, Swan.” He gave her a salacious eyebrow wiggle and she glared at him. “It’s hard not to be cocksure when I’m right.” He shrugged and breezed out the door without letting her have another word.

Killian headed up on deck, giving Smee a few orders, and made sure a few good pieces from their plunder were hidden away in the very high likelihood she’d do the same.

When he came back down the ladder, she was comparing their ledgers at his desk, bent slightly so her leather breeches were on full display to him. He could feel that dark pull, a spark of embers that began at the base of his spine, and shot straight to the tip of his cock. He imagined her wet and hot, taking her with quick snaps that made that pretty mouth only able to wordlessly moan as she writhed, and he-

“Jones. Jones!” He snapped back to attention, looking at her. She looked even more annoyed. “Are you even listening to me? We can split the saved brocade from the Phoenix, and I’ll give you my Agrabahian spices, except for cinnamon, for a third of your Arendelle Crystals. It should balance us out.” She jabbed a finger at the ledger.

Killian moved beside her, checking her work, and leaned in far more than was proper for even a pirate to catch a scent of her hair. She looked at him and examined his profile.

There was a familiar gleam in her eyes along with some unrecognizable expression that transformed her face into soft curves and edged points. The closest he got to placing it was the crazed, dangerous look a predator gets in their eyes when something comes into its vision while on the hunt. She’d done something to con him, he was sure of it. She was an open book to him after all.

After combing the ledger, he noticed the trickery on her part. She’d divided the crystals unevenly, a well placed ink blot to leave him with an eighth instead of two-thirds. He chuckled, guiding her hand to the blot, feeling her tension rise.

Moving directly behind her and pointing, he whispered into her ear, slowly and menacingly. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That you could really fool me out of that much, when I can see your games from leagues away?”

Swan’s stiffness melted away, and he could practically feel her smirk as she pressed that lovely ass hard into his groin, grinding against him and letting out a demure purr. He groaned, bucking his hips instinctively, his hand tightening on her wrist. Her body was suddenly fluid in ways that made his legs want to shake; back arched and body firmly pressed against his own.

“You weren’t listening before when you were admiring my ass, I figured I could add what I wanted as a finding fee.” She moved her hips in a figure eight against his growing hardness and he hissed, throwing his head back. His other hand gripped her hair, forcing her to look at him.

“You know what you’re playing at, Swan? What happens after kisses from men like me, what women do for men like me? Do you know how much I’ve wanted to shut you up with my cock in your mouth while you suck me dry? I'm not who you ran from that night,” he growled into her ear. “Do you know what I’ll do to you, what I’ll make you scream?” Pressing wet kisses up her neck and to her ear, he sucked the lobe and heard her breathing hitch.

“And I’m not some two silver whore, Jones.” She smirked up at him and captured his mouth in a sideways kiss that had him losing breath, his cock tight in his leathers. “They may pretend that you’re special. I won’t.”

He broke, flipping her to face him and kissing her hard enough to bruise; the tension they had finally discovering its sound in her breathy moans and his groans of pleasure.

“We’ll see who’s pretending, Swan.” He licked his lips, capturing her mouth in another kiss. Her eyes were dark, one hand now fisted around the lapels of his coat as their tongues met, the other hand moving down under his leather confines until it wrapped tightly around his cock, pumping in time with his rutting.

She was no whore, that much was true.

Swan was more than that; his rival, his foe, the nemesis in his story. He would lose himself in this fuck if he could, give himself over to the primal needs that she brought to the surface so easily; driving him mad with the sight of her coat flapping behind her, her hair in the wind on her ship. He’d wanted her again for so long, sometimes waking from dreams where she moved under him, leaving him hard, aching, and lonely.

Her glances at taverns when she thought he was oblivious, the column of her throat exposed when she laughed, and the occasional drunken, angry kiss was never enough. He wanted her the way she’d given herself on that starry night, both of them taking, his mind innocent to what horrors waited in the future - but that was impossible now. Now, he’d settle for fucking her like he hated her, let his body channel the rage he had into slamming his cock deep in her body and forgetting everything for a moment.

Killian jerked her breeches down and she was glistening, ready for him already. His fingers softly trailed her slit before thrusting them roughly inside, watching her move against his hand as the desk pushed backwards, papers flying everywhere, an inkwell spilling to the floor. She cried out and he felt that clench on his hand, her tight quim begging for something more. He bit her neck harshly trailing marks down her collar, rutting against her thigh.

“Swan, you siren, I need -” He continued fucking her with his fingers while he tried to push everything off the desk. She got the idea, and swept everything off easily, bring his free hand to her corset to yank it down, releasing her breasts. His mouth latched on a nipple, while his thumb rubbed her clit in circles, bringing her to another shattering crest of pleasure. He brought wet fingers to her lips and she sucked, eyes blown wide and panting. She shucked off her breeches, looking at him with kiss swollen lips parted.

“Jones, if you don’t fuck me on this desk, I swear to every fucking God-”

He flipped her onto her stomach so she was laying on the desk and thrust himself deep, biting her shoulder as he sunk himself to the hilt. They moaned together, and he slammed in her again and again, snapping his hips, claiming his pleasure. She met him thrust for thrust, clawing at his desk, as curses and meaningless moans of almost words spilled out of her mouth. He was already close, and if he truly cared, he’d be embarrassed by how much so. The way she pushed back against his hips, up on her toes while he needily fucked her was beyond words; driving him more insane than any whore, or maybe he just liked fucking someone he hated. At the moment, he couldn’t be bothered to give it much thought.

He felt the first wave of her body grasp him, and heard her keening cry. She let out breathless gasps as he continued, letting her spasms pull him deep, gritting his teeth to stay on that edge. He held her tight, hip bones hitting each other hard enough to bruise, skin smacking roughly, and Emma’s nails biting into the wood of the desk. He kept himself held between the agony and pleasure for as long as he could, but her hand snaked between them to stroke the seam of his sack and he came apart.

“Bloody fucking buggering hells, Swan!” Killian pounded into her with stuttered, sloppy thrusts until coming with force while buried in her, head thrown back and her name chanted like some prayer, stars practically lit behind his eyes. He could feel her body clenching on him again, and they shuddered together in silence while they floated.

He rested his head on her back, willing his heart to slow down as below him, she did the same. He absentmindedly kissed her back softly, and regretting the moment of vulnerability, pulled out of her warmth with one slow motion. He would swear that she whimpered.

Grabbing two soft cloths and wetting them in his basin, Emma took one from him. He smirked at the way he could see how much of himself leaked down her thighs. In another time or place, he would devour her after being fucked so well. Instead, he offered her a different reward.

“You can keep the crystals,” he said after properly cleaning himself and lacing his leathers back up.

“I planned to.” Her smile was devilish and he felt his cock twitch, ready and willing to try and work another deal. Her eyes spoke the same thing, that this loophole for bargaining was a willing exploit.

They separated the brocade, the crystals, and the spices, and he stole a few pieces of jade off her ship in recompense. When she was sailing away, he noticed that she’d taken a pouch of dubloons and a swath of fur as well. She was a bloody, insufferable woman. Next time, he would take her twice as hard, and bring her to the brink with his tongue, making sure he left no room in her thoughts for stealing from him.

“Storm's brewing, Captain,” Jefferson called down from the crow's nest. “Hurricane - looks like.”

Killian didn’t need his spyglass to see the wall of dark gray clouds that was approaching forcefully. The waves had already begun to pick up as he ordered the storm sail put down and everything else battened, contemplating a course of action with Will and August.

Jefferson called down again, this time with a little more urgency in his voice. “Navy giving chase, off starboard!”

This Killian did need his spyglass for. Sure enough, a frigate was making towards them with haste, sailing diagonally. Wind gusted and water crashed over the deck from waves that rocked them. Even if they sailed diagonally in suit, The Jolly was not meant to handle storms; she was meant for speed, but not through something like this.

“Keep course!” he shouted to Will who stood at the helm.

The Navy vessel moved through the choppy water like a demon, advancing without stop. Killian felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle, lightning crackling nearby lighting the gray. The first boom he heard was thunder, the sky opening up above them. The second hit the ship directly with a shudder, cannons from the Navy vessel firing.

“Return fire, Captain?” August was shouting, waves beginning to whip over the deck, Killian helping men tie down the best that he could. Wind roared overhead and the rain flew at them sideways.

“Aye, just tie down the bloody cannons!” Another wave crashed over the deck as the navy vessel continued its assault, the captain of the ship possibly the devil himself to not have fear of the storm bearing down on them. But this -

The Jolly struggled through the rough water, waves thrashing her back and forth while they tried to evade the guns of the ship sending its fire. It pressed on until it was on them, then next to them, throwing tethers onto the hull and forecastle.

They were totally unprepared. He could hear the other captain’s barked orders over the roar surrounding them. The man was mad, laughing as the sea itself tried to tear them apart. Killian barked his own orders and his crew was with him as they boarded, rain soaking him to the bone.

The naval ship lurched underneath him as he punched another man, sprawling him across the deck before finishing him with a short thrust of his cutlass. Killian moved towards where he heard the captain giving his maniacal orders to ‘kill every last deserter’, the words part of the storm itself. He recognized the man’s eyes, the insanity underneath. James Nolan. Killian and Liam had been at the academy with him, watched his ruthlessness and how he pleased the higher ups with charm. He’d assaulted several women and possibly killed one, all covered up by his superiors as he rampaged for them. The man smiled broadly, lightning casting a ghoulish pallor across his face. The man looked strikingly familiar in the rain, his face similar to one seen in a crowd, but he couldn't place where. Killian stepped towards him, making move to end his life.

“Jones!” he called out. Killian gripped the hilt of his cutlass steady, the man speaking as if he were greeting an old friend. “Ready to meet your traitor brother?”

Killian was suddenly forced back by the pressure of loose untied freight rolling across the deck, the crushing weight pushing him against the far stair as the battle raged. He heard Jefferson yell over the sound of waves tossing the ships, registering the warning before he felt the first hacking slash. His wrist burned as he screamed, Captain Nolan’s blade coming down again and again, sloppy cuts on his flesh that he couldn't block.

He watched his forearm shorten as his hand dangled by a thin membrane. Jefferson and Scarlet were running towards him as the ship rocked, Scarlet yelling orders to get the Jolly ready. James only laughed, more of his men slipping forward in the rain. The deranged man slashed again, and Killian saw his hand hit the bottom of the stair with a wet thud. He felt more heat leaving him as blood poured out of what had once been attached to his hand.

Killian’s vision blurred, and he let his head fall back with a hard crack on the stair, watching idly as the uniformed monster in front of him raised his blade to end him, his green eyes mad with rage.

Killian closed his eyes, another pair of matching jade eyes swimming across his lids.

The end never came, though. Instead, he heard metal meet metal so close to him he could almost feel it in his teeth. Hands pulled him from under the boxes and barrels. He cracked his eyes open, vaguely aware through the now gusting rain that they were running towards a gang plank. He pushed the pain down and swam above it, pulling away from none other than Scarlet. He whistled, and his crew pulled back together, helping to carry those injured back to the Jolly as everything rocked in the waves.

The gang plank creaked, men running across it as Killian himself raised a pistol trying to get them safely back to the Jolly. When he was sure Scarlet and he were the last ones left, they made their way back as guns thundered, the sky opened further in its storming rage, and a sweeping wave splintered the gang plank, sending them sprawling onto the deck of the Jolly.

Killian screamed orders to his crew, letting the Jolly take on as much water as she could bear as they sped away further into the storm, somewhere where The Kingsman could not follow.

When they creaked out into light gray skies, he took his leave, yelling for Smee to bandage him. Smee did his best, stitching what he could salvage and wrapping his stump in gauze, but Killian was too enraged at the loss to hurl anything but abuse at the man. He gritted out a request for rum, and the moron wrung his hat, flustered.

“Is that smart, Captain?”

Killian stood, turning on the man quickly and jerked him forward by the collar with his good hand. His good hand, now to be a normal statement. The implications of how he would no longer have his hand hit him, and he narrowed his eyes to glare into Smee’s terrified face.

“You don't want to ask what's smart for me to do, Smee,” he hissed. “You just might find skinning you for shoes may be something I consider smart at the time.”

Smee's eyes were wide as he stammered, and Killian threw him to the door.

“Now, get me some rum, you pitiable lump of pure inadequacy.”

Smee scurried off, leaving the medicine kit as Killian began to pull off the large leather tourniquet from his forearm. Noticing the easy movement it provided as he took it off, he sketched something quickly on a scrap piece of Liam's parchment.

Smee brought him rum, and he worked on his sketch with a single mindedness that didn't just border madness, it was madness. He turned away food, only barking orders to Smee or Scarlet as he focused resolutely on his goal. Smee brought him a meal regardless every day at two.

His forearm itched and throbbed, but rum helped numb any real discomfort as it brought him into a steady heat. The warmth was so intense he found himself sweating and shivering, hair stuck to his face as he adjusted measurements and consulted his brother's books. When Liam appeared to give him pointers after a week, he thought it was strange, but talked to his brother anyway.

“I don't know what I should use as the piece here,” he tapped the page, where scribbled ideas for weapons had been scribbled out. A sword was too heavy, a flail unwieldy, and a bolt shooter would be tedious and frankly, too advanced for him to try. His brother nodded patiently.

Liam stood, gliding across his cabin and pointed to a book before going out on the deck to yell at the crew.

Killian pulled the book down, noting it talked about ancient farming techniques, specifically harvesting grain. Looking at a crisp, dog eared page he smiled. It was so easy, the answer right in front of him.

He swung his door open to join Liam on deck, his brother suddenly gone from the cabin. He hadn’t heard the door open, but the ship was rocking in a way that made the world around him spin. “Liam!” Will heard Killian and tried to pull him away from searching for his brother. August was there trying to calm him as well, pushing him to sit down, but he wouldn’t. Liam had helped him design his new appendage. When Liam appeared behind Smee, Killian sighed with relief. Both brothers ignored the questions from his crew, paranoia throbbing in a pinpoint at the apex of Killian’s forehead. They were closing in on him again to pull him away from Liam. He couldn’t let that happen. Will caught up and started shaking him, and Killian allowed his heavy body to loll.

Later in his bed, Killian tried to piece together exactly how he’d gotten there. Unable to find a reason, he succumbed again, this time to his brother screaming at him as he shivered with cold.

At times in her life, when she had a moment to really think or observe people, Emma liked to think about luck. The idea had initially run through her head when David had bought her an apple years ago in some random market, a few coins scrounged together for a treat on a hot day as children.

“Lucky, isn’t it?” David had said, crunching into his. Emma examined the green apple in her hands, wiping it on her rough hewn skirt.

“Lucky?”

“Yes, I found enough coins to get us these.” He was almost completely done with his, beaming at her. Emma wanted to smile, but couldn’t place why she felt so angry.

“I don’t think luck has anything to do with it,” she murmured, and went to bite into her treat. It was sour, but in the best way of sweet and perfectly tart. A smile started on her lips, reaching in to take another bite as someone jostled it out of her hand. Emma watched it roll away into the street, David already steps ahead.

Luck was not on her side. It wasn’t there for her back then, or with Zelena, or with Walsh, or even now as she kept two steps ahead to keep risks at bay.

So when the Jolly was spotted speeding towards them head on as they passed a mountain port, it did nothing but confirm her luck was an absolute joke.

It wasn’t fortune that found her where Jones was concerned, his body always tensed and ready the few times they met since their last encounter. He was hungry, bruising, angry and eager to forget with Emma or any willing whore, but especially her, their fury fueling lust that satisfied an ache while creating its own. His tongue was the Devil’s own, torturous after he trailed nibbles up her thighs, eyes lit with sapphire flame while his no doubt wicked grin was hidden by her flesh. He was arrogant to the point of stupidity, complaining about her bed being too large and room too bright while she faced away, panting while his hips pressed hard against her ass in hard thrusts. He left her breathless, burning the oxygen from the room, hands too many places at once, covering her mouth in some tavern’s broom closet as she cursed his ancestors behind the rough palm. Afterwards,there was no countenance or pleasantries, only brief words before returning to the sea until the next unlucky encounter, rare as they were.

When she appeared on the deck of the Jolly, red faced and ready to fight Jones for whatever ill begotten reason he was choosing to make her life difficult this time, it was eerily quiet. Smee stood wringing his red knit hat while Will stood tensely at the helm.

“Smee, she’s here -“ Will called down, and Smee turned to look at her with anxious eyes. “What’s the meaning of this?” she shouted, and Smee took a step back with eyes wide. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward again, stuttering as he talked to her. “M-m-madame Swan -”

“Captain, but continue. I don’t have all day.”

“Captain Jones, h-he’s in trouble, he -” This gave Emma pause. She cocked her head to the side, smirking as she interrupted.

“He bit off more than he could chew? Needs someone to clean up his amateur mess?” She laughed. Smee gave her a pleading look, knuckles white as he continued to wring his hat.

“We g-got a healer, b-b-but she… It’s not working. Please, the fever is killing him.”

“Fever?”

Smee relayed how bad things were, the dire straits that Jones found himself in while he lay in some canvas tent in the mountains. The healer thought the chill air might help him break a fever, brewing him a mixture of water and Elm leaves, watching him impassively as he worsened. He’d lost his hand and so much blood that Smee looked nauseous just talking about it. Will had joined in on the conversation, explaining that Jones had walked out on deck completely delirious. “He was talkin’ to his brother, Swan. His dead brother, Liam.”

Emma winced. “How did his arm look?” she asked quietly.

Smee answered as Will looked away. “Red, streaky lines down his arm. I know what that means.” Emma nodded at his words.

“Who attacked you during a hurricane? I mean, who has the gall -” “Some navy captain, Captain Jones seemed to know him. He looked familiar to me too, but I can’t place from where exactly.” Will scratched his head. “Captain James Nolan.” Emma swallowed hard, her careful walls slipping as Will narrowed his eyes at her brief lapse into shock. Her composure returned just as quickly, face returning to its apathetic nonchalance.

“Head back. I’ll be there shortly.” She disappeared, back to the deck of the Gilded Wing and gave the order for them to dock. A favor owed to her was better than none.

A favor owed due to a loose monster from her nightmares was better than most. To hell with it, and to hell with her bloodthirsty brother.

His fever caused him hallucinations, and his hand - no. His lack of hand ached and throbbed in time with chills that wracked his body.

Liam sat with him, not talking, as Killian babbled to him about the battle, how he fought through the pain even with his hand mangled. His brother was impassive and when Killian woke next, Liam was gone, like he had been for years.

His mother visited too, rubbing his temples and soothing him. Sometimes her voice was her own, singing quietly, but her eyes were never hers. They were green jade, watery and scared no matter how long he looked, except when he’d slip and see James’ eyes before him for just a terrifying moment. Sometimes she'd move and disappear, and an angel would be in her place, waiting in the wings for him to give up surviving. She'd sit and watch the sea and it would bring him peace knowing she was waiting to be a companion on the last leg of his journey.

The angel was so familiar, and yet not. He would swear it was Swan, his Swan, but there was no fire in her. With placid worry and cool hands, she'd dismissed the healer without words.

He tried to tell her to go back to the sea, but his babbling turned into nonsense about why the sea was boiling hot, because he was boiling hot, of cabbages and kings and other useless heads of state that wanted him dead. All she did was smile, soft and serene, a look in her eyes so unlike his Swan that it made him ache in other places, beyond his missing hand.

She stroked his cheek, or he thought she did, when he dozed. He could feel the tingle of her magic spread through him, but the fever and it played a game of cat and mouse. The fever would roar back worse than ever when he felt her draw back, like waves on the ocean. Peace, cool water, relief, and then flaming heat. She cursed under her breath and he coughed out a laugh, telling her it was unbecoming of an angel before slurring into a lopsided smile. She only looked grim, lips now pressed into a thin line.

He couldn't understand her when she spoke so lowly to someone, it was almost outside his range of hearing.

"I can’t heal him; my magic… He's not going to make it if..."

"Then let him die. The sea has claimed more for less, and..." Charming's rough voice, living up to its reputation.

Silence.

"We should have left port days ago, Emma. Be reasonable." Snow’s voice maybe?

Silence again, for hours.

"I need Fa to find that healer we used for Meri. He’s less than a day from here. Use the bottle with the purple dust in my cabin if the wind is not fair. The price is nothing, I need it tonight." His head spun. Swan sounded tired and he tried to tell her to sleep, but could only manage a moan.

"Emma, why -" Charming’s voice was rising. He spat her name with venom.

“It was our brother. It was James.” Killian tried to rationalize through fever. She had two brothers, one lost, but in his head he drew up a picture of Charming’s scowl and James’ stretched wide smile, and their eyes. Even through the spell of fever he could see they were family. Raised voices rang through his thoughts, Emma and Charming arguing. He was unable to make out their words as he shook from chill, his wrist burning as his body froze.

"We'll have it for you tonight Captain." Snow's voice. "Charming, come along."

The tent flapped and she was by him once more, glowing in the midday sun, soft violet under her eyes showing lack of sleep. He tried to reach a hand up to her, and she caught it half way, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

"Sleep. You're dreaming, Killian."

Through dark nightmares he flailed, but she was there with cool hands to soothe him every time, sometimes with words and even more rarely with song. The angel sang her beautiful melody, pulled from her heaven to wait for him, and he'd die here gladly just to listen. He was absolutely going to die here, but not alone at least. He must have said it out loud, because Swan was there by his side, pushing away damp strands of his hair from his forehead.

“You’re not going to die. Stay with me.” A cool rag pressed against his temple.

“You would be… Pretty bored without me…” His vision was blurred, but he could see her smile and shake her head. Heat flared from what was left of his arm, up through his shoulder, into his chest and through the rest of his body. Lungs ached as he took a breath in, the pain gave him a rare moment of lucidity. “Swan, why are you?”

“Shhhh.” She rinsed the cloth, rewetting and replacing it as he sighed in relief. “Rest, or I’ll leave your sorry ass.” He laughed, letting his eyes close. When he felt sleep finally grace him, he heard singing again; this time he was unconvinced it was a dream. His lucidity did not last, and pain returned steadily.

The tent’s canvas door rustled again, far later. His blood was boiling, his brain was melting, and his wrist was being gnawed on by rats he could not escape. He heard Snow's murmur but couldn't hear the words, only heard the clink of a glass jar open, and then relief flooded him. Cool and tingling wet rested on his wrist; coolness that moved through his body like wading into the ocean in the heat of summer. He sighed, pain relieving everywhere, relaxing tightened muscles and heated skin. His angel was over him, rubbing some salve on wounds and changing bandages, concentrating on her task.

She called the healer back, showing the poor girl how to keep him alive for now, before pressing a kiss to his palm and disappearing back to paradise.

He'd thought it was a dream, a fevered hallucination when he was moving again not even a day later. The healer made it clear that he hadn't been dreaming.

"That woman was a terror. Came in here ripping things apart to find you. Said she'd kill you herself before you died of fever." He’d chuckled at that. "Whatever did you do to get in her poor graces?"

"Who knows."

"She must be mad then, or have a devil who beguiled her."

"Aye," he rasped. "Maybe both."

Chapter Text

I have seafoam in my veins, I understand the language of waves.

-Jean Cocteau

A storm chased The Jolly Roger into the town that was situated before the ruins of the Enchanted Forest. As thunder and lightning shook the skies overhead, more ships fled the monstrous gale that stirred the sea into waves that were towering like mountains. Storms made him anxious now, a phantom ache where his hand had been even as almost a year had past since he made the brace that supported his hook, and since his surname had been lost under a namesake of the same appendage.

He hated the looks of pity people gave him now, but relished the fear that replaced it when the sharp point of his hook caught the light. There were very few people who treated him the same as before, or didn’t stare, but they were far and few between. His crew and Captain Swan’s crew were among those few.

Letting the rain pelt him, Killian watched from the Jolly’s deck, a spyglass in hand, as his crew buggered off to do whatever was left to do in the pitiful town. On the horizon, her sails black and gold even against the gray of the clouds, The Gilded Wing breezed in to anchor. Killian smiled, even if he wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was the many memories of her captain warm underneath him or splayed on top of him, as he repaid a debt owed in one of the few ways he could; stomping over to her in heated rages or her appearing in his quarters to yell at him, until she moaned his name instead. At most, they’d seen each other several times in a month, a freak snowstorm stranding them for a week in Arendelle, royalty running amuck to pickpocket - or so he’d heard told when he returned from Swan’s quarters in the mornings, lighter in some ways himself.

The last time he saw Swan, she’d been furious about a misunderstanding with a vendor they had both dealt with that had caused her trade to fall through, while his own trade filled the vendor’s need as agreed. He hated the vendor, a slimy git who stained the not so sterling reputation of Camelot further with his greased palms. Swan had dragged him out to the middle of nowhere, damning his name as she divested him of clothing in a field of flowers, his hook digging into the soft ground.

He wasn’t intending to be where she was, and she swore the same; the utter ridiculousness of it making them waste panted air in laughter, pulling away from the other to bask in the high of their trysts.

The wind shifted suddenly, changing directions without warning. His coat fluttered, and he took a breath of the storm air.

Things were changing.

Emma and her crew limped The Wing into the harbor, barely making it through the turbulent water and screeching winds. Even with a simple charm to keep rain off of her deck, the wind whipped and howled around the barrier.

David gave an audible sigh of relief from holding the ropes while Snow smiled at him. Emma rolled her eyes; there was literally no reason to hide that they were together any longer, but David insisted. Snow had told Emma as much one afternoon as they lounged on the huge four poster bed she’d bought for the Captain’s quarters. “He wants to keep me safe I guess. Thinks if it got out, they’d exploit us, use us against each other as a weakness.” She gave a pointed look at Emma. “Try to use our emotions to manipulate us, possibly without us even being aware.”

“That sounds awful.” Emma took a large bite of a cinnamon pastry, swallowing loudly. “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with all that.”

Snow huffed a sigh, rolling over and standing, leaving Emma blinking in confusion.

Surveying the harbor, she smiled at the assembled crews she saw between the wary merchant vessels and a passenger sloop gathered there: Maelstrom, The Jolly Roger, The Jammed Pearl, The Curse of McGullan, and Red Hamsa all sat in various depths.

Emma's eyes were immediately drawn to The Jolly, catching a glimpse of Hook, his coat flapping in the wind and his hair being tossed as rain swept across the water.

David grunted beside her, nodding at The Jolly. “He's here. Of course he is.”

“So are four other ships. Hopefully, we won't see much of each other, and this storm clears quickly. Especially since the Maelstrom is here- I'd rather not deal with their crew if possible. “

“You make friends everywhere we go,” David smirked.

“It's a gift. Truly.”

“There's someone here I want you to meet, Em, speaking of friends.”

“You have friends? And here I've been lying to people for years!” Emma mock exclaimed.

“Shut up.” He picked at a bit of wood, a nervous tic that made Emma anxious. “He's a shopkeeper; nice, quiet, strong. I think you'd like him.”

“But who will I bring on our double date?” Emma teased.

“Go say hello. He works at Elm Leaf Market. He’s where I get those cuts of meat you like. Apparently, he hunts everything himself.”

“I really don't know how I feel about taking your sloppy seconds, but if you insist -”

“Emma.” David grasped her arm, pulling her to look at him. “This life doesn't have to be forever. You don't have to settle for-”

“I am well aware, David,” Emma wrenched her arm away from him. “I have never settled for less than I deserve, and I don't ever intend to. I like this life.”

David grunted, opening his mouth as if to say something, then closed it with a grimace, staring past her through the rain. Following his gaze, she could see the empty deck of The Jolly Roger, beaten by the same rain that battered her barrier charm.

“Just remember, Em,” David sighed. “You deserve to be happy. You've fought hard, and you don't have to settle for less.” He walked to the lower deck where Snow had been watching the exchange. He stood beside her without saying anything until she rested her head against his chest.

A pink dress was laid out for Emma on her bed, as Snow tightened a full corset around her waist. Emma would sigh with annoyance if she could; the tight garment was practically cutting off her circulation.

“Why am I wearing this again?” Emma groaned.

“Because,” Snow smiled, fussing with her hair, and letting it fall in soft curls. “It makes you look amazing. Especially your -” Snow gestured to Emma’s chest, giggling.

Emma had to admit, the corset worked wonders. Rubbing on lavender, lotus, sweet pea, and orange oil, and slipping on the pink dress in its thin satin, they surveyed her reflection in the polished copper mirror. With her hair pulled out of its usual snarled style and brushed to soften it, and the smallest touches from a pot of rouge, it was a complete transformation.

“Emma, you look -”

“Oh,” Emma smiled, wolfishly. “I know.”

Walking off her ship towards the market, Emma saw Scarlet, one of the members of Hook’s crew, do a double take while flirting with a flower seller. That was enough to seal her opinion on how well Snow and her had done.

The Elm Leaf Market was really all that was left of the village, a sort of smushed catch all of sundries, a butcher shop, a blacksmith, a greenery, apothecary, and anything else a booth could hold. It was always busy with the bedraggled survivors who lived on the outskirts of ogre country, buying supplies in bulk or spending time drinking away memories of what was.

Emma felt like a ghost as she waded through the slow crowd, watching as people sometimes parted around her in shock, her blush colored gown standing out in the sea of gray and brown cloaks. She'd worn a shawl and her dress clung slightly, but she'd missed most of the rain as it blew back to sea.

Graham was easy enough to find, and even easier (she had to admit) on the eyes. Shaggy brown hair, large kind eyes, broad shoulders and a soft brogue that stuttered a hello when she bent across his counter, giving him a view of her cleavage.

“Would you like to get a drink tonight? My brother seems to think we'd get along splendidly.” Emma purred, playing with a small wooden figurine of a stag, and looking up at him through her lashes.

He gulped.

“Um… sure, I … Shouldn't... Shouldn't I have asked you?”

She motioned him closer, whispering in his ear softly, feeling forward as the man practically melted.

“I'm not exactly one for propriety. See you tonight.”

She gave him a saucy wink, and headed back out of the market.

Things were changing. The air was electric, still misting rain that made her dress cling under a quick shielding spell. Hugging her shawl closer, she was briefly focused elsewhere when she ran into someone’s shoulder, tripping forward.

Will Scarlet had come back breathless, pulling Killian aside in his excited state, even more so than usual. He whispered low, his voice practically shaking with energy.

“Will, if this is about liquor sales -”

“No, no, Captain -” Will wore a huge grin. “Have you seen Captain Swan today?”

“Briefly, when The Wing sailed in. Wait, why?” Ice water froze his veins for a moment, unsettling him. “Is she alright?”

Will quirked an eyebrow and gave a half smile. “Oh, she's fine. Just fine. I would make a point to say hello to her today if I were you.”

“Scarlet, I don't like riddles. What's going on with her?”

“I told you, nothing.” The skinny man shrugged, his smile growing. “And if there was, why would you care?”

Killian blinked, slowly. “I don’t. I owe her a debt. That's all.”

“Sure. I'd hurry, she was moving quickly.”

Killian blinked again, and nodded slightly. “This better be good, Scarlet.”

Walking down the dirt path towards the market and letting the rain pelt him, he kept an eye out for her gold hair, windswept and slightly wild. He'd shed his coat to spare it from the rain, wearing just a pair of breeches and a black vest. Reaching the market he was immediately annoyed with Scarlet. Emma wasn't there. An older woman haggled for potatoes. A man sold eggs, ducklings, and chicks. A shop keep and maiden flirted over a counter. A child begged for coin. He turned to go back to the Jolly, and to give Scarlet a severe tongue lashing.

Then he heard her laugh. Turning, he squinted through the rain as it quieted. Emma. She glowed, her hair soft, skin peaches and cream, lips a soft rose color and good Gods above, below, and maybe in the middle her breasts -

His lungs actually hurt when he found breath again. Scarlet was getting a brick of bouillon for this. He stood stupidly, watching her cast a quick spell as she came towards him. He let himself drift into a thought of her just kissing him on the cheek as they walked by the water watching the storm, her laying against his chest in that dress as they pulled a blanket around them, staying warm in the rain -

She ran into him.

“Oh, sorry. Usually people walk you know -” She looked up at him, her eyes rimmed in kohl, and her grimace turned into a frown. “Oh, it's you. God, didn't the Navy teach you how to walk or close your stupid mouth? You're going to catch flies.” Emma reached her hand to his chin, closing his mouth. “There.” She gave him a small pat on the cheek and walked past.

Killian turned to watch her, before shaking his head and walking briskly to catch up with her.

“Swan.” He swallowed thickly, trying to still his nerves, “Would you like to, uh,” he scratched behind his ear. “I owe you an ale, or rum, or whatever you would like to drink and I-”

“I have a date tonight,” she shrugged. “If you want to send it over to us, feel free, but Graham and I may be busy.”

She turned and walked away from him and for the first time, Killian felt a strange emotion well up in his chest. No matter how hard he tried to push it down, it rose again and again like a snake, striking him with fits of rage- and something else he refused to examine.

Graham. He hated the name instantly.

Pacing in his cabin that evening, he finally decided to make his way to the only tavern in the shithole ruined town he was stuck in. Throwing on his coat, he gave orders to Smee and made his way into town. Most of the place was in ruins or abandoned, casting an eerie silence that was only broken by the echoes from the tavern. He walked into the shoddy building and sat at the bar. The Adder’s Bite was as full as the lonely place could be. He spotted Swan right away with the halfwit, his hands low on her waist as they danced to the directions of a fiddle player.

When the fiddler told them to grab their partner, the moron fumbled. Killian gripped the table as his knuckles went white, ready to bash his head in, until Swan laughed at his slip up. They continued on and the second time Graham lifted her with ease. Killian asked for a glass carafe, and began to pour himself a heavy glass to parch his throat, immediately pouring another.

Watching them together, Swan’s neck long and pale as she threw back her head and laughed, Killian felt a heavy desire that actually hurt. His face was hot, and he could feel his pulse thump heavily as he watched her hands, those clever fingers, thread with Graham’s as he spun her. Killian stood, throwing back his drink, and made his way towards them. “May I cut in, mate?” he said lowly, and Emma glowered at him. “We’re busy Hook. My dance card is full,” she hissed, and the man blinked slowly at Killian, looking back at Emma. “The woman said we’re busy,” he said in an accented voice, one from the Northern Isles. “So I guess we’re busy. Better luck next time,” he shrugged.

Killian seethed under a wolfish grin. “I insist.” He pushed the man aside and took a struggling Emma out on the dance floor. The man sat down, arms crossed as his shaggy brown hair flopped over his eyes. He looked pathetic.

“Let go of me, you ass! Graham and I were fine before you -”

“Before I what? Showed you how to pick a partner who knows what they’re doing?” A fiddle player picked up with the accordion as other dancers took the floor with them. Emma resisted again for a moment, before she allowed herself to be spun back into his chest, his hook pressing against the small of her back. She huffed, but a smile had crept up into her features, and he spun them again. “You ruin everything, you know. You’re lucky you are a good dancer.”

He smirked, casting a glance back at Graham, who was now approaching them. He gripped Emma’s waist tighter, the same flare of that heat in his chest sparking a need to be possessive of her. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, how stunned he was not only now but every time he saw her. Instead he let himself guide her in a gentle sway.

“You're not bad yourself, Swan.” He murmured, and underneath he hoped she could hear what he couldn't say. He could just kiss her and hope for the best, or if she just heard the words he wanted to say, she might press her lips against his -

She didn't. She let go of Killian, returning to Graham’s arms instead. Killian returned to his table and watched a bit longer as she laughed at Graham’s clumsiness. He swirled drink after drink, a new glass replacing every one finished without an order, watching as her face lit in a way she had never shown towards him. He swallowed another several fingers of rum in a gulp.

What they had was good. It was fine, his brain screamed, trying to interject logic over his drunkenness and jealousy. He blinked, staring at the amber in his glass that had begun to spin. Jealousy? He wanted to fuck, to ruin, to bruise pale skin and lips, not dance or light her face with that beautiful laugh of hers that made his ears heat -

He shook it off, his head spinning. Fucking hells, he was drunk. A little voice he pretended not to hear rustled in his mind, whispering that he wanted more; wanted to be in this ‘Graham's’ stead; wanted to press gentle kisses on her temples as they twirled for hours to fiddle song. It sounded like Liam’s quiet candor, wounding him, and he pushed it down with force.

He swallowed another glass, impatiently waiting the minute until another appeared. Graham stumbled again and Killian had to resist every drunken instinct screaming for him to break the man's legs for stepping on his Swan’s pretty feet. It was a bloody waltz. What sodding wanker of a man couldn't do a three step - He blinked, processing his thoughts slowly. His Swan? He knocked back another drink, savoring the burn down his throat.

They sat, and he grinned when Emma's hands rubbed her feet delicately. The grin vanished quickly, though, when her wincing brought Graham's dolt hands to stroke her calves, eliciting a quiet moan from that pretty mouth. When the other man kissed her, Killian stared into his glass, trying to understand why his heart thumped loudly, his skin heated, and his muscles tensed at the thought of that worthless fucking oaf touching her. Why him? He’d skin the man alive for his useless hide for thinking he was worthy.

That stupid voice spoke to him again, Liam’s annoying older brother voice full of pity and life weary experience:

You know why you feel this way.

He swallowed another drink and stood, plopping down at another table.

“You idiots want to make some quick coin?”

When he woke up, Killian’s head pounded like he'd smashed it against shore stones and he had a mighty need for water and a hearty meal. He'd drank far too much last night, been out of control, and now even opening his eyes to the bright light of wherever the hell he was became a challenge.

Flesh stirred near his abdomen, while on the other side of him someone breathed steadily. As his brain pulled itself from its drunken haze, he registered that he was in a large bed with at least three other bodies, all very nude. Creaking his eyes open, he recognized the linens and ceiling. Cora’s Place.

Killian closed his eyes and lifted his hand to the bridge of his nose. Sorting through memories, he tried to remember what happened last night. He'd gone from dancing with Emma to a blank. Shaky pieces of memory came back to him and he groaned.

He'd gone to sit with some rough lads, asking for a favor owed. Watching Emma and Graham part with a kiss, and the blokes approach Graham in an alley. Staggering back into the shadows and into Cora’s Place. Picking three blondes and being led to a room, where he promptly stripped nude and…

He'd fallen asleep.

He felt the soft touch of a hand graze his cock, and the whisper of a raspy, low, voice.

“I know our time is up, but since you haven't been serviced…” A woman pressed her wet mouth onto the side of his semi erect member, licking circles.

Killian sighed, and tried to enjoy the sensation, but it was wrong. Her mouth was too wet and too rough, her teeth catching occasionally. He pushed her off and the two other women woke as he stood.

“Was it not pleasurable, sir?” The woman looked at him with wide eyes. The other two women stared at them groggily.

“No. Yes. I mean -” he started to dress, looking for his discarded clothes.

“It’s alright. We're not her. Happens more often than you menfolk want to admit,” one of the women on the bed said sleepily. “We’re poor substitutes for the real thing.”

Killian blinked, pausing from shrugging on his shirt over his hook. He stared at the blonde woman who had spoken, lying in bed. Her blonde curls framed a heart shaped face and deep brown eyes.

“We're not Emma.”

He bristled, tensing. “How do you, why did -”

“Ya talk in ya sleep, mate,” said the other dozing woman, pale platinum hair a tangled mess. “Musta ‘ad Emma on ya mind. We ‘eard ya mumble it a dozen times.”

He blanched. Pulling the rest of his clothing together, he went to leave, throwing on his shoes, his anger and embarrassment rising. He rushed out, long overcoat thrown on in haste, and heard one of the women call after him.

“We will never tell anyone. We never do.”

Bursting through the door into the burning sunlight, Killian stumbled through the back alleys of ruined homes and narrow side streets between abandoned shops that he usually took to get to his ship. His head throbbed, and his mood had gone sour with the whores’ accusations.

When he tripped over a vagrant lying in a narrow corridor, he pulled the man up by his collar. Graham's bloody and barely conscious face greeted him.

“Shit,” Killian hissed, as Graham whimpered and blocked his face. “What, you didn't even fight back? What a worthless, spineless, wet scrap of a dog -”

Graham laughed at that, and Killian put the idiot down. He obviously had a brain injury.

“I can't fight back.” Graham said, spitting blood.

“What? What kind of man can't fight -”

“It's complicated.”

“Well, good luck to you and your complications. I have enough of my own.” Killian turned to walk away.

Graham curled himself into a ball, his back facing Killian.

“Oh bloody hell mate,” Killian gave an exasperated sigh. A dagger stuck out of the man's back. “You bloody idiot, you've been stabbed -”

“I know, but you're not supposed to take it out because it will bleed more, and it's not silver-”

“You damned fool, you have to take it out at some point!” Killian wiped his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was far too hungover for this; the consequences of his actions back to bite him immediately.

Graham shook, and Killian recognized the oncoming stage of shock about to set into the man's beaten body.

Giving a long sigh, Killian helped the man up and limped him to the Jolly. Laying him in the sick bay, he let Smee tend to him and stitch him up. He gave the man a heavy dosing of rum before sitting to watch.

“Can you cook better than you fight?” Smee asked, sewing up a nasty gash.

Graham nodded, wincing and whimpering even after several shots of rum. “Aye, yea, I can cook.”

“Ship needs a cook. You'll pay the Cap’n back for saving you by cooking.”

Graham's face was sheer panic, before he put on an air of indifference. Killian noted there might be more to the idiot after all.

“Is there, or do you have, a strong brig or cell?” he asked calmly. “I'll need it every so often.”

Smee squinted, but Killian spoke up. “That's fine. We haven't had a lycanthrope aboard before.”

Graham’s face went pale, staring at Killian with fear. Smee only scratched his head through his knit cap, muttering the word.

“Forget you heard that word, and get out.” Killian pointed at Smee, waving him out. There was an uneasy beat of silence. “You can go back to the market if you like, shopkeep. If you have a pack, or kin, which I don’t think you do. Courting a human is bold.”

A hard glint behind Graham’s eyes revealed the predator underneath if just for a moment. Killian picked his thumb with his hook, smirking.

“I didn’t… She came on to me. I’d be an idiot to say no. What is this anyway, some jealous attack on me?” Killian’s jaw set at the idea of himself being jealous. This was for Emma’s safety, and was a clear drunken mistake. Before Killian could retort, Graham let out a growled laugh, looking at his hands. “You did me a favor though, I guess. You’re right. I haven’t anyone there. I thought Emma could cure me if we got close enough, or could take me across the sea to a pack who’d take me. Her brother and her have a weak scent of werewolf on them.”

Killian blinked, and then laughed. “I assure you, Swan isn’t. Bite and Bark without all the fur, very much so. No offense mate.” Graham looked mollified, and frowned. “I’ll go with you. I’ll let you know when I need to be locked -” Killian held up his hand to stop the man. “You can have shore leave. We took a she-wolf to Glowerhaven, and were late to arrive. I’d rather not sustain that much damage to my ship again, if possible.” Killian winced at the memory of deep grooves of claw marks that had splintered the floorboards.

“Fine with me. It’s also easier to bring meat back that way, then I don’t need a cow on board.” Graham shrugged. “When do we leave?”

“Now.” Killian said with a shrug. “You really thought Emma could cure you?”

“Well, I thought she might be sympathetic to my cause, associating with someone like me and being able to use magic. I thought maybe she might even let me mark her if -”

“Mark her?” Killian looked up with narrowed eyes, jaw clenching tight. “You mean change her into…” “If she consented, yes, so we could have a pack bond.”

Killian’s rage was back in full force, a sudden explosion that he couldn’t quell. His hands were on Graham’s collar, snarling at the injured man. “Don’t ever consider that thought again. Stay away from her or I will smelt a silver chain so long it will wrap around you twice, and throw you into the ocean.”

Graham’s eyes were wide, and Killian unclenched his fingers, backing away. “As soon as your able, go clean the galley until it’s not only spotless, but it shines. I don’t want to see your face until it’s done.” Killian hissed, and left the small room. Stalking out into fresh air, he breathed out a ragged breath, signalling the order to ship out.

Emma wasn’t surprised that Graham disappeared. She didn’t bother telling David, knowing he’d demand an excuse from the butcher, which would just make things worse. She didn’t need a reason as to why he had decided to up and go; a reason only made things worse and identified one of her “qualities” that made her undesirable to someone. Emma didn’t want one identified when there were so many she knew herself.

It didn’t matter why he left. He did, he didn’t leave a note, and he obviously wasn’t interested. What was done was done. She had better things to do. Belle had been studying movements of currents and winds over shipping routes as a pet project, noting where ships seemed to go down with only natural events. Based on her conjecture, she had shown Emma a map of where she suspected a large amount of treasure may have been pushed by currents. They had been heading there before the bad weather had hit, unwilling to be in treacherous waters as a storm pummeled them.

They sailed back, making good time. The weather was beautiful, and the water almost as blue as the sky in places, the crew lounging about the deck. Belle called down to her when they were a day or so away from their destination, pointing to a familiar shape appearing on the horizon. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” Emma heard her brother groan. “Emma, you didn’t -”

“Of course I didn’t say anything to him. I don’t advertise my plans, especially when they involve us being fed.” She glared at David, and he glared back. Belle hopped down from the rigging, looking embarrassed.

“It um, it might be my fault,” Belle looked down at her feet, holding a book and her spyglass against her back. “I uh… Will came to see me before we left, said I hadn’t been at the bar and he wondered how I was doing. I showed him some of my calculations and we talked. I didn’t think anything of it.”

David threw up his hands, exasperated. “Great! Another one.” Snow shot him a dangerous look, and went to Belle’s side. “It’s not her fault, David.” Snow patted Belle sympathetically on the shoulder, and all eyes looked to Emma as they approached. Emma rolled her eyes. “Emma, it’s not -”

“I know it’s not Belle’s fault. Belle, it isn’t. We’ll just… I’ll just… We’ll ignore him. We’ll get what we came here for, and he can leave well enough alone.” Emma ran her hands through her hair, pinning it back away from her face. “Let’s get swimming. Shall we?”

After a break, the crew came back and took position, uncaring as the Jolly Roger slunk into a clearer view. Emma dove into the water holding the chain in hand, the first one in the water. Waiting for her crew, she opened the bottle of potion she held, letting the content swirl around her. Ruby came next, as Emma felt the shock of water in her lungs. It wasn’t comfortable, but she wasn’t dead. Ruby opened hers, grimacing as gills appeared and she took a breath of the sea water. David and Snow came together, Snow the first to try to speak, croaking something ridiculous before clapping hands over her mouth. Ruby grinned, and Emma simply shook her head as they swam down.

Belle had been right. Searching through the water with a simple light spell, they found ship after broken ship on the reef, aptly named ‘The Reef of Broken Hulls’. The current had swept lighter goods into a small valley on the seafloor, while heavier casks remained unbroken and crates that were intact. Attaching the chains to boxes, Ruby gave a signal to The Wing, and slowly they were pulled up.

The work slowed down as the large pieces were pulled up, so the crew now had to scavenge the smaller pieces for anything left. Emma floated lazily picking through wreckage and admiring the algae covered figureheads. Looking back towards The Wing, she noticed the shadow of The Jolly Roger a ways off. Squinting, she did a quick push off of a piece of wreckage, spotting an unrecognized form sorting through what was left.

She swam closer, peeking around the broken stern of a ship. Blinking, she let out a croaking guffaw at the sight in front of her. A large shimmering bubble floated around the heads of Hook, Will, and a man she didn’t immediately recognize. Emma had seen the spell but had chosen against it in favor of being able to swim more naturally, sight unobscured.

Gathering her finds, she made her way closer. Hook glanced up at her, his face strangely magnified and skewed like a warped mirror. He pointed, and Will and the other man looked her way. Graham’s face looked back at her from one of the iridescent globes. So, he’d left to join the Jolly. Ironic that he’d left to get away, only to potentially see her more often.

Ruby swam by Emma’s line of sight with her back towards her, body tense. Emma sunk down to her level and touched Ruby’s shoulder, surprised when her friend turned with her teeth bared. Relaxing slightly, she made a motion towards the three, where Graham stared straight at them. Emma pulled at Ruby’s arm, but she made no motion to move, caught in some sort of strange staring war. Emma gave her a pinch, and she shook out of the trance, smiling apologetically. They swam towards The Wing, but Emma noticed with concern her friend looking back over her shoulder with a strange look of anxious curiosity.

Pulling themselves on the deck, they took the antidote that waited for them, Emma enjoying the feeling of rightness that came from breathing air again.

“Ruby, the hell was -” Emma began, pushing wet hair out of her face.

“He’s like me.”

“Wait. What?” Emma watched as Ruby wrung her hair, chewing on her lip. “He’s…?”

“You can say it, Emma. He’s a werewolf, like me. Not taking a potion or anything either. Super weird smelling him underwater, sorry about that. The wolf thought he might be a threat because he smelled…” Ruby’s cheeks colored, and she shook her head. “Anyway. Don’t worry about it, we just had a moment between us. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh. Ruby, you can talk to me if -”

“It’s nothing,” Ruby hissed, and Emma backed off.

Walking over to survey their finds, she glanced over at The Jolly bobbing gently on the sea. Belle had seethed all day over her mistake, angry Will had used her. Their on and off talks had never led to betrayal, and Belle was not one who actively sought out anyone’s company. The fact she’d let Will in, and he’d done this - Emma felt the flare of anger in her own chest.

It was a comfort to Emma that at least Belle got to see this to fruition. She’d excitedly surveyed their finds, marveling over jewels, coins of countries lost to the ages, beautiful pendants, and casks of who knew what. She’d be busy for weeks studying the trading logos.

“Are we able to set sail?” Emma called to David. At his nod, they lifted anchor, Emma calling the crew to deck to discuss how they’d like to split their finds. Emma turned back, surprised to see Ruby at Belle’s side. Both had picked out a few pieces already, Belle choosing a beautiful citrine ring and Ruby choosing her namesake in a pair of earbobs. They both stared out at the Jolly as it faded away into the distance. Emma retired below deck, letting the others go over the spoils.

The next months dragged with one disaster after another, to the point of Emma wondering if they had somehow invoked a curse or angered some lesser known deity. The first sign of trouble had been a strange and tense encounter with the older captain of The Red Hamsa, Omar. He’d given her a warning, speaking low outside of the inn at the lesser known outpost in Northern Camelot. They made moonshine that could scrape off barnacles without the touch of a finger, but a drink was a drink.

“Lie low, little bird. There’s talk of danger for you. A gathering of captains that will meet, led by Blackbeard.” His voice was like feet dragging over gravel, the long water pipe in his lips mixing smoke with the salt and pepper of his beard. “The Hook has been asked to join, as was I. I refused the offer; I was tired of these games long before any of you were sailing. Watch who your friends are.”

He blew smoke, the form of a butterfly appearing in the herbal scented wisps. It fluttered a few paces before dissolving, following his form as he hobbled away. Emma believed in many superstitions as they related to the sea and magic, but she tried to not put stock into portents of doom. It was wasteful. A purposeful look at anything could identify some symbolism within. However, the butterfly was a renowned symbol, just like the ship its maker commanded. A Hamsa was a ward for the evil eye, the hand of the Old Gods that could bring peace or war. A butterfly under the same sky they molded meant change, usually with force.

Emma turned on her heel, ready to get back aboard her ship and leave as soon as possible, but Ruby was in the woods and who knew how drunk anyone else was. She hissed a string of expletives.

“How is it there’s a whole bloody ocean but I still end up in the same waters as you?” Emma tensed, the low, wry chuckle a comfort and curse. Hook stepped out of the shadows where he’d been leaning, looking amused with himself.

“Maybe if you stopped following our ship, or poaching our finds -”

“A pirate’s life, finder’s keepers love.” There was a new ring on one of his fingers and she glared at it, knowing she’d seen its ilk in their coffers. The vulture. His hook shone in the light from the thin windows.

“You are a child.” He caught her as she pushed past him, pressing her against the wooden wall of the inn with his arms on either side of her body. His breath didn’t reek of the moonshine here, but she could smell rum, spices, and anise. “I don’t have time for this, what do you want?” Emma dropped her voice to a whisper, hiding the way her breath hitched when he leaned in closer.

“I owe you an apology,” Hook whispered in turn. The space between them was fractional, Emma could feel his breath on her cheek, his eyes serious.

“You owe me several. We can arrange an appointment if you’d like them organized.” Ignoring her attempt to push past him, Emma let out an annoyed huff.

“I’m sorry about Graham.” Hook looked away from her, a flash of guilt colored in that disarming blue.

“Why are you sorry? Because you took him to sea? Don’t be. Ruby was happy to go with us; she said that the packs in what’s left of the Enchanted Forest are constantly fighting among themselves or getting killed by ogres. You probably did him a favor.” Emma shrugged, and he opened his mouth to say something more until her fingers met his lips to stop him. “Ruby and him can run all night, she mentioned something about him when you poached our loot.”

“Can you let that go if I say I’m sorry? I was hoping you’d come stomping over and…” His eyes were back on her own, one eyebrow raised as he licked his lips.

“You’re an insufferable idiot. A fool.” Emma threw up her hands, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“You look lovely tonight, Swan.” Her mouth flew open to retort his insult, but stayed as a round shocked ‘oh’ as she absorbed the compliment instead. Hook’s lips pressed against her own, no hunger but a heavy heat instead. It had been some time since they had laid together, a fire starting low in her stomach as she raised a leg for him to grasp, teeth grazing his lips. His fingers bruised her thigh, and she heard him curse, pulling away with his eyes closed.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he asked through heavy breaths. She must have looked at him incredulously, because he ran a hand through his hair embarrassed. “I mean, down by the shoreline, or up by the wood? What are you doing?”

Emma rested a hand against his forehead. At his look of confusion, she pulled her hand away. “You don’t have a fever. I’m just confused as to why we would ever go for a walk together. Unless it’s to one of our cabins or to the inn, I don’t -”

He pulled away completely, nodding. “Sorry, love. I’m not myself tonight. Maybe I do have a fever.”

“We can go if you want, I guess. I just...” She reached a hand forward, not understanding the strange reaction he was having. “We don’t really -”

“No, it’s alright Swan. Have a good night.” Hook backed away with a slight bow, heading inside to cheers from who she assumed was his own crew.

Emma returned to The Wing, laying on her bed listening to the waves and the beginning calls of gulls. She heard the soft footfalls of people returning, and then felt the press of someone sitting on the edge of her bed. Looking up, Emma saw a fully disheveled Ruby who was grinning with her eyes bright. Ruby pulled a twig from her hair and flicked it at Emma.

“Oh. Well,” Emma sighed, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Don’t you look smitten.”

“Emma.” Ruby whined, scooting closer.

“Alright. Tell me about it.” Emma turned to face Ruby, as the woman gushed about running with the other wolf. There weren’t any other pack claims here, just them and running free as far as their legs could carry them. Ruby tried to explain things about instincts and how they communicated, but when she couldn’t, Emma got the gist.

“What a cosmic joke,” Emma murmured. Ruby patted her shoulder sympathetically.

“Sometimes I think you like to be by him. Hook, I mean. Not that I mind anymore. They can follow us every full moon as far as I’m concerned.”

“No. They can’t.” Emma shot her a sharp look, and Ruby sighed leaving her alone in her room.

Another few months dragged by, and Emma purposely tried to avoid crossing The Jolly with mixed results. Then, she purposely sought them out as she felt danger looming on her horizon. They’d been spending time down in the Far South, her skin tanned and hair a bright gold from the sun. The look on Hook’s face when she approached didn’t calm her nerves; his eyes were dark over the steel tankard of whatever he was drinking. He set it aside, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

“What have I done now, Swan.” He made a motion with his hook for her to sit down.

Emma obliged, and swallowed hard. Squeezing her eyes shut for the embarrassment of what was coming next, she set aside her pride.

“I need a favor.” It dropped from her lips, and Emma hated herself for it. Before he could retort with innuendo, she continued. “I want you to get me into this ‘Circle Meeting’. I seem to be barred.”

He laughed, and shook his head, returning to his drink.

“I need to be in there. I belong in there, and that’s the very reason I’m being barred, besides not having a cock -”

“Lucky that.” Hook smirked at her, leaning back with his legs wide. He sat the empty tankard down and waved for another.

“Is there anyone there that will appeal to reason?” Emma looked at him, watching carefully for a reaction as he shrugged noncommittally.

“I don’t know why you care, Swan. It’s bollocks. The damn thing won’t matter in a few months time when someone breaks the treatise and we all go about our ways again.” He leveled a gaze at her, head cocked, the same careful look as her own mirrored back. Emma tried to keep her face impassive. If she, Omar, and David were right, and they’d created this treatise just to send The Wing’s crew to the bottom of the sea, Hook might be her only ally in this. That was if he could be trusted, and could convince anyone to do anything other than run her through. The only thing she knew about him was the same thing she knew about herself; their interests came first.

“I don’t… I don’t want the trouble. We leave well enough alone, except for running into you somehow, and even then I try to avoid you. I’ve been doing a damn good job of it, too.” Emma sat forward, a hand pushing back her hair as she chewed her lip. “Things have escalated recently. Gotten worse. We’ve been barred from Redwater Sanctuary.”

Hook’s eyebrow shot up and the easy smirk he’d been wearing faded. There was a flash of something akin to concern in his eyes, and it made her skin prickle with hatred. Concern was a prelude to pity. Of all the terrible gifts that could be bestowed, Emma wanted pity less than death. She wanted his pity least of all.

“Oh.” He looked at her, and she saw it there in the flash of his eyes, a flicker of his worry, pity and caring about the situation unfolding. She was sure he was concerned only because of how it could hurt him; she’d been over generous lately with letting him scavenge, and she was one of the few pirates he could easily trade with if he needed something. Emma had felt the same when she’d procured the salve for him when he lay burning of fever.

“I want to make sure I’m not a target.” Her eyes drifted to the floorboards, following the patterns there to avoid seeing Hook’s face.

“Swan, I can’t get you into that meeting. You know I can’t, they’ll kill us both,” he whispered lowly. Emma shot a quick glance at him and he was leaning forward, his hand extended to her as if to touch her shoulder. She sat back, pulling away. “If you need help, or information -”

“I don’t.” The ice in her voice as she snapped had him blinking. “I asked you for help with this, and you could not oblige. I wouldn’t risk it again.” She stood, turning away.

“Swan!” She heard him call after her, felt his fingers brush her own as her feet carried her away from him again. She could hear the pity echoing even in his calls.

The meeting with the Circle was called a fortnight later, in Corona. The bustling country was an easy central port that boasted fair weather and good ale. It was also renowned for its seedy underbelly that the royal guard overlooked as long as no harm came to its citizens. At first, Killian was under the impression that they’d be visiting the Fuzzy Duckling, a well known bar for thugs and vandals of the area. However, after a brawl that left several crews light handed due to a misunderstanding about a ceramic unicorn, pirates had been disavowed and sent to the city.

They had found home in a bar near their boats, amusingly named The Goat Testicles. They’d even constructed a sort of makeshift room for meetings, so thankful for the business. Apparently, selling a beer called Goat’s Piss hadn’t brought locals banging on their doors, regardless of its fragrant citrus flavoring.

He was only half listening to the treatise being drawn up between the captains, knowing full well that they'd break it within days if not hours, when warm hands stroked the innards of his thighs softly. At first, he thought he'd imagined it, but the quick tug on the laces and a gentle scrape of nails down the dark trail to his cock proved it was all too real. He was too surprised to make a noise until a wet hand gripped him with firm strokes, his cock jumping to attention in the stranger's hands, as he let out a small sigh.

He knew who it was before the flash of blonde locks swinging forward gave her away. Ever resourceful, Swan had not only made it into the meeting, but she'd also made sure she got her mention. Hell, she'd make sure, as always, that she'd stay two steps ahead of any threat by hiding in the mouth of the beast.

"And territorial wise, I want the waters near Agrabah. It's quite a ways to trade through the desert from port, you lot cutting our coffers afterwards is nastiness, even for pirates." A younger newcomer with ruddy ginger hair was speaking, twirling a coin in his heavily tattooed hand. The idiot had given away a large weakness to abuse. Walking goods through a barren desert was already risky, but advertising it to this group? He'd be dead within the fortnight, another part of the turnover this table saw. Another crew lost to their captain’s folly.

Swan swirled her tongue and he let out a grunted aye along with the other men, leaning back with his good hand gripping the table. He bucked into her mouth and was rewarded with her teeth scraping gently against him as she ran a finger along the seam of his sack.

Hook hissed lowly. Swan’s bloody fucking mouth could unravel him with ease; just like this, or on his mouth, neck, or body. Sometimes with just words. He wanted to grip her hair, fucking her mouth while she moaned on his cock, begging for him to give her a taste. He wanted to watch her swallow his seed, to let it burn down her throat. He imagined her fingers deep inside her tight quim, riding her hand in poor imitation of the cock she sucked greedily. He wanted to bite her hard enough to leave violet blooms on pale flesh; to leave firm handprints on soft globes, making it hard for her to sit. He was getting close, and the pace she set her strokes at was brutal, his breathing becoming shallow.

Blackbeard's grumble brought him back to the duality of the situation at hand.

"Alright lads, that's all fin' and good - Now what about that bitch out makin' a mockery of us? I don’ mind a lass on the crew if she were of that persuasion of breeches and pulling 'er own whores, but this cunt and her crew-"

“She leaves well enough alone, but Hera and Zeus forbid that you ever try to steal her treasures or go after that crew of hers,” said a paunchy man with too many rings as he stroked his waxed beard and chewed his pipe. El Pantera, a captain from one of the smaller Island Kingdoms.

Another man spoke up, older and covered in pustules. Hook recognized him as Captain Scabbard, a rotted old rat that ran a skeleton crew on a ship that stunk of turned milk. "No woman should be on a ship t'begin with." He spat a dark yellow wad onto the floor. "Tis bad luck, I say; tis only to shit on the Gods."

Emma was distracted now, bobbing in slow strokes and listening intently, keeping Hook on the edge of his pleasure. He could feel himself seeping precum as she lapped at his slit, and the urge to slam her mouth down on his cock to the hilt was growing overwhelming. His toes curled in his boots.

"What do you suppose we do about her then? She can return my fire three fold, fights like a she demon, and sails off to naught be found until she wants to be." Another young captain whom he had dubbed Babyface shrugged. He'd inherited the position after Captain Durham had died under Navy fire a few months back. He was manipulative behind his innocence, yet cunning enough to have avoided or dissipated several mutinies.

Swan swallowed him all the way to his base like she had read his mind, cheeks hollowed, trying to kill him. The table looked at him expectantly as he let out a strangled grunt. He swallowed thickly, and spoke slowly, with purposeful enunciation.

"She's not a threat, surely, for any of you to be so afraid as to suggest we take care of her?"

The table around him gave scoffs of indignation. Swan rewarded him with a tight squeeze of her mouth and swirl of her tongue that had him closing his eyes and carding his hand through his hair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, opened his eyes, and hoped he could explain his behavior away with the excuse of a headache. Emma edged him away from the brink again and he growled lowly. The headache excuse was partially true, it would just be a different head he’d be referring to.

"Aye. I'm sayin' we should put out the word that she's got gold on 'er 'ead - not only at sea, but in taverns and ports as well." Blackbeard held Hook in a steady gaze, the challenge clear behind his eyes. "I'm saying that she deserves to see her crew swing in the wind before joinin' them."

He felt her bristle and her movements came in firm, fast strokes now. Anger pooled in his belly along with the tight coil in his spine that was growing white hot. He could feel that both the meeting and her torture were coming to an end, and he was grateful for it.

"She deserves to be at this table, mate. Fearsome pirates such as yourselves, scared over the woman you claim is not fit for the seas like she's some porcelain princess, when I left her ship many a time limping away lucky to have my hide." With his voice raising, she hummed and he shifted his legs to open himself wider. What looked like angered fidgeting to everyone else was actually small snaps of his hips as he got closer to his peak. A flush rose in his cheeks as he held back moans of pleasure.

"We all know about the many times that you've left her cabin, Captain." Scabbard smirked at him, his voice oily.

He came down her throat with a low and measured grunt, betraying how good it felt to spill himself against her tongue. The next time they saw each other, he would repay her for this, leaving her cabin again. He took a deep breath and let himself smile in relief, or to their eyes, amusement.

"All to keep my coffers full, I assure you. I'd trade with you dogs, but you're all bite, no bark, no treasures to speak of other than your cowardice."

The table erupted, and he adjusted himself back into his trousers. He leaned back in his chair, and shook his head at the unnoticed whooshing sound of her disappearing, the gray smoke of her magic joining the heavy layer already in the room. Blackbeard was the only one who seemed to notice, eyes narrowing. Killian hid the deep unease that creeped into his stomach. 

“You’d behoov’n yer self to show yer elders some respect boy,” Scabbard spat in Hook’s direction.

Another older pirate with ashy blonde hair in matted dreads, Captain Uly from the frozen seas, spoke up. “Here here! Some of us haff bean sailink before even you young man vere vinkle in your Vahdder’s eyes!”

The ruddy ginger laughed like a donkey’s bray. He looked at Scabbard. “When have you ever shown anyone, including your own dear mum, respect you foul git?” He laughed again, reaching for his mead.

Scabbard leaned forward as quick as a snake and slammed his dagger into the ruddy ginger’s extended hand. He shrieked, looking down at the blade now oozing red, as Scabbard gave the handle a twist and pulled it back out, wiping the blade on his dirty coat. “Men get respect. Boys ‘n doxies ‘n slores get none. All women are slores, sommin’ get paid are bit smarter, not by much. That Swan, well. She’s a slore pretendin’ to be a man.” Satisfied after checking the dagger for blood, Scabbard sheathed it and sat. “Dat’d be the worst kind, ‘n my book.”

Blackbeard shouted and slammed his fist on the table, and Killian gritted his teeth to keep from cutting Scabbard in twain. “We’ll deal with her another time.” He scowled at Killian, who raised a cheeky smirk instead. “For now, let’s plan how a raid would go, and what signals we’d use.” The raid planned was pretty simple. Enemies of the Circle would be scouted and after making sure the biggest number of ships could pursue as a fleet, they’d surround the poor ship in a horseshoe shape with all guns firing. Depending on the ship, loot would be divided, but the loss of an enemy would be even greater, the threat erased for all.

Killian could feel the pit settling in his stomach as they discussed battle tactics for a ship of certain size, with so many guns and so many crew members, possibly fortified with magic.

A ship that sounded very much like The Gilded Wing.

The Gilded Wing had left long before the others left the harbor to go their separate ways, the other ships falling behind the Jolly as he raced to catch up to Swan. He didn’t care about the Circle or its archaic bullshit and drawn territory lines. The only point that stood out was the target on Emma’s back. This repaid the favor he owed, wiping the slate clean.

Emma in her stubbornness met him on the Jolly’s deck as they approached, The Gilded Wing only a hundred meters away.

“I’m here to give you a warning, Swan,” he said lowly, walking to where she’d appeared in her usual cloud of gray.

“This looks like quite the warning.” Emma jutted her chin up, and stepped toward him. “Did they not tell you, or are you really trying to be that oblivious? It doesn’t suit you Hook.”

“Emma, take your ship and run,” he whispered, and she shook her head at him. “Please -”

A few more steps, and she was an arms length away, anger clearly written across her face. She winced slightly, and the air around them heated unnaturally, her hands glowing. He took a step back, eyes wide.

“You know what the worst part of this is, for me?” Swan murmured into the breeze. “You think I’m this stupid, and I was for trusting you, but I’m not otherwise. You meted down a death sentence on us to save yourself Killian, you selfish -”

“I did no such thing! I’m here to give you a bloody warning because they want you dead; the Jolly is faster -”

She flicked her hand, and a half ring of ships appeared around the Jolly, arranged like a horseshoe around The Gilded Wing. The ripple of shock that went across his face and through the crew brought a confused look to her face.

“You didn’t know.”

Killian felt his brain trying to process, trying to understand what was happening in front of him. Blackbeard had mentioned a powder that made ships disappear, charms placed on sails to make them faster, a paltry excuse given when they needled him about hating magic. Here, they sat bobbing in the water as Emma glared, shouts echoing off hulls as the members of The Wing realized they were revealed. They had her ship surrounded, and Killian could hear the voices of men yelling their readiness to destroy Emma’s home, her pride and joy. Killian’s dread rose into his throat.

Noise erupted, fire blazing as smoke began to waft from the gunwales and swing guns, explosions behind her as smoke lit with every blast. Emma stepped away and drew her scimitar, looking at him with no expression, unmoved by the cacophony. A fire lit on the deck of the ship that sat at the end of the far left side of the horseshoe shape, a huge purple plume of smoke rising. Men shouted, the attack sudden and brutal as forms flew through the smoke, slashing. Even from his vantage, Killian could see more ships falling to strange attacks as The Gilded Wing in front of his ship shimmered like a mirage over the water, the heavy balls of iron falling through the glamor.

The right side of the horseshoe of ships let out a shuddering screech like metal grinding together, and then a boom exploded across the water, men in dinghies fleeing from The Gilded Wing’s onslaught, pouring onto The Jolly as the ships around his steamed, burned, bubbled, and sparked with strange substances. Emma had outwitted them all, a clever ruse straight from the devil himself. Distract the enemy, and attack from both sides like a candle burning on both ends. No doubt a portion of her crew ran along each side they had attacked to meet in the middle after picking over any finds.

The Gilded Wing, the true ship, not its imposter, flanked any who tried to retreat as it fired furiously. Killian shook his head trying to take it in, Emma still standing before him with an implacable stare, ash and ember flying behind her -

“Captain!” The shout from Will wrenched him from his immobility, and Emma used the distraction to disappear. Pulling her cutlass and running through the smoke, Emma avoided Killian’s men, setting a brutal pace through those climbing aboard, but he wrenched her back away from them. She raised her blade to him, flying at him and attacking fiercely without any holding back, unseeing rage and vitriol. Killian was off guard when she disarmed him, cutlass clattering across the deck, but she hesitated just a moment; long enough for Killian to knock her sword away to bring the point of his hook up.

“Do it then. I’m ready." Her eyes blazed like the color of the sky during a hurricane, ferociously churning fire in the pinpricks. She held her chin up and let the point of his hook bite her neck. He briefly wondered why she didn't use magic on him, but the adrenaline coursing through him didn't leave much time for thought. His breath came out in rasped pants, and her skin gleamed with sweat where soot had not settled.

He pushed against her neck a little harder, watching a small dribble of red slip down the pale flesh as it felt like the battle around them slowed. He remembered being in this same position, her blade against his throat while Liam yelled his name. Swan had no Liam, no fierce protector in command or paving the way. She had herself, her crew, her wit, and her magic - that always had to be enough.

She closed her eyes, and her face relaxed, for a moment he thought he was bewitched; her face when contented was angelic, ready for a peace her life never brought. He could make no movement. When no pain came, she opened her eyes again. The fury was gone, replaced by a profound sadness that rattled him. His hook, stable in every battle since his hand was taken by an unworthy Naval toad, trembled. She looked up at him with a sad half smile and he felt like they'd been locked like this for hours instead of seconds, maybe minutes at most.

"Do it, Killian. Please. Let it end." It was a pleaded whisper. He thought it was imagined, this entire moment a dream in which he was lost, but she kissed the curved and bloodied metal, closing her eyes again.

The honesty of her words scared him, and placed him in his own private torment. This creature, this woman. He could no more kill her here than he could raise her to the Heavens and call her the sun.

A shot reverberated and the moment was broken, Swan stumbling backwards holding her side. Red bloomed under her leather belts.

Scabbard’s blackened hands held a pistol, smoke still rising as he threw it aside. "You and that accursed whore of yours can have each other ten different ways in Davy Jones' locker, Hook." Drawing another pistol from a stained coat, he cocked it and aimed it at Hook’s chest. Hook roared, charging, and let Scabbard's round burn through the top of his shoulder blade. He dug his hook deep into Scabbard’s neck, enjoying the gurgling of the man's death rattle.

Looking back, Swan was gone, and this battle was clearly marked for the winners. Swan's ship was already flying through the waters, heading to the new worlds of the East as charted, the Circle’s ships well plundered by her split crew, but not completely picked over.

Blackbeard had limped away, Scabbard’s, Pantera’s, Babyface’s (he'd learned the boy's name was Oliver), and two more of the Circle’s ships floated without their captains, without their loot, and without most of their crew. Hook himself had suffered a grazed shoulder, a few serious wounds crew wise, and two hands down, taken by a sliding cannon. The Gilded Wing had made her point very clear - they didn't need the Circle.

The Jolly Roger’s crew took stock of what was left, hauling a massive prize away (not as good as Swan's, no doubt), and with minimal wear on the Jolly's timbers.

The men celebrated in port a few days later, and Hook purchased a bottle of rum for himself, watching their revelry. Pouring a fourth glass, he threw it back before taking the bottle through winding cobbled paths and down to his quarters, listening only to the sounds of waves breaking against his ship.

Laying in his bunk, he let the rum, the echo of her voice, and the superimposed image of green eyes burning into his take him away somewhere. Hopefully, somewhere he could forget the ache in his chest.

“Killian. Please. Let it end.”

Emma moved through the market, silks flashing by, spices and meat cooking in the air, the sparkle of jewelry and well polished fruits on display. She could feel him following after her, the smirk on his face meeting her around corners as they weaved through the plaza pretending to ignore each other.

She slipped down an alleyway, listened to hear his steady footfalls, and when she could tell he was close, turned down another alley. He spoke steadily.

"Swan, just where are you leading me?"

She didn't answer. Emma liked to keep him on his toes, or on the hook as it were. She picked up the pace, moving to get as far ahead as she could. Here, deep in the city streets where it became a labyrinth of dead ends and multi-leveled corridors, she wouldn’t have to track back far. Ducking into a beaded curtain, she opened an ornately studded door.

The room was low lit with plush pillows, satin throws, candles, and more - everything she'd asked for.

The girl that had been sent stared at her before curtsying, and Emma examined her. She was beautiful, darker skin and braided hair, her own age, painted in gold and wearing a sheer outfit that shimmered in the light. Her eyes were dark, kohled, and lined with more gold.

"I'm Shari," she said with a low rasp of a voice.

"Hush then. He'll be here soon," Emma said in a quiet whisper. "You'll address him as Jones, and me as Captain Swan. I'll give you directions as we go."

The woman nodded. His footfalls grew closer.

Killian called for her softly, and she stepped out into the alley, sun slanting through cloth and wood layered high on the sandstone buildings. His hand rested on the hilt of his cutlass, body tensed, until he took in the way she moved her hips as she walked toward him. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Captain Hook.” She tilted her chin up, smiling. “I do believe I owe you a debt of gratitude for our… amicable split of the Circle’s forfeited assets.”

"You're in a giving mood, love?" His smile was all teeth.

"I'm not your love." She tugged on his sleeve, pulling him towards the doorway, letting him get close enough to almost feel the touch of her lips before backing away further.

Killian grew too impatient at the doorway, grinding himself into her and ghosting his lips across her exposed collarbone. She let out the smallest noise, between a sigh and a gasp, which had his pants feeling more confining by the second. Her mouth met his, and soon they were kissing passionately, his leg between hers, rocking her against his leathers in those sheer fabric pants the locals favored.

Emma pushed against him, deepening the kiss, and forced him backwards into the beautiful room. She pulled away, her body melting into deeply patterned silks that partitioned the room into sections. He ducked under one to be pulled through another, her body flush against his, her top discarded. He groaned at her exposed breasts, filling his palm with one as he began kneading. His hook shredded the waistband of the gauzy bottoms, exposing a short set of silken undergarments.

He ran a finger along the middle of the undergarment, and they both let out noises, hers a whimper and his a low growl of appreciation. She was so wet already. Another shove from her through a draped wall, and he was falling backwards onto plush cushions that smelled of honey and spice, Emma draping herself over him to kiss his breath away again.

Killian flipped her, licking down her clavicle and shredding more of the sheer garment along her waist, nipping where he exposed. He drifted his hand downwards, eager to feel her again, as a glint flashed in her eyes. She scooted back, away from his probing hand. He was reaching for her when she snapped a manacle cuff on his wrist. He snarled, but then she was on top of him, kissing him roughly, tongue practically pushing thought out of his brain. Another hand came from somewhere and snapped a modified manacle on his hook. He blinked as Emma pulled away, and a woman joined her.

“Thank you, Shari. Raise him so he will be standing on the balls of his feet.”

“Yes, Captain Swan.” The woman whom he did not recognize walked to a tapestry on the wall, pulling it aside to reveal a hand crank. Following with his eyes, he realized it was connected to a pulley system that attached to the ceiling above him. He tried to move, but the slack was already tightening on the heavy chain.

He rose up, and Emma smiled softly at him.

“Don’t be mad at me for this, because I asked around a bit. Apparently, when you got a little too deep in the drink, you told Smee some privately held fantasies. A little bit of drink in him, a little bit of a truth potion I was experimenting with… well, he gave me an idea of this gift.” Her smile grew radiant as she waved her hand. He looked to see his clothes were neatly folded off to the side, leaving him bare.

“Swan, let me down, and I swear I won’t-”

Warm fingers covered in a slick substance rubbed against his cock, and he swallowed his words thickly. The dark eyed woman placed thick floor pillows on all sides of his feet wordlessly and soon, Emma was almost the same height as him, smiling at him with her head cocked.

“I must say though, I was hardly surprised to hear your fantasies. They aren’t shameful. I wish you hadn’t felt the need to hide them away in brothels.” She stroked a long line of the slick fluid, what he now realized must be oil, from the base of his cock, over his hip, and to his ass. “Most men, when truly in tune with themselves, like a consensual bit of play in the rear.”

He began to struggle and felt his ears reddening.

“Swan, I don’t know where you heard this bit, but I swear to you. Let me out of these bloody chains, or I’ll run my hook through that pretty neck of yours -”

“What was it you told me? Ah yes. Take a leap of faith.” She kissed a path down his back, hot breath hitting his ass, causing his cock to twitch. “I know when you’re lying, Killian. So tell me truthfully. Do you want this? Would you like me to explore this with you? I know it’s not just ass play. I’d be taking full control, you’d be at my mercy. Tell me what you want.”

Warm, oiled fingers massaged his ass, gently stroking over his entrance. He swallowed thickly.

“Swan, I…” Her fingers pressed harder, and he rutted against the air in front of his cock. “Yes, alright, yes. Why the bloody fuck not, Emma, please, I-” A finger curled inside of him, and he felt his length go rigid.

Emma waved the woman to kneel in front of him. She slowly began to stretch him, adding fingers slowly, thrusting in and out. He rocked back on her hand, head lolling in delight at just how good it felt. Her hands were soft, fingers long and delicate, hitting spots in he hadn’t felt in years. He groaned when she took her hand away.

Emma whispered something he could not discern, and he felt the skin under his thighs twinge, his body reacting. Breath hitched in his lungs as it felt like something coiled up his legs and against his bobbing member. Velvet lined rope or silken scarves, maybe? No, it drew under his skin, stroking what felt like every nerve and then some.

Magic.

He hissed. He could feel Emma’s concentration, magic flowing from her to him, but then the sensation was over. He felt her movements against his oiled ass, and turned to her. She kissed him, softly this time, tenderly even. He heard a sound similar to his brace being taken off.

"Emma, I -" he didn't finish the thought as she pushed into him.

The catch of a hard member or its ilk in him, slowly burning through his body, had every nerve firing with pleasure. He could only let out a moan, Emma’s hand massaging the curve of his ass as she pushed further. He was dead and this was paradise; he was alive and his back was arching into Emma’s warm body.

Fully seated, she licked his ear lobe and started moving in small thrusts.

"Captain Swan, his cock is weeping. May I?"

Emma grunted and thrust with a jerk. He let out a groan of pure euphoria.

"You may rub yourself on him until you feel his begging is real. After that, it’s up to you how you please him, as long as it brings him close to release."

Killian whimpered.

Heat embraced his cock suddenly, and the slide of wet, delicious friction had him babbling words that he hoped were close to begging. He felt Emma’s light touches, her nips against the back of his neck, and the steady grind of her hips against his ass. Coupled with the woman in front of them, rubbing wet, glorious heat against his length and sucking marks onto his collarbone had him achingly aroused, and he tried to buck forward into the woman’s core.

“Captain Swan, he is trying to take control,” the dark eyed woman said, bending to lap at his slit. He threw his head back as Emma harshly snapped into him.

“I’ll tell you how he likes to be sucked, then. It’s too bad he can’t behave.” From behind him, he felt Emma kick his legs open wide.

“Yes, Captain Swan.” He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. He needed to be in control, to fuck one of them, and he rattled the chains that held his hand and hook. If he could get the mechanism to click -

“Take him fully into your mouth.”

Heat enveloped his cock, tight, and he felt every thought escape with his gasp of breath. Emma was moving in a different rhythm now, faster, as she gave commands.

“Swirl your tongue, harder on the underside.”

“Make sure to put pressure on the vein, see? Listen to the noise he makes, Shari. Poor thing.”

“Hollow your cheeks and suck.”

He was coming undone at the seams, pressure building at the base of his spine, each command and snap into his ass bringing him closer.

“Emma, please, I’m so close.” He felt his cock throbbing, his hips bucking forward. Emma kissed up his neck, and their mouths met. He could feel his balls drawing up, every sensation like a lightning rod. He was so close, so fucking close. Emma smiled against his lips, and with agonizing realization atop overwhelming pleasure, he realized he hadn’t burst in the kneeling woman’s mouth. His eyes widened, and Emma laughed, nipping at his lips. Her magic, damnable fucking magic, held him on the edge of -

“Moan on his cock.”

He let out a scream, the vibration of the woman’s mouth making his toes curl. He writhed, and tried desperately to get his hook undone from the chain again.

“Swan, you infernal witch! Gods, I need to fuck you, I need to come, let me out of this!” He struggled again and she kissed him tenderly on his shoulder blade, smiling mischievously up at him while keeping up her pace.

“I love when you’re like this you know,” she murmured into his skin. “You so rarely let go of control. Happy to take and plunder, but on your terms. Never allowing someone else the chance. Do you know how frustrating that is?” She licked a long trail up his neck, ending in sucking on his earlobe. He struggled again, his body screaming its needs to him, every hair raised. Emma shifted, and he felt for a moment like he couldn’t breathe.

The heat left his cock, with an audible pop. He felt some of the haze in his head clear, and he felt Emma’s device leave him. He shuddered at the sudden emptiness. He could hear both women whispering, and he took a moment to try to bring his body back to the earth. Taking in a lungful of air, he expelled it quickly when he felt a warm palm smack his ass. Looking back, he saw the dark eyed woman, Shari, her gold painted skin pressing against his back. She smiled serenely.

“I’m going to take over for Captain Swan, Jones.” He felt the press of a device, slightly larger than the first, against him. “Captain Swan says this one is enchanted, so take some breaths, OK?”

Killian felt the heat immediately, the easing push into him almost but not quite like a real cock. His eyes fluttered closed, feeling every inch of the sensation, his need to come back with a vengeance. He could feel his ass tightening, his muscles taut and tense, sparks shooting behind his eyelids. Warm hands cupped his face, and he opened his eyes through the haze of ecstasy.

He looked wrecked, and it brought Emma nothing but delight. His eyes were blown wide, and every thrust Shari made had his toes curling and small keening noises leaving his mouth. All Emma could do was kiss him softly, and slowly sink on top of him, one thigh lazily resting against his side, while she kept the other leg planted for balance on a pile of pillows.

When she started to move against him, she could feel the throbbing pulse with every thrust. He let out harsh breaths sometimes coupled with nonsensical half words, occasionally paired with a moan of her name. Watching him lose the careful articulation and eloquence he used with ease brought a rush of heat to her core. Killian felt her own pleasure beginning to bloom from his erratic movements, frantic grinding shifts of his hips to try and distract from his struggles against the chain.

“Are you ready for your real treat, my sweet Sailor?” Emma whispered against the stubble of his cheek. She ran fingers through his hair, watching his face flutter through the pure delight and slight pain of her magic, letting him rise higher and higher with no ceiling. She let out a moan and her nails clawed at his back when he answered with a buck, lazily grinning. She snapped her fingers.

He felt the woman behind him moan, and a second later clamped his eyes shut as the feeling spread. The damn thing inside him was moving, shaking quickly like the earth settling after thunder. Vibration hit that damn sweet spot in his ass that ached from slow thrusts, now a hot pinprick that had him screaming, desperate to feel release.

 Coupled with Emma riding him, now seeking her own pleasure and undoubtedly feeling whatever sensation she’d given him and the hired woman, he was beyond bliss. Nothing had felt this incredible before, his body nothing but pure feeling. Shari pressed against him, nails digging into his shoulders with a warm gush of wetness against the back of his thighs as she gave in.

Emma pushed herself up, now able to wrap both legs around him with the other woman pulling away. He heard the chain being lowered and his feet hit the floor; his immediate reaction was to thrust up, up into her. His eyes shot open, meeting hers.

“Please, please, Emma, please -” With the grind of their hips and his feet planted, it allowed him to fill her so perfectly. He needed to fill her and her body tightened, pulling him -

“I’m coming, oh fuck, Killian, I love it when you beg. I want to hear you -” Her moan ripped through him, wet and tight ripples that tore him into pieces.

“Let me come, Emma. Please, fucking please, Swan.” Keening, the whine was broken by his groan.

Emma bit down on his collarbone, sending him reeling. Every synapse fired deliriously, and when her body clenched on his again and she went limp against his chest, he felt her magic wane in time with her flutters as finally the grip on him stopped. A single thrust and he was undone.

Killian came with a guttural moan, rapturous pleasure coursing through him, lasting for what felt like minutes as he bathed her walls. As he spent the last bit of himself, he realized it was quite possibly the most intense orgasm of his life. His breath came out in ragged pants, and he was sure if it wasn’t, it still had shaved years off his existence.

“That was…” he whispered, slowly and with effort.

“A reward.” She pulled away from him, and waved her hand. The chains fell away, and he stumbled forward onto his knees. The room was still lined with large floor pillows, which he promptly rolled onto, laying on his back to catch his breath. Before he knew it, sleep overtook him.

A short time later, a warm washcloth against his thighs startled him, and he looked down to see the gold painted woman, Shari, softly cleaning his thighs.

“Swan…?” he mumbled, shocked at how low and hoarse his voice sounded.

“I’m sorry, my good sir. She paid me, and said I was to take care of anything else you needed. I can give you a massage if you like, after cleaning you. I can also offer you pistachio cake and honeyed fruit. Or, we can have another round of the pleasures.”

He stayed quiet as she continued her gentle ministrations, contemplating his next move.

“Would you tell me where she went? Do you know?”

“I don’t, sir. Only that she paid me very well, and left quickly.” Her brown eyes met his and she sighed, dropping the rag in the steaming water. “She told me not to say, but she headed in the direction of the Western port.”

He got up quickly on unsteady legs, tugging clothes on in a blur. “Thank you. Here -” He tossed a small purse of coin at her. “For your trouble.”

He was gone before she could thank him. She opened the bag and counted the silver and gold coins inside it.

The female captain had been right. Give the man a direction, and he’d pay for her words as well, even if they were silver lies. Shari had no idea where the blonde woman had gone; most likely South from her hasty exit towards the market. Men were such fools when enchanted by beautiful women.

Pity. This one was a fool that was also lost in love with one. Shari took her coin and retired for the evening. She wouldn’t need to work for weeks now, and the female captain had left her enchanted play things. She would be amiss if she didn’t spend her time trying them.

Chapter Text

The roar of ocean waves has faded. I no longer hear anything but the anthem of eternity, which harmonizes with the spirit.

-Khalil Gibran

The past year had been hot, and the push into the very end of summer was no different. It had made for miserable sleeping conditions unless out on deck, and the crew of The Jolly was

a sweaty mess as they sailed north, seeking cooler temperatures.

After a recent encounter with The Gilded Wing, the captain wanted more than a cool breeze. The tavern he stalked towards hopefully held the person currently stoking his rage.

“Swan!” he barked, stomping towards her, body stiff with the anger coursing through him.

She turned her head and his breath caught. She smiled at him, devastatingly lovely eyes twinkling with mischief as she sat on some poor drunk sutler’s lap. The man had no idea what to do beyond stare drunkenly up at her as she used him as a cushion. His rage grew in intensity, and a heat grew in his stomach that he didn’t recognize. She'd left him in Agrabah without a word, only to appear from the mist and steal a haul he had been tracking for a week, only to disappear right back into it. He'd lost more silver and minted bouillon than he wanted to think about.

"My dear Captain Hook," her voice was like honey, low, husky, and sugary sweet. "How lovely of you to come court me. I must say, my suitors are rare these days, and never so persistent." A roar of laughter rose. No one courted Swan. No one courted pirates.

"Swan, you bloody fucking daughter of Chaos herself, you know why the hell I'm here."

She stood, still smiling, and liquidly moved towards him, her crew parting around her.

"You missed me?” Softly pressing her finger to his nose, she imitated his voice. “I’m flattered, my darling.” Her grin would be infectious if he didn't very much want to kill her in that moment. "Another round for everyone, and a rum for me and this gentleman!" she yelled, as cheers went up around them.

"You bloody blonde strumpet," he hissed, grabbing her wrist and pulling her tight against him. She looked at him demurely through long lashes. He was tired of her games and beyond livid with her teasing; all on top of something else he couldn’t place that had him seeing red, which accounted for the madness of what he did next.

He kissed her, hard and relentless, her body stiffening in the shock of a public display of their secret romps. He heard her crew’s reactions before her own. He grinned maliciously at her, at her widened and horrified eyes, licking his lips as Charming threw him back roughly. He felt Snow place a dagger at his side and watched Emma’s face harden like it was made of marble. She stomped forward and punched him hard in the jaw, and he grinned at her again.

“You punch like a princess.” He felt Charming stiffen and Snow pushed harder with her blade. “A fairy princess to be exact.” Looking up at her, he could see her nostrils flaring, her fists balled.

“Leave him.” He could feel Snow withdraw her blade, and heard her disgusted sigh.

”Captain, do you think that’s -” Snow questioned lowly, and David’s grip tightened on his blade.

“I said leave him.” She glared stonily, made to walk out, drinking her rum in a smooth motion, and left a few coins on the counter. Turning back, she cast a look of hatred his way. “If he chooses to follow, I’ll carve out his kidney and feed it to him. I don’t fear such a pretentious, cowardly, rat of a man.”

He made to follow her, but Charming spoke lowly in his ear. “I’ll kill you without a second thought if you touch her again.” Hook pushed the man away and flashed another cheeky grin.

“I’m honored you spared me the first thought. I never knew you cared.”

Charming looked at Hook, studying him coldly, as Snow stepped beside him. “She deserves better than you. You'll never change,” Charming hissed. With the rest of Emma’s crew, they watched Hook leave.

Charming at least agreed with him. Emma deserved far better.

He made his way to his ship, smirking when he saw the latch to his quarters was closed but slightly off. She’d picked it. That vixen. It had been months since Agrabah, and he had stopped fucking doxies and whores in port towns months before that, savoring every time Swan and his animosity bloomed into carnal activities. Like clockwork, they either naturally found each other or purposely sought the other out. Although, among the mumblings he heard from his crew, there was a nugget of truth: Hook pursued Swan. He climbed below, anxious to see her.

She wasn’t there.

A small candle was lit, and he noticed with amusement that next to it lay a swan shaped piece of colored paper, folded as to easily recognize the animal. He touched it gently and looked around. She must have left recently, only stopping here before leaving. He could still smell her in the air. Vanilla, jasmine, rose, freesia, and the sea.

He unfolded the note, eyebrow raised. Only two words scrawled in messy ink.

The Beach.

He quickly made his way down a path to the sea. The beach was bathed in moonlight; the moon herself wading in the water like he could throw a stone to hit it. It was still warm and balmy here, and the air felt heavy with humidity. She sat in a small alcove of a limestone cavern, where a deep inner river carved its way to the ocean from a rushing cistern. Waves lapped quietly as she threw stones into the deep black hole of the pit that water gurgled endlessly into.

Superstitious locals said that an old pirate king had thrown his treasure down into its depths, never to be found or sought but by fools. Some said the treasure was a woman, and the place echoed with her ghostly moans. He and Swan didn’t deal in non-seafaring superstition, and Swan had relayed with confidence on more than one occasion the ‘ghostly moans’ may have been echoes of their own activities.

“Hook.” Emma stood and for a moment, he was taken off kilter. She didn’t have the heat that she had met him with in the tavern any longer. Instead, almost nervously, she was wringing her hands. “Listen, this is… We shouldn’t, you know. This is the...the last time; I’m -”

Hook crushed his lips against Emma’s, chuckling quietly into it when her eyes widened and then closed.

“I've been thinking of you since Agrabah,” he whispered as he pressed kisses against her neck. “I looked for you, and you disappeared, then you pop out of the blue. Then you take another of my hauls, punch me, and lead me here. I was thinking -”

In an almost frenzied response, she pulled him tight against herself and took his breath away. Her mouth was hot against his, all tongue and teeth, longing poured into it like she’d been waiting for him as well.

Immediately, her hands were underneath his shirt, nails scratching down his chest, fingers working his belt and diving to pull out his cock. While he worked her out of the cotton shift she had stuffed into those damnable billowy pants she wore, everything slid off in a blur. Her hand stroked him, her teeth pulled on his lower lip; everything tugging him towards her heat as he slipped fingers into her wetness.

All she wanted was him, just this feeling for forever and a day, his fingers stroking every place he could touch and their mouths moving with fury. When he pulled away to gasp her name and attack her neck, she writhed on his fingers. He was moving too fast, her body betraying her to the way he had mapped her, knowing how to elicit the breathiest moan of pure ecstasy. He brought her up again and again, asking for another each time with quick flicks of his fingers until she felt him slide against her, coating himself. Her breath hitched and he sunk deep, pushing them back against stone.

The cry they both gave at their first movement together, hers a low grind up as he came down into a harsh thrust, was like being caught in a wave that knocks the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She didn’t realize she whimpered curses against his neck until she heard the answering groan of her name.

“Swan!” he grunted, starting a frenetic pace, no time or place for languid strokes in this with fire burning underneath their skin like lit powder. “Bloody hell, Emma. Fuck!”

He plowed into her again and again, groaning, pupils blown wide and his body digging her into the rock wall. The sea crashed along with him, water misting sweaty skin, harsh pants in his ears, both of them alive and here together. When she keened out a cry, it echoed both around him and through him, like a hot finger down his spine.

"You feel so good. I love fucking you, filling you," he hissed in her ear, slamming into her. "I'd fuck you like this everyday, pour champagne over you and lick it off every inch of you. Gods above, I’d find you the rarest jewels to wear, I'd eat cream and strawberries off each nipple and give you anything you wanted. You’ve completely bewitched me." He sucked hard on her neck for emphasis. "God, my Swan, Emma; I'd make you scream my name every night, I'd never leave your tight cunt." He shifted his hips so she saw stars, screaming and holding him as tightly as she could, nails digging into his back.

"Swan!" he groaned. "Emma, Emma, say my name-"

"Hook!" He bit her earlobe harshly.

"No, my darling, say my name. Emma, Gods, please!" He looked at her again, wrecked and desperate, lips red and parted.

"Oh, Killian. Killian, please!" He rubbed her clit as she threw her head back hard, moaning, stones jostling down into the water with a splash as a hand fought to brace her body. "Killian, yes, yes, yes!" She clenched, fluttered, body shuddering into his. Her muscles desperately tried to hold him in, pulling him deeper as his thrusts became erratic, her magic caressing both of them in a blanket of tingling warmth. She sighed his name in a whisper, and he swore, eyes rolling back behind fluttering lashes.

"God, you have a fucking greedy cunt. You’re so fucking tight, I can't, I’m going to -" The cords in his neck were taut, his breath was hot puffs against her ear. "You feel so good, you've ruined me. I need you, I need you! Fuck, fuck, I need - I love - Gods Emma, I love you!"

He groaned the last word and she felt him spill, pulsing with a few more hard bucks of his hips, her heart pounding in her chest. Their breathing was harsh and was the only sound now aside from the sea, the breeze, and the sounds of dripping water over rock.

He stayed inside of her, softening, and she refused to meet his eyes. She lowered her legs, and he pulled out of her trying to kiss her, but she moved her head to the side. Her jaw was set and her body was tense once more; walls up high, if not higher, than before.

The silence continued as they tucked clothing back into place, righting their garments. The wind through the cave actually made a moaning noise, as If it was aware of the tension now, too.

She didn’t say goodbye to him. He’d broken the one unspoken taboo, the reigning covenant of this, whatever this was. She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t deal with these consequences. This was why it was the last time; he was getting reckless and he had that luxury. She didn’t. She turned away from him and he caught her wrist.

“Emma.” His whisper was hoarse. “Please don’t go.”

"You know I can't. We can’t. I tried to tell you before we -" She didn’t look back, and he tugged her wrist not letting go. “This is the last time I want to do this. I can’t - No. I won’t do this anymore.”

"Just once. Stay. I won't ask again."

She turned, but didn’t meet his gaze, recognizing the truth in his words.

"Why?" she whispered quietly, looking up at him with those green, sad, familiar and broken eyes. “You know that we should have never done this to begin with. You know that this is a poor substitute for both of us, a crutch to keep us feeling anything other than numb.” She refused to cry, and swiped at her face with a fury when tears threatened. “We tricked ourselves into thinking there was more to it than there is, and I can’t do it anymore. I can’t lie to my crew, I can’t make excuses, I can’t try to make us something we just aren’t, that we will never be. This was only supposed to be sex, and you know it can’t be more than that.”

“When I win your heart Emma, and I will win it, it won't be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.” Emma scoffed at him, but he continued. He stroked her wrist, that he still held. “Why can’t it be more? We could be together. I’ve told you, I’d give you-”

“Yes.” She sneered at him, rage playing broadly across her face, yanking away, “‘You’d give me.’ What would I give you until you’re bored and find some new whore in another port that catches your fancy, hm? My heart isn’t something to be won. We aren’t in love just because you said something meaningless during a lay. And just what would I give myself? Giving up my ship, my crew, my life that I built from nothing but the blood I spilt; my own and others? What lies beyond being Captain Hook’s little pet?”

His jaw clenched, and he could feel his hand ball in rage.

“That’s not fucking fair and you know it. You could -”

“What? Sail with my crew and yours on the Jolly? We could make a cute little navy fleet so you could play good old days but without the crown? That’s a shit load of good form, right? Your brother would be proud.”

Killian blanched as if she had smacked him. He opened his mouth and when he found no words, met her furious gaze with one of his own.

“Don’t follow me, Hook.” She turned on her heel, heading back to the lights of town towards her ship.

He turned and faced the sea; the moon had risen high from her dip in its waters.

“As you wish, Emma,” he hissed, watching the stars twinkle through the gathering clouds.

Her ship was gone from port at morning light, his crew surlier than ever with nothing but an even surlier Captain to show for it. They sailed back to familiar coasts for easy treasure, not willing to risk any further losses.

Snow had been furious, but understood when Emma had gone off again with that idiot, if only to say goodbye. She knew this would be difficult for Emma, even if Emma didn't understand herself, but Charming was brooding, which meant their own time was put off. Nothing put him in a worse mood than knowing his sister was out with an enemy of his, especially when being out meant ignoring that she had better men falling at her feet from coast to coast.

“She doesn’t see it like we do. Probably because you all raised her like a feral heathen. She doesn’t get the effect she has.” Snow had explained again and again. It was why she had cut her own hair off; why Ruby, Fa, and Merida usually chose female company; why Belle had chosen books and Rory never strayed too far from Phillip. Emma had no idea how many careful glances were stolen when she walked by, and when she did gussy up, she still didn’t seem to understand the full effect of her presence. Snow was never jealous. Instead, if anything, she was more frustrated for David. He could never relax when he was constantly blocking any drunken idiot from trying to see under her skirts.

She could do well enough on her own catching anyone who was outright obstinate, or managed to draw her attention. It was the subtle, suave, more seductive types that had a way of catching her off guard in David’s opinion.

Like one Captain Hook, or Jones, or whatever name he was using on whatever day. Snow had heard the same rant time and time again about Emma deserving better and all of David’s efforts to protect her wasted because of one undeserving jackass that somehow always managed to get past him. The only thing that kept him calm was Snow’s talks with Emma, and how they both noticed the changes in her after she’d been with him. Emma of course was oblivious, but the crew, David and Snow especially, were not.

Emma was softer after being with Hook, calmer, lighter even. She laughed easier, carried herself higher, confidence clear as they sailed. His sister turned into a smitten pastry after their romps, when what the crew needed was the fierce warrior queen. David hated that she didn't know how strong and lovely she was without the idiot telling her. Her demeanor changed into happiness, their intimacy her unhealthy addiction, ripples falling all around her choices.

Snow had promised David that if the situation with Jones became a problem, she would say something, and it had even before the indecency of the previous evening. Snow and Charming’s trysts were quiet and subtle, although it was easy to tell they had affection for each other if you knew them well. She was careful to take the herbal tincture Emma stored for all of them; careful to maintain a small distance between her and David, and careful to keep her emotion in check in situations where it could be used against her. She still remembered some of her days as a royal, before the palace fell. In many ways, her upbringing had served her well.

At the same time, Emma was well guarded and rash, with prickly armor and a soft underbelly. She’d been warned multiple times that her and Jones were playing with fire. Snow thought back to the last time she had brought the subject up to Emma.

Emma had sat on a small stool dreamily looking over the water through the large window in the Captain’s quarters, twirling a lapis lazuli and sapphire necklace in her hands. She’d favored it as a piece of treasure since it was found during their raid at the victory against the Circle, never wearing it but instead, letting the blue stones catch the light making halos on the wooden vanity in front of her. Snow watched her deep in thought, before she had startled her from her thoughts with a knock.

“Snow? I’m sorry, I was just…” She trailed off, reaching for a silver handled brush to comb her hair.

“You don’t have to lie to me Emma. I came here to talk about that, actually.” Snow sat on the edge of her bed, rolling the silk in her fingers. “We need to talk about what happened during that battle, The Circle's attempt on us.”

Emma’s eyes flashed, and she turned away. “We won. What else do you want to t-”

“Hook had the opportunity to end your life, and not only didn’t, but went on to take out a member of his treatise’s party. That alone is sacrilege against most honor codes, but what’s worse is that he saved you from someone accusing you both, in front of that same formed treatise, of having a weakness for each other. That makes all of us weak if you look emotionally manipulated.” Emma scoffed, trying to interrupt but Snow continued on, unfazed. “And then, and then! You rewarded him by letting his crew leave with no damages, were seen with him later in Agrabah’s market, before leaving disheveled, only for him to follow asking where you may have gone. Are you trying to advertise that you two are together? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Us killed? Do you know someone could use him to get to you, and he’d probably do it?” “No he would not. He’d never -”

“Emma. Listen to yourself. You’d never. He could do anything!” Snow stood and moved to sit in front of her on a cedar chest, pleading with her. “Do you honestly know, and can you honestly say that you trust him with our lives and yours?”

Emma sighed, looking away before shaking her head. “Everyone knows then?” “The entire crew has known now for a few years. It’s never been a problem until…” Snow trailed off.

“Until they used him against me at the attack.” Snow nodded, looking down at how sad she sounded.

“If you have feelings for him, you could -”

“I don’t.” Emma snapped, and then after a beat, shrugged. “He was good at fucking, and it was a nice break. We’ll survive.”

“Oh. I thought -”

“Not all of us are like you and my brother. All birds and flowers and butterflies or whatever,” Emma teased, breaking into a grin. Snow blushed, hitting Emma with a large pillow.

“They just hung a bunch of witches in the South, keep it up!” Snow shouted. “Dark, so dark from the woman who wants to love on all the furry forest creatures,” Emma teased again, picking up her own pillow and thwacking Snow back.

When Emma had returned from the beach the night she said goodbye to Hook, Snow had seen a change, but not for the better. The small bit of lightness within Emma was gone, replaced with an impassive expression that poorly hid her anger. Emma had ordered them to leave at first light, and they’d set out as instructed with no real destination but southwest.

Emma barked orders, keeping busy and not letting herself become idle until the early morning hours before the sun rose. Snow was just getting up when she saw Emma on deck, the beautiful blue necklace in hand as she looked out across the starry night.

“Emma? Shouldn’t you go get some sleep?” Snow asked quietly.

Emma nodded, stretching with a yawn. “Yeah. I’ll get some sleep in a moment.” Snow had begun to check the rigging when she heard a small splash. Looking up, she saw Emma walking down below deck and from her perch on the ropes, watched as shimmering blue sunk into a darkened sea.

A little more than a month had passed, and yet David was still growing more annoyed with his sister. She'd done the right thing, both he and Snow had assured her. Even Regina had been supportive. Yet Emma was still brooding. Her moods were unpredictable and wild, her stress making her sick as Snow found her literally looking green after years at sea.

Emma didn't seem to care or understand that her weakness changed the entire crew dynamic, putting everyone on edge. Even David’s own relationship with Snow was suffering, as they fought each other over what was best.

“Maybe we made a mistake, maybe she should have stayed with him,” Snow had whispered one night as they heard Emma pacing the upper deck. She wasn't sleeping, had been dizzy, irritable, and ill.

“He was the mistake,” David had hissed back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s never going to change, but she? She deserves more than settling. She can change. He's just a one handed pirate with a drinking problem, but Emma can be more.”

Snow had only sighed and rolled over in their bed, annoyed.

Even Ruby had become annoyed. Emma had taken a whiff of the chowder due to be supper for a few days, and promptly vomited into a clean stove pot.

Only Robin had been able to tolerate her, his patience and kindness infuriating a jealous Regina. That night, they had made port anchoring in River's End. Emma stayed on board sulking again. In the morning, David was surprised that Regina had started using a gentle hand with Emma too. Robin and Regina exchanged looks as David looked on.

David narrowed his eyes. He pulled Snow aside, and motioned towards Regina. “Find out what is going on there. I'm worried.”

When Snow had come back wringing her hands and distracted, he pressed her, but she said only that she needed to confirm something with Emma. They passed the night in silence, curled away from each other, both sleeping fitfully.

The next day, the women on the crew were quiet, an uneasy and eerie silence settling over a secret they seemed to know wouldn't stay secret for very long. It drove David crazy, and he excused himself for a walk at lunchtime, his sister still not yet awake as her crew worked tirelessly. He wondered if she was 'sick’ again. Heartache was not an excuse for her behavior, especially over someone so heinous.

He'd walked for a while, looking over the town of River’s End, the market bustling. He noticed several of the potion shops and apothecaries Emma favored were closed. That was certain to not improve her mood. Sitting at the mouth of where one of the rivers and the sea met, he watched as a body on a rope swayed in the breeze further out near the water. A pirate? No. River's End left that type of punishment to Korumpiran’s jurisdiction.

An old man fished nearby, nodding at him and the strung up body.

“A Bruja. You call them witches or healers up North.” He made a circle with his thumb and index finger, spitting through it.

“Witchcraft is illegal here now?” David asked, trying to sound unworried.

“No Señor, it's legal - they got caught making unfinished potions for the nobles. There's been a shortage of silphium plant and black cohosh leaf in the Far North East, so their potions didn't work. The nobles don't look kindly on their mistresses getting in a family way, you see. No one's potions have been working. Some bruja lie, sell them anyway, but most told people they could have a Bambino, just to wait until the next crop-”

“Bambino?” David tried to remember his dialects. The word was unfamiliar in trading, he was sure.

“Ah, si, yeah? The main ingredients for potions of prevention, they grow to the East. It's been about two, three, four months now?”

Everything clicked into place.

When he rushed back onto The Wing, Snow was waiting for him in their room.

“We need to talk,” she said slowly, but David shook his head.

“I already know. Where is she?”

Killian had sailed for weeks looking for her, tracing her name and her ship at ports of call all over the seas. She’d all but disappeared; no one had heard anything and she hadn’t been seen in weeks. One tavernkeep had the audacity to lie to him, telling him in hushed tones after a few coppers that she’d been removed as Captain of the Gilded Wing. Even after two black eyes, he’d sworn it to be true, so Killian had disposed him of a few teeth as well. When he heard it from several different ports of call, though, he began to actually feel fear. Had there been a mutiny? Of all the crews he’d known, Swan’s seemed the most unlikely to revolt.

Something had to have happened. Taverns she and her crew frequented hadn’t seen her. He heard from a smuggler near the coast of Rougehelm that a woman calling herself Swan had been spotted only a few towns over, a silent Eastern and loud Northeastern pair of women her companions. He recognized a description of Merida anywhere. He paid the smuggler a hefty purse, and the man did not disappoint with his information; the Gilded Wing was truly under another’s control. The Swan, in

all her notoriety, was seemingly on the run, hiding her face from port to port for the last three weeks while her companions flanked her sides. They were currently on a small, unnamed sloop that moored in a merchant area. The crew of the Jolly, credit to their intelligence, did not question why they headed up the coast to the small town of Pierral.

The first night, his men enjoyed the brothels as Killian stalked the streets trying to find information. When he asked about a woman fitting her description, he half wondered if this was a ruse put forth by Swan herself.

She’d been spotted in a thick, hooded cloak and skirts, with her hair pinned in a bun. Based on that description, he could tell something was very wrong. It was an abnormally warm November, snow not even reaching Arrendale but for the tallest mountains. A cloak wasn’t needed, especially for a sailor, and Emma never wore full skirts if she could help it. Pinning her hair back was another strange modification to her wardrobe. She almost always wore her hair down or braided.

On the second night, he saw her. Well, she saw him.

A woman had turned a corner in front of him with speed, her skirts swishing as one hand clutched her stomach. Killian would normally have paid her no mind, but when she had started vomiting, he asked if she was alright. He was a gentleman, after all.

Emma had turned around and flinched at the sight of him like he was a ghost. She looked like one, skin pallid, face gaunt with sharp lines, lips cracked, and deep bags under her eyes. Her hair was pinned back, but tangled curls had come loose and clung to her neck above an ill fitting corset and skirt. The skirt swallowed her midsection and was tied below her breast where it was too loose, the corset too small in the breast but loose at the hem. The thick cloak she wore on top would have covered how disheveled she looked, if she hadn’t pulled it aside to wretch.

Killian’s eyes were wide with shock and earnest confusion; a hand automatically reached behind his ear to scratch.

“Emma, is everything al-”

“Killian Jones, don’t you dare say alright or I swear I’ll -” Emma didn’t finish the threat, instead turning back to vomit again, her body heaving. Killian felt helpless, settling to approach closer when she leaned against a wall with her forearm, gasping for breath.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you. I just want to know what happened, and if you’re safe.” He watched her face twist through a mixture of emotions: amusement, sadness, contempt. When he tried to touch Emma’s wrist with his hand, she jerked away from him like he’d burned her, and wrapped her cloak tightly around her body. Her eyes flashed with fright before she hid her fear behind a blinking glare.

“Don’t touch me. I’m fine, I’m just… sick. I’m headed to the apothecary.” Her eyes burned through him, even through her exhaustion. “Stop following me. I thought I made my feelings clear. You are nothing to me, there is no future for us.”

“Emma, please, I -”

“Don’t follow me, Hook.” Killian felt the sting of her rebuking him by his false name, letting her words echo in his ears as she stalked away.

He looked up at the stars and silently prayed to the one that took his brother. Should he stay or should he follow? The star laughed at him as it twinkled. He knew the answer, and felt it from nose to navel, from foot to hook. His brother echoed through his head, his words clearly written like the constellations.

A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. Today was not the day he’d stop chasing this woman.

Following up the footpath, a wooden sign that proclaimed apothecary topped a small thatched house’s gate. The door was partially ajar, and he could see Swan’s figure through a pane window move quickly through the storefront. Killian pressed an ear by the door jam, but could hear nothing.

He crept in to the store, opening the door silently to duck between some shelves of books, fine powders, and strange dried creatures. Swan was at the counter, talking lowly to someone. He could hear someone scoffing, with indignation, and then the grumble of an argument before a high, nasally, prim voice spoke out.

“I’ve told you, we don't have it here. First, with the Silphium, Black Belladonna and Cohosh shortage, even making it would be impossible.” A dismissive sniff was let out. “And,” whoever was speaking added haughtily, “we don't make potions or tinctures for that kind of clientele. Your pirate’s life leading you into trouble is not any of our-”

Glass broke loudly, and the unknown woman let out a cry of fear. Killian peeked around the shelf to see the shopkeeper’s hand held out in defense, Swan’s knife on her throat. The shopkeeper was a thin and pinched older woman, snarled gray hair held back by a large feathered brooch.

“I don't care if you serve rats or royals,” Swan gritted out through her teeth, dangerously low. “Tell me where I can go, then.” Killian could see a dribble of blood making a lazy trail from the point of the knife down the shopkeeper's neck. Swan was in some sort of trouble to resort to this.

“Arendelle, Arendelle! There's someone there that can help you get rid of it there,” the shopkeeper trembled, her voice cracking. His Swan was cursed? He heard the shopkeeper yelp, and Emma was out the door in a blur. When he was sure Emma was gone, he made his way back where the shop keeper laid, eyes forever open, reflecting the many herbs around her. Her neck was cut, and her hair was shorn to the scalp, bleeding slightly, right where the brooch had been.

Killian took leave to find her, letting Will and Smee run The Jolly in his absence. The fear that had settled into him over whatever was happening to Swan left him rowing to Arendelle, his thoughts a mess. She didn’t want him near her, which he would usually respect without question. With her, it was just - for whatever reason, he felt he needed an explanation and closure. He was owed why she hated the sight of him, looking at him and almost everyone else with a vehement glare.

He saw the sloop that Emma was in with Merida and Fa, tying off the rowboat and watching the Jolly become a speck on the horizon. Walking into town, everything was still and quiet as the evening settled in. The only place where any noise came from was a small tavern squeezed into a narrow space where he could hear thick brogue. Merida.

Peeking through the doorway, he could see her and Fa along with the other patrons, but Swan was nowhere in sight. Killian wandered around for a bit, deciding to finally head somewhere less confining. He headed towards the rows of houses to quit feeling like he was suffocating.

Leaving the town, he had only walked for a few moments before he heard a familiar voice cursing, coming from the beach with speed. When her eyes met his, she wasn’t angry. Instead, she looked horrified.

“What are you doing here?” sEmma hissed, taking a step back. “This all has to be a nightmare. I can’t handle you right now on top of this.”

“I followed you. I know you said you didn’t want to see me, but I thought -”

“I have to be imagining this. I’m going insane from the guilt, too.” She ran a hand through her half loose curls, then pressed on her temples.

“Dammit, Emma, what is going on with you?” Killian pleaded. He touched her elbow lightly, and she started, pulling back and away as she had the last time he’d seen her. Hiking up her dress, Emma turned and stalked up the path to the seaside cliffs. He chased her skirted form, calling after her.

“Swan!” She didn’t turn, only kept on her steady march. “We’ve known each other for years. Please just tell me what the bloody hell is going on. What happened with your crew? Where is your ship?” She didn’t stop, but wavered slightly, a hand going to her mouth. “Emma, let me help you!”

Emma didn’t answer but instead, ran to a large bush, emptying the contents of her stomach. Killian rushed to her, but she held up a hand when he got a short length from her.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she hissed, body doubled over as she heaved into the brush. “I’m here to help you. I know you’re cursed. If I can help you break it -”

“Cursed? Oh, this is rich, this is -” Another attack hit her, and she caught herself on one of the pines that littered the cliff. When she had finished retching, she wiped her mouth and glared at his anxious form. “I’m cursed alright. Since you helped create this curse, I don’t think you can break it.”

“Emma, you’re not making any sense.” Reaching for her again, she took a step back shaking her head. “I haven’t cursed you, I don’t understand -”

“You have. When you’re sold a tonic made with missing ingredients, curses can happen so much easier. I suppose you never meant the phrase ‘a pirate always keeps a souvenir of their conquest’ to apply to me, but surprise! I’m carrying our souvenir.” Emma gestured to her abdomen, and let out a wry laugh.

Killian felt the air leave his lungs and his head spun. “Emma, you're…” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “You’re with child?”

The question doused the fire in her eyes, her shoulders hunching as she averted her gaze from his. Wringing her hands, she shivered and drew the cloak she was wearing closer to her body. He softly surveyed the faint glow in her gaunt cheeks and the gentle swell in her breasts; the loose skirts she wore now instead of trousers. She didn’t answer, and she didn’t need too.

Killian rasped out another breath. “And you're sure it's mine?” he blurted without thinking. He regretted it immediately when she looked down, and he realized that she was crying.

“I haven't…” She shifted her body weight and wrapped her arms around herself tightly. “There's…” Emma took a breath and gazed up at him, steadily. “I haven't been with anyone else in a long time.”

“A long time?” he repeated, his mouth dry and tongue struggling to form words. He felt like time had slowed, and that his mind was underwater. Nothing seemed real; everything was muffled.

“Over a year. I've been with only you for almost two years.” She looked back down at the ground, and he heard her cough slightly. The moon caught her face, and he could see tears falling. Killian took a step towards her and Emma pulled away, swiping a hand at her eyes.

“How far along are -”

“It doesn't matter.” Emma threw her hands up, laughing darkly through tears. “I'm here to get rid of it. I didn't think…” She swallowed hard. Killian could hear her choking back a sob. “I didn't think you'd want to know. You've had to have bastards before with all the women you’ve fucked, and we can't -” She ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head. “I can't be a parent. I just thought it was better this way. I'll drink a tonic, and a few days from now I'll be sick. It’ll… Look, you don't have to worry.”

He blanched. She looked up at him slowly, a look of hatred in her eyes that he'd never seen, like she'd given up on everything. It made his chest constrict.

“Emma, please. Can we talk about this? It's your choice, but I'll take care of the babe -”

“You? You'll take care of a child?” Her laugh was hoarse, and her eyes flashed with rage. “Killian, you think you can take care of a baby? You think either of us would be good parents?” Her voice rose higher. “We're orphans. We were raised by murderers and thieves. We don’t just have blood on our hands, we’re fucking soaked in it. Neither of us knows the first god damned thing about being parents -”

“WHICH IS WHY I'D DO BETTER!” he roared, and she flinched as he closed the distance between them.

”You think that just because I've been given up on, that I've lost everyone, I haven't dreamed of my own children or having a life outside of all this?” He gripped her hands tightly, looking down at her pleadingly. “Emma, you aren't a stupid woman. I don't have any bastard children anywhere. If I did, I'd have gone to care for them.” The truth rung in his voice and she cried harder, her body shaking and making her look small. “I would have taken them as far as I could from any sort of pain. I'd soften every edge, doing better in every way so another child didn't grow up desolate and lost like we did.” He took a hand to her cheek, wiping away tears from her face.

“Don’t. Just… don’t,” she whispered into his hand, and he rubbed his thumb over the apple of her cheek.

”If you’re sure, I’ll at least stay. I helped you get into this situation. The least I can do is stay and be by your side.” He cupped her cheek, and she buried her face into his chest, sobbing. This was his Swan with her wings clipped, scared and alone. He felt her fear as well, all consuming and raw. He found himself holding her tight, trying to assure her that he would protect her. “Swan, Emma, I - I meant what I said, when-”

She shook her head, and pulled from his embrace. “I won’t send you away. I could no more send you away now than I could stop the tide. I just…” He could see her, every bit of her, walls down and unguarded for the first time since they had taken to chasing each other. “I’m so scared.”

He crookedly smiled, kissing her forehead while gathering her close. “I am too.”

Walking back to the inn, Emma tried to keep her stomach from emptying again. This was an entirely foreign experience to her, as she hadn’t exactly been around many infants or pregnant women. Seafaring women that got knocked up disappeared onto land, either with or without their lovers, never to be heard from again. Women pirates were rare enough; bastard children culled the number even further.

After Emma had stopped crying and gathered herself, she'd made a point to return the distance between herself and Killian. She would not disappear to raise some child in a cottage somewhere; the life she fought so hard for awaited. She'd been weak, settling into his embrace and letting him comfort her - no more. A line had to be drawn, she couldn't hurt any longer.

As they made their way into the inn, Emma felt her stomach lurch. The innkeeper’s husband, a ginger bearded man, was chopping wood outside. He wiped his brow with his hand and gave them a wave; the smell of the pine wood mixed with his sweat hit Emma like a swell in a storm.

Dry heaving and doubling over, she let her empty stomach push out bile and acid onto the ground. The innkeeper's husband watched from his work, frozen in awkward panic, and Emma had to control the urge to hurt him. Her emotions felt out of control, always ramped to the highest feeling of either rage or sadness. A dry sob escaped her throat along with a cough.

She felt a hand rest on her back. Killian was there, concern glittering in his blue eyes as he rubbed softly on her back. Carefully using his hook, he pushed aside hair that had escaped her bun.

“Come on love. Let’s get you inside.”

Emma shook him off even though dizziness was causing her to wobble as she stood and made her way into the inn.

The innkeeper greeted her with a wide smile and a wave. She was an older, plump woman with gray brown hair. She reminded Emma of Granny with her no nonsense attitude. “Hello Miss Swan, welcome back. Would you like me to brew some tea again or…” Killian stepped through the doorway and her eyes narrowed.

“Maggie, this is Killian. He'll need a room for the night,” she said as she dug through her coin purse. Emma felt exhausted, both emotionally and physically. She'd been budgeting, but her purse was light from overnight stays and whatever food her stomach could handle.

As she dug for coins, Killian put several on the counter. “I could stay with you?” he asked, tentatively.

Emma shook her head, her lips a thin line.

“No. I, I just… I need time.” She could see his face fall, but he nodded.

Maggie grunted, extending keys with wary looks in Killian’s direction. “Watch that hook around my linens, young man. You will buy any that have holes in them.”

He took the keys and flashed her a dazzling smile. “Maggie, we may have only just met, but I wouldn't dream of it. Good night ladies.” He gave a small bow to Emma and made his way upstairs. Maggie blushed, fanning herself with a doilie.

Emma collapsed into a chair near a small fire grate as Maggie brought a kettle out.

“That's him, then?” the older woman said in a hushed tone, sitting down and placing a kettle over the flame.

Emma nodded.

“Well, he isn't bad looking. You could certainly have done worse.” She placed a cup and saucer in Emma's hands. Emma snorted.

“Maggie, that isn't the issue. And you know very well that I-“

“What have you eaten today, Miss Swan?” Maggie interrupted, surveying her body.

Emma squirmed in her seat. “Nothing stays down. Or if it does, it makes me feel disgusting, sitting in my stomach like an anchor. I just -”

“I'll make you some gravy. Even if you feel miserable, you need to eat.”

Emma groaned, setting down the tea cup and burying her face in her hands. The kettle whistled and Maggie carefully took it from the flame, pouring tea and dropping a few sugar cubes into each cup, making sure to put extra in Emma's.

“Sorry, Maggie.”

“It's alright, I don't mind. What time tomorrow are you going to the herbalist?” Maggie stirred her tea, her face judgement free. Emma had discovered the inn around the time she'd celebrated her third anniversary of being captain. Maggie was a take no prisoners, judge no soul, kind woman who made a mean meat pie and damn good ale. Her beds were comfortable and her knit blankets were warm and plush. Emma had several on her bed in the Gilded Wing.

Or she had. Now, she assumed either Regina or David slept in her bedroom. Emma lifted her head and stared at her tea cup.

“Get rid of it. Get rid of it, and come back.”

That's what David had told her as Snow looked down at her boots. Emma had left in the middle of the night; Fa and Merida comforting her in her shame and misery. Merida helped her pin her hair up as she wretched, Fa helped fit her in clothing that while ridiculous, drew away from her figure changing so drastically.

“Tomorrow morning. Sunrise.” Emma swallowed thickly. Tomorrow, she'd go to the herbalist with Killian, and it would be done. Life would resume, she'd stop puking, and she could return to her crew with contrition and hopefully regain her position. She and Killian would go their separate ways, as she sailed as far from the waters he favored as possible.

Her stomach knotted and an ache in her chest began. She wanted to blame the pregnancy, but knew better.

“And Killian, he's joining you?” Maggie asked as she sipped her tea.

Emma nodded, and continued staring.

“Well, I wish you well. Now, drink your tea. I'll be back with gravy. I expect half of the tea gone by the time I return.” Maggie threw back her tea and stood, heading towards the kitchen.

Emma picked up her cup and sipped, staring at the flames.

Killian didn't sleep after listening to Emma and Maggie's conversation.

He crept to his room and sat on the mattress of a carved wood bed, picking at the threads of the blanket that lay on it. Laying back, he allowed his thoughts to catch up, realization setting in waves as he stroked his hook with his hand, resting both on his chest.

In a different time and place, he had imagined his excitement at the prospect of having a child. Dreams of realities where he had made better choices. A shrieking voice called him Papa. Where the woman he loved returned his affections -

And there it was. He loved her. It seemed obvious to him now; that before this revelation how easy it was to chase her with no regard to anything else; a single minded drive of her and survival. As if someone had shown him a partial map of a coastline, only to reveal an entire continent that lay beyond. The clarity of the knowledge that had always been there left him with a sadness that clawed up his throat. Every path led to her. He’d followed constellations on stormy seas enough to know a guiding star. If she was only there to be admired from an unfathomable distance, at least he’d had moments when there was more than this sordid mess.

It would be easier now, for both of them. Emma would realize how close she came to dealing with a horrible mistake, he an unworthy and unfit man, and they’d part. No, it would be easier for her. In his mind, he knew that long nights of thinking about the realities where someone called him Papa meant that there was no one else but Emma he'd want to be the one they called Mother.

A knock sounded at his door and he stood, opening it to find Emma's tired eyes surveying him warily.

“If you still want to, and you don't have to, you have no obligation.” She stumbled over her words, looking down at the ground. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “Don't feel like you have to be with me tomorrow. I'll be alright on my own.”

“Do you want me there Swan?” he asked, softly. After a long pause, Emma looked up at him, eyes glassy. She nodded. “Then I'll see you in the morning. Rest easy, love.”

When she’d left, he sat up in a plush chair by the fireplace, listening to the sounds of the inn around him. When it went still he left, walking along the rocky coastline, letting the sea air fill his lungs. Sea spray hit his face, the cold finally coming in to settle as winter took its hold. Looking at the dark clouds obscuring the stars from view, he guessed they might even get snow today.

Trudging back towards the inn in the early morning hours, he was surprised to see Maggie waiting for him. She smiled, eyes bright and dangerously astute over half moon glasses. “Come have a chat with me, dear.”

Killian almost gulped. Two large metal needles clicked away in her hands, as yarn knotted itself into a pattern. He sat across from her, unsure what to do with himself.

“Emma is petrified for tomorrow, you know.” She spoke matter of factly, unwavering in her stare at him. Killian scratched behind his ear nervously.

“Aye. Can’t say I’m much better.”

“No?” He would swear the woman’s eyes gleamed and her lips twitched up into a larger smile. “Intriguing. Emma is an interesting little duckling, that’s for sure. I can guide her only so far, because she’s just so stubborn. It’s far easier to let her make her own choices without pushing. If you push someone like Emma,” the clacking of the needles stopped abruptly, causing her words to reverberate through the room, “they will resist. Letting them make the choice they know they want without help may be hard, but it’s far worth it.”

“The choice… they want?”

“You aren’t a stupid man. Start looking for the obvious, and let her take her time. Apparently, she thought you were special enough to swear off anyone else, and to bring you up every visit here for years now. You seem to annoy her quite frequently, with how many times I've heard your name in Emma's tales. Shame about this, really. If someone heard her talk about you both, they'd think you two might make a good pairing.” Killian looked up at her smiling face, unable to hide his slack jaw. Her eyes glittered, the shrewd expression she wore mixed with clear amusement.

She clapped her hands, picking out a rich ruby skein of yarn. “And now, you learn to crochet. Anyone lucky enough to have a hook for a hand should learn how to use it properly.”

Killian blinked, but she had already layered on knots directly on his hook, and soon he found himself making some strange knotted monstrosity that vaguely resembled a scarf, wondering how this woman had found her way through Emma and himself so easily.

Emma had never liked mornings, but she hated them infinitely more now that she was pregnant. Every morning meant soreness, a deep weariness that settled in her bones to the very marrow, strange emotions felt on levels she had no idea how to express, and of course, vomiting. This morning was no different. It was still dark outside her window, but the sky was lightening into deep plums and velvety blues where the sun would soon try to begin its journey. Deep gray clouds had appeared, while she could see a chill had begun to try to creep in with the window panes fogging around the corners.

It would be beautiful, save for the fact that Emma’s first glances at her surroundings were interrupted by heaving her guts out into a large bucket next to her bed.

Downstairs, she could hear the low masculine rumble of Killian’s voice mixed with Maggie’s laughter, both of them dropping off when Emma let out an involuntary moan of discomfort. Not wanting to worry them or have anyone in her room, Emma stood and carried her full bucket down the stairs, throwing it out the back door, before heading to the front room to find them.

At first, when Emma saw Killian holding the small wooden hook in his hand and plucking at deep emerald knots with his metal hook, she thought she’d just gone mad. It was easier to believe that rather than the fierce Captain Hook, with whom she’d watched gut a man, was sitting and crocheting with Maggie like they were the best of friends. He hadn’t even noticed her come into the doorway, so focused on his task, his tongue ever so slightly pushed out of his mouth in concentration.

“Good morning, Emma.” Maggie smiled, wry amusement painting every part of the smile on her face. Killian blinked, looking up at Emma’s disheveled form in the doorway as the tips of his ears turned red.

Emma only raised an eyebrow before nodding at the both of them. “Looks like you two became fast friends.”

“Swan, good morning, I was -” he stumbled.

“Killian turns out to be a delightfully well read and learned man, Emma. No wonder you’ve been hiding him away for this entire -”

Emma’s glare and overwhelming curtness betrayed her lack of emotional control. “Enough, Maggie.”

Silence fell, and Maggie looked at Emma impassively before standing and facing Killian. “It was lovely to teach you to crochet my dear. Remember what I told you.” She nodded at Emma, who simply raised her chin to regard the older woman.

Killian rose, carefully placing his work on a table. He stepped towards Emma, and she flinched before his gentle touch on her elbow relaxed her. “To the herbalist then?” When Emma only nodded, he looked at her frame. “You need to eat something before we go. Maggie made breakfast.” He pointed to a pile of eggs nearby, and Emma felt her stomach lurch again.

The smell of the cheese and grease on the eggs made her body feel like it was being wrung by invisible hands, her lungs constricting as she barely made it to the back door.

Killian sat in the door frame with her, unease on his face as she dry heaved for what felt like ages.

“Alright, no eggs,” he whispered, and pressed a cool cup of water against her side. She drank it greedily, stomach still empty. “Maggie thought you might be able to handle them.”

“There is nothing I can ‘handle’. Everything, every single fucking food, makes me -” As if on cue, she coughed miserably and held herself against another wracking spasm. “I hate this. I can't wait to be done. I'll have my own body back. I'll be able to eat again and not smell things from a mile away…“ She trailed off when she saw the expression on his face change from unease to impassive as he pressed a warm mug into her hand.

“We had a pregnant Romani woman, Esmeralda, board us for safe passage; she swore by this. Brought along a damnable goat for fresh cream, even. I thought it might help. Maggie doctored it a bit to your tastes, so.” He shrugged as she sniffed the drink tentatively. Deep reddish brown, the smell did not offend for once. It was thicker than the tea, gravy, and broth she'd been barely managing to hold down as sustenance.

Taking a sip, her stomach settled almost instantly, and she let out a sigh of relief. It was complete bliss. Chocolate, cinnamon, sweet cream, ginger, and a gentle hint of mint or some other herb were warm against the cold outside.

“Killian, this is,” Emma tried to sip it slowly but she was starving if she admitted it to herself. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

He scratched behind his ear and nodded. His lips twitched upwards as she drank, relaxing as she finished the mug.

“Maggie made more of it, if you need it.” His voice was quiet, and she could sense the underlying whisper there, what more of it meant. What came after.

“Let's go,” she said in reply and they stood, Emma placing her empty mug just inside the door to be washed later. As the sun rose, licking pieces of snow cloud with oranges and pinks, they headed to the herbalist.

The shack at the top of a small cobbled alleyway was different from most of the places in Arendelle. While most homes were nicely kept with bright carved patterns painted like knit sweaters everywhere, this place was a stark, crooked lean-to made of plank wood that buckled in on itself in places. Killian instantly disliked the place, the smell of rot and death a reminder of an early life he buried deep.

A shoddy sign hung with dark purple words in messy scrawl, ‘Herbals, Sundrys, Blood Magicks, Potienes & Potables by Pann’. A crow’s skull hung lopsided off one of its edges.

Killian’s hackles rose. He'd heard of Pann before in his travels. He even had his suspicions that Pann was once the ruler of the cursed isle that had killed Liam.

Pann was a notorious thief of magical artifacts, spells, and potions, teaching himself the forbidden arts to maintain a glamor of immortality. In reality, he was hundreds of years old, falling apart at his rotted seams. He specialized in blood magicks, necromancy, and assorted things that made most people's skin crawl. There were even rumors that he'd killed a fairy just to remove his own shadow, and he was the reason the fae folk had gone into hiding or given up their wings to live human lives.

“This is where you were told to go?” Killian asked lowly, eyes darting around at the shadowy corners of the alley.

Emma nodded, heading towards the crooked black door, one carved with runes and had embedded animal skulls. Some of the more destroyed skulls were tiny, and Killian felt his stomach flip at a few in a tucked corner that looked vaguely human. Forcing his eyes away, he saw another set of runes that seemed to change before his eyes.

‘Welcome lost boy.’ The words changed again as he blinked, where once was no meaning he could now see clear writing in singed characters. ‘You're nothing to the lost girl.’ It changed again, morphing as he stared transfixed. ‘Worthless man, kneel before the door to Neverland’.

He felt himself bend to kneel, unbidden. The words changed faster and faster, surrounding him as he felt his hook rise to his neck, the point resting gently against his pulse point. ‘Join Liam. Join every failure you are, Killian Jones: forgotten son, abandoned one, slave boy. Spill your blood before these steps. Spare a woman your embarrassment; she doesn't feel anything for you, or your child. You are unloved, unwanted, and unnecessary. Spare the world your shame. Feed the shadow, feed the shadow, feed the shadow -’

Killian was wrenched from his trance by Emma's concerned face, his body trembling. Her hand rested along his neck gripping his hook tightly, as he dropped it away with a look of disgust. The words were back on the door, unintelligible and smoldering.

“There was a defense spell, I'm sorry. I couldn't get to you in time as I broke it.” Looking at his pained face and the sweat beading on his brow, Emma cocked her head. “What did it say to you? Are you alright?”

Swallowing thickly, he stood and nodded, running his hand over his forehead and through his hair. He wished he could tell her everything, but Maggie was right. It wasn't the time to push with his own worries or inadequacies. When she reached for his forearm and gave it a squeeze, his breath came back fully, and he helped her push through the sodding door.

Inside, more skulls littered the tall shelves, and even more hung with carved bones and strange beads like a macabre chandelier. A young man, or better yet, boy, sat in a worn chair.

“Welcome, Emma Swan.” Nasally and like thick oil, the boy had an air of dangerous energy, thick and cloying. The smell of death made Killian gag, but Emma seemed unaware.

“Pann,” she said simply. “You know what I'm here for.”

“I do.” Pann glanced over at Killian, and smirked a crooked and evil grin. “I'm surprised to see your friend survived my little defense charm.”

Killian grunted, rocking on his heels and trying to hide how unnerved he was. “I'm a survivor mate. It's what I do.”

Emma nodded, running a finger down the spine of a molding book. Killian noticed that it was muggy and damp in the hut. Where the outside was finally chilly, in here, he felt like he was in a jungle. Something moved out of his peripheral and he turned to see the slip of a shadow.

“I have a deal to propose, Swan. Let my shadow take the life in you instead of using a potion. Easier, we both benefit, no pain, no sleep, no chance of death -” Pann counted these things off his fingers. Killian felt his head start to spin, and Emma winced.

“Oi, wait a tick - sleep? Pain? Chance of death? Swan, what's all this then?” Killian stared at her, and she gave him an apologetic frown.

“The potion… It's very difficult to brew, but it's also hard on the body of the user,” she began, but Pann began to laugh.

“You didn't tell him? Oh, now that's rich.” Pann’s grin was like a jack-o-lantern the port towns displayed in the autumn; a grin from ear to ear, splitting his face like some sort of demon. As far as Killian was concerned, the boy-man-thing was a demon. “Potion side effects include a deep sleep as the magic pushes out the…” he made finger movements, and Killian stepped protectively towards Emma, “‘issues’, and there's pain before, a chance of death… Easier to prevent pregnancy, you know. Tricky business extinguishing life.”

The demon giggled. Killian looked at Emma and they exchanged a glance.

“You can't. You can't do that if you could die,” Killian moved towards her again, concern overtaking her need for distance.

“It's a chance I'm going to take. Unless I feed the shadow -”

“NO.” Killian could hear the echo of those words in his head. Whatever demon the boy-man was, the shadow must be worse. He saw another movement in his peripheral, as the shadow thing watched them hungrily.

“Swan, don't listen to him. My shadow is the best answer to this.” Pann smiled his lopsided grin and Killian saw a black shape creep towards Emma, its tendrils extended. “Go on love, feed the shadow. Give it your magic. Give me your magic...”

“Emma… “ Killian took another step towards her, the hair on his neck raised.

“Pann, we had a deal for the potion!” Darting shadows seemed to be coming from every corner, circling them.

“Yes. Well. I originally didn't know your suitor would be here, making negotiations more difficult. He even survived my last lines of defense, which makes this so much more awkward. I'll be taking your magic now, Swan. All of you can feed the shadow.“

The black thing shot forward and Killian was there with his cutlass. The shadow morphed around it, impervious to the blade. The demon cackled his demented giggles.

“Emma, use your magic!” He reached for her hand, grasping it through inky blackness.

Green eyes pierced through the gloom, panic stricken. “Killian, I can't -”

Killian’s heart raced, trying to save her, himself, and the child; the echoing sounds of cackles surrounded them as the shadow compressed. Through the darkness, he could see Emma with the shadowy form of a man, pushing away its attempts to stroke her stomach as its clawed fingers grew larger.

“Emma, please, use your magic!” Killian shouted, before she stared directly into his eyes and light exploded in the room.

The shadow disintegrated around Killian’s body, and he saw that the man shaped form had disappeared as well. Pann was still laughing, a vial in hand as he aged in the light, his glamor gone. An old man sat in his stead, continuously aging further, skin pulling tight over bones until they crumbled.

Pann’s dry cackle only stopped once he was ash, the potion vial laying in a small pile of dust.

Emma fell forward, eyes half closed while she took in gasps of air. He caught her, grabbed the vial and pulled her out of the door as the lean-to collapsed.

“Bad time,” she panted, leaning on Killian’s side, “to tell you that I can't control my magic any more? Or that even the most simple spells drain me?”

He didn't answer as he led her up to the cliffside path, trying to hide how frightened he was. She was shaking herself, her fingers tightly holding on to his coat with white knuckles. He tried to find words that didn't fall flat as they reached the cliffside, but the only words that he could think of were too much.

I never want you in that much danger again. I don't want to lose you.

Emma pulled away from him and he gave her the vial, though every part of him screamed not to; yelling for him to either pour it out or break it.

They sat on the cliff, overlooking the sea in shaky silence for a moment.

“No magic anymore, then?”

“I can't control it. It comes and goes, I just…” Emma look down at her hands, face falling. “I'm sorry about all of this.”

He shook his head, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the statement. Sorry for being in his life like he craved, desperately?

“Swan. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Emma, before you make any choice, I just wanted to say that if this is it,” he hesitated, and Emma tensed. “I'm glad to have had the time with you. Whatever decision you make, I'll respect.”

He wasn't lying, the truth rang clear to her. Something was still missing, though.

“If I don't drink it, you'll…?” She rolled the dark vial in her palms, watching the liquid move slowly inside. It could kill her. So could many things. So could the look in a pair of blue eyes when she'd begged for death.

“I'll take the babe. No one will know. I'll tell my crew it passed, and I'll leave with it.”

“On to land?” she asked incredulously. There was no lie hidden, but the thought of the man who embodied a sailor being stripped of his home still shocked her.

“If it's time, it's time. I have a cottage on the cliffs that I planned to retire to one day; we'll be safe there. I'll raise the child.” He nodded firmly, and she could almost see him chasing around a dark haired boy or girl, their laughter infectious. Her stomach churned at the imagined image, her presence absent as he raised their child.

“I…” She shook the image out of her head. “I wouldn't… I mean, I'm not ready to be a mother yet. It would be just you.”

He nodded, looking out across the sea. “I know.”

“You'd still…?” He nodded again, not looking at her.

She let her mind drift.

A boy on his lap, a miniature of him in every way except for slightly downturned lips. Killian pointing out the stars to him under a blanket. A dark haired woman shouting for them to come in to eat supper. Emma's erasure complete, even in her fantasies. The stress of the day was making her insane as tears spilled down her face. Jealousy of an imagined woman living a life and in a home that she'd never have. She swiped angrily at her eyes. “What would you tell him about me?”

This time, his head turned to look at her, eyes boring holes through her skin. “What would you want me to tell… ‘him’?” To anyone else, the statement would have been without emotion. But Emma could hear the pang of sadness there, gentle and understated. Her breath caught, and she struggled for a moment. She'd used ‘him’. Her hand automatically stroked the tiny swell of her stomach, and she saw Killian’s hand twitch.

Emma shrugged, and swirled the vial. Killian looked away again, face impassive.

“I'd do anything for my kin, and I promise you that he would want for nothing.”

“I believe you.”

They sat in silence, watching the snow swirl over the sea. When she shivered slightly, he pulled a blanket from under his coat, laying it across both of them. It was deep blue and monstrously lumpy. Emma smiled, another one of his and Maggie's trial runs. Scooting slightly closer to him, she laid a head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.

If she really listened to herself, the choice was and had been made the minute they'd killed Pann and his shadow.

“Would you let me visit?” she whispered, barely audible over the sounds of the waves below.

The chuckle he let out rumbled through him, a low vibration.

“Emma, there isn't much I wouldn't let you do.” The words were low and earnest, and she forced any feeling from the emotions running wild through her away.

Sitting up, she uncorked the vial, watching his shoulders sag from her peripheral.

When she poured the black liquid over the cliff to the rocks below, his grin was like a beacon on foggy nights, bright and forever sought after. The waves rinsed the liquid away, black and broken glass replaced with the sparkle of limestone and quartz in a patch of sunlight peeking through the gray clouds, as she laid her head on his shoulder again.

Maggie wasn't surprised when Killian came back practically walking on air. She'd gathered some old books and some new, freshly purchased with the sale tags neatly snipped for him, and made Emma a stack of pancakes covered in a dusting of sugar, cinnamon, and honey. Emma managed to eat a few before excusing herself to rest before letting Merida and Fa know she wouldn’t be returning with them.

Killian could tell she was resigning herself to this, and he hoped that he could at least in some way make it up to her when she was ready. It was bad enough to say goodbye to her friends and family to join his crew. She knew some fairly well; Scarlet, Smee, Graham, and August got along with her well enough to hold their own. He was worried about several other members of his crew that were decent sailors, but fetid examples of men. He was also worried about how to explain why she was there, and why he suddenly would cut a man down for looking at her wrong.

Emma had no doubt weighed these risks already, finding them preferable odds. That gave him at least a tiny bit of cause for relaxing.

“I told you,” Maggie said as she gathered Emma’s plate from the table. “Congratulations, you just signed yourself up for the hardest battle of your career, Captain. Do you know what you’re in for?”

“Not a clue, but I believe she’s worth it.”

“Good. Let’s get you at least a little prepared.” She sat with her knitting by the fire, gesturing for him to join her in the empty chair across from her. “Bring those books I got you and start reading. If you have any questions, ask.”

Sitting down, he looked at her before letting the question slip out that he dreaded to ask. “Do you think she’ll regret this, Maggie?”

Maggie paused, thinking hard for what felt like an eternity. “I can’t say, because it truly wouldn’t be more than an opinion.” She sighed, and picked up her needles again. “The more important question is asking if you think she will. Because I think in a way, you know her better than she knows herself.”

Maggie’s needles began to click again, and he tried to ignore the way his heart sped up when he saw what she was knitting:

a tiny pair of socks.

Chapter Text

Not infrequently, when a man asks a woman to marry him, he means that he wants her to help him love himself, and if, blinded by her own feeling, she takes him for her captain, her pleasure craft becomes a pirate ship, the colours change to a black flag with a sinister sign, and her inevitable destiny is the coral reef.

-Myrtle Reed

Killian had predicted the inevitable panic attacks from Swan long before she missed breakfast, and then lunch, the next day. Maggie gave him a withering look as the clock inched past one in the afternoon and he sighed, preparing himself. He’d rarely seen Swan fold under pressure until recently, and he’d guessed (with help from the books Maggie had got him, bless her) that Emma was having trouble with her emotions. He’d just go in, talk her down like he had before, and she’d come downstairs to eat something. He relayed his plan to Maggie and she laughed.

“Good luck with that, dear.”

He’d turned and made his way up the stairs, not liking the sound of Maggie’s tone. He could already hear Swan pacing before he made his way down the hall to her room. Knocking on the door, he waited, yet she continued pacing. He knocked a little louder and called her name. “Swan, are you alright lo -”

The door flew open, and she stared up at him with wild, rage filled eyes.

Killian would admit, only to himself and maybe a handful of others if pressed, that he found there were two pieces of himself that made him whole. There was him, Killian, who loved Emma, knitted with Maggie, might pet a stray cat or two, and was tactfully docile. Then there was Hook, who’d easily kill someone for a wrong look or tell you exactly where you could bugger off to while picking your pocket. Neither was scared of much, and both had seen things that would make better men squirm. At the moment, both sides were terrified of the version of Emma stood before him.

Emma looked like she wanted to flay him alive and wear him as a hat. “You asshole. Don’t you dare call me love. Don’t you dare. I am up here puking my guts out because I chose to carry your child. And God only knows if it’s human at this point because I can’t eat. I can smell every fishing boat in the damn harbor and yet I need to go down there. That fact quite honestly is making it very hard for me not to just stab you!” Emma practically screamed at him, and he realized he was proverbially sticking his good hand in a crocodile’s mouth.

“Well, erm.” He blinked. “Please don’t; stab me I mean. Why do you need to go down to the harbor?”

Emma’s shoulders fell. “I have to go tell Meri and Fa goodbye.” She started to cry, and threw her hands up. “And now I’m crying. I hate this, and I hate my stupid brother -”

“Wait, Charming? He’s an ass but I thought -”

“I have to let him know I’ve made my choice and I’m giving up… I’m giving up the…” Her face reddened again, and she threw herself down on her bed, crying harder. “I feel like a stupid teenager. I can’t…”

“It’s normal. Your body is adjusting to everything, and your emotions are going to be more intense,” Killian said, sitting down next to her. “What’s this about you giving up? Giving up your title?"

“I’m giving up my ship,” she whispered, face down into the mattress.

“What!?” He actually startled. “Why on earth would you -”

“My brother. David, Charming, Asshat, whatever you want to call him.” She sighed. “I made him a deal, and I’m giving up the… I’m giving up The Gilded Wing. Just until I’m OK, and then I’ll take it back from him and kick his ass, but…”

“You made a deal? Emma, you should have said something -”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” She gazed up at him, rolling onto her side. He gently moved a piece of hair out of her face, and she flinched. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, I just -”

“No, it’s alright. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.” She flopped on her back, arms spread. Killian’s mouth went dry. “I just… It makes sense about my emotions and everything. But look, I don’t want to come off like I’ve led you on. I’ve obviously… We’ve obviously been through a lot lately, but anything I’ve done or you’ve done… Let’s call it a fresh start. There’s nothing between us besides the baby.” Her hand drifted down to her stomach.

“That… I can try. I’m used to us, well...” he said while scratching behind his ear.

“I just...” She pinched the bridge of her nose with her other hand. “I might slip, and I don’t mind us being friends, if that makes sense? Grabbing your hand, or something, but on my terms? I just feel like my body isn’t mine anymore, and I need time.”

“If that’s what you need, lo- Swan.” He nodded. Even if it killed him to say it, he wouldn’t push.

She moved her hand from her stomach, replacing it with his in a sudden movement, resting her hand on top of his. “You’re always warm. It settles my stomach,” she hummed.

“Maggie wants you to come eat something. Do you want to try?”

“Not really.”

“Do you feel any better?”

“For now. I’m dreading saying goodbye to Merida and Mulan, though.” He could hear her voice waver, the pain in it raw.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. My brother made it very clear they were better off without me.”

“Emma, what happened?” Killian watched her brows furrow, and lips go downturned. He’d recognize the tell tale signs of her hiding how upset she was.

“I started having symptoms, I guess, and I didn’t realize it. No one did at first. I was throwing up, exhausted, out of breath, and just so miserable. Robin, of all people, noticed first. I guess his wife died in childbirth before he met Regina. He and Regina talked, and I found out for sure with Regina using a potion she made. I cried for days.”

Killian stroked his fingers gently against Emma’s stomach, watching her struggle to keep her face blank. He wished he had been there instead, hating that she had been so scared and alone. “It was actually Snow who sold me out. She found out somehow, I think she must of overheard me crying about it, and told the rest of the crew. Then... she told my brother, who told me to come back after I got rid of both it and you. If I had taken that potion from Pann, I could have gone back, but…”

“You’ll get your ship back. Your brother is just an idiot.” He couldn’t help the anger in his voice when talking about Charming. They’d never gotten along, but this? This was low, even for him.

Emma played with one of his rings absentmindedly. “Will you come with me down to the harbor?”

“Of course, as long as Merida doesn’t shoot me. I quite like my person without arrows or bolts.”

Emma laughed, and he smiled, enjoying the sound. She sat up, looking back at him. “No promises.”

The walk to the harbor was brisk, and Emma found herself with a rare bit of energy after sipping at the spiced chocolate Killian had made for her. He walked with her, either a step behind or to her side, until she slipped one of her arms between the crook of his elbow. He seemed to relax at that, the need to hover nearby gone as she leaned into him.

The small sloop was one of the few on the far edge of the docks, Merida already waiting for them as they approached. Her eyes narrowed at Killian, and she called for Fa.

“It’s alright. I’m just here to say goodbye. For now at least.” Swallowing back tears, Emma smiled at them, ignoring the shock on Merida’s face.

“Yer actually keepin’ it?” Merida's eyes were wide, while Fa simply nodded at her news like Emma had said the sky was blue. It was known, a fact of life as far as Mulan Fa was concerned. “An ye going off with… him?” Merida tossed a nod at Killian who nodded back.

“Are you sure? Your brother will be -” Fa said lowly.

“Let him be anything he wants. He's made it clear how he feels,” Emma snapped back, tired of any talk about her brother.

“And you're doing this of your own free will?” Fa appraised her steadily.

“Yes. He's going to take it when it's born. We have an agreement. I'll get another ship after if I have to, but Killian will raise -”

Fa put her hand up, and Emma stopped talking. A strange look of amused pity crossed her face.

“Emma. There is a story among the people where I lived, about a red string of fate. Have you heard of such a thing?” Emma shook her head no, and Fa continued. “Sometimes, for whatever reason, fate or destiny binds us to a person with a red string. No matter what happens, no matter how far you run or struggle, that person follows.” Her eyes shifted to Killian, who was talking tersely to Merida.

“I don't believe in anything like that. I make my own destiny; I write my own story.”

“I never said you didn't. I'm simply saying, I don't think unraveling him from your life, cutting the strings… it's not so simple. A child, no matter what you say to the contrary, is going to complicate things, even if you don't want to be there for it.” A pause sat between them, the cold snowy breeze making sails shake across the harbor. “Just, be careful Emma. Your brother is right in some ways to worry. I truly believe that you are caught in something bigger, and that whatever you and that man have goes back farther than you know. Be safe. Be strong.”

Mulan strode forward and kissed her forehead before her and Merida shared a look.

“And you.” Fa pointed a finger to Killian, close to almost touching his chest. He looked at her with a grimace. “I am Mulan Fa, one of the King's own Dragon Warriors, exiled for my sex. I can kill a man before dew drips from a blossom. If you hurt her, I will find out.”

“Oh, he'd never. Completely besotted, the great git, over here with tales already of 'ow 'e has a cabin an will be a great Da, makin’ me sick before I've even broken bread,” Merida whispered, and Fa broke into the sincere smile of warmth she saved for her love. Emma looked up at Killian to see he'd gone slightly pink around the ears, oblivious in the cold of his flush.

With that, friends left, and though she'd promised no tears, they spilled anyway. Emma accepted Killian's chest and the warmth of being wrapped up in his embrace as she thought about Mulan’s advice. A string of fate seemed so flimsy with the way they'd been pushed together into each other's lives.

Emma had been swimming most of her life, and had fought currents to build her strength. At one point she had been sucked into a riptide, its push and pull overwhelming and strong as her arms tired. She only managed to get out of it by sheer force of will. This felt exactly like that, a force that could not be ignored; something to sink into so deeply you couldn't take a breath.

Emma was sure she could escape it again.

Killian had set up the last day at the inn to be as relaxing as possible for Emma, to make the move to the Jolly to be less of a jolt. If anything, he was worried in general for the move, but especially for Emma’s sake.

Emma had been sullen since Merida and Fa had made their way back to The Wing, which he couldn’t blame her for. He, Maggie, and Emma sat drinking tea or her chocolate, watching the snow or icy rain pour over the ground. Emma rebuffed his touch, and refused any sort of comfort from Maggie as well besides food. It killed him, watching her push away any kindness, but finding her in the mornings looking gaunt, pallid, and exhausted made him insane with worry - guilt even more so.

The Inn had a large stone pool for bathing in fed by a hot spring; it was used to launder quilts and soiled bed linens as well. Maggie had insisted it to be tempered with cool water out of concern, and they’d made sure it was perfect before Killian pulled Emma into the steaming room and asked her to undress. At first there had been a small protest, but she eventually shrugged it off, too tired to care.

“I suppose there’s no use for formality as we’ve seen each other nude.”

“Well, and you carrying my -”

“That too,” she snapped, throwing her ill fitting garments aside. He reminded himself to get her fitted at a tailor.

Emma shook as she stepped in and even in the warm water, he could see her trying to rub the goose flesh away; her body tensing to cover any vulnerability. Scars littered her skin, both old and new, rippled and puckered under the clear water. When he followed behind her she eyed him warily, and it hurt him to see her fall so easily back into their old push and pull - like the tide, she'd give him enough to drown, but would always pull back, leaving him dry.

"Swan," he whispered, slowly. "Please, I want to hold you. Just that, nothing more. I can help with shoulders, you’re carrying them like your back is hurting."

“Because my back does hurt. Everything hurts,” she hissed, before looking ashamed and slumping into the warm water.

“I’m sorry, Emma. If it means anything at all.” He reached for her, and she took his offered hand in her own.

She moved slowly, a gentle glide into him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. The sigh that escaped her lips both broke his heart and bolstered it; a quiet sob of pure relief that left the feeling of her eyelashes against his skin as her body relaxed into his. A silence followed, the only noises the quiet sound of the water against them and their breathing. He had never held her like this.

The intimacy of just holding her, without expectation, just letting her curl into his chest while he gently stroked patterns into her skin, left him sighing as well. He thought when they had fucked and fought in the past he had mapped her body, but he was wrong. The planes of her shoulder blades under his hands changed from raised and coiled ridges, ready to fly at any moment, to relaxed and trembling muscles. She let out a tiny moan into his neck as his hand worked under the warm spring water to unknot her body. He let his stump support her back, holding her as close as he dared.

She shifted, and he could feel her stomach protruding slightly. It made his heart skip for a moment, and he knew that he had to tell her. Even if it was rooted in his own selfishness, it was in gratitude, trust, faith, and ecstatic joy that he found himself in love with her. He'd always been in love with her and now, with the swell of a child, she was his or as close to it as they'd ever been.

She moved his stump from her lower back to trace along the new curve of her body. He tried to pull away from her grip; something so ugly, twisted flesh that mocked him, shouldn't touch their child or her perfect stomach. His breath hitched; he was the vulnerable one, body tightening as her fingers traced the long, ugly, scars.

"Killian." Her voice was... he’d never heard her like this. She sounded quiet, airy. Relaxed. "It's alright."

She brought his stump out of the water and bent over, placing a kiss tenderly on the ruined flesh before gently letting it resettle on her body. He met the intensity of her gaze with what he hoped conveyed his devotion for her. She had to know even without his words, had to understand that this was an inevitable outcome for them. Not the babe, but them, the two chasing each other like the sun and moon across the sky, finally catching each other.

He wanted to tell her that he was sorry for being a fool, a damned fool, for not saying anything when it really mattered; for not courting her or pursuing her as properly as he could have. He wanted to hear her forgive him for not fighting his inherent cowardice that made up his pathetic life, when this was an option all along.

Her bracelet of knotted leather and beads brushed against his chest, stirring a memory that he’d buried deep. The memory overtook him like a strong current, settling into his bones. He was a child next to his brother in a stinking hole. A terrified girl cried in front of him, and he’d run out in front of the slaver’s whip, taking the lash across his back. Liam had been furious. The man cut into her neck, laughing as she shrieked, letting her hit the ground with a thump as he drunkenly bragged about the scar she’d have.

In his footlocker, a scrap of muslin fabric worn and frayed was a reminder of everything he had fought for. The length of knotted cord she wore instead of finery or jewels, protecting it like a treasure her own.

He realized that the terrified girl in the brig of a slave ship, the one with the green eyes, had been Emma. A scar rested behind her ear, one he had just traced lazily and without the care it deserved, but she gave no notice. He had run his hand there a thousand times, but never really paid that much attention to it himself, two sides of a coin of knowing and not knowing who she was. Maybe, there was such a thing as fate.

“Emma, how did you get this?” Killian stroked her skin as she relaxed into his arms again without returning his words. The silence fell heavily through the room, steam floating around in lazy wisps. When he opened his mouth to ask again, Emma shook her head looking up at him.

Pressing her forehead against his chest, she brought his hand up to touch the scar, leaning into his palm. “It’s been so long, but it still hurts.” She took a deep breath and pulled away from his embrace and examined the wall with her back to him. “When I was a child, we lost everything. I was sold, and one of the men took a chunk out of my neck for fun after I was spared a lashing for being too loud.”

“And the boy who spared you the lash gave you a knotted piece of leather he distracted himself with, to not cry.”

Emma turned quickly, eyes wide. “How do you know that, who told you?”

“You know how I know. We were bought by a terrible man, my brother saved every day for us to be free. We survived, until it was just me. And then, I survived. It’s nice to see you’re still wearing it.”

“Do you still have…?” Emma stepped towards him again and he took her hand gently, kissing her knuckles.

“Aye. On my ship, in a box of memories I keep locked away.” Emma laughed, looking at him like she saw him for the first time.

“I brought mine. My box of memories, I mean.” Emma fidgeted with the band of leather around her wrist, body trembling again as he pulled her close. “I couldn’t leave it. I couldn’t just -”

“Hey, Emma, it’s alright love. I understand.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she flinched away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”

“It’s alright. I’m just going to wash and then I want to leave. I miss… I miss the sea.” Emma reached for the bar of soap Maggie had gotten them with his coin, rich milk lather that Emma practically sobbed at when she rubbed it on her skin. Killian quickly washed himself, leaving before he could give in to the baser urges that ached from watching her nude.

They left for the Jolly in the evening after Maggie made sure they left laden with her goods, snow underfoot but the snowstorm finally cleared from the sky. For once, when Killian looked at the stars, he didn’t feel small under their gaze.

Especially with Emma’s hand in his, the leather cord on her wrist brushing his own.

Killian tried to assure her that no one would question his departure nor her sudden appearance as a member of the crew. Emma told him he was a horrible liar.

The moment she stepped on the deck of The Jolly Roger, it was like time stopped with every eye turned towards her. Those of the crew she knew looked absolutely shocked, except for Will who looked smug and elbowed someone who gave him a handful of coins. She had dressed in skirts today to hide the more obvious changes to her body, but the dress didn’t hide her gaunt face or extreme weight loss.

Killian cleared his throat, looking stern. “Captain Swan is a guest of mine, and will be joining our crew immediately with no questions asked. She will be lodging with me, and should she come back to me with concerns about any of you gentleman, I will use your intestines for rigging. I hope I’ve made myself clear. Someone fetch her bags from below.” He turned with her on his arm and led her down the stairs, down the hall to his quarters, and she sat down on his bed with her head in her hands.

“They’re going to believe I’ve chosen to become your mistress,” Emma moaned, trying not to cry again. Her emotions were still to the extreme, and crying at every frustration on board a ship was not going to make the current situation better. “This was a terrible idea.”

Killian laughed, lazing in one of his chairs. “Well, that makes the next part more believable.” She shot him a look, and he sighed. “It’s better it comes up now so people can get used to things sooner rather than later when they don’t have time. I’m sure the crew will accept you, if not be more protective of you. Who wants to end up on watch with the Captain’s mistress being hurt and all that.”

“Am I really sleeping here with you? I thought I’d have the officer’s bunk or -”

He sighed, sitting next to her. “Will’s in there. I can take the floor if you prefer.” Emma shook her head no and flopped back. The bed linens were sumptuous, per his usual tastes, and she found herself tired just thinking about sleep; the day had been long.

A grumbling man throwing her bag of herbs into the room woke her up considerably. “Hey! Please, be careful. There’s potions in there that could break -”

“Ah, right. Forgot that yer a godless witch. Next time, carry your devil’s work yerself, then,” he grumbled, and Killian was dragging him out of the room within seconds.

Emma closed her eyes, squeezing them shut as she tried not to cry. She took off her boots and threw off her skirts and overlaying corseture, slipping into the bed in a shift while up on deck she heard tense conversation happening.

She fell asleep, only waking when Killian slid in next to her much later. He was tense, and in the dark she could see his brows and jaw pulled tight. “The crew knows. It’s easier that way, and they know if they speak to you like that, they will be finding themselves in the ocean.”

“There it is then,” Emma whispered.

“I’m sorry about Abbott. He’s part of a group of men that we picked up just recently, and they’re good for violence, religious doctrine, spending all their gold, and not much else.” Emma turned away from him, pressing herself as far away from the space he took as possible. “I’m sorry, you were asleep. Sleep well, Emma.”

She fell asleep again to his quiet snores.

Chapter Text

The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too -Vincent Van Gogh

Emma woke slowly, her body rested and warm. She noted how relaxed her muscles were, the bed plush as arms encircled her waist -

Arms. Blinking, she followed the strong arm to Killian’s shoulder, and then up to his sleeping face. She wondered at how well she slept in his hold as she pushed a thick lock of black hair away from his eyes. The realization washed over her as he tightened their embrace in his sleep, his scarred arm resting softly on her growing stomach; she felt safe here with him. It was a jarring and wonderful realization to feel safe and contented every morning, as time passed becoming more normal.

Tracing lines on his face with feather light touches, Emma wondered at his peaceful features in rest. She thumbed lightly over the scar on his cheek, and he murmured as he nuzzled her palm. Emma let herself notice things in detail, let herself trace pieces of the man she knew, yet didn't know at the same time.

She could map parts of his body from memory, or get him to moan for hours as she toyed with him, but the man underneath was still a mystery. There were questions she didn't ask that she knew would hurt him to answer; questions she kept close just in case. How had Liam been lost? Did Killian have any other family? Why were their lives so entangled with each other? Every day, she learned something more about him, and fell even farther -

No. No, not fall. They became closer, and that was it. Falling for him meant consequences she could never risk.

Emma pressed a light touch to his temple, brushing back more hair that had fallen when he moved, noticing soft gray starting around his ears. He looked almost boyish in the light of morning, dozing as the sun cast auburn glints in his hair. His ears were pointed, Emma realized with a stifled giggle. In an absent minded thought, she wondered if their child would have the same trait. When he stirred again, she let him curl around her as she breathed in the scent of him and his cabin: the sea, soft leather, spice, tea, and the pure scent of who he was. His body felt right as his hand slid onto her thigh. Even in these cramped quarters, his body was welcome.

She snuggled into him, smiling as they both sighed at the contact. Resting her head on his chest, she fell back to sleep with his strong heartbeat as a lullaby.

He'd woken shortly after she had, willing himself not to clue her in to his quiet wonder as she traced his face. Her movements were soft, graceful even, as she touched the scar on his cheek and brushed his hair from his forehead. He listened to her contented breaths as she sunk into him, still exhausted, always so tired even if she wished he didn't notice.

He'd always notice. He hated seeing her in any discomfort.

He moved to pull her closer, curling his knees to come under hers, a gentle circle of his body around her. She let him slide a hand up her thigh, and to his surprise and relief, fell back asleep against his chest.

He watched as her breathing evened out, and he began to stroke her hair. He was overwhelmingly thankful she was getting rest, having watched her get up and pace before, or hearing her in his quarters heaving as he brought her breakfast. She’d asked him desperately if it was normal for this to still be happening or if it would ever end, and all he could do was uselessly rub her back and assure her it would stop at some point. As soon as she’d had the chocolate he brought her dutifully, she perked up and would join him on deck, or attend to working their ledgers.

He’d noticed that his crew had very clearly drawn lines between who thought this whole situation was a mockery, and who would defend Emma to the point of a brawl almost exactly as he predicted, including Jefferson slowly warming up to her. Although Z had been a wild card, when he had figured out that Emma was pregnant and a magic user, he had excitedly tried to gain her favor. In many ways, Killian had hoped she could sway at least a few more men to her side; especially as she was so willing to help them.

Killian had also found a trick to getting her to talk to him, which he used more and more as she became more relaxed: Comparatives. Emma was more competitive than he had realized, and teasing her lightly about any sort of topic that she could best him at brought conversations for hours.

“What was your worst haul?” he whispered to her as they lay in the dark side by side one night. She laughed and turned on her side, the tell tale sign that she was game to speak to him for hours.

“You first. Mine is going to win anyway.” Emma smirked.

“Ice. It was a foreign ship but heading close by. We couldn’t do a damn thing with it besides watch it melt, until Will stuck his tongue to a block.” Emma erupted into laughter, and Killian found himself laughing too. “Yeah, mine is better. Cheeses and pickles. The pickles weren’t bad, but the cheeses…” She made a face and shuddered. “Our ship stunk for weeks;, it was like the smell absorbed into the very wood. It was resistant to my magic and any potions. We found that out when one of my attempts magnified the smell.” Killian couldn’t control his laughter, and Emma joined him. “Did it taste good, at least?” he managed through a loud chuckle. “It tasted like what feet smell like.” Emma laughed, and they were soon in tears with hysterical laughter, her body pressed against his. Waking up to her head on his chest the next morning, he realized it was the first night where they had started and ended holding each other.

Emma also enjoyed listening to his long warnings and facts about pregnancy and the child she was giving him, or so he was inclined to believe. She never said otherwise, only sat and listened with rapt attention.

“The next stage will have your breasts growing bigger and becoming more sensitive. You also may notice your back hurting or pain in the leg. Oh! Apparently, sex isn't off the table yet, unless other circumstances make it too risky.” Emma shot him a glare.

“Great. Just great.”

“Would you like to read the book? I’m fascinated by it, I have to admit, but if you want privacy…” He trailed off and Emma chewed her lip.

“I don’t really read,” she mumbled. He frowned at her, brows furrowing.

“You read plenty. I’ve watched you balance ledgers, do stock inventory -”

“No. You’ve watched me know what certain words are. I…” She looked away, clearly frustrated. “I never really learned how to read, other than what I needed to know. Math for cooking and counting. Reading for recipes or ingredients. I can recite to you potions and spells… I just know those words, and what I’m doing. There wasn't exactly much reading for pleasure.” She shrugged. “I can do it, but books are boring. Stories are useless. ”

“Emma…” He came to sit next to her as she wrapped her arms around herself and looked away.

“Look, I didn’t get some fancy naval education. It was just me and David. We all have our strengths, and don’t you dare pity me.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I have a naval education because my brother managed to buy us our freedom, if you’ll remember.” He took her hand and pointed to a page. “I’ll help you. Let me teach you. It’s wonderful to sit with a book. I‘ll read to you one of my favorites-”

“I’d rather not be bored to death.

“Not all books are boring, Emma.”

“Most are.” Looking at him pointedly, her chin jutted forward. “If you find one that can keep my interest, I’ll let you teach me.”

“Fine. Deal accepted.” He grinned broadly.

He stood, looking through his collection for several minutes. Pulling out a worn, plain looking book, he sat down next to her. She laid her head on his lap, letting her hands rest on the bump of her belly, playing with the knotted cord that held her first memories of him.

“This, my dear, is a book procured from a different realm. It features adventure, love, a dashing hero pirate, and a princess who loved a stable boy.”

“Fascinating.” Emma rolled her eyes. “You doubt me, but I promise you, ‘The Princess Bride’ does not disappoint. It’s a favorite of mine, just listen. I do skip the beginning part because it makes no sense, but the story really begins here regardless. ‘The year that Buttercup was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette’.”

“Oh. What a way to begin a story.” Emma rolled her eyes again, but he continued and she fell into the soft timbre of his voice, and then into the story about a pirate and a princess. He continued on, and at parts he had memorized, watched the way her lips upturned or she shifted to hear better.

“You win,” Emma whispered later after he’d finished, laying in bed with her head on his chest.

Killian hummed in approval, closing the book.

Emma couldn’t help smelling everything on the entire ship, her nose picking up the smell of socks rooms over, or Smee peeling an orange; her nose a contributor to her non stop sickness. She had gone as far as to make a poultice of mint and coffee, the smell blocking almost anything. The mornings were hard, smelling everything as she woke up before rushing to vomit and press the mixture above her upper lip.

Today, however, something smelled absolutely delicious and Emma was ravenous.

“Hey, what are you making?” Trying not look like she was drooling at the smell, Emma leaned against the small counter, watching Graham stir a large soup pot.

“Fish stew,” he said as he grinned. “Would you like some?”

Emma nodded, and he handed her a bowl while watching curiously. It wasn’t exactly a secret that she wasn’t eating well. Weight had fallen off her hips and in her face as she tried to subsist on broth or spiced chocolate, nibbling all day carefully. This was the first time she’d felt hungry, ravenous even. If her stomach didn’t agree with this, it would be torture; it smelled amazing to her as she brought a spoon to her lips.

Any awkwardness between them dropped away as she groaned at the taste, and he laughed. Emma wasn’t laughing as she finally managed to eat something with substance, sighing in relief.

“I’m going to need another bowl of this, maybe two. Talk to me?” Any attempt to try and hide the loneliness in her voice failed. It wasn’t that she couldn’t talk to Killian, because she could easily talk to him for hours. That was the problem, though, along with missing her crew. Killian made her feel something like friendship; there was trust, and he was unfailingly kind to her despite everything. She didn’t dare risk things.

“Talk to you? About what?” Graham asked, slightly confused.

“About anything. Oh! About Ruby. I just want to pretend…” Emma stirred her spoon in the bowl, trying not to let the sadness and loss she had been feeling return. Graham gave her a knowing look, and began to talk as she ate about everything and nothing all at once.

He had her laughing, talking about Ruby and him communicating the few times they had sensed each other before knowing the human face that lay beyond the call, or how he hated dancing and felt terrible when he danced with her in the tavern near his old home.

“I’d hoped to convince you later to make me a draught that prevented the change.” Graham’s eyes darkened, and she saw his jaw clench. “I’m sorry for that, and I would have told you. It wasn’t until the Captain picked me up from those thugs and had me patched up -”

“Wait what? I thought you left of your own accord?” Emma couldn’t hide her surprise. Hook, Killian, had told her that he was sorry about Graham, but -

“No. We said goodbye that night, I turned to go back home, and was pulled into an alley. Got beaten quite soundly and then stabbed by some rough lads, and the Captain found me the next morning. Took me back here, stitched me up, told me I was better off here. Got mad when I told him I thought you might agree to be bitten with me, or make me a potion -”

Emma stopped listening, beginning to feel sick in a completely different way. He couldn’t have. There was an insistent thought that had begun to form at the back of her mind. She was sure it was craziness, and even if it wasn’t, how could she say she was above his choices when her own were poor as well. Killian was drunk, she remembered that clearly enough, and he’d been possessive of her even though she made it clear she wasn’t his - Emma blinked, trying to go through his movements. Had he been jealous? He’d interrupted Graham and her dancing, drunk himself into a stupor. Had he asked someone to rough Graham up?

Graham stopped talking and cleared his throat, Emma looking up to follow his line of sight. Killian stood in the door, watching them with a strange look on his face. Graham smiled and pointed to her, Emma watching carefully as Killian’s frame became tense.

“Captain, Emma was able to eat a little something. Good home cooking did the trick it seems.” Graham turned and gave Emma’s shoulder a squeeze, which she returned a grateful smile for.

“Ah, well,” Killian shot them an icy look, which Emma returned with raising her chin, her frustration rising. “That’s great. I’m happy you could finally eat something, love. Maybe now we can get you on to something more palatable instead of scraps from here.”

“I believe that this will be just fine, until I’m ready to risk something again,” she retorted, furious at his ridiculous outburst. Her anger fueled her, easy to fall back into hurting him in the ways she knew how to so easily. “Graham, it was wonderful talking to you. This was delicious. Please, if it wouldn’t be too much, could you make it again soon?”

“Of course, Emma. I’ll save as much as I can for you; you need to be eating.” She laughed lightly, and pressed a kiss to his cheek on unbalanced tiptoes, relishing the way Killian looked in her peripheral. The hurt there helped build her walls back up, and as she passed Killian in the doorway, she made sure to brush past him without a glance.

She hoped he’d stop caring so much, having so much underlying affection towards her, and just focus on their soft talks or platonic touches. Laying in their bed that evening, she fell into an uneasy and fitful sleep as his side of the bed lay empty.

Jefferson could see a white rabbit in a snowstorm, his eyes and quiet temperament perfect for someone who sat in the small space of the crow’s nest. He could sit there for hours content with watching the sea, sun, and stars. What he did not appreciate was his captain’s company in the evenings, where he was used as a confidante.

“She's driving me mad, Jefferson. The way she talks to August and Graham, fucking Graham! She pushes me away every time I think I'm finally getting close.”

Jefferson grunted.

“I love her. I love her so much and she…” The captain scrubbed a hand over his face, his hair already mussed by the wind. Jefferson had thought many times that if Hook wasn't so caught up in this Swan, he'd make an excellent lover. The woman had no idea what she was denying herself of. “And I know she cares, she wouldn't be doing any of this if there wasn't something she was scared of.”

“Then tell her,” Jefferson replied gruffly. He left out 'and not me you idiot’. Upsetting the already upset captain might lead to a rough tumble he was keen to not have happen.

“Point out all the things she does for you and how much you love her. Put it all out in the open; what you want with her, a future, just get all of this off your chest. Hope for the best.” Jefferson gave a slight shrug, already moderately sure that the blonde would simply retreat further until backed against a wall.

“That sounds terrible.” The captain looked tired and defeated, and Jefferson felt an actual stroke of pity.

“Love is hard work and dedication, sir.”

“Aye.”

“You could give her what she wants. If she wants to push you away, if she thinks she would be happier, let her. If you love something, let it go and all that.” Jefferson couldn't pretend not to notice the crestfallen look that broke over his captain’s face. The other man swallowed thickly.

“Thanks, mate. I'll think about it.”

Jefferson was more than irritable the next morning after the captain slept on deck, waking only to bother him. When Emma met his eyes with a tired good morning, he glared at her and pushed past, her small sound of protest ignored.

Killian felt exhausted, his body sore and stiff from sleeping on deck for the past few nights. Anger was eating away at any leftover good temper, the crew feeling his wrath and all of them falling into tense routines, wondering who would break first. Emma had tried to talk to him a few times, apparently realizing how bad things were between them as he pulled away instead of running after her. He loved her, every part of him screaming to chase her. Yet he repeated the mantra in his head, the words stabbing him like a dagger in his heart.

This is what Emma wants.

The child would be his regardless, and wasn't it better this way if he was wrong? If she truly harbored no feelings for him, or was determined enough to push him away for good to run away, this was the best course. Let her push until she could say that they were broken and forget about him with no ill comfort. Hatred came easier to them anyway, and he was sure the bitter bloom of it would find easy roots when he buried her memory.

Killian snapped at the crew, his shoulders wound tight as they sped towards a sloop that they'd have no problems taking. Emma stood on deck, ready to go with the crew and Killian felt everything boil over; the nights on deck, her push and pull, and now the disregard for her safety all breaking him into jagged pieces, his jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.

“Go ahead Will. Swan and I will remain behind,” Killian intoned lowly. Emma blinked at him and then defiantly shook her head, but before she could speak, Killian put up his hand. “This is not a debate. Anyone that takes you or allows you to go is off my ship by plank tonight. Don't think I'm in a mood for joking, lads.”

He turned away from the beginning of her protests and strode back to his quarters, his that Emma took residence in and they had shared so briefly. The stash of rum he had ignored and saved for rough times was still there and he grasped the bottle from behind several books, uncorking it with his hook in a quick motion as he slid into a seat.

The burn felt amazing down his throat, all other pain forgotten until Emma flung his door open.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

The laugh that bubbled up wasn't on account of drink, he was not even close to being drunk, and leagues away from being as drunk as he intended. Just the absurdity of the question from her, as if she didn't know.

“Would you like an itemized list love? It'll take a week or so -”

“Do you think this is fucking funny Killian? What the hell is wrong with you?” she yelled, and he rolled his eyes looking up to the ceiling.

“You can yell louder, darling. The crew is gone after all; it's just you and I. Really get into it.” He gave her a lazy grin. He had forgotten how good it felt to hurt, to take the open wound in his chest and make its twin in another. She was responsible for his which made it so much more satisfying, his long lapse of holding back gone.

“Killian, what have I done to deserve this? Not just from you but from the crew?” Her eyes were glassy now, and he narrowed his own.

“The bloody hell are you talking about, the crew? They treat you-”

“They treat me with the respect you afford them, and this week has been…” She trailed off, and looked down at her feet. “Graham and Will won't talk to me, everyone else shoots me dirty looks or is plain nasty to me. Smee won't even look at me. I've been coming down here alone and listening. When I'm not on deck, things get lighter. I know you're angry with me, but -”

“On the contrary, Swan, I'm not angry with you.” Killian watched her intently, his icy tone hitting her as she processed that he told the truth.

“I don't understand, then what -”

“You win.” Putting his feet up on the table he leaned back in his chair. Speaking more to the ceiling than her he continued. “l loved you, honestly loved you more than anything other than my brother, but you pushed me away only to pull me back in. Every time. You loved me once or had a fondness at least. I don't know at this point. It changes with the damn winds as far as I know.” He let out an exasperated noise.

“What do you want from me then, Killian?” Emma sat across from him at the table and he looked at her, noticing how tired she looked too. “Do you want me to tell you that I love you in my own fucked up way?”

“That would be a start, but then you'd have to act on it. I doubt you could.” He took another large swig, watching her struggle, the burn of drink no longer covering the ache in his chest.

“Saying I have feelings for you, if I did, wouldn't change anything except expectations that I can't meet and won't promise you. Acting on false hopes gets people killed.” Emma reached for his hand and he withdrew it. Her face fell, watery eyes meeting his. “I don't want you to get hurt; I don't want to be owned or promise things that I'll just break. I can't -”

“If saying it wouldn't change my expectations, would you still?”

“No. No, and I can't be that person.”

“Why? Why can't you stop trying to run from this, from me? You can't have just parts of this you like, and run away from any part that scares you. That's not how it works.” Killian stood, kneeling by her side. She refused to look at him. “It’s not about owning you, Emma. No one can own you. It’s about promising to belong. I just want you to imagine for a moment, just a bloody moment, that it wouldn’t be so terrible to trust someone; to let them in.”

“I can't do this anymore, with you. I just… leave me alone. I don't know why you have these expectations of me but I -”

“You sleep in my bed, you call my name when you sleep -”

“That doesn't mean I belong to you or I feel anything other than friendship-”

“You're carrying my child, Emma.” Silence fell between them, and Killian scrubbed his face with his hand and stood stiffly. “Actually, you're right. If there's nothing here then you're right. I'm sorry. Just don't put the child at risk, that's my only request of you. At least give me that.”

He left out the door without a word, returning to watch the battle. Emma didn't return to the upper deck at all, and for that small favor, Killian was grateful.

Emma didn't understand why she was crying, why it felt like her chest was cracked open and exposed just from words. Killian's words.

They had gotten into verbal sparring before, but he had never pushed her away. He was always chasing her, pulling her back or letting her back in. He wanted their child, was helping her survive in the mess she made and her thanks was leading him on.

It should have been obvious to anyone with eyes how she didn't have feelings for him. They slept together, she reached for him when she suffered nightmares, and stood close to him when they were together. Sometimes she folded her hands in his or looped an elbow through the crook of his own. That wasn't anything more than friendship.

So what if she dreamed of his lips, or more often his groans, against her heat while she pulled his hair. It was supposedly some hormone thing anyway from what Killian read to her.

Emma stroked the empty side of his bed, unable to sleep. He hadn’t read to her in days. Pulling one of his pillows close, she inhaled deeply. The sob that came after made her angrier, her body and mind a stranger. Why did this hurt?

The pillow wasn’t enough and the room was cold without him. Crying and shivering, she walked to one of his many bureau drawers and pulled out a shirt, the warm lining wrapping around her like his arms. For a moment, she was enfolded in his embrace again and the ache from missing him hurt. Her chest hurt, and everything felt wrong.

Her feet made the decision for her, carrying her through the door and out above.

“Killian?”

He blinked his eyes open, immediately alert at the sound of her voice. “What is it? Are you alright?” Emma stood in front of him, a sleeping gown and one of his wool lined shirts perched over her shoulders. She wouldn’t look at him, her eyes downcast.

She wrung her hands and gave a small laugh as a smile crept on her face. “I… Well.” She stroked her stomach, her new nervous tell around him. “Come back to bed. Please,” she whispered, looking up at him. “I’m sorry. I just can’t sleep. I’m cold and bloated; just please.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Emma. Not now at least,” he sighed, watching her shift her weight as her face fell.

“Oh.” He watched her pull his shirt tighter around herself, biting her lip. His brain screamed at him as she turned away. “Ok… If you change your mind?”

“Of course, love.”

She walked away from him, returning down below.

Killian tried to get comfortable again, but when he couldn’t, he relented to receive this particular brand of torture again. He headed down to his bed quietly, opening the door and shedding his coat and boots to lay himself down. He heard her first hiccuping sob as he crawled under the sheets. She turned with surprise, not bothering to hide her tears from him. “It’s the pregnancy, I think from one of those books you read me and I can’t control my feelings. I just wanted things to be ok again with us and I’m sorry. I get so scared alone with myself when I have to think about everything. I just, I’m so -” She rambled until he gathered her close and her body relaxed.

“It’s alright. You need rest, and who am I to deny you my body heat.” She fell asleep as he stroked her hair, ignoring the ache of want as he drifted off himself.

Emma couldn’t deny that she was happy that he began to join her in bed again. She had been sleeping better and so had Killian, which in turn made the crew happier. Jefferson had even stopped giving her dirty looks at breakfast every morning, content again on his perch high above with his spyglass. All was right with the world as they began their routine again.

For the most part, that is. Killian still kept an awkward distance around her, almost like he couldn’t trust himself. She felt terrible, wishing it could be like before his declaration to her. But every time she tried to broach the subject with him, he looked at her with pained eyes that gave her pause.

She’d done some things to cheer him up and cement her request for them to be platonic, which seemed to help. They’d made dinner one night as he showed her that he did indeed know how to cook. Even though she had thrown it up and stuck to her chocolate, she’d had fun. Another evening, she practiced her reading out loud to him; a book about sea monsters. He’d teased her about being too rotten for one to eat anyway, and she’d given him a sound smacking with a pillow.

When he’d looked at her though, that longing look was still there under his dark lashes.

He was teaching her chess when she heard Jefferson call out, accompanied by the sound of many, if not all, hands above. Smee was calling out for Killian; they were being pursued, and their pursuers were coming up fast. Jefferson had counted a Navy fleet, five ships at least.

“Stay below,” he’d growled at her, and she heard the blasts of the guns going off from both directly above and from the front of the ship. “Killian, I -” She caught his arm, looking into his eyes pleadingly. “I… I wanted to tell you… Please, be safe.”

“I will, Emma. It will be alright.” He gave a quick squeeze of her hand before closing the door. She slid down it, cursing her cowardice, and laid a hand over her stomach as she heard his voice yelling orders above.

They continued firing, and she tried to piece together what was going on, or who they were still being pursued by based on voices alone. Everything was becoming ferociously loud as she heard multiple larger guns returning fire as the Jolly sped away from taking anything but glancing hits. A shadow passed by the length of the long windows in his quarters. Carefully, she ran to peek out, and gasped.

The fleet followed them as they sped through the water, its cannons firing as a ship’s crew prepared to board. She moved out of the way to grab her scimitar. Her timing was fortuitous because just as she moved, a large piece of wood came crashing through a window as men boarded. The Jolly began to slow, and she heard the crack of a large blow near the front. She was suddenly more afraid for Killian than she had been since he lay half dead from fever so many years before; this was meant to be a slaughter. Wood burst and books flew as his room was hit, and she moved to make her way up to the deck above.

A uniformed man slid down the stairs half alive, gurgling as she ended his misery before slicing another under the elbow once she was on deck. The deck shook, another two hits to the stern. She looked around, trying to find Killian, wind whipping her hair and dress. Making her way to the wheel, she cut down a man trying to attack Scarlet from behind, pushing his body over onto another of his uniformed officers who fell back.

“You are supposed to be -” Scarlet shouted, cutting ladders and pushing off boarding planks as they shook. There was fear even in his joyful eyes. “I know, but we got hit,” she yelled back, continuing on. She finally saw Killian’s coat swirl and moved towards him up to the wheel deck, as he took on six uniformed men. It was an unfair fight to begin with, but when one pulled a gun at not even four paces, she had screamed for him, attacking the intruders with force.

“I told you to -” Killian had hissed, leaning to take pressure off his leg.

“I know, but we got hit. We kept getting hit. Your quarters, they’re in ruins, and I thought I could help.”

“No! You need to get out of here. Can you get your magic to work?”

He pulled away from her, and pushed her behind him as more of the fleet’s men joined them on the wheel deck. A loud voice called out from below as she and Killian were grabbed, pulled into a line with the rest of the crew. Emma desperately tried to will her magic to work, but only flickers crackled at her fingertips. The bloodied crew of the Jolly looked terrified, and her magic began to spark under her skin. She tried to reach, visualize the golden thread in her mind’s eye.

A man in a large hat with drooping jowls stood before them, his face cold. Emma noticed that his eyes flicked at her as she was pushed with the rest of the crew, Z stepping in front of her with a nod to Killian. Emma stared at her hands, desperately willing anything to happen besides the oncoming nausea from anxiety. “The illustrious Captain Jones, the patron saint of drunks and cowards.”

Killian stepped forward, smiling cockily. “Nice of you to bring an extra four ships to defeat us when you couldn’t match us fairly.” He rocked on his heels, grinning. “Imagine what I could do to you sober, Captain Scott!”

“Ah, so you do remember your betters. Your brother would spit in your face if he saw you today.” Scott’s lips quirked into a smile as he watched Killian’s jaw tick.

“I don’t know about that,” Killian replied coolly. “He’d probably reply you’re still the fattest bastard the Navy ever promoted. How many men did you let die before you rowed your fat arse over here to -”

Scott made a motion and several men moved forward, pulling Killian towards their captain. Killian struggled, his hook able to gouge one of the men in the neck, but there were so many swarming like locusts, pistols trained and pointed as he gave in. Emma stepped forward automatically, but Will and Z were there to block her. She felt a small tingle at the tips of her fingers, and she willed it bigger. She could feel how close she was to her magic.

Nothing happened, and she looked up, staring at Killian’s profile. Her heart hurt, anxiety and fear rattled her teeth, her body’s tension strung taut.

“Well Jones, you and your crew can ask your dear brother when you see him.” Scott made a wave of his hand in a manner that Emma knew all too well. Set your guns ready to fire. “As per even your disgusting mockery of honor, the Captain falls first. I noticed you have a lady aboard.” He made a motion to a soldier, who opened a box with his pistol in it. “As per custom, she’ll be hung after sentencing.”

“You haven’t even shot the thing from its velvet lined box. What a waste.” Killian spat at him, then turned to look at his crew. “I’m sorry to see things end like this, mates, but it was a good run. The Scarlet tide awaits.” He nodded to Will, looking forward as Scott loaded his pistol. Scarlet grabbed Emma’s arm firmly, pulling her from the line of sight and quickly down. Jefferson ducked and pulled out a folded up item out of his coat, quietly kissing her hand. She blinked, and watched him move to block them from view as well.

A hat sprung to life in front of them, and she felt the magic in it immediately. A portal. “I’m sorry Emma,” Scarlet whispered, pulling her, and she hissed at him, wrenching out of his grip. Trying desperately to work her magic, she squeezed her eyes shut to clear her mind, because this couldn’t be it. She couldn’t watch him die as she escaped with their child.

Emma didn’t belong to Killian, but he belonged to her. She could see his face in her mind that she had so patiently traced and memorized. His eyes and his expressions. Her head in his lap as she dozed. His nagging worry over her drinking water or eating. His laugh, his words, his sighs in his sleep; the way he looked at her all this time when she had just now figured it out.

“It’s not about owning you, Emma. No one can own you. It’s about promising to belong. I just want you to imagine for a moment, just a bloody moment, that it wouldn’t be so terrible to trust someone; to let them in.”

They were all hers to hold, and imagining him gone… How could she let him go without telling him he was right?

“To hell you go, Jones.” She heard Scott’s words and heard the sound of Killian’s laugh. “See you there, mate.”

When Emma heard the hammer click, she saw Will pick up the hat and make to push her in.

Time slowed. She turned away, and her magic was suddenly everywhere, the flash blinding as it filled her, like air in drowning lungs, and she exhaled hard. Her magic exploded like a grenade around her, everything pouring out of her as her fingertips burned with the force. She heard the yells, splashes in the water, and the whispers. Another pulse of energy and her body was electric, an explosion of wood and screams of men as her vision faded and her knees buckled.

She dreamt of warm arms and concerned voices, easily singling out Killian’s voice above the chaos. “You, Emma Swan, are a marvel.”

Underneath his voice something slipped, slithering, teeth yellowed under golden scales as it cackled in her ear. It brushed against her while its rank breath burned her skin and she thrashed, clawing to get away; golden eyes watching in despair as skittering talons ticked along cold stone...

The dream shifted into the feeling of a warm body next to hers, stroking her hair in the way she liked that was so comforting and of lips on her temple, gentle and loving.

When she opened her eyes to meet his, they mirrored her exhaustion. She gave him a sleepy smile. “Don’t leave.” Her voice was raspy, but the weariness in her body could account for it.

“I won’t, I promise,” he whispered. “Are you alright?” “Ok. Tired.” Her eyes drooped, body not sated yet on sleep. “Killian…?”

“Rest. I’ll be here.” He caressed her face, and despite her muscles protesting, she moved to curl into him, his heartbeat in her ears.

“Can’t wait,” she sighed into his chest, everything warm. “You were right.”

“Emma, please -”

Sleep draped itself over her, demanding and persistent. She held on, promising just a moment longer. “You belong to me... I love you,” she sighed, and let herself drift off to the comforting sound of his heart beating faster in his chest.

Chapter Text

Elsewhere the world may be blustering or sleeping, wars are fought, people live and die, some nations disintegrate, while others are born, soon to be swallowed up in turn - and in all this sound and fury, amidst eruptions and undertows, while the world goes its merry way, bursts into flames, tears itself apart and is reborn: human life continues to throb.

-Muriel Barbery

Spring came in full force, and Emma was stunned at how happy she was. It had only been a few weeks since her telling Killian she loved him, pieces falling into place around them with a grace she had never known. She'd slept through the first week and part of the second, only up occasionally to move for repairs or Killian’s insistence she eat. Waking up to him was like taking in the first breath of spring air after a bitter cold, a promise of warmth in the way he kissed her and whispered ‘Good Night’ as she fell asleep, his hand finding her own. The amount of devotion he showed her scared her just as much as it made her feel alive.

He had surprised her with dancing on deck, some of the crew laughing as they twirled. His insistence that they court traditionally amused and enthralled her, Killian slipping her lines of verse in his perfect script, or fighting his reactions when her body pressed against his sinfully as he laid gentle kisses to her neck to say good night. There was no doubt he wanted her, his willpower not to act on urges strong. After a very poorly executed attack, they had traded a fortune worth of spices with a cocky merchant’s vessel, and Killian had insisted she try some cream dessert from a shop when they were in port. When he kissed her that night he said she tasted like vanilla, breaking apart with effort that left her reeling.

And now they were here in Corona to see the beautiful flowered trees rain petals.

But first, shopping. He’d insisted, whatever she wanted so he could go take care of some business in the shadier parts of the city. She was more than happy to oblige.

Emma kissed Killian, relishing in the freedom of their open romance. However, with no ingredients to speak for except what had fit in her emergency kit, she sorely needed the apothecary run.

“Meet back here in an hour?” Emma whispered into the crook of his neck, her body held tight in his embrace. She didn't care if they hated parting or clung to each other - they had far too many wasted moments, so she made a point to remedy that for as long as possible.

“Aye.” Killian's lips had been up turned since she had woken from destroying the naval vessels, his eyes crinkled in the corners making the blue of his eyes darker. The glitter in them had her heart thundering, his gaze no longer full of longing. Instead, he revered her like she was the only thing that mattered. “Abbott, Garthside, Scarlet!” Killian waved a hand, gesturing them to come forward. “Escort Emma on her errands if you will. See that she doesn't get into any trouble.” He grinned at her, and she shot him a look.

Will took both her arm and basket, smiling as the four of them parted from Killian and headed through the streets.

At a cobblestone juncture, Emma found her first herb shop, picking up jars and a few bottles, beeswax candles, and a few other herbs and oils. She sought directions for a more esoteric potion shop, and headed deeper into the city.

Upon stepping into the potion shop and immediately finding bats wings, she reached for a jar, only to be interrupted by someone saying her name.

“Emma…?”

Turning around, Will's hand grasped one of his daggers and her hands protectively rose to her bump as she faced the person who spoke. Persons, it turned out to be.

Regina, Robin, Belle, Snow, and a pretty, older blonde woman stood staring at her, their eyes wide. Emma regarded them in silence, raising her chin almost as if in defiance.

Regina spoke first, her eyes soft as Robin grasped her hand. “Oh, Emma. You look beautiful.” Moving quickly, Emma was unprepared for the hug she received. “How are you? What are you doing here?”

Will looked with unease at the other two men and then back to Emma.

“Er, buying supplies. I didn't exactly get a chance to pack my entire apothecary when I left, as I was told to get out almost immediately.” Emma could not hide the bitterness in her voice. Nodding to the small group from The Gilded Wing, she turned to Will. “My old crew.”

Snow was frozen, staring at her with a look of disbelief. Rage swelled up in Emma and she smiled an icy, saccharine coated smile. Snow blanched as if she'd been struck.

“Regina, Robin, Belle, New person,” she left out Snow’s name, relishing in digging in the insult. “This is Will Scarlet, our close friend and consort. Abbott and Garthside are two fine members of the Captain's crew as well.”

Robin smiled and approached her, hugging her and she laughed, Regina and Belle joining him.

“Look at you.” Robin placed his hand on her bump, sighing lightly. “You took to this well.”

Emma shrugged slightly. Avoiding anyone's line of sight the best she could, she spoke the truth:

“It's easier to do this, have a child I mean,” looking down at Robin's hand placed in between her own on either side of her belly, she couldn't help the smile that crept up. “When you have someone who loves you and you love them back.”

Robin nodded. “That it is.” His eyes met Regina's and she laid a head on his shoulder. Belle looked at ingredients, moving behind Will, who looked her over with a watchful eye. They struck up a conversation, and the tense atmosphere lightened fractionally - all except for Snow’s rigid form.

Regina took a deep breath and regarded Emma seriously. “Can I?” She gestured to her husband's hand.

Emma nodded, watching Snow's face crumble as Regina laid a hand on her belly. Pulling their hands away, Regina burst into a watery smile, whispering lowly so only her, Emma, and Robin could hear.

“You don't have to stay there or lie about your relationship. You can come home if you want to.” Robin's jaw tensed at her words. “Charming messed up and he knows it; Snow knows it. We want you - no, we need you back. You belong with us.”

Emma looked at her affronted, hissing her answer in the same low tone. “I love him, and Killian loves me. Don't you dare presume to know what is between us.”

“I'm sorry, you just always… I know you weren't looking for this, and you said he was never faithful or serious -”

“Things have changed.” Taking a breath, she spoke louder, leveling a gaze at Snow who had observed the entire exchange stiffly, her eyes downcast. “I've changed. I was wrong. I mean, just look who I put my faith in.”

“Emma -” Snow took a step forward, and Emma raised a hand.

“What's done is done. My brother can live with his guilt.” Putting down a few silver coins on the shelf with a nod from the shopkeep, she took her jar and headed towards the door. “It was nice seeing… most of you.”

She strode out, hugging herself tightly, Will still in the shop. Turning quickly down a few streets into a narrow alleyway she sighed, hoping no one would follow. Will would be fine, and she still had two chaperones.

Speaking to Abbott and Garthside, she headed to the docks. “I think I would like to retire early. I'm a bit unsettled.”

Garthside chuckled lowly, and she looked back at him.

“You haven't begun to be unsettled, missus,” he growled lowly. Pulling open his vest, he removed a length of rope and a burlap sack, advancing on her. Garthside and Abbott moved like predators, and as she turned to run, Twynham and Whittmore appeared slightly further down the alley.

“Help!” she yelled, wishing she brought an actual weapon besides the small dagger in her boot. “I don't know what has gotten into them -”

Whittmore tossed her a rolled piece of paper tied in ribbon, smiling crookedly. She opened it, eyes widening as she read its contents. An invoice from the Navy, her face was drawn on it, along with her name and various charges. 'Piracy, 2000 gold pcs’, 'Witch Kraft and Magicks, 8000 gold pcs’, 'Damage to the crown, kingdom and Navy, 5000 gold pcs’, 'Displaying behavior unfit for a lady, pardons for past crimes and conscription into ranking positions if desired’. A signature scratched at the bottom was childish but readable.

James Nolan.

“Please, don't do this. He, James, he's a liar. He'll never reconscript you or pardon you.”

“I don't give a damn. Turning you in for the gold and glory is fine enough. The notorious Captain Swan, finally doing the swinging jig. Captain Hook, notorious in his own right, following after in grief or by fleet; nothing to live for with his child and lover gone.” Emma backed up, eyeing the thin space between two homes. “Two for one, and gold. A lesson to any other she-pirates or witches.”

He made a move, and Emma leapt out of the way, wobbling and off balance as she stumbled into the tight space. Sliding through, she could hear the men squabbling, trying to cut her off or corner her. Coming out in another corridor, she heard Will call her name. Heading towards the sound, she found Belle and him walking together, a guilty smile on her swollen lips. Both of their smiles faded when they saw her panic.

“Will! There's a mutiny; Whittmore, Garthside, Abbott, Twynham - they're out for a bounty on me. We have to get out of here,” she panted, leaning on a wall.

“I'll go get help; Regina isn't far from here.” Belle pressed a kiss to Will's cheek, and ran back towards the town.

Will took Emma’s hand, and they moved through back alleys towards the docks, her body protesting. Around a corner, she ran into Brewster's form.

“Oi, Brewster, we need to get her back to the ship, or with the crew and Jones. Half the crew is conspiring -”

Brewster moved quickly, Will holding his side in surprise as he fell back. Brewster pulled out the dagger he'd used, turning his eyes to leer at Emma who backed away. Emma reached for any magic she had, seeking that line of gold that was moving away from her grasp. She still couldn’t reach it readily.

“I'm not supposed to use this on you, but it's really a crying shame not to, innit? Maybe if I do it somewhere they won't see it?” Emma looked around, turning to the corridor they'd come from. Whittmore, Garthside, and Abbott advanced through it, blocking off her escape. Past Brewster, Twynham skidded out of another alley, observing Will bleeding out on the dirty stones.

“Aw, I wanted to stab him.” Twynham shrugged and turned his head to look at Emma. “Oh well.” She moved to the wall where she was cornered, trying to find any purchase to pull herself up on.

“If you take me, Killian will hunt you. He'll never stop until every one of you dies horribly,” she yelled, and they laughed.

“He'll either be too broken, or will be joining you on the gallows. He doesn't stand a chance against a fleet without you and your witchcraft,” Abbott spat, making a religious symbol with his hands. “You both can dine in hell.”

“Please, my child - Please!” Emma began to panic, the walls and men closing in on her, screaming and kicking as they tied her hands and feet.

“A bastard no one will miss but two dead sinners.” Abbott again.

“Stop with your religious bullshit, Abbott.” Garthside stuffed a wad of fabric in her mouth, tying a strip of it around her head as a gag, and pulled the burlap hood over her face. She wretched, the smell of moldy potatoes assaulting her nostrils. “See? You're even making the missus here gag.”

Emma was picked up by someone and slung over their shoulder. She could faintly hear Will's rattled breathing, and struggled.

“Ay, can one of you calm down the missus? I'd hate to drop her,” Garthside said, carrying her wriggling form. She felt the crack against her skull and went limp, darkness greeting her with its escape.

A sharp slap woke her some time later, her eyes adjusting to the light. Her sadistic brother smiled with a glimmer in his eyes that were identical to her own; his teeth bared in a gruesome smile aimed at the men who had betrayed her and Killian.

“Thank you, truly, gentlemen. You've reunited me with my dear sister. I owe you a reward, as promised.” He pointed towards several uniformed officers who carried a large chest, plunking it on the deck. “Everything, including your conscription paperwork, is in there. You can be Lords with this amount of treasure.”

The men pushed each other to get to the chest, shoving each other in their eagerness. James smiled a sickening grin. As the men studied the locks and tried to lift the heavy lid, he waved a hand.

Garthside was the only one to look back, his eyes wide, as the firing squad let out thundering rounds. Emma clamped her eyes tight as she tried to block out the sound of her brother's ghoulish laughter.

In far distant memory, Killian remembered his mother as the embodiment of kindness, her soft, lilting accent song like as she baked or read stories to them. She loved baking, and she was good at it. They had bread, cakes, rolls, and other treats, but her best works were always pies. “Mum, you make a perfect pie,” Liam had exclaimed after his third slice, and Killian had been so in awe of his brother for making his mum blush and for eating that much. He’d only been able to eat a slice, and barely. He had wanted to be like his brother so badly, but with no chance in matching him on eating, he matched his words. “Perfect pie!” he repeated, and Liam and his mum’s smiles grew wider.

“The thing about perfect, my two handsome men, is that nothing is ever truly perfect. True perfection is getting as close as you can get, so close you could hit it with a stone.” She’d smiled again and sang them silly songs about fairies and dwarves until their father had thundered in and the smile had disappeared. She died of plague not quite two summers later.

Liam had always expected perfection, not remembering pie or laughter, but remembering her sickness and how the perfect medicine could be bought with money their father had drank away. He remembered hard work, logic, black and white rigidity. Killian had found he preferred his mum’s close but not quite perfects.

Finding her ring had been like that. There was nothing he could give Emma that would possibly express how much he wanted to be there for her, or how much he loved her and everything about her. How much he’d love their child. The rings he’d looked at when he had a moment without her around since she had returned his feelings had been underwhelming nonetheless. Finally he’d decided he would have one made, something specific to what she would love and he would be proud to give her.

The design was beautiful, moonstone, diamonds, pearls, and opal, twisted in gold and silver, and it would be beautiful on her hand as well. His sketch was to be delivered today, and in a few weeks would rest on her finger if she said yes to his proposal.

The entire appointment took half of the hour he had promised Emma, and he spent the other half buying her a tin of cinnamon candies to suck on. She usually headed back from any type of excursion early as her belly swelled, exhaustion crept up fast. At the hour mark, he was surprised. At a quarter after, he was terrified.

Pacing the Jolly, he waited for her and Will with some excuse, and instead received an envelope delivered by a street urchin. It contained coordinates, a lock of golden hair, and a scrawled invoice for crimes by one Captain Emma Swan, written by a Captain James Nolan.

The Jolly Roger arrived in front of the naval galleon Aries with no tricks, no magic, and nothing but a distraught captain with a single mindset. Get Emma back. The ship had waved every white banner it had and in another time, Captain Hook would have been ashamed of such weakness, a younger Captain Jones mollified, but Killian standing on the deck as they came along broadside to drop a gangplank felt nothing but relief when he saw Emma, which was worth everything and more.

“Hello, Captain Hook. Nice of you to surrender early for once.” James sneered and the crew of the Aries laughed. He knew the Navy was low on men due to the King’s madness, but these men had no honor, even in their stained and ill fitting uniforms. Emma was brought forward struggling, handed off to James roughly.

“You can’t take her. By law you have to-” James smirked and yanked on her arm harshly. Emma stumbled, eyes wide with fear at unsteady feet. Killian shifted his legs, reaching out a hand instinctively even from a distance, protective of the gentle swell below her shift. “No time for pleasantries? Fine. The pirate, now concerned by law. How ironic. I have to take her to sit in a cell until your bastard is born.” He raised a hand in a dismissive gesture. “If it’s born that is. I hear that the cells aren’t the most comfortable for the fairer sex.” Rain started to fall, misting the decks of the ships. Killian could feel his stomach churning along with the sea below, staring at Emma’s face. The rain picked up with a gust of wind, drenching them as they continued their pointless stand-off.

“Take me instead.” The gang plank across the ships was wet, but thick and sturdy under his feet as he moved towards the ship. Muskets trained on him and he raised his hand and hook, eyes trained on Emma, watching her struggle in James’s grip. She shook her head wildly, cries muffled by the cloth in her mouth. “A trade? Why would I trade one pirate for another?”

“My crimes are worth more, and I have been attacking you Navy dogs since I took to the seas. I commanded her to do these magicks; she was under my banners. I won’t stop until you and the entire fleet of ships under your king flee from the sight of my ship.” Emma’s face was a mask of rage and fury. He looked to James, who was grinning a cat like smile, to escape her glare.

“Interesting.” He motioned for his men to grab Killian. The uniformed officers ripped him from the gang plank, and he risked looking back at Emma. Even in the rain he could see her crying, body trembling from anger or the chill, he couldn’t tell. He could feel his hook being taken from its socket as his arms were bound, his brace cut, and a gag placed in his mouth as he was forced to kneel before James.

“Well. For tonight, you can both stay in my welcome company while I decide what I want to do. There’s a lovely place in the brig for you both!” James said, his voice full of a malicious glee. He threw Emma against another man as he made his way over to the side of the ship. He let out a long whistle, making a signal with his hands towards The Jolly Roger. “Follow us up until Georgetown. You can wait there for whoever comes back.”

With that, he returned to pass by Killian’s kneeling form, heading for the Captain’s quarters. “If one of you goes back.” Killian could hear his laughter as he was led down to the brig below.

Emma was thrown into the brig and harshly shackled to the corner. Her body was sore from rough handling, and the ever present need to vomit was not abating. Her stomach twisted in the damp, musty cell and she swallowed thickly.

The door opened and Killian was pushed in, followed by another uniformed officer. Chewing at the gag, Emma struggled in her bonds. Seeing her, Killian’s eyes widened and he struggled in the other man’s grip. “Oh no, lovebirds. This is a time for penance, not your hedonism.” The officer smirked, shackling Killian to the other far corner. Emma pulled on her chains, but couldn’t reach him. She cried out his name in a muffled whimper, the officer laughing as he sidled over to her corner.

“What do you think, Jones?” The man’s hand caressed her face and she shuddered, pulling away from his advances. Killian pulled at the chain, muffled angry snarls of rage filling the room. Emma realized with horror that they’d taken his brace and hook as he reached for her with the scarred stump. The officer laughed harder, pulling aside her hair.

“I could help you get rid of that problem you have, you know,” the man stage-whispered loud enough for Killian to hear. The officer lifted a balled fist high, bringing it down fast towards her stomach. She let out a shriek, and heard Killian’s muffled shouts. No pain came; the officer’s fist never made a connection as he howled with laughter.

Emma burst into tears as he locked them in the cage and left the room. After several long minutes, Killian removed his gag successfully. “Emma, love, are you alright? They didn’t... he didn’t hurt you, did he?” The panic in his voice made her cry even harder, and her magic surged briefly. It was still weak, but she pinpointed it at their chains, closing her eyes and praying it freed them.

The small spell left Emma exhausted, her body aching with the strain of unlocking the metal. Leaning back against the wood, she let herself drift until she felt warm arms around her body. His hand undid the gag in her mouth and she sputtered, leaning back against his chest. “Emma, look at me, look at me.” She cracked open her eyes to gaze up at his face. His thumb grazed the apple of her cheek as she cried, exhaustion, pain, and fear settling into her bones. Killian let the stump of his arm rest against her side as she buried her face into his chest.

“They killed Will,” she rasped, her body shaking at the thought of him bleeding in an alleyway. “They killed him right in front of me, I -” Emma felt her stomach turn, the mix of horror, hunger, and nausea making her dry heave.

“It’ll be alright, Swan,” he choked out in a whisper. “As long as you and our child -”

“I can’t do this without you, I can’t. You can’t leave me after everything we’ve gone through, Killian. We’ve survived so much, it can’t end like this. I can’t be a mother, I need you -” Emma tried to quiet her panicked sobs against him, as he held her tighter. She could feel his own tears in her hair now.

“Emma, you deserve so much more. I am so lucky to have even met you,” he nuzzled into her hair, shaking as he started to rock her body softly. “I wish I had more time to be with you. I wish I could see our -”

“Don’t you dare. You will, you will.” She curled herself against his body as they both struggled for words. “Killian, you have to come home. You have to come home to us.” Laying his hand across her stomach, she let the small kicks against his palm speak for her.

“Is that?” his voice cracked. When she nodded, he could only kiss her temple, holding on to the last moments he might have with the woman he loved and their child’s soft movements against the press of his fingers.

Emma desperately tried to keep her eyes open, but the overwhelming weariness in her body, the warmth of his chest, his steady heartbeat, and the light patterns he traced on her stomach all were soothing her despite the desperate situation. Her voice sounded far away to her own ears, when she murmured to him.

“I think it will be a boy, with your dark hair.” Her hand stroked through his inky strands, still damp from the rain above. “He’ll love to read. Too smart for his own good. Brave. A fighter, a survivor…” she trailed off, stroking down the angles of his face. “A hero.”

Killian barked a dark and empty laugh, the muscles in his jaw clenching. “You need to rest love, you’re exhausted. I’ll be here when you wake, I promise.” Placing a kiss on the palm of her hand, he gathered her close as she fought to stave off sleep.

“I know you don’t believe me.” Giving into exhaustion, she let her eyes close and relaxed into his embrace with a sigh. “But you’re a hero. One day I hope you see it as clearly as I do.”

When she woke next, it was pitch black in the cell and Killian was stroking her stomach in flowery patterns, whispering into the darkness.

“Little love, if I never get to see you, just know that your Papa loved you and your mother more than life itself. I would trade The Jolly just for an hour to hold you.“

Emma began to cry again, and Killian startled. “I didn't know you were awake, love.” Kissing her on the forehead, he adjusted their positions.

“You'd trade The Jolly for us?”

“I'd give anything, Emma. You and our child are everything to me. I love you. I'd marry you today if -”

“Then marry me. With two captains, we have the law on our side. Even if it's not on our vessel.”

He coughed, and Emma could feel his heart beating faster. “I wanted to propose to you somewhere a little more romantic, Swan. What’s more, I wanted to marry you somewhere as beautiful as you. This isn't exactly what I had imagined.”

“Then tell me what you wanted. Describe it to me.”

“For both?”

“For both.”

“Well, I wanted to propose to you at Maggie’s, or in that field of flowers you dragged me off to in Camelot when you were angry with me over the incident in port there. I’ve had a ring in mind for a while; something with pearls, diamonds, and moonstone. I thought it would be pretty on you. Maybe something in gold.” He made circles on her skin and she could picture him laying in the field of flowers with her, smiling over white petals. “As for marrying you, I thought on The Jolly -” Emma snorted and he scoffed back. “Yes, on The Jolly. But at sunset in the south where those jellyfish light the sea, on a clear night. Stars in the sea, and the sky, and a luminous Swan the envy of both.” He kissed her hand.

“What would our vows say?” she whispered, his tears falling into her hair, and hers still following the path down her cheek.

“Mine are easy, they’re the truths of us.” He leaned in slightly to brush a kiss to the spot behind her ear, whispering, “Emma, Swan, you did something that no one else ever could. You showed me that a heart full of love was the most precious treasure of all, and one that I don’t intend to lose. Everyday I’ve been apart from you is treason, time when we could have admitted loving each other. I’ve loved you for years, and every year I wasted, you grew more beautiful. I don’t deserve you. When we met, there were just two things that mattered to me: hatred and revenge. You helped me see I could have more, could be more. They say that a captain’s heart belongs to his ship, but with these words, it now belongs to you.” Emma choked back a sob, reaching to find his face in the dark, lifting herself to kiss him. “I do.”

“And your vows would say, ‘I love you, and even though you impregnated me and are a tad crazy, I still love you, Killian Jones; dashingly handsome enemy of the state and excellent lover.’”

Emma laughed through her tears, shaking her head. “No. Close, maybe.”

“Oh?”

“Why not this.” She thought for a moment, wiping her tears away. “Killian, I spent so much of my life on my own, and then, when you and I met, I was a broken person. You saw through that. You looked beyond my flaws and my hatred, looked beyond how much fear there was in me. When this child announced itself, I was terrified. I thought I could never have a family of my own. You helped me find my family, though. Just because you hear about true love, doesn’t mean you believe that you will ever find it. But thanks to you, now I have. And I can’t imagine raising a child with anyone but you.”

“Emma, love. Oh, darling, I can’t imagine a life without you. You have to go on when it’s my time.” He held her and they cried together for a moment, lost in the love they were finding only in time to lose it. “I love you, my Swan.” “I love you, Killian. Now with our vows said, I am officially Mrs. Captain Swan-Jones after you say, ‘I do’.”

“I do thee wed.”

“Kiss your bride.”

He dipped her as well as he could in the darkness of the cell, and she laughed. “Gladly, my sweet.”

They kissed, slowly at first and then with a need to feel the other, knowing at any moment the brig would open and they would be separated, possibly forever.

Killian resigned himself to be the hero his child deserved, letting go of his life to save theirs, without question.

Emma only hoped James wouldn't simply kill them all, the gentle movement of the baby slowing as Killian whispered a quiet lullaby into her skin.

Chapter Text

I can be quick and then I'm deadly,

I am a rock, shell and bone medley.

If I was made into a man, I'd make people dream,

I gather in my millions by ocean, sea and stream. What am I? Sand of course, dear one

- Unknown

Emma woke next to a sudden jostle, Killian tensing above her and words, laughing words that weren’t his. The fuzzy bits of sleep fading, she could hear Killian’s voice now loud above her. “Don’t you dare touch her. I’ll kill every one of you if you touch her -”

Emma’s eyes shot open as Killian’s body was pulled away from her and the warmth of his embrace was gone. Two men were pulling him away, his hand reaching for hers across the floor.

“No!” Emma reached for him, pulling his hand into hers, fighting and kicking the other man who stepped into the space to grab her. “Killian, Killian! Let me go, let me go!” Wailing and reaching for him, his body was pulled behind hers to keep him moving.

“Ain’t it sweet? Keep struggling and I’ll give you a chance to hold your baby.” The man holding her pulled her hair, and she yelped, his other hand squeezing her windpipe.

“Emma, you have to stop struggling love, you’re going to hurt yourself. It’s going to be alright.”

They were both pulled on the wet deck with rain still falling heavily, chilling her again. James stood looking over the docks in front of them as Emma was thrown down, Killian over her protectively a moment later.

“I’ve made two decisions, for the sake of my dear little sister and her unborn.” James smirked down at them as Killian gathered her shaking body close to his. “The first is that you get to say goodbye to your beloved before he hangs. I do follow Navy protocol, after all, so you can say goodbye here and as he hangs.” Emma sobbed into Killian’s chest, both of them holding each other tightly. “And I’ve arranged for you to be delivered to a beautiful holding cell to wait for your bastard to be born. Then off you go to whatever fate I decide, and your bastard goes to a nice home.”

“You will not take my child -”

“See, the thing is dear sister, you’re not exactly in the position to make demands. Or to be a mother,” James sneered. “Now say your goodbyes.”

“Emma, I love you. Look at me love,” Killian kissed her, wiping tears away from her face in earnest. “You have to keep our child, beg them, do whatever you can. Do you understand? Don’t you dare give up, Emma -”

“I won’t but you have to fight them too, please, I know you can figure a way out of this. We have survived everything, everything, Killian. You have to see your child. He can’t grow up without you.”

Killian opened his mouth to say something more, but was stopped by James waving a hand to pull Emma from him, his fingers holding hers until the last second. “I love you, Emma.” She continued reaching for him, and he pulled against the two men holding him, continuing to try and touch her fingers.

James laughed, his continued laughter eventually drowning out Emma’s pleading.

The day he was led out to be hung was exactly ten days after his capture. He’d counted, scratching long groves into the wall of his cell with a spoon, sharpening it to carve Emma’s name and his into the wooden door frame along with a small picture of a swan. Tracing it kept him sane when he imagined he heard her cries or a phantom squall of a baby somewhere in the evenings, his body unwilling to rest.

Off of the coast of King George’s miserable land, Korumpiran, lay the island he sat in now. It was unnamed, just referred to by people who knew what lay on its rocky face as ‘Prisoner’s Keep’. Emma was somewhere in the compound, it was where people the Navy wanted to parade out with pomp to a gaggle of noble watchers were held.

Hanging was a sport, and it needed spectators.

James was in high spirits when they came to fetch him, dressed in his full regalia and grinning. As they climbed the stairs to the deck of the gallows, he whispered gleefully, “Today’s the day!”

Killian grunted.

James’s boots were a shining dark black in the noon sun, in stark contrast with the washed-out boards. As his death necklace was hung around his neck, Killian whispered goodbyes to those who would never hear them. His crew, his few friends, his child, saving the last for Emma.

James stood next to him, no executioner’s cowl to mask his glee. “Do you know what the best part of this is going to be?” James’s eyes glittered with excitement as he whispered, “My deal with you ends when you expire. You’ll have your whore and child with you in hell soon enough!” James laughed, pointing out into the crowd where several naval officers flanked Emma’s body. Killian struggled in his bonds, trying to get off the stage to her in blind panic. Their audience whispered in confusion as she cried hysterically. James tried to redraw the crowd’s attention, not to be outdone. “I hereby judge the pirate known as Captain Hook as guilty of crimes against the crown...” A wail went up in the crowd, pained as a naval officer started yelling, “...desertion of the Navy, Piracy...” A low moan soon followed, and one of the naval officers ran back into the base, eyes wide. The crowd began to turn and soon, the original crowd was turning towards low keening cries. The hair on Killian’s neck stood. Navy officers yelled, and James became angry. “...and stealing a ship from HIs Majesty’s fleet. The punishment shall be death, by hanging. Any last words?” James removed the rag he had stuffed in Killian’s mouth.

“Emma, my wife, please tell me she’s alright. She’s pregnant and I can’t see -” Shouting at the crowd, he struggled, and several women covered their mouths in horror. It was taboo for any wife to be present for a hanging, as the gentry were prone to swooning. A pregnant woman being forced to stand privy to an act of such violence was beyond cruel, practically sacrilege, and put both her and child at risk.

A scream tore through the crowd, and he could see Emma on her back, naval officers holding her as one came back with a cloth. Her mouth was a tight lined grimace. The crowd was booing the hanging now in favor of the poor woman who seemed to be having stress complications. Killian was barely aware of anything else except trying to see what was happening. Officers ran on the platform to help James hold Killian as he fought to get to Emma with every fiber of his being.

Fists landed blows on his face and a boot connected with his ribs until he knelt, bleeding on the platform’s drop door, the first real prayers to any God who’d listen running through his mind. He heard James pull the lever, and closed his eyes, unable to stand the nightmare any longer. The door below him gave way and he fell, time slowing as he heard James yell in fury. Killian’s knees connected with packed ground. The rope had snapped, cut through almost completely.

Killian’s body registered its living state before his brain, scrambling to move as James shouted orders. His blood beat in his ears to the sound of her name, every part of him trying to protect both his child and his wife. A guard caught his arm half way and shoved him, a strange movement that was neither defensive or offensive. Sprawling forward, he noticed a heavy weight in his coat pocket. Reaching in and touching cold metal, he looked up to watch the guards surround Emma and understood.

James shouted more commands as Killian pulled his hook out of his pocket, taking it in his good hand awkwardly without his brace. A few paces ahead of him, he saw Ruby adjust her stolen Naval uniform, sending a signal to however many others had infiltrated, and he realized that the ever clever crew of The Gilded Wing had each put a swan patch under their shoulder stripe.

Killian slashed through an officer with slight difficulty, continuing towards Emma as he watched the infiltrators from The Gilded Wing shed their disguises. Two guards with a swan patch held Emma's hands, kneeling as the crowd surrounding them began to realize that they were caught in the beginning of a blood bath. Men started to scream as Merida, Ruby, Rory, Phillip, Graham, Fa, Regina, Robin, Z, and others he didn’t know began to carve through them.

Finally reaching Emma, he felt life return in full color. Wearing a ridiculous full satin gown, even in labor on dusty cobblestone she took his breath away. He rubbed blood from his face and ignored what was most likely a broken rib. Snow looked at his dumbstruck face with a small knowing smile, as Emma and Belle beamed up at him. He knelt by her side, or more truthfully, dropped to his knees.

“Emma are you? Please tell me you're alright. Seven Hells and the damned -” His wheezing questions were answered with a soft kiss as her hand threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck. She pulled away, motioning a hand to the bodice of her dress and bringing him back to the peril of their situation.

“We're fine. Help me get out of this damned thing before we all wind up dead, because that would be depriving a nice end to my dashing rescue of you. Oh, and take off your shirt.” Emma reached below her skirts and pulled out his extra brace, a cutlass, and her preferred scimitar. He pulled off his coat and shirt as she and Snow struggled to get her out of the gown. Belle stood guard, easily dropping men with a crossbow.

“You know, there's a thousand other ways to get us both naked love,” he grinned. He put on his brace with ease, relishing in the feel of the soft leather and the plush embrace of the fitting for his hook. Snapping buckles tight, he clicked in his hook. With a flourish he ripped the gown, revealing her breeches and tunic below. “When we get back, I'll show you a few of the ways I thought of on the gallows.”

“Gallows humor. That's appropriate,” Snow smirked, as he shrugged his shirt and coat back on. Helping Emma stand, he embraced her tightly.

“I love you, Emma. We'll talk about how mad I am that you are here later,” he whispered into her hair. “If I told you to stay out of trouble you'd never listen, but please be careful.”

Emma smirked, looking up at him. “I'll do my best, Killian.”

Another round of shouts began as another James appeared from the nearby doorway, screaming that the man on the gallows stand was an imposter, a wizard from the Far East.

Anyone from The Gilded Wing would recognize the slightly darker tanned skin, or the top of his ring finger missing on his right hand. But dressed in a captain’s uniform, the Navy became more confused. James sputtered on the gallows stand about his twin brother, while David shouted back towards the crowd. The Gilded Wing members took advantage of the chaos, attacking without mercy.

“Welcome to the party, Hook,” Belle said as she stood, joining the fray with Snow just behind, pulling a bow with quiver from her pant legs.

Killian kissed Emma one more time as they began making their way towards James.

Emma slashed through men easily, avoiding attacks as Killian moved faster, slicing with both hook and sword. Gunpowder filled the air as blood spilt; dying shouts heard over the smell of fire shot from Regina's hands. Robin, Belle, and Snow had taken high perches, shooting targets with keen accuracy. Men ran to get to safety.

Killian reached the platform first, and James backed away as he approached. Parrying back and forth, Killian was surprised that such a coward was actually an adept swordsman. A well aimed kick from James landed squarely in his broken ribs, the crunch and pain throwing him back on his elbows letting out a strangled cry. James raised his weapon high, the sword shining in its cruel metallic glory. Killian turned to Emma and watched her, unwilling to spend his last moments watching James’s sadistic snarl.

A shot rang out, James stepping back and looking at his stomach in surprise. Killian took no chances, digging his hook deep into James’s neck, ripping his face apart in a clean motion. Killian heard the bastard gurgle but threw him down, unwilling to give him any more attention. Looking up, Charming nodded to him over the smoking barrel of a pistol, a calm ripple of understanding coming between the two.

It was done. Men ran in all directions, fires started in several places along the keep, and cannons sounding from what sounded like several ships. Glancing at the smoke drifting off of the towers, he would swear he was hallucinating. Two dragons circled, one dark, massive, and sleek, the other a soft pearl color with somehow more delicate features. They were stunning in their fierceness.

The island was in ruins as nobles cowered, fleeing to ships that sped away from the rubble.

“Killian?” Emma called through the smoke, and he stumbled off of the deck into her embrace. She smiled and let him lean into her body, face pressed against her neck as he took a breath. “You’re heavy. As much as I -”

Rough hands pulled him aside, helping him stand fully. Charming stood next to him, propping him up. He grunted, growling out lowly, “You have legs, lean on someone who isn’t pregnant.”

Killian could feel his ribs throb as they walked along the cobbled path, Charming under his arm letting him lean and Emma by his side trying to keep him talking. His lungs burned, and he was painfully aware that breathing was becoming harder. “How did you manage this?” he coughed, and Emma looked at her brother, then away quickly.

“Will is alive. Belle took him back to The Gilded Wing, and they caught the Jolly on its way here to save us. Regina popped into my cell, letting me know the plan and helped me smuggle the things we needed. Hey, hey. I need you to stay awake.”

“And you tamed dragons in your cell?” Blinking groggily, he shook himself further awake, not realizing his drooping eyelids as his lungs tightened.

“That’s… That’s actually Z, and his, um… Friend? or Lover, I guess?” Emma said unsurely, glancing at David.

“Mal, the blonde woman, new to The Gilded Wing’s crew. Old friend of Regina’s, and a powerful sorceress. Transformed Zorro, your Z, into a dragon for revenge and the spell accidentally hit them both. They can change forms when they’re around each other,” David grumbled.

“You know I think you’re magnificent, Emma. Did you manage a Kraken too?” Emma laughed, moving closer into his side. “Don’t laugh, love. I’m trying to share a moment with you while staving off choking. And you, my dear brother-in-law racing to save me. Now that I wouldn’t have bet on.”

“Never call me that again. Could you focus?” Charming gritted out. “If you died, I’d never hear the end of it from Emma or Snow. And,” he mumbled under his breath, “I cannot be left alone with Scarlet or Robin, who would join you in hell. I can’t be killing crew. That’s, what do you say? Ah, yes. Bad form.”

“Dave, you truly do care,” Killian groaned when Emma gently prodded him gently in the ribs, shooting him a look, but Charming actually gave a forced smile.

“Don’t make me stab you when you have cheated death thrice today, to my sister’s delight.” As they approached the Jolly in full glory next to The Gilded Wing, they were met by a crowd of crew members, Graham taking over for Charming. Before he was completely pulled away, Charming slid an elbow right into where he ached, hard enough to bruise but not to cause any more actual damage. Killian sucked in as much air as he could get through his teeth, trying not to vomit. “And never call me Dave ever again either.”

Emma helped him settle into their bed, helping to ease him down and help make something comfortable for both of them. She’d washed his face, and taken off his bloody clothing, soft touches that reminded him her finger was painfully bare of his ring. Before he could say anything, Regina had come by for more healing and a round of her truly noxious potions made to induce bones to knit together with the added bonus of making a grown man fall back into the mindset of a whiny child.

His lucidity began to fray, and Emma lay next to him quietly, looking over their handiwork on his battered body. “You’re starting to get a little bit magic sloshed. I can see it in your eyes,” Emma giggled. “You always look so intense before you let go and get lost in things.” She reached for his hand, surprised when he moved to kiss her, searching her eyes as they broke away,

“You shouldn’t have been there. If you had been hurt, Emma, I can’t... I couldn’t even watch you pretend to suffer because I thought...” His voice caught, and she held his hand tighter. “No more. Stay off your feet. I know you’ve been hiding how exhausted you are, and I’m worried for you love. I’m worried for our child.”

“I’m ok, I promise,” she lied, and adjusted herself. Wincing, she did not sell her lie.

“No. You’re not.”

“Killian, I -” “When was the last time you ate and really rested? You were in a cell, probably not much nicer than my own. And your wound? See to it you actually get it cleaned, love,” he sighed, gathering her into his arms. “Of course.” He nuzzled into her neck, his words slurring softly as the potion helped mend his broken bones. “You could just rest with me. Help me get better. Stop me from worrying about the dragon we unintentionally signed on as crew.”

“Of course,” she whispered against his chest, as close as she dared with his broken ribs snug under bandages. “Captain's orders, hm?”

“Quite right.” he sighed.

The sky was a sickly green as rain drizzled over the Jolly, the clouds casting strange shadows through the windows in the Captain’s quarters. Emma still felt uncomfortable on her ship, rather spending her time watching Killian heal and helping out on the Jolly. Her main tasks were easy to fall into, and she enjoyed laying in his arms as his wife.

Married life suited her, although Killian’s boredom did not. He entertained himself by wrapping yarn around his hook as Maggie had taught him as lumpy blankets as soft as clouds littered their bed. He also read, and occasionally sketched her changing form with rapt fascination. She'd begun to truly show, her body suddenly ballooning everywhere as her sickness was replaced by unending hunger.

Killian still not only assured her that she was beautiful, but made it very clear that he enjoyed every bit of what he saw. Every time she left him in the mornings he’d groan, sleepily begging her to stay; either trying to ply her with his words… or other things. “You could lie here with me all day,” his voice said with a low, husky rumble. He stretched his arms around her as she sat on the edge of their bed, and she heard the hiss of pain, even as he tried to hide it. “I’d show you how well I’m healing by licking every inch of you -”

“Killian!” she laughed, as he kissed her neck. “While that’s tempting, and it is oh so very tempting, the ledgers need to be balanced to account for repairs, stock needs to be counted, and you need to rest -”

“Do the ledgers here, and I promise I’ll rest,” he nibbled her earlobe and she let out a gasp. “After I taste you. You don’t understand how beautiful you look, Emma.” She pulled away from him, and his face fell.

“Mmmhm, well, we can discuss this more when I bring you lunch.” His face brightened and he licked his lips. “With Mal, for another bout of healing.” He flopped back, with a wheeze, groaning. Emma stood, bending to kiss him, and made her way to the door. “I will do the ledgers here though, to ease your suffering.” She heard his hum of approval as she walked to the deck.

He was healing nicely luckily, and would be better in a matter of days. Emma was grateful to have Regina and this newcomer, Mal, around to work healing magic, even if it wasn’t as powerful as her own. His ribs had set which was a great comfort to Emma. She had been worried with them sleeping together that she’d hurt him somehow. Regina had even suggested he could be on deck but not working as early as the next day, but Emma hadn’t told him in case they were wrong.

It was cool, the rain picking up as Emma stepped on the deck and took in a deep breath. Walking to the railing, she looked over the waves, peering behind them where the Gilded Wing followed. A hand automatically rested on top of her stomach. The child was quiet today to boot, and would be until after breakfast. Although her sickness was blessedly gone, she’d noticed how easily she got winded or tired while working. She’d learned some ways around it; eating a good breakfast, snacking, breaks to sit down, drinking water, and other small tricks. The fresh air was another trick, the sea breeze felt good in her lungs.

Will stepped over to her, handing her a bowl of sweet rice and dried fruit. “Good morning. How’s Jones?”

“A few more days. Unless he does something stupid.” Tipping her bowl, she swallowed greedily. Every meal felt like she hadn’t eaten in days. “What still needs to be done this morning?”

“Jefferson says there’s a storm about to roll in, so we need to tie off some barrels, and move some crates.” He ticked off his fingers, while she continued eating. “There’s some damage to the sails that need to be tied off, and a little damage to the rigging. I think we should be storm ready after that.”

Emma nodded, finishing her meal. “Let’s start.”

They worked tirelessly as a unit as lightning crackled close by and a boom of thunder echoed only slightly to the west. The rain began to pummel them, and Emma started to shiver; her fingers going numb as she tied things off. A tickle ran across her back, and she looked up to see a loose rope dangling. She pulled gently to tie it off on a stable weight. It wouldn’t give so she pulled harder, letting her muscles strain as the wind whipped. She let go, dizzy and winded, her body protesting even standing.

Internally, she began to panic. She hadn’t been working that long, but she was exhausted already? This couldn’t be, and she wouldn’t accept it. She’d push through.

Smee looked at her in concern. “Miss Emma, are you alright?” She nodded and reached for the rope again, numb fingers gripping to pull even harder. This time it gave and she tied it off triumphantly, panting to catch her breath.

She realized something was wrong before she saw black creeping towards the edge of her vision. Turning to stumble towards Smee, she heard his surprised question before darkness took her.

When she blinked her eyes open again, she was laying bundled under far too many blankets by candle light, a cloudless night sky laid outside the open windows wherever they were harbored. Killian sat beside her, gently stroking her hair as he read. She went to ask him what happened, but could only rasp out a questioning noise before coughing.

“Well, my darling, you’ve gotten yourself sick and pushed yourself to fainting, per Regina. She sends her regards, with strict instructions for both of us,” he whispered. Killian smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Emma groaned. “If that’s your apology for scaring us all half to death, it needs some work.”

She coughed, trying to clear her voice. “Sorry.”

“Emma…” A look of concern and tired frustration crossed over his face. “Regina and I talked, and you shouldn’t be doing anything but light labor, if that. We’re concerned for you.”

Emma scoffed, her eyes narrowing. “No, I need to work. I’m not weak -”

“No one thinks you’re weak. You’re building life, the farthest thing from it - but this was a close call.”

“I just fainted. It’s not -” Killian’s hand balled into a fist, and he interrupted her, his voice quiet, but filled with worry and anger.

“You were bleeding.” His jaw ticked, and Emma immediately felt her heart sink as she rubbed where she could feel the baby resting, stretched along her entire frame.

“I was…?” Emma saw him soften, and he took her hand. “The baby is alright though, right? Killian, I didn’t mean to -”

“Z carried you in, and somehow got Mal and Regina over here almost immediately. He’d noticed you were bleeding after he picked you up.” He sighed. “Regina said you just strained yourself, and you needed to rest. You need to rest. She thinks… She thinks something might be wrong, and we should get a midwife.”

Emma’s heart froze, panic rising in her tone. “Why would she think that? There’s nothing wrong with him, the baby. You’ve read everything, we’re fine. We’d know if something wasn’t right, wouldn’t we?”

He rubbed her hand, kissing the knuckles he'd just traced. “It’s alright. She just said she was worried. The baby is rather big and your symptoms and swelling have been really severe, that’s all. A midwife is not a bad idea. We should find one just to be safe. There’s one she recommends that is available a few months from now, and another available in a month or so. How about we try the one available sooner and see what she thinks?”

Emma nodded, tracing where she could feel the slightest movements. “Better safe than sorry. I’ll stay on light duty.”

“Good. Never a dull moment around here.” He smiled at her adoringly. “One of us is always down, it seems.”

“Oh, how are you? Did they -”

“I have been told I’m fine besides light bruising.” He laid next to her, putting his book aside. “Which is truly too bad, I had planned to keep you totally and completely enthralled during our bed stay together.”

She laughed, which turned into coughing. “Ugh. I really did get sick.”

“Aye. You were ice cold. I wrapped you in every blanket in here. I thought…” She stopped him with a kiss, pulling him close.

“I’m not going to leave you, I promise. I learned my lesson this time, and I’ll take it slow.” Burying herself in his chest, she could hear his heart race. Emma closed her eyes, letting her entire body relax into his, feeling his warmth through her blankets.

“I love you, even when you’re a stubborn woman intent on shortening my life with fear.”

She yawned, feeling another round of exhaustion settle over her. “You love it.”

“Indeed, Emma, I do.”

Chapter Text

"When the mainstay of one's world is taken away, it's only natural to cling to all the rest, to try desperately to keep things as close to the way they were as one can." He shook his head sorrowfully. "But no one can ever go back to yesterday.”

-Robin Hobb

Killian was driving her crazy. Everyone was, offering extra hands, watching her like she was a child, commenting on how large her stomach had gotten, or presenting the same stupid questions as she waddled around a port. “How much longer?” a shopkeeper asked her one day. Her glare could pierce armor, and she heard Killian’s sharp intake of breath.

“Too long,” Emma hissed, annoyed. The shopkeeper continued on, prattling about her own children as Emma’s intimidation missed its mark completely.

It had been happening more; the last time she’d been successful at scaring someone was when a drunken man touched her and asked if she was having twins. Emma had the man by the wrist in seconds, breaking it with a crack that echoed through the market. The man screamed as she stepped over him as daintily as her bloated body would allow.

Part of her wrath was hormonal, and part of it was the mollycoddling. But those were nothing compared to the main contributor.

Emma had never been outright feminine or fashion forward, but her body ballooning everywhere at once had her feeling like a whale or a pig ready for reaping. Killian said he didn’t mind, but the women that flirted with him and looked at him with some sort of sad look when he came to press kisses on her cheek made her feel so ugly and insecure. Especially combined with the other fun symptoms at this stage like heartburn from anything she ate, eating like an ogre, gas that while he laughed through it made him open one of the few cabin windows they had, and cravings that left him nauseous.

She wasn’t exactly who he had fell for any longer.

Even among her best friends she felt disgusting. Snow and Ruby were lithe, one petite and the other tall; next to them, she felt completely terrible. Add in Rory, whose long ash blonde hair hit her waist and seemed to never snarl, and Emma wanted to roll herself into the ocean. They were sweet and doting while helping her pick out pieces from a frustrated tailor, seams let out again and again.

“Don’t listen to him, Emma. You’re not fat; some women just carry big,” Snow comforted after a particularly tense session with the grouchy man who fitted her in a soft linen frock. Snow shot the man a death glare when he grunted. “You’re beautiful,” she said quietly.

Snow picked at a swath of fabric nearby, looking away. Emma sighed. How could anyone be jealous of this? Emma could tell from Snow’s posture, her glances, and even her never ending apologies for her part in things that she wanted a child with her brother, wanted marriage and a ring, and would give up everything if it meant she could have a cottage somewhere.

“Thanks,” Emma muttered.

The tailor grunted again, pins in his mouth. “Alright, I’m letting it out even looser to accommodate for…” his eyes trailed over her body, and he adjusted his glasses, “growth.”

Emma scowled, and declined to join the group on the rest of the shopping trip, claiming to feel fatigued and asking for a box of sweets instead. The group dropped her off at the docks, never walking alone, and she waved a hello to Will and Belle who sat on deck eating apples. Emma couldn’t stand the thought of laying around again. She would do some work around the ship, anything to try and forget her embarrassment. Pulling a bucket of soapy water to their quarters, she set about sweeping and then cleaning the floor with a brush, orange oil, and fragrant water.

She heard Killian’s footfalls before she saw him, the door opening slowly. She turned on her hands and knees with skirts hiked up and pushed back a sweaty lock of hair.

“Didn’t feel like a walk around the town?” he asked quietly, leaning against the door frame. Emma shook her head and returned to scrubbing, hearing the gentle click of the door close behind him. His hook touched the small of her back, gentle and cold through the thin dress. It reminded her of the few times they had been intimate, usually frantic and frenzied due to her sudden spurts of arousal or the mood striking between a plunder.

“Love, you look exhausted. Why don’t you -”

“I don’t want to go lay down. I can’t just keep lying down, I want to be doing something! I need to be doing something, I don’t -” Tears threatened behind her eyes, and Killian pulled her face to his, kissing her lovingly.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” he whispered, and his eyes searching hers were so worried. She was worrying him again.

“I’m sorry. I just had a bad day.” Wiping her eyes, she let out a sniff. “I just…”

Arms eased her into his body, wrapping her into a hug as her back rested against his chest. “Hey. You know, you don’t have to fight so hard anymore. I’m here for you, Emma.” His breath was warm by her ear, words soothing. “You’re everything to me. You have done more than enough for everyone. There’s no reason you have to work so hard still.”

Emma closed her eyes, letting him press kisses to her exposed neck, his hook pulling down the fabric of her dress to nip at a shoulder. Emma shuddered, pleasure overridden by her insecurity. He felt pity.

“I’m going to take you up on that nap offer.” Pulling away and standing with his help as her balance shifted, he helped her lay in bed. He laid next to her himself until she drifted in dreams to a place where she didn’t feel anything, no insecurities any longer.

Emma was stunningly beautiful. Killian could barely keep his eyes off of her, sunlight in her hair like a halo as she glowed. Her body was rounded and she complained about pain, which he felt increasingly terrible for, but her beauty remained the same. He tried to do everything in his power to make her as comfortable as he could, her light duty work becoming a bit too much as they waited for the midwife. She still worked for a few hours each day, taking breaks frequently. Resting quietly or eating lunches she could be found sunning herself on the deck of The Jolly, skin seeming to almost give out light, which he found captivating as he tried to focus on whatever problem was brought to his attention.

His favorite thing though was going to bed with her, and the feeling of waking beside her, watching her face light up like seeing colors for the first time.

“You’re a creep,” she whispered sleepily, not opening her eyes. He chuckled and smiled, content laying next to her. “You really are lucky you’re so good looking.” One eye peeked open as she murmured, “Not every woman would tolerate a husband that watches as they sleep, occasionally stroking and talking to their belly. Especially when the woman in question looks like some type of seacow.”

“You’re beautiful. Stop it.” Emma only rolled her eyes, lips pulled tight as she turned away. “Emma, you are stunning. I want to kiss every delectable inch of you constantly. Your breasts, and how you glow, I can’t keep my eyes off of you, alright?”

In a muffled imitation of his voice, Emma sarcastically drolled, “I’d despair if you did.” He laughed, but rubbed her back in small circles, her disbelief and insecurity causing her shoulder blades to tense.

“Emma. Love.” tugging on her arm, he rolled her to face him. “I have never wanted you more.”

Even the press of his chest hair against her nipples had her whimpering; her breasts were beyond sensitive and had grown into plump globes. She continued to kiss him chastely with soft, feather light kisses that stole his breath, but left him wanting more.

“Emma, I -” he whispered softly, but she shook her head, a contented smile on her face.

“Shhhh.” She ran fingers through his hair with one hand, while the other hand gently cupped his cheek. He nuzzled into her touch, kissing her palm. “I just… I just want to know you're real, that this is real, that you love me and think I’m beautiful, that you're alright. I…” She smiled a beaming smile that lit up both the room and his soul. “I love you. I love you so much. Waking up with you feels like a dream.”

Soft glimmers of swirling sunshine colored magic came off her body as they looked at each other. It settled on his skin, adding barely there tingling sensations all over his body. Emma let out a sigh of happiness, feeling his heart and hers beat in an easy rhythm.

“Darling, my heart belongs to you and you can have it until the sun ceases to rise. I love you too.”

She hummed lowly as she lowered her head to his chest, lightly tracing patterns in the golden mist that had settled on them. It shimmered with a glow every time they took a breath, and he found himself watching her, gold on her skin, in her hair, flecks in her eyes, the soft sparkle of treasure he'd finally won. That he finally deserved.

They kissed slowly and he took his time tasting her, nipping at her lips while he relished the moans she made. Licking and kissing down her neck and collarbone, her shoulder bare and lovely as he scraped his teeth across it. Emma’s hips rose, and he cursed having to balance himself over her. Trailing more nips down her body, he rested his forehead against her thigh, inhaling vanilla and lavender scented air. To think, at one point he hated and feared magic. Now he loved every part of it, every part of her.

After running a finger through her wet curls and watching her shudder, Killian leaned in and licked a stripe that ended in a swirl of her clit. Emma’s hips rose up with a pleading whimper, and he obliged her need by swirling his tongue everywhere but where she needed, slow laps that ended with a huff and her keen of frustration. He brought her close again and again, letting her legs shake before leaving her panting and white knuckled.

Pulling away a final time he grabbed a pillow, pulling her trembling hips up to place it underneath. Killian knelt, laying his body over hers and kissing her slowly, everything slow as her magic made spirals and sparkling wisps in the light. Her hair was a loose tangle of curls and he ran his hands through it, bending to place soft kisses on the arch of her neck as she breathed unevenly. Her chest rose and he let his hand graze a nipple. Emma bucked up into him with a moan that shot right down his spine.

Returning to his kneeling position, Killian pressed into her, groaning low as she let out a wordless gasp. Filling her slowly, stoking slow heat that burned with the best sort of pleasure he heard Emma sigh in pleasure as he felt his own. Everything was tender, rhythm languorous, her body pliant and so softly rounded under his hands; her back arched as he pressed kisses where he could, lips stealing her breathy moans. He couldn’t tell her in words how the taste of her neck made everything else seem like nothing, how her fingers felt like velvet until her nails dragged biting paths that urged him on when he shifted his weight.

Emma became louder, writhing underneath him as he felt her body tighten. They came undone together, holding each other as her magic began to fade. Killian realized with amazement and apprehension that he was not only happy, but that he was done with just having quick fucks or meaningless flings. While he had laughed at men before for espousing romantic nonsense, he realized that those men were right. He had found everything he needed with Emma. It wasn’t just sex anymore. They had made love - her heart under his hand fluttering, his twisted arm against her belly where kicks landed in protest.

“I don’t have words that mean more than I love you, Emma,” Killian murmured into her hair.

Emma hummed, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Find them while I sleep. I’ve been thoroughly ravaged.” She turned with difficulty, facing away to press her back against him. She fell asleep in his arms like she belonged there, relaxed and warm. He had never even ventured to dream about this feeling before out of fear.

This was home.

Being with Killian was like coming up for air after swimming just a little too deep. When she was around him, she fell back into the ease of his presence and the safety he provided. It was more than enough confirmation that Emma had never really been in love; nothing ever coming close to the flutter she felt when his eyes met her own from across a room. Her clavicle held the evidence of his other needs; love bites littering the soft skin, a reminder of the way his lips trailed her skin with whispered words of appreciation and awe.

For everything he had done for her, Emma tried to do things for him. Trimming his hair, tidying where she could, wrapping bundles of herbs in twine to leave in his pockets for luck and good fortune when laying his clothing out. Heading out to market when she felt brave enough, she kept an eye out for maps and books that might grab his interest, thoughts returning to him as if he occupied a space in her mind. He did, of course.

Emma knew his favorite things and dislikes in the astounding way a person became more when you held their heart, filling out the unknowns and shedding light on all of their being. Tasks for herself became tasks for two, taking turns making two cups of tea, two sets of wash, two plates of bread and cheese, or two glasses of wine. Two felt complete, and soon they’d be three, a black haired baby in their arms. The thought actually gave her pause as time moved forward; Killian so excited to hold their child, talking to her belly in hushed tones.

“You are going to be great. You’ve already survived more than most men and you’re not even born,” Killian whispered to Emma’s amusement. “You’re brilliant, just like your parents. Mostly your papa.” Emma shot him a look, but he was grinning cheekily. “I fancy your mum from time to time, and I’m sure you’ll love her. She’s pretty fantastic.”

“You might be biased, but I am pretty fantastic.”

Spring was almost over, heat coming in waves and the crew cleaning The Jolly while the temperature was tolerable. Emma was happy to help where she could and have the chance to stretch her legs, tying knots and helping to move what wasn’t too heavy. Killian surprised her with a packed lunch as they sat watching the sunset together, the purples and oranges blurring into pinks on the far horizon.

It was perfect, save for Killian’s sudden rattled nerves. “Killian?” “Er, yes love?” he scratched behind his ear, digging in the basket. “What’s on your mind tonight?” When he flinched, she laid her hand on his thigh, trying to soothe whatever was worrying him.

Pulling a small box out of the basket, he turned, kneeling by her side. Emma blinked. “Before you were taken, I designed a ring for you. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste, so I thought I’d marry you with a little more pomp this go round. Do this properly.”

Flipping the box open, Emma felt a surge of electricity that fluttered along her skin, a surge that made her heart skip a beat as it jumped to her throat. There weren’t words to describe how beautiful the rings in the velvet casing were. Threaded bands of hammered gold and silver, braided intricately around moonstones, pearls, and citrine to form wings; a round diamond set in a circle of diamonds sat between them. A matching braided marriage band that glittered iridescently from mother of pearl inlay. “You’re supposed to say something at some point, love.” Killian whispered, anxiety subtle in his tone.

“I love you. I’ve already said yes, you didn’t need to -”

“Yes. I did. You are… You’re everything. I’d follow you to the end of the world, move mountains and part seas to be with you. Regardless of the child. You gave me something to believe in besides my own selfish desires. I love you and I want to do this properly.” Setting the box aside, he took her hand in his, gaze soft, full of adoration. “Emma, marry me."

“I will. Just, don’t fuss over me not wanting a wedding, alright?”

“No promises. You say that now, but there’s cake at weddings. Maggie would insist on making pie, it’ll be a grand affair.” Killian picked at his hook with a smirk, and she couldn’t help her eyebrows raising.

“It’s extremely rude to play on my weaknesses, husband.” He slipped the rings on her finger, chuckling low when her stomach growled. “I’ll think about it, but it doesn’t sound horrible. Would you still want to have it here?”

“I was actually thinking, if you’d like, there’s that field in Camelot. And it’s the right season for blooms.”

“I could live with that.” Emma shrugged, grinning.

The ceremony was small, a white dress that was airy and light and a flower crown in her loose hair. For the first time in a long time, Emma felt beautiful. The dress slimmed her, its cut flaring around her body instead of clinging to it. Killian looked handsome, clean trimmed in dark leather fitted to him. Their vows were short, the words shared in the dark cell all they needed. The kiss was longer, however, and the laughter and cheering warmed Emma more than she thought, especially watching Maggie and Snow wipe tears from their eyes.

Emma was surprised by a few guests she didn’t know that Killian had invited. At first she was mildly irritated; four beautiful women who she had heard snippets about from Killian in the past. Emma tamped down her jealousy at the idea of these potential old flames. A glossy raven haired woman with bright green eyes she assumed must be the gypsy he’d talked about approached the couple. She brought a goat with her, and more surprisingly, an ex-royal guard.

“Esmeralda! You made it!” Killian called out.

“We escaped, just barely. The church was growing strong there, and I cannot thank you enough for your passage. One day… Maybe we’ll go back. There’s too much loss there.”

Emma lost any heat she harbored. She touched Esmeralda gently on the shoulder, a gesture of understanding without words.

Another guest was a stunning scarlet haired woman who greeted Killian by throwing her arms around him in thanks, as an embarrassed man in pristine attire looked on. “Killy, look at you, you found True Love! I brought you a wedding gift and look, I found Eric! And, I’m not a mermaid all the time anymore; I can choose -” the woman rattled on, and Emma tried to process what she had heard. As she was blinking, the red head rounded on her. “And you! You’re beautiful, and look how happy you are. And a baby on the way, oh Killian you must be ecstatic!”

Killian came to Emma’s side and let his arm rest around her as the woman continued.

“Killy, hmm?” She whispered, and he shot her a look.

“Ariel. Ex mermaid. Very excitable,” he whispered, and Emma nodded slowly, trying to smile and not grimace. A quiet, dark haired and dark skinned woman nodded at them, taking a seat in the floral glade with the others, crates strewn around for seating. She looked familiar, but Emma couldn’t place where she had seen her before, almost as if she was seen in foggy dreams. Emma could feel the aura she gave off from across the way, a magic that was unfamiliar and flowed in ebbing waves. No gold thread, no inky darkness, just a fluidity that went deep and far like a overfull basin -

Water. The woman controlled water. “Ursula. Invited for luck, and tradition. And… to ensure no one gives us any trouble,” Killian said with an underlying nervousness. “The Ursula? The Sea Goddess? How do you know -” Emma’s eyes widened.

“Even the Gods need help from mere mortals from time to time. I happen to be dashingly handsome and one of the first on the call list.” Emma elbowed him hard.

A man with an accent stood with another beautiful woman with dark curly hair, rolling her eyes as he and Will laughed at whatever he was saying. At their approach, she smiled warmly. “You must be Emma. I’m Tiana, I make those beignets you get from the southern tip of the Enchanted Forest. I keep trying to say hello when you come by, but usually I’m way back in the kitchen.” She took Emma’s hands in her own, folding them together. “It’s so good to finally meet you. Killian here helped my idiot husband escape being hanged as the rightful ruler to what was Maldonia.”

“I had no idea he was so philanthropic.” Emma glanced up at Killian, who had gone red.

“‘Anything to spit on the crown’ was what he told us, so don’t be too impressed.” Tiana laughed, her husband turning with bright eyes to greet them, and squeezing a glaring Killian into a hug.

“Eh, look at you! Set up with a blonde. A beautiful blonde, at that! Ashidanza, may your union be grand.” Letting go of Killian, he kissed Emma on both cheeks and smiled broadly. “And a petit enfant for you. He is lucky to have you tolerate him, he is, how do you say… A serious type, no? Oh, the life you shall have!”

“My husband, Naveen,” Tiana smiled.

“Same as always,” muttered Killian. “Bloody frogged fool.” Emma wandered over to get something to drink, tiredness beginning to rest on her shoulders. Maggie had outdone herself on pies and Emma, along with Ruby, had pulled favors to make sure there was more than enough cake. Will and Jefferson were fortunate to ‘find’ barrels of ale, rose wine, and grapefruit cider as well.

Maggie approached, smiling softly and wrapping Emma in her arms. Placing a beautiful ivory shawl on Emma’s shoulders, she spoke through tears.

“You look… well. I never had a daughter, but if I did, I’d hope she was half as beautiful as you.”

Emma kissed her on the forehead, tears in her own eyes. Will, Naveen, Jefferson, Merida, and Rory played music as dusk fell, the last bits of evening sun lighting the glade as fireflies began their flight. Emma was shocked at Rory playing the accordion, her laughter at the surprise from the crew melding into the notes she played. Belle sat watching Will on his guitar, a shy and pleased grin on her face as she swayed to his music. Graham and Ruby twirled together and he managed not to stomp on her feet, his hatred of dancing gone for the moment. With each cycle of song, they seemed to press closer together, and August’s snort of laughter a bit later alerted Emma to them sneaking off into the woods.

Two dark figures came up the path, and Killian grinned widely. “I thought you weren’t going to make it!” he laughed, embracing a man and woman dressed in traditional clothing from the far south.

Emma blinked, the woman so familiar. “Jasmine? Princess Jasmine?” Emma said incredulously.

“You! Aladdin, this is the healer that saved my life all those years ago!” Jasmine hugged her, laughing. “What a small world! Killian here helped me fake my death and escape with Aladdin.” Emma shook her head, laughing at the strange web of fate that bound those here together.

While Emma only managed a few dances before curling into Killian’s embrace, she made it long enough to see her friends joy under the stars as they celebrated. Even her brother was happy, dancing with Snow and smiling sincerely at her as she lay against Killian’s chest, inhaling the smell of the flowers. Back in their bed, she lay contented from her husband’s ministrations, tired and sated as he pulled away and out of her. They kissed, tangling themselves again.

“I love you,” she whispered, and closed her eyes finally after a long and beautiful day.

“And I love you,” Killian whispered back, holding her tighter and relishing her nuzzle into him in return.

Chapter Text

Chapter XI : Salt

How much salt water thrown away in waste

To season love, that of it doth not taste.

-William Shakespeare

Emma woke up covered in sweat and stared down at the thin, stretched cotton of her nightgown. The first months of her pregnancy had been miserable with throwing up and such terrible sickness, but bedrest from now until her delivery in three months was another torture altogether. She missed being able to move properly, of seeing her ship, or talking to her crew. Then, on top of everything else, there was the sensation of the child in her belly.

Once bowled over by the babe’s movements, she now wished for a reprieve. She was huge, every part of her retaining water like a boat you couldn't bail out. Something hit her ribs as something else slammed hard downward, causing a spark of pain at how low it was. She wondered occasionally if he was going to burst out of her with how hard he moved against her. She could vaguely see the outlines of a knee or elbow slide across the thinning skin occasionally, or feel the languid stretch of him waking up at night before she laid down, his body moving both vertically and horizontally.

“I still say it could be a lass,” Killian whispered one night, stroking lines across her arms. He was beyond fascinated and amused watching her belly change shapes or suddenly shift, content to watch with her as they guessed body parts. “She could just be feisty and trying to commandeer the space she’s got. You know,” he gestured around the cabin, now strewn with gowns and herbs, “like her Mum.”

Emma snorted. He kissed her softly, and touched a lump forming on her side. “If it’s a girl, she better be walking when she joins us.” He laughed, and she felt the child jolt, startled at the noise.

Looking up at her with wide blue eyes, trying to suppress both wonder and a grin, he asked, “Did I startle him…?” She could only nod, too in love to be annoyed. The child was big, and Killian had smiled more than once at that, saying with a heartbreaking sadness that the babe would probably take after his Uncle Liam. Emma’s heart twisted for him.

She hissed again as the baby moved brutally, his body everywhere and stretching the small confines of her frame. Killian had been overwhelmed with worry for her after Regina told her she couldn’t even work light duty anymore, announcing to her one night that he was going to spend a small fortune to procure a midwife. They’d traveled to the Southern Isles, searching for a midwife recommended by a noble lady that Killian had once procured jewelry for. A pinched faced woman named Madame Bleu soon joined the crew, although she seemed to view the entire experience with disgust - including Emma.

Bleu had been shocked to see Emma so large and, to Emma’s frustration, limited her to a strict diet that Killian followed to the letter. A ravenous Emma was confined to paltry cabbage broth or mushed peas. She had grown to be anxious every time the midwife was due to appear, her tut tuts and tsks at the size of her swollen belly and comments about Emma sneaking snacks made her want to snap the woman like a twig. She continuously made comments about their fitness of parents, about Emma having magic, and dismissed Emma’s worries about the child’s movements being so rough or magic affecting him. Killian had come to dislike her as well, keeping her as far away as possible from them by setting up her cot in the brig.

Oh, and Killian. If there ever was a man to love, it was him. His devotion to her was everything and more.

He rubbed her swollen feet while she read him ear marked passages she found throughout the day. Occasionally, he'd help her out onto the deck, holding her protectively as she drank in the sea air. He traced lines on and sang to her swollen stomach, marveling at the push back and kicks of their child. He also swore they’d look for another midwife once in port, which Emma was ecstatic for. She was also ecstatic to take back her cabin closer to her due date, the extra room and bigger bed a welcome change. She loved the Jolly, but they had both agreed after nagging from the midwife that the space was too small for delivery of their child.

Their child. It still felt strange to her, being a they.

Killian and David ran both of the ships, slowly (and to her utter astonishment) becoming friends.

Snow would sit on her bed like old times and they'd talk, their friendship mending itself like a broken bone. Snow couldn't stop apologizing, but Emma having someone's company was beyond apology enough. Especially when that someone brought gossip and forbidden baked goods, midwife be damned.

"Ruby tripped the other day, and sure enough, that Graham was right there with a quickness. Those too are deep in the woods of denial."

“Meri and Fa have exchanged rings, thinking no one will notice. How do you feel about a wedding at sea in the Far East?”

“Charming and Killian have started making hand signals at each other. One of them looks like a Swan - I think Killian is telling Charming how you’re doing. He worries about you, you know, and he wants to apologize, but he’s just such a stubborn ass.”

Another sharp jab to her bladder and kidneys had her crying out again, the breath knocked out of her diaphragm at the same time. She let out a small wheeze, hands on either side of her hips pressing gently. She stood to use the chamberpot she kept nearby, moaning low when she stood. Her stomach was lopsided and made it clear where the child lay, curled inside to the left, pressing on her lung and she felt dizzy. Steadying herself, she noticed her hands were swollen with slow recognition. Bleu had mentioned something about that being a sign to call her, and that something was wrong. Emma tried to remember the woman's words. The dizziness continued and she felt her body swaying out of time with the sea.

“Killian?” she yelled, weakly. It felt like she couldn’t get enough air, and she fell back against the bed. Hot tears started to fall down her face, her feet, ankles, and hands beginning to itch as if bugs were crawling on them. “Please, Killian.” She took a deep breath, letting out a keen. “Smee? Anyone, please!”

Smee opened the door with a concerned look. “Did you call for me, Miss-” His eyes went wide, and she felt her vision blur. Heavy footfalls away from the room and Smee’s voice carried down the hall, Killian flying to her side within moments.

“Love, Emma, stay with me now.” His arms pulled her back up onto the bed, and she whimpered, trying to squeeze his hand as her fingers swelled. “Oi! Get the midwife, Smee!” His eyes were tired and panicked as he wiped away her tears.

Bleu walked in calmly, looked at Emma, and grabbed a swollen ankle. She sighed with annoyance, and even through her daze, Emma could see the dangerous look now present on Killian’s face. His jaw muscle ticked when she cocked her head to one side and crossed her arms.

“Well. Your swelling indicates that yet again, you aren’t following my diet. And you’re drinking far too much water that you are now retaining. Would you like to tell me what you ate while we get you to the nearest port?” Her tone was snide and without any concern. Emma let out a sob.

“I had a cookie the last time Snow was here.” She let out a wheeze. Everything felt pushed, and somehow she was being pulled both up and down. Her lung was being compressed but a heavy push was slamming against her lower right side. Her stomach contorted, and Bleu watched impassively. “It’s my lungs, and the movements.”

“Your cookie seems a little frivolous now doesn’t it? You couldn’t resist temptation enough not to hurt your child?” she sneered. Emma cried harder. This was her fault. Hers, and hers alone. She’d been a glutton, a selfish pig, and now their child was in danger. The panic made her chest tighten further. Killian stood slowly.

“You will leave my ship at the next port.” The coldness in his voice and rage in the stance he took had Emma reaching a hand to steady his tense form.

“No,” Emma sobbed. “She’s right… My fault.”

Bleu looked smug, and ignored the rage pouring off of Killian’s body. “Well, I can give you Opium, or have you take some Cocaine water with sugar. Or you can calm down, accept your responsibility, and wait until your ship docks. Either way, I’ll take my leave, get off of this disgusting pit of filth at the next port, and you can have your bastard child.”

Killian’s sword was drawn and he backed the woman against the wall, the blade in front of her neck.

“You will not talk to my wife that way.”

Emma moaned piteously, and Killian rested his weapon to return to her side. The midwife, to her credit, realized quickly she needed to excuse herself, and left without anything else but an indignant huff.

“She's a real delight,” Emma whispered, her voice hoarse and strained. When her stomach flipped again, she gripped the edge of the cabin’s bed, pulling herself over to throw up.

“God’s above, Emma, are you - what have you eaten today?” Killian looked frightened as she heaved, her body aching.

“Nuh…” she spat into the bucket, too exhausted to try and clean her mouth out by chewing mint this time. “Not much?”

The ache began to settle further. Scarlet ran in the room, asking Killian questions about their destination, but Emma was losing focus. “Killian, I’m so tired -” She reached up to touch his concerned face, her hand not quite reaching his cheek as blackness closed in.

Watching Emma fall backwards against his pillow as her eyes fluttered closed scared Killian beyond measure. Smee had shot a flare to The Gilded Wing, flying a bright green banner to indicate illness. David knew what that meant, and the ship turned immediately towards The Jolly as a dark cloud of purple appeared in Killian’s quarters that formed into Regina, followed by the soft rose colored smoke of Mal.

“What happened?” Regina was all business, by his side and looking over Emma with worry. “She’s swelling; I don’t know how to deal with this. We need an actual Doctor, or a Midwife with experience in this.” Her eyes gleamed. “I know someone. Someone from a realm with great and strange magic. We need to get to him.”

“I don’t care what you need, just please make sure Emma is alright.” Killian sat by Emma’s side, holding her swollen hand. “I’ll do anything, I can’t -”

“Don’t get melodramatic. Maleficent and Zorro can go -”

“Two dragons bearing down on a town may not be seen with good intentions.” Mal said in her usual bored voice.

“Fine. Fine. How fast can this ship go? I’ll stave off the swelling and you make this thing fly. We have a Whale to catch.”

The Jolly had moved as fast as she had in possibly her entire existence, Killian willing the hull to slice through the water, Mal’s magic filling her sails with enchanted wind. Will took the helm in intervals so Killian could sit with Emma, anxiously watching Regina work her magic. It was far messier work than Emma’s magic, mixing and mashing ingredients Regina seemed to pull from nowhere. Pouring something noxious to Emma’s lips, Emma woke sputtering with eyes wide.

“What -” Emma coughed.

“Love, you need to drink this. Regina made it to help. It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Killian coaxed, and Regina tried to pour more into Emma’s mouth. Emma whimpered as she swallowed, Killian squeezing her hands as the swelling decreased slightly.

“She needs to rest, we’re almost there. If it gets worse let me know.” Regina patted Killian gently on the shoulder, the move surprising both him and Emma’s drowsy form. She disappeared again in a burst of purple.

“She likes you. S’impressive,” Emma rasped. Killian pressed kisses to her face, crying through a smile as she coughed. “What’s going on? I feel so weak and tired.” She sighed, trying to roll herself on her side.

Killian tucked himself beside her, helping her move to her side and into his chest. “Emma, it’s my fault. The Midwife, Bleu -”

“She was a bitch. Dumb and awful. Not your fault.” Emma snuggled further into his chest, as he snorted at her words. “Lemme sleep. I’m just so tired.”

Killian swallowed hard, feeling fear creep up in him at the thought of her resting and not waking, or their child being hurt. Kissing her again, he let her fall asleep in his arms until he heard Regina’s whooshing return to say they were close to port.

Doctor Whale was young, blonde, and somehow quietly arrogant. His assistant was a pretty wisp of a girl, blonde hair piled on her head in a messy bun.

“I’m Dr. Whale, Viktor Whale. This is my wife, Justine Belle. You can call her Teeny or Tink if you like.” Killian stood to shake his hand, Emma stirring at the loss of his arms around her, sweat beading her brow.

“Killian Jones, my wife Emma -”

“Has pre-eclampsia. Christ. Do you people have that treatment here yet? Do you even know what that is?” The man was immediately prodding Emma who gave Whale a stare that many men had seen as their last glimpse of this world. Tink sat on the other side of the bed and talked to Emma in soothing tones. Viktor waved a hand at the door, motioning for Killian to open it. “Hurry up man, I haven’t got all day. I need my equipment.”

Killian grunted, a few of his crew carrying bizarre devices into his quarters as Whale puttered around, attaching strange vines to boxes that whirred with an unseen wind.

“Killian, what is all of this?” Emma moaned, irritated. Her hands had begun to swell again, and she was looking pale.

"Hey there, it’s alright. I’m Tink. I like babies, lost things, hope, faith, and trust.” She smiled, helping Emma sit up slightly as Killian paced. “You’ll have to excuse Viktor. He’s… well. He’s from a place where there were wars, and tack knoll knees -”

Dr. Whale heaved a sigh, looking at his wife with amused annoyance. “Technology, Tink. We had technology. You quaint folks are inspiring in your toils, but God what I wouldn’t give for Whataburger and a cellphone...”

Emma looked confused, as Killian pushed past Whale to her side, sitting in a chair so Emma could rest her head on his arm. Whale only grunted, and Killian wondered if Bleu might have had good bedside manner among midwives.

"Sure, sure. Viktor was a lost thing once, but now he's found, even if he hasn’t found his manners.” Tink smiled, and gave Emma’s hand a gentle squeeze. “We’re going to take care of this. I use magic, and Viktor… he uses all this.” She gestured to the strange boxes.

“He used to jump realms with his brother after leaving his own, and ended up settling in a world where it was 2080! Can you imagine a world that old? Anyway, he was forced to do something terrible and his brother… Well, Viktor ended up falling through realms until he landed in this one, half dead with the strangest bag of magic. It was a monstrous effort, but slowly and surely I brought him back to life and he in turn helped me stay grounded. I needed to stop living in the clouds and focus on the present. Even when you're flying, having someone help you land makes all the difference."

“Also, the sex is quite good.” Viktor said, placing a kiss on her temple with a smirk before moving to set up another machine. Tink flushed a bright red and huffed. Killian cracked a small smile at their exchange, but Emma seemed dazed.

“Viktor, really? You are absolutely and totally hopeless!”

Whale clutched his heart, and feigned a pained look before turning to Emma. “Mrs. Jones, you need to take this.” Whale handed her two strange, dull, white seeds. “Swallow them, and we need to get you some water.” Emma threw the seeds back, making a face.

“Bitter,” Emma murmured.

“Those pills will help with your blood pressure. Let’s get the cuff on.” Whale pulled out a strange device that he placed on Emma’s arm, inflating it as she gritted her teeth. Killian glared at the man’s impassive face. Removing the device Whale gave a nod to Tink, who rubbed Emma’s shoulder. “It’s high. We need to do a full panel, she’s huge even for this many weeks. Something’s definitely wrong.”

Emma looked at Killian with fear in her eyes, her hand immediately going to her bump and stroking. “What’s wrong? Please, what’s wrong with our child?”

“Not sure yet. We’ll figure it out.” Killian seethed as Whale shrugged, Emma beginning to breathe raggedly.

"Hey now, Viktor, you’re being a bit blunt. I’m sure your child is okay. By something wrong, Viktor is saying that it’s something we need to check, and there’s a low chance it’s something we can’t help.” Tink smiled, standing to help Whale move a piece of his equipment.

“Tink, you’re up. Do your Houdini bit.” Whale motioned, and Tink moved to Emma’s side with a warm smile. “Alright, this will feel strange at first, but just trust my magic, ok? It’ll help me concentrate.” Tink smiled at Emma, rubbing her palms together. Tink placed her palms on either side of her belly, and Emma felt magic pour out of her warm hands.

Killian swore, falling back into the chair with wide eyes, and Emma looked down to see what had him so amazed. Her stomach glowed a light amber color, shimmering and the skin somehow translucent. She could see through the skin into a watery mist, where outlines of a curled form laying against the soft curve of her right side breathed in and out. Killian traced a finger along the line of its spine, and it flailed slightly, punching out a small fist.

Emma felt more tears sliding down her face as Killian grabbed her hand.

“That’s?” he whispered gently, unable to look away. “That’s him?”

Tink gritted her teeth in concentration, but nodded. Whale walked over and his eyes went wide. Tink seemed to notice, and nodded to Emma’s left side. They whispered to each other, and more light poured from Tink’s hands as she concentrated intensely. Whale pulled the strange talisman from his neck, placing one end into each of his ears, and the cool pendant against her stomach.

“He’s so small. To think, he’s the one causing all this,” Killian whispered, stroking his thumb against Emma’s knuckles. Emma was staring hard at the light beginning to pour into her left side, at the spot where something pressed against her lung.

“Killian,” she rasped out, wondering if she was dreaming the vision before her. “Killian, look.”

“He’s not causing all of the issues. The issue is space; you have a placenta here and here. Congratulations on your twins,” Whale said drolly, as if he was stating what a nice day it was outside. Emma heard Killian suck in air sharply, and her own lungs failed her. Killian stood, looking from above, hand carding through his hair while he was rendered speechless. Emma touched both sides of her stomach, a shocked smile creeping up on her face.

Looking up at Killian’s slack jawed face, Emma let out a strangled laugh before murmuring what was most likely going through his mind. “Bloody hell.”

There, curled with its head pushing against her ribs, was another small form resting against her left side.

“Congratulations you two!” Tink laughed, Whale examining the small forms and making notes.

Emma just laughed, crying happy tears as Killian sat back down. “Emma, Gods above that woman - she told you not to eat, had me giving you broth! No wonder you were getting bigger that daft cow -”

“I don't like it when yokels pretend to be doctors, but use absolutely ridiculous ideas claiming it's medicine. Your realm has magic, and this woman fed you cabbage broth. In my realm, she'd be hung. You could have died, let alone lost both your babies.” Viktor drawled on.

“A hanging can bloody well be arranged,” Killian growled sourly.

“I can eat, then?” Emma whispered, trying to hide the relief and glee in her voice.

“Within limits, but yes, you should be eating. Lots of meat, greens, fruits, and dairy. You're very skinny for someone carrying like this and it's got to be hell on your frame, especially how large you are here; and the girl,” Whale placed a hand on her left side, “is smaller than the boy.” He moved the hand to her right side, and Emma's mouth fell open.

“What…?” She let her head flop back onto the pillow, letting out an incredulous laugh.

“Emma, sweet, both my girl and your boy. You were right.” Killian kissed her hand ecstatically, his smile filled with infectious delight.

“And so were you.” Her smile matched his, happiness filling her being.

The news of the twins had brought a huge change on in both crews, especially as Emma and Killian moved to The Gilded Wing, back into the Captain’s quarters to have more space. It was untouched; Snow, Regina, and Mal refusing to sleep in what was, as far as they were concerned, Emma’s room. Killian couldn’t say he disliked it, other than not being on The Jolly.

It was still decorated in the soft, muted, neutral tones with plush furs resting on the goose down comforter that lay on the bed. A mosquito net canopy sat over the bed, her vanity and polished copper mirror next to a quartz basin were untouched as well, large windows flooding the room with light. Everything looked as if she had just left when he laid her down.

They’d unpacked with help from Snow and Ruby, with an occasional visit from Rory, Regina, and Mal. Mal seemed fascinated more and more about Emma’s pregnancy, whispering heavily accented questions to Regina or speaking with Z in their native tongue. From what Killian had gleaned, they had been past lovers many times over, seemingly growing only closer again with some long ago argument buried. Both had fiery tempers, bickering in their language in a way that reminded Killian of Emma and his own chiding. Even then, it was obvious to see how much they cared for another. Another destiny blended into their own.

Emma was delighted to be back on her own ship because of the larger larder, and closer proximity to the pastries or sweets Snow brought back for her. In fact, Killian spent many days on the deck of The Wing while Emma held host to her friends, occasionally joining them for a quick tea. At night, he read to her still, or she read to him while he looped yarn across his hook to make a hat or blanket. As of late, she had been falling asleep with ease, stating severe exhaustion as the culprit.

“How are you feeling, darling?” Killian whispered into her neck. When she groaned, rolling her eyes at the question, he was unsurprised. Her hand found his, pulling it to her swollen stomach and pressing it to into the side, resting her palm on top of his knuckles with an exhausted sigh. He could feel the shape of a small foot or elbow slide under Emma's skin, the larger of the two babies eager to push back against whatever had disturbed him.

“I feel huge, tired, and miserable.” She laughed, and another ripple of movement moved across the thin skin. “I can't get them to rest today, but your voice always soothes them. Please.”

Sliding down to her side, Emma smiled softly, closing her eyes with a hum of approval. He kissed her belly gently, continuing his gentle touches, talking low and soft. “You need to let your poor mum rest, little ones. She needs it, you lot seem to be rambunctious. I have no idea where you could have gotten a rebellious streak from -” Emma snorted at that, “but for your mum’s sake, take a nap. We love you. We’ll see you soon.” As if by magic, the movement under her skin stopped abruptly, both of their twins tucking themselves away into separate corners and lying still. Emma breathed a sigh of pure relief as she relaxed, Killian sliding back up to face her.

“Don’t stay up too late tonight Killian. Whale said that at this point you probably won’t find much on twins, but he’d be happy to get you a book the next time he realm jumps if they have one.”

“That’s… disappointing. He asked to speak with me later tonight, so I’ll see him after you fall asleep.” Killian lowered his voice, watching Emma’s eyes flutter. “Emma?”

“Hmmm?” she hummed, nuzzling into a pillow.

“I love you. Go to sleep, my sweet,” he whispered, pulling away to speak to Whale as Emma began to doze.

It was a short walk now that they were on The Gilded Wing, keeping them close by as to be ready for the birth. In truth, Killian would let them bunk with Emma and him if it guaranteed a safe delivery. Whale had originally read as an implacable asshole, but Killian was always good at cracking people’s tells. He saw the way he looked at Emma, a worry line appearing on his forehead with a twitch of his brows. Tink’s nervous but kind dismissals of Emma asking how many twins they had delivered, or if birth was as awful as other women had claimed. Killian could see the concern and fear that they tried to hide.

Whale avoided talking about why there was little to no documentation on twin births in this realm. Killian had found a friend in the man due to what they had in common; a loss of a brother. His brother had been his rudder, much like Liam had been Killian’s. Without his brother, Whale’s weekly jumps into other realms were random. He knew how to get back to this one, like a “Bun Jee” cord, whatever that was. An anchor was finally what he’d explained, returning home, Tink’s magic like a beacon.

Being without control meant that what time he spent in the other realm was possibly dangerous and fruitless. He had managed to find some books in one lucky run, but many of the suggestions in them had been filled with references Killian did not understand or indicated he would need artifacts that did not reside in this realm. One book mentioned that natural birth may require a technique for birthing called ECV, which Tink had been practicing and talked to Emma about. “If your baby remains in the breech position by late pregnancy, your doctor can try to turn her by hand. This procedure is called external cephalic version (ECV). During ECV your obstetrician places firm but gentle pressure on your abdomen to encourage your baby to turn in your womb.” He didn’t sleep that night, occasionally laying his hand across Emma’s stomach and trying not to give in to the feeling of dread he felt. The gentle pressing back didn’t lessen the fear. One child was going to be a challenge for a one handed man and the woman he didn’t deserve. Two, and the fear of losing everything, Emma, them, his last chance at happiness - it terrified him.

“I didn’t manage to get much this time around.” Whale interrupted his thoughts, speaking in his usual bored voice, but with a slight note of tension. “I managed to get a PDF, er… a document that talks about birth rates in the middle ages for twins and historical beliefs of that culture. I don’t suggest reading it, I printed it before I read it and that was a mistake. I switched to researching the 16th and 17th century on the library computer, and found that a fourth of all births are successful. I think we can work with that.”

Killian paled, hand in his hair. “If it comes to it, save Emma alright? I just… I feel like I sentenced my wife to something horrific even if we both want… I just want her and them to be OK, I don’t know anything about comprinters or CPFs, I just want to know that people here have survived. I’ve never seen twins besides James and David, and David says his mother barely survived.”

“Jones.” Whale looked at Killian head on, Tink coming up and pressing a hand on his tense forearm above his hook. “I don’t make promises; this line of work doesn’t allow for them. I will save who I can to the best of my ability. Understand this: your wife is weaker than she should be, circumstances aren’t ideal, and this is a birth of multiples. There’s nothing else I can say or do. Emma has only about six weeks left, and she may go into labor at anytime. We are ready for anything.”

Killian nodded, swallowing hard. Whale was right, they were all playing a waiting game. He said his good nights and climbed to stand on the high deck of The Gilded Wing, watching the waves. The dark voices in his mind crawled back, termites eating away at his happiness. He twisted the band on his finger.

“Emma is happier than I’ve ever seen her.” Charming’s voice rang out behind him, Killian turning to see the man leaning and appraising him with tired but amused eyes. “So, I hope you’re not pining away about ‘ruining her life’ or ‘being a fuck up’, or whatever it is you brood about. Because she worries about you enough.”

Killian barked a laugh, turning back to the sea. Charming came to stand next to him, arms crossed along the rail. “Whale said she’s weaker than she should be, and I feel so helpless watching her suffer. I can’t do anything, but so much of this is my fault. I don’t know how to -”

“You don’t have to do anything but be there for her. You’re enough for Emma. I don’t understand it, and you may not either, but she loves you. Enjoy it before she realizes that half of your waking hours are making eyes at her or brooding.” Charming grinned sympathetically, clapping him on the back.

“Charming. You live up to the nickname more everyday.” Killian let out another dry laugh.

“Call me David,” the man next to him said quietly, squeezing his shoulder with sympathy. “We’re family now. In a few weeks, I’ll be an uncle.” David removed his hand.

“Uncle Dave.” Killian shook his head at the absurdity of the thought, and could practically feel David’s glower at ‘Dave’. “What a strange turn of events.”

“No. Not really. Emma always wanted you. I tried to keep her from you, threw every obstacle in her way to keep her away. Wild horses couldn’t pull you apart, as they say. But,” he leaned on the rail again, throwing a hand out in bemused exasperation, “I have to thank you. You both paved the way. If I wanted to settle with Snow I could, if any of us wanted to fight for a happy ending but not give up everything we built -”

“It’s not -” Killian sighed, frustrated. “We’re not at the end yet, mate.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he held himself together.

“And?” David asked. “You got a perfect beginning.” At Killian’s look, he laughed. “Okay, not perfect, but happy. It became happy. This is it, you’re making it right now. Letting my sister sleep alone while you doubt yourself isn’t enjoying the chance you’ve gotten, the life you’ve carved out. Good night, Killian.”

David walked back down and away, Killian waiting as he followed to where Emma lay resting. He realized as he moved to hold her that for the first time, David had called him Killian.

A few more weeks passed. Killian doted on her more than usual, and Emma found with delight that David had even been speaking to him. Now that he wasn’t at the helm of the Jolly, she enjoyed him taking her up on deck so she could participate in gossip or nap in the sunshine, as he practiced making tiny socks from the softest spun yarn. Especially since she had discovered the joys of having a child dig their head directly into something inside of her that felt like an electric shock.

After sunning herself on deck, she had felt nauseous and asked to be taken down to her bed. Pain registered first, and then the loss of breath had Emma squeezing the sheets as she laid in bed. She had soft contractions before that put pressure on her body, but this was a sharp cramp that made every muscle contract with it, fire spreading down her back as she moaned lowly. By the time Killian joined her with his book, she’d been having them on and off for hours. “Emma?” He moved a hand to her swollen stomach, the contraction strong enough to see in the tightness of her skin as it pulled her body apart. “Are you -”

“I’m fine,” Emma snapped through gritted teeth. “I can’t do anything anyway. Not until these spasms are a minute or two apart, or my water breaks. They’ve been coming in waves since this afternoon, but it’s alright. It’s early, but we’re not due quite yet.”

“Is there anything I can do love? I feel useless, I should have been here with you.”

“Considering the bit where I’m about to have your children, don’t feel too useless.” She tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it through the waning pain. “Relax. For now I’m fine. This is supposedly not even the hard part.”

He nodded, but she noticed how quiet he became, and the downcast look he tried to hide. She pressed his hand to her heart, smiling at him. “Killian, I’ll be alright. We survive, you know that. Everyone will be alright.” She let him gather her close as another contraction hit like a hurricane.

To his credit, he helped her breathe through the worst of it, even as his hand was being crushed. After another few hours, her discomfort had grown more intense, pangs coming quicker and with much more force.

“You’re at three minutes,” he whispered. Looking up at her with a pleading gaze, he cupped her cheek. “Emma, please, allow me to be in there with you.” Emma blinked stupidly, not understanding.

“In… wait, what?” Another contraction had her crying out, confusion and pain now both spiraling in her mind.

“When you deliver, I’d like to be there for some of it. I know it’s not normal, or traditional, but I don’t want to leave you and I want to see them -”

“Of course you’ll be there, and you fucking well ought to be there the entire time, or I’ll have you strapped down by Whale. Why would you ever, how could you ever think?”

Another contraction hit her, and she moaned through gritted teeth, her body trying to rip in two like a hot fish hook was lodged in her back pulling her apart. Killian was torn between glee, relief, and overwhelming worry for Emma as she desperately tried to fight the pain. The pressure had her panting, crying out occasionally as it intensified.

“I need to walk, I can’t -” Emma stood, Killian helping her. “God, I knew this was going to hurt, but -” Moaning low, she clenched on Killian’s forearm. He looked at her piteously, whispering small encouragements.

“Do you want to try walking on deck? Get some air?” he whispered, rubbing the small of her back in circles. She nodded, letting him lead her as a contraction eased. “You’re still at three minutes.”

“It takes a while, sometimes. Sometimes women labor for days, weeks even, Tink told me. They guessed when I was due and said anytime from two days ago to three weeks from now, so she told me to try to not worry.” Killian looked pale at that, helping her up the stairs without comment. The air hit her face as they made it on to deck, the slow rocking of the water and breeze helping to ease her pain for a moment. The stars were bright, a few lazy clouds drifting across the sky. Killian led Emma to the rail, and another contraction hit her. Pressing her face into his chest she cried out, this one tearing through her back and pulling a scream from her lips.

“Emma?” Killian murmured, trying to comfort her. “Love, that sounded -”

“Is everything alright?” Tink asked groggily, stepping out onto the deck and rubbing her eyes. “Are you having labor pains?”

Killian nodded, Emma unable to speak through her wincing grimace. “She’s about two minutes apart right now -”

Emma let out a whine, face contorting in pain as she fought through the next wave. She kept her arms forward, braced on his hook and hand, leaning towards him with her legs slightly spread. Her bare feet stepped back with a wet noise as she tried to adjust her body, rocking her hips in wide circles. Killian looked down, noticing the growing puddle under his boots. His brain stopped working properly as he followed the trail to Emma’s wet nightgown, now tinged with pink and clinging to her body, sweat beading on her brow and hair clinging to her neck.

“Shit,” Tink whispered, turning and running towards the stairs to Whale and her quarters, yelling from over her shoulder. “Killian get her in bed, there’s blood in her water!”

Emma moaned, resting her head on his arm, crying. “Love, I need you to hold on. I’m going to get you to bed.” Killian tried to hide the panic rising in his throat, gently lifting her as she whimpered. She nodded into his chest, contractions starting lower in her back and burning down her body. Killian laid her in their bed, and she breathed heavily, going pale. Dr. Whale rushed in with Tink, pulling the machines out that they’d brought over for this. Emma’s back bowed off the bed, a scream rattling the windows. Killian soothed her as best he could, reminding her to breathe in the stunted way he’d read about. Snow ran in with David in tow, bringing a cool bucket of water and a rag, along with a hot water skein. Watching Emma sigh visibly as he placed the warm skein under her back, Killian joined her in the bed, letting her rest her head on his chest as she gripped his legs. Killian whispered to her, gently dabbing at her brow with cool water and rubbing her shoulders as she clung to him.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Emma rasped between whimpers. She’d been in and out, pain causing her to pass out. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I love you.” Killian kissed her softly. “I wish I could do more. I hate seeing you in pain like this.”

“You’re helping me if you keep talking. Keep distracting me,” Emma whispered, losing lucidity from the pain again. Her body felt exhausted.

“I first knew I loved you on the day you were in that pink dress and courting Graham. I was so jealous. I wanted to be the one who made you laugh like that, to hold you -” Emma let out a cry that was half shriek, gripping his hand tightly. “I loved you before that. I would have faced any challenge to get to you; nothing could stop me. I just didn’t know. Now I’m trying to distract you from having our children, and your grip is vice like.”

“Sorry, I just... it hurts, it hurts so bad.” She let out another whimper and Killian rocked her in his arms soothingly.

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing, sweetling. Hey, remember your breathing.” Killian took an example breath, and Emma gave him a look of amused annoyance. “I’m sure Tink could do a spell for shared pain if you preferred.” Emma growled, trying to breathe.

Killian laughed, and then blinked a few times. “Wait, that’s not a thing is it?”

Tink and Whale finally seemed ready, Tink placing a hand on Emma’s forehead that left a golden pulse.

“That should help. I need you to stay with us and focus. This is going to be rough, just like we talked about, ok Emma?” Emma nodded, letting her head fall back against Killian’s chest again, closing her eyes as she cried. “Alright, listen. You have blood in your water, and I need to check your dilation and make sure your babies are in position. Your girl hadn’t dropped last time we checked,” Tink said.

Whale was turning things on that were attached to something that hummed and whined. Lights and strange colors appeared, numbers flickering next to jagged mountains on the black of the boxes. “Gen’s up,” Whale told Tink, and they switched places as she adjusted beeping machines. Whale touched Emma’s stomach as another contraction hit. Her moans were becoming more frequent, and Killian felt her grip on his legs tighten. Whale seemed unworried. “You’re going to have a baby here soon. I’m guessing eight centimeters Tink.”

Tink nodded as she placed a device over Emma’s finger, grabbing a pair of thin green gloves. Tink bent between Emma’s legs, pushing them aside as Killian looked down into Emma’s eyes. “You’re doing great, love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her sweaty temple. “If it’s any consolation, I am sorry for this.” Emma grunted a laugh, moving a hand into his.

“We’re at nine centimeters. I’m guessing ten minutes at most,” Tink said, turning to Whale and removing her gloves. Stepping to Emma’s side, the glow from her fingertips illuminated a child pressing hard through her pelvis while the other curled through the small space facing up. “I’m doing an ECV.”

“You’re flipping her?” Emma asked through shallow breaths. She felt weak and tired; they’d been at this for hours. Tink nodded, hands resting around the babe. Pushing, Emma began to cry as Tink applied pressure. The pain was agonizing through the contractions, and she felt something shift in her pelvis, the urge to push becoming overwhelming. Whale grabbed a stool, settling between her legs. “Alright, Tink, we have baby A trying to crown. I’m going to have her start pushing. Watch out for ECV induced abruption.”

“Right, I’ve got baby B almost ready.” Looking up, Tink leveled her gaze. “Emma, hang in there. You’re going to start pushing, alright? Listen to Viktor.”

“With this contraction, push. We’ll count it down, but lean forward and hunker down. Killian can rub your back, and help you move forward. Ready?” Emma nodded, weakly. A contraction hit her, her body tensing. “Push!”

Pressing forward, Emma cried out, Killian rubbing her back with his stump. Whale counted to ten, and she fell back into Killian, eyes closed.

“Good, another, here we go. Push!” Whale shouted, Emma bore down again. Thirty minutes in and Killian looked down at his wife, resting her tired head against him in a brief reprieve. She was paler still.

“Love,” Killian whispered, and her eyes fluttered open, as she bore down again. “Love, you can do this. Give one big push.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can, Emma. C’mon, now. You’re stronger than this, you can do this.” He brought her hand that was intertwined with his to his lips.

“You can do it, Emma. Give me one more big push, and you’ll have your son,” Whale encouraged. Emma sat up straighter, pushing with everything she had, screaming as Whale gave a triumphant whoop. “Tink, baby B in position?” Whale asked, cutting the cord of a squalling infant. She nodded, leaving Emma’s side where she’d been watching and keeping pressure. She took the red faced and angry child, wrapping him in a soft muslin.

Emma cried, already weakly pushing as Whale, Killian, and Tink encouraged her.

“You can do it, come on sweet. You’re so close to being done.” Killian whispered into her hair. “I love you.”

Emma cried out, pushing hard, Whale giving a sign to Tink who came to his side. Emma leaned back, Whale holding a tinier child than the first. Tink gave a worried look down, exchanging a glance with Whale.

The second babe was not making any noise. “Killian, she was so small. She's not crying, no, no, no, she's not crying! I don’t know -” Breath shuddering, Emma let Killian gather her close.

“Shhhh, she just needs a minute, she's alright Emma.” Killian strained to hear anything, but it was hard with his heart thundering and Emma crying into his chest. Finally, he heard the tiniest cry, Whale rubbing the little infant’s chest. Emma smiled through the haze of pain, her hand tightly squeezing his.

Their children wailed as Tink placed them in Emma’s arms. Emma’s face was pale in the early morning sun, Tink pressing on her abdomen to push out any after birth. Killian kissed her sweaty forehead when he noticed something was wrong. Emma whimpered, a shuddering breath under fluttering eyes, shoulders slumping into his chest. Her slurred words were barely a whisper as Tink and Whale yelled for more help.

“I… feel… sick.”

It felt as if time slowed for Killian. Two small cries came from bundles held in Emma’s arms as her body went slack, a huge bloom of red seeping into the sheets as her head fell back into his chest with a boneless loll. Killian and Tink scrambled as both babies were placed in his arms; his arms and not a proud Emma’s.

One of the strange devices started beeping, and Whale pushed him out of the bed, out from behind Emma as she flopped back onto the mattress, and almost completely out of the room while his children wailed. Tink was frantically moving things as Whale spoke gibberish about pressures dropping and a hemorrhage.

Two children, pink and wrinkled, were shrieking in his arms as Killian watched, not understanding what was happening. His thoughts going into overdrive.

Emma is fine, she’s fine. She’s a mother, their mother; she has to be fine. They all have to be fine. We’re a family now, finally a family. Emma just needs to open her eyes.

Whale started yelling for hot water and cloth as Killian felt his chest start to constrict. He was pushed back again by Snow, Ruby, and David, unaware he was moving towards Emma.

Snow was yelling at him as sound rushed back into his world in a cacophony of noise. His children were screaming, Snow was asking him to give them to her and Ruby, and he was shaking in this nightmare, afraid his arms might fail. Ruby took the boy with dark hair and lungs fully working, as Snow took the girl who was whimpering pitifully. Meanwhile, David was holding his body up as Whale threw aside crimson soaked fabric onto the floor.

“Swan?” It escaped his mouth as a whisper, Killian’s lungs registering they could take gulps of air to create sound; his body realizing it could move to get to her. He pushed back to her side, exchanging curses with Whale in favor of gripping her clammy hand.

Whale shouted at him, but he was not leaving her side, was never leaving her alone. Tink yelled at Whale that they could do this, that they needed to focus on Emma. Emma, the word Killian was repeating quietly by her ear as gold hair fanned out behind her head. Smee was there with hot water, and old sails that Whale was telling him to rip into strips.

His brace and hook had been haphazardly thrown aside for Emma's comfort, putting them on again should have grounded him. In what felt like slow time adjusting the leather on his shoulder and wrist, he instead only felt dread. Killian’s motions were sluggish, but he started ripping sail until there was nothing left, nothing except his useless hand and hook as Emma laid still and pale. David had left to run through town for a set of wet nurses.

The moans that occasionally slipped through Emma's lips were strained, and Tink kept giving her ‘Pixie Dust’, which seemed to take away her pain to Killian’s relief.

With the aid of the Pixie Dust, most of the tension left Emma’s body, and a sense of calm overtook the room.

Emma slept in the silence, as Killian looked on helplessly.

Chapter Text

I am anchored on a resolve you cannot shake. My heart, my conscience shall dispose of my hand - they only. Know this at last.

-Charlotte Bronte

Visiting Emma was like a sanctuary in chaos. He felt the need to stay away from the pitying looks the crew gave or the cries of the twins; sometimes both wailing at the same time, peeling back the skin of the raw emotion immediately underneath with ease. He felt resentment, guilt at that resentment, and an anger at things he could not control. It latched onto him like a leech and took away everything until he was numb.

How could he even look at the children if they took her? He’d promised her he could raise them alone, and he would, but never knowing or imagining that she would be gone from the world, or he’d ever not be able to give chase. Killian hadn’t been able to leave her side, or bring himself to try to. He needed to see her, and needed for her to tell him she was alright.

“Killian?” she whispered softly, eyes fluttering.

He leaned forward, stroking her hand as she sighed in relief. “I'm right here, love. I've been right here and I'll stay right here.”

Emma frowned. “Where are they? You should be with them, they need you -”

Killian felt his heart constrict. He couldn't tell her that he couldn't hold them without thinking about how they'd almost… “They're with the wet nurse; it's alright.”

Her face relaxed, and he kissed her hand. Her eyelids fluttered closed again, a small moan escaping as she shuddered. Her grip tightened on his hand. When the spasm ended, she whimpered quietly before falling back into sleep.

Emma woke again after a few minutes, sweat beading on her pale forehead. Killian laid a cool cloth on her head, and she sighed with relief, accepting a small amount of water he offered as well. Whale had tried to tell Killian how high her fever was, but he wouldn't hear it. Emma would survive. She had to survive.

“I need to tell you, I need you to know -” she slurred, voice hitching.

“Hush love.” He wiped tears off her cheeks, whispering softly. “It's alright. Just rest.”

“No, Killian, listen to me. I should have told you so many years ago. It's so strange to look back now at all the chances I've had to tell you how much I love you. We could have had so much more time.”

“Emma, please -”

“I can feel it, my magic is gone. Killian, I need you to hold to your promise. You'll be great; you don't have to raise them away from the sea. Raise them here or on the Jolly so they have a family.”

“Emma, stop. You're going to be fine.” He realized he was crying as well, rubbing her hand in small circles as heat burned in his chest.

She shook her head, closing her eyes. “I can feel the fever, and the medicine, and blood. I can feel my body dy-”

“No.” Killian laid his forehead on her hand, unable to keep his fear and grief at bay. “We need more time. I just, we just - you can't, Emma. We deserve more.”

“I love you, Killian. You deserve every happiness, and I would give you the world if I could. I hope my heart is enough for you to go on. You have others who need you now.” Her body tensed and then relaxed as she fought to stay awake. She murmured to him, trying to focus through the haze. “You promised me. You promised me that you would care for our family. That's not just our children any longer. You have to be strong, for all of them…”

“Emma, I can't…”

“Yes, yes you can. You promised me. I believe in you,” she sighed, falling back into sleep.

Killian sat with his head in his hand, desperately trying to sort out the rage, grief, and fear that currently occupied his being. How was he supposed to look at the children that took his wife? How could he raise them without Emma? He wasn’t strong enough. The entire time, whatever existence drew them together had also tried to rip them apart, but they’d won. This couldn’t end with them parted.

A soft cough sounded after some time. He looked up with red rimmed eyes to see Snow’s face, a sad patience shining through her expression.

“Killian, they're eating. Would you like to see them now?”

He shook his head and Snow sighed, sitting next to him. When she reached an arm around him, he bristled.

“The girl is having trouble eating, she seems weaker than the boy. Smee has taken to rocking her. She seems to like shanties.” Snow looked into his eyes, grief recognizing grief. “I think they need you. We think they need you.”

Killian left Snow with Emma, Snow promising to watch her and call to him if anything changed. His first steps out of the Gilded Wing’s cabin blinded him, as crew watched him with a weary understanding. Smee’s voice echoed off of the placid sea as Killian made his way down to the lower deck.

The pudgy man was rocking a small wailing babe, swathed in soft linen and loosely wrapped in the pale pink blanket Killian had made, pushing a crib with another loud crying babe with his toe. He sang out an off key tune.

“When the wind blows, we're all together, boys; Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes”

The wails continued, and Killian felt himself move without realizing. He reached for the tiny girl, her face red with rage as she screamed.

“Shhhh, little love. Let's get you set proper.” He moved her tiny body against his chest, her head resting below the scruff on his chin. Her small tufts of hair matched the red auburn in his beard, making his heart stutter as he arranged her tiny limbs. “There you are,” he whispered as she fussed, before settling quietly into a scrunched pose against him. Undoing his hook carefully, he reached for the boy, scooping him into his arms.

The boy stopped crying almost immediately, instead finding Killian’s soft leather vest and sucking his fist with a contented grunt. Killian smiled, examining the child's tiny profile. His children. His and Emma’s children.

The girl whimpered again, beginning to cry. He tried to remember the books he read, Emma laughing at his checklists. Checking her small cloth nappy, and making sure she wasn't rooting for milk, he rocked and sang to them as they fell asleep.

“I'll give you everything I have, I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will always hold you close, but I will learn to let you go

I will rearrange the stars, pull them down to where you are

I promise I'll do better, with every heartbeat I have left I'll defend your every breath

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge, hold the world to its best

I promise I'll do better

Because you are loved, you are loved more than you know

I hereby pledge all of my days to prove it so

Though your heart is far too young to realize

The unimaginable light you hold inside”

The words were just his thoughts blurred together, paired with a tune he'd heard in passing, as he accepted Emma's wish. There was truly never a question of him leaving his children. He'd changed. Hook was gone. Instead, there was only Killian, the man who had found his family and would do anything for them.

The girl quieted, falling asleep in his arms, both twins silent but for easy breaths as he rocked them, crying silent tears as he whispered to them.

“I promise I'll do better.”

From the upper deck, the crews of the Gilded Wing and the Jolly Roger watched as Captain Jones returned and fell headfirst in love with his children, Captain Hook resigned to memory.

The dark under Emma's eyelids seemed darker, more alive, as she contemplated dying. Dying. It seemed like a foreign concept with how much they had been through. Her body finally fell victim to bringing life into the world for her soulmate, which she supposed was far more heroic or long lasting than a pirate ballad sung by drunks. She had never been baptized, or taken her solemn words to the old gods, never buried seeds for the earth or any sacrament that guaranteed an afterlife. She hoped that some deity would be merciful, allowing her to watch over Killian and her children.

The thought trickled into her mind that watching them but never interacting might be its own form of hell.

“See the golden crocodile…” Something murmured to Emma, her vision adjusting to the pitch black in front of her.

“Who’s there?” She called out, surprised at the echo that seemed to come from everywhere at once. There was a skittering sound in its hollow absence, and something cackled nearby. “Dearie, it’s about time we meet. You’ve always avoided me, always been able to keep me at bay.” Scales brushed against her legs, and Emma let out a cry as she tripped, scrambling across the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, something glimmered and she squinted to make out what it was. It was gone quickly and something puffed rancid air in her face. She screamed, and backed up on her hands, the cackle following her.

“What do you want!” Emma couldn’t help but feel the place was familiar, a sensation of knowing where she was that had her crawling as fast as she could away from the maniacal laughter.

“ How doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail

And pour the waters of the Nile

On every golden scale

How cheerfully he seems to grin

How neatly spreads his claws

And welcomes little fishes in

With gently smiling jaws!”

The grating voice seemed to be right in her ear, while she heard the snap of jaws in her other as she tried to stand. “Come on Emma, Dearie… you can’t stop me now. You can’t reach the light any longer, the darkness is your only choice. Well, and death. But even then I get to keep you as a vessel with all your magic. You fell into me first. Crushing you is going to be so delicious.”

“What are you talking about?” Emma pleaded, and she saw the gleam again, running towards it.

“Well, not that you’d know, because in this timeline I don’t exist like this,” something scaly stroked her cheek and she saw a flash of golden eyes and scaled skin. “I’m the Dark One. Here, without form, I exist as a chaotic balancer of this universe. Magic users tap into the light or the dark, and you took too much. You belong to it, the light chose you after you had sapped it, but I have blocked it from its host so it can't replenish itself.”

“Is that why I can't control it? Why it is so strong or so weak? You putting up a barrier to weaken me and magic?”

“The funny thing about balance is that, it was offset by someone taking too much of the dark. There's an idiot of a man that dreams of power, but I don't want to be at his whim to achieve my goals. I want to crush the light with its chosen savior. One of you is going to give me what I need to be free, and it's you, it’s your lucky day!”

“Stop talking in riddles!” The light gleamed gold from whatever glimmered, and she realized with clarity where she was A dark decaying castle, moss growing in places, cold stone floors that were covered in rotting rugs.

As if the revelation made it happen, golden eyes blinded her with their light, and she could see the mottled skin and stringy hair of a man who shared them, his long talon like fingernails clicking together.

“Tick tock, Dearie. I need a vessel, and either you give it willingly and have a teensy bit of control, or watch me run around in your skin suit from the underworld. Either way, deal is in my favor.”

Emma tried to reach the golden thread in front of her, unable to grasp it still against whatever barrier protected it. The stone floor grew colder under her as she struggled, the gold thread reflected off its polished surface, Emma desperately willing her fingers around its length.

Killian sat by Emma’s side, her fever spiking and Whale warning him there was nothing left he could do. Tink was to make her comfortable, and Killian, David, and Snow needed to say their goodbyes. It had been hours since then, and Tink was struggling to keep her from moaning and whimpering, Killian asking her to hold on while at the same time telling her it was fine to let go. To leave.

He’d decided not long before Emma had dropped into unconsciousness that he would raise his children, the possible last vestiges of Emma he now would have as he watched helplessly from her side. Letting go of Emma’s hand, he took his tiny daughter from a tired Ruby. He’d found with growing pride that she quieted only around him, fussing at the wet nurse if he wasn’t present and talking.

“Shhh, shh, my heart. I wanted you to meet your mum earlier, but it was too dangerous for either of you. She’d never forgive me if I didn’t let you say goodbye, at least.” David sat on the other side of Emma, holding their son and crying softly. “To both of you. She loves you, and I promise you she would have been the best mother.”

Killian placed his fussing daughter in Emma’s arm, careful to support her as David did the same with their son, Snow falling into his chest.

“I love you, my darling, my Emma. Thank you.” Killian pressed a kiss to Emma’s temple, watching her body still.

Emma was exhausted, the cackle around her as she reached in vain for the golden thread making her head throb in pain, the scaled creature looking more and more opaque as she felt fire around her. Her hand pushed through, only to fall back from the force of some unseen wall surrounding the thread, or clawed hands grabbing her ankles.

“Time’s almost up, Dearie. Too bad... Still want to die?” the creature hissed at her. Emma kept fighting to reach, not willing to share any part of her body with anything so disgusting. “Fine, fight until the end. See if I care. Anything is better than having to deal with the other choice and waiting. The light has no chance if you're my vessel. I'll crush it with your own hand.”

Emma concentrated, the last bits of strength falling away from her. The cackling was cut by a voice in her ear, and a feeling of calm.

“Shhh, shh, my heart.” Killian. Looking around to make sure he wasn’t there, she listened to his voice like it was a life line. She could hear the reptile, or Dark One, screaming at her but it didn’t matter. Killian’s voice was right there. Her hand slid through the barrier with ease. She was still slightly short, an inch or so away now from the golden thread. She could feel its warmth, see the glow around the dim stone corridors in her peripheral get stronger.

“I promise you she would have been the best mother.” Emma pushed, the Dark One pulling at her legs, screaming at her, its words lost under Killian’s.

“I love you, my darling, my Emma. Thank you.”

Emma lodged a kick to the thing’s nose, reaching, fingers almost brushing the thread. The Dark One screamed at her, its voice now everywhere and grinding her down, her hold slipping as it cackled. She gave one last leap, falling just short, the Dark One giving its hoot of triumph.

“Yes! Finally!” it crowed, grinning ferally with too many teeth. Emma closed her eyes, hearing its jaw creak open, when a noise cut through everything:

The tiniest cry from an infant, right in her ear, so close she could feel it against her chest.

The thread itself moved forward at the same time as Emma did and her hand clasped it firmly, magic flowing through her body, the entire room spinning gold and bright. The scaled creature howled in defeat as it was blown away by the light, the thread now fully apart of her being.

She heard Killian first. “David, grab him, I don’t know what this is -”

“I’ve got him, shhh. Killian - What the hell, is the girl alright? Gods, I may have gone blind.”

Two cries made Emma sob in relief, her body healing at breakneck speed. Still fatigued, she tried to find a voice to speak with, but her throat ached. Willing to take the risk and test a theory, she waved a hand and choked out a laugh when a glass of water tumbled neatly into her hands.

“Emma?” Snow whispered, looking at her with disbelief. Killian’s eyes were clearing next, David still struggling having stared almost directly into whatever light had exploded.

“Help?” Emma rasped, and Snow helped tip the water into her mouth, before Killian crashed his mouth into hers. “Not helping.”

“I don’t care, I don’t bloody care,” Their daughter fussed in his arms, not pleased with being squished between her crying mother and father, regardless of how happy they were. Grinning through tears cheekily, Killian laughed at their daughters whimpered squeaks of protest. “Emma, if you promise never to do whatever the hell that was again, I’ll let you meet my children.”

“Mmmm. Your children? I do believe that I had something to do with making them.” she coughed, taking the boy from David’s outstretched arms shakily. Her brother kissed her on the cheek with tears of his own as Snow buried her face into his chest. The tiny boy made a small bleating noise, noisily latching onto a breast and Emma sighed in relief, her chest heavy. David led Snow out of the room, where they could hear delighted whoops of joy.

“You can share them with me if you take it easy, actually easy - listen to Whale, rest... Alright? I thought… I can't... ” Killian lost his words, looking at his family with nothing but adoration.

No words could explain what he had almost lost. Emma hummed a yes, kissing him gently, resting her head on his shoulder. The crew visited in intervals, until the ship quieted into its normal lull. Emma sat in Killian’s arms as he busied himself telling her all about their babies in low murmurs. continuously touching all of them as if he wasn’t sure they were real.

“Killian, did you name them?” Emma whispered later, watching the twins sleep with full bellies and soft milk drunk pouts.

“I… I didn’t.” Killian looked away from her and their sleeping children. “I couldn’t. I wanted you to be there -”

“Hey. I understand. I'm here, it's alright.” Emma reached a weak hand to him, and he relaxed. “I know what the boy’s name should be, but the girl… I thought Hope, but it doesn’t feel right.”

“You could use the southern word for it. Esperanza. ‘Hope ascends’.” The girl let out a tiny squeak against Emma’s breast, turning her head again to eat.

“Well that’s decided,” Emma laughed gently.

“What name did you think for the boy, love?” Killian trailed a finger along the curve of their son’s chubby cheek.

“Killian,” she said simply. At first, he almost said what in response, but the realization hit him hard soon after.

“Emma that’s -”

“Ian for short. It’s a strong name, and all of the Killians I know are wonderful men; devoted, brilliant, and handsome. Even if I only know the one, or now, two.”

Killian laughed, leaning to press a kiss to her forehead, looking down again to survey his son and daughter. “Esperanza and Ian Jones. Your mum and papa love you so much, and so does the rest of your family. We’re so happy you’re here.”

The members of the crew joined them again in the morning, and the memory of what happened in the darkened castle faded slightly like a dream.

Emma could only remember that someone, somewhere else, was going to see a little crocodile with shiny golden scales. Someone, somewhere else would allow a crocodile to eat their soul.

Chapter Text

Thomas Harriot is known to have turned a spyglass on the Moon, though with only three powers, he was unable to correctly discern neither crater nor mountain.
Such a feat would require five to six powers, or higher.

-The History of the Spyglass

Time passes and tongues wag to fill quiet spaces.

The captain of the Gilded Wing, in his wisdom, decided piracy was not for him. With his bonny bride and an assortment of ex-privateers, they become a well respected merchant vessel and tradeship. Some said it was his charming and silver tongued demeanor, while others swore he was the gruffest man they ever traded with. Either way, his coffers were that of a king. If anyone asked about the haggard blonde and dark haired man with one hand juggling two wide eyed babes, they received no answers. Silence was a deafening warning.

The Jolly Roger is rumored to have sank in a battle with the Gilded Wing, the reckless captain duo of pirate lovers, Hook and Swan, finally finding a watery grave; together even in death.

Sightings of a glowing ship flying their flag are whispered among slave ships and crooked pirates who deal in innocent blood. It appears out of a dense fog, a ghostly enchantress with blonde hair whipping in the wind with her eternal love at her side, coat flapping and hook raised. Demons who leave no survivors except those bound in chains or held in a brig. Ghosts who steal back treasure that was taken wrongfully.

Or, as Emma calls it, 'date night’.

More children join the twins on the timbers of The Wing. Snow unexpectedly going into labor with her son Leo six months after the twins are born. Luckily, Whale and Tink had decided to stay on. David loses his mind with worry at not being prepared, but Snow breezes through the delivery right into motherhood.

“I didn't even get morning sickness, and I really didn't gain much weight. I'm lucky I didn't do anything crazy, or my labor might have been earlier and rougher,” Snow confides in Emma, as they nursed together in the sunshine of the deck. Leo latches easily, Snow smiling serenely. Emma has a foot in her face and both of her beloved children have fistfuls of her hair.

“Well, aren't you special,” Emma grumbled.

Maggie watches their twins with joy, bouncing them on her knees and singing to them while letting them eat as much pie as their small hands can grab. She quilts them beautiful blankets and knitted toys. Her shy husband even makes wooden toys for them, and does small magic tricks. Emma realizes that the shy bearded man is the tallest dwarf she’s ever seen slightly too late, and he laughs it off without worry. “i used to get grumpy about that sort of thing, but up here? I’m dreamy,” Leroy tells her, and he comes out of his shell completely.

Some of the crew leaves, as is expected when things change. They say goodbye to Rory and Phillip first, as the call comes that they can return for the throne of their homeland. Rory starts to send letters to them with her full name, Aurora, detailing palace life and asking for advice on policy. Emma finds it dreadfully boring, but David, Killian and Snow have vigorous debates on the shaping of the country.

Graham and Ruby leave to start a pack in unclaimed territory of the Enchanted Forest, gathering lone wolves and setting up rules that soon become a permanent structure. While there is still an ogre problem, the pack is strong and faces the danger head on.

Mal and Z return to the dragon lands together, slipping away quietly and without much notice. Killian can only laugh as he watches two dragons on the horizon disappear into the sunset.

Graham and Ruby return to say hello now and then when The Wing docks in The Enchanted Forest. Eventually, they rejoin the crew, the risk of Ogre attack while Ruby raises their litter of three beautiful boys deemed too dangerous by Graham. Hunter, Willow, and Forrest all have the same dark brown shock of hair, heavily taking after their father. To Graham, his small pack is everything, and Ruby feels the same; they'll forego the change to raise their young with no regrets. Emma happily brews them a Lunar Stasis draught, and they fall into the routine easily, Ruby complaining about constantly having a babe to her breast while the other women nod and bounce her other triplets.

Mal and Z do not visit. Instead, they extend an invite to show off their egg. The entire crew doesn't know what will be inside, until they get a bans stating, ‘It’s a girl! (Dragon, but currently unable to transform). Please welcome Lily.’

Snow notes the design is lovely, irregardless of the strangeness of the message.

Regina and Robin welcome a beautiful dark haired girl around the time the twins see eighteen months, and a once hardened Regina softens completely. They name her for a powerful enchantress in another realm, Lucinda, or Lucy for short.

Snow and David welcome a blonde tufted girl to the world soon after Regina’s daughter is born and Leo turns one, David immediately finding himself wrapped around his daughter's finger. They name her Ruth after his and Emma's mother. Leo is insanely jealous, but makes do by going through a shrieking stage.

Merida and Fa finally get married, the ceremony a complete hodgepodge of both of their cultures that somehow not only works, but works well. Plaid tartan and silk floral prints drape a verdant forest glade, a bamboo archway placed where they exchange vows. There's a tea ceremony followed by knotting their hands in a complex golden rope. The reception is visited by Merida’s estranged brothers, who finally accept she is not after their claim to the throne.

Emma dreams, or more appropriately, has nightmares of a dark castle that crumbles and rots. Something slithers and its claws click and scrape on the moss covered stones. A man calls out, his eyes burning behind brown irises, blood on his hands as he feeds a golden monstrosity. Willing herself to wake up, they look at her and she swears the scaled creature smiles, not a man but a beast, next to another pretender of a lost boy in the guise of a man and warlock. The warlock looks at her hungrily, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he surveys her body. The creature only glares. Together they are a golden eyed man who chases her in the recurrent night terror. Somehow she knows they are a portent of doom, but the dreams fade fast as she wakes up thrashing, soothed by Killian.

Smee's lap is a source of argument amongst the rowdy lot of toddlers, especially as he reads stories aloud. He always has a knack for getting a hold of rare items - and by rare items, he means sugary sweets that have been the bane of his old captain’s existence. Luckily, these days, the Captain is a dear friend and his Missus is in on Smee's trade. The Twins lead the pack at two years old, Emma and Killian no longer running ragged but instead, thriving in a new sort of chaos.

Killian still hooks yarn together, darning socks and making less lumpy blankets for anyone who needs them, and constantly making socks for little feet. With a little finesse, he’s able to make a few rudimentary stuffed toys, until suddenly he has made an assortment of soft toys. Esper is fond of a jellyfish the color of lilacs, while Ian chooses a shark, making roaring noises that rattle the timbers of the deck. Leo chooses a lion, his father beaming, Ruth clinging to a plush ginger kitten. Lucy chooses a frog with a giggle, Killian’s handiwork clear as the frog has a curled tongue in its mouth. It becomes a tradition for him to make something for new crew, and he frequently gets requests.

Jefferson and August finally decide to be more than just an occasional fling that happens more than just occasionally. They depart after the space becomes crowded and August expresses interest in traveling down many different rabbit holes. They are only seen on big holidays, bringing the most ridiculous gifts from their travels. Killian eventually bans any gift that makes ‘extravagant and unnecessary noise’ after a teapot given to Esper keeps singing off tune and nonsensical nursery songs at all hours.

After a particularly intense night of freeing slaves, Fa finds a small wide eyed girl clinging to her belts. Merida is immediately in love with the ginger haired child with stormy gray eyes, and no one bats an eye when suddenly, a young, wild haired girl is leading the pack of children across the decks. Not given a name, Fa coaxes her to choose one whenever she is ready, her quiet voice soothing as she stroked the girl's hair. Fa tells her stories, and Merida tells her tall tales and myths. She eventually chooses the name Rowan for its strength, just like her mothers.

Rory and Phillip send word from their kingdom that they have a daughter, naming her Rose. The crew attends the announcement ceremony, happily greeting their long time friends: Jasmine and Aladdin, now rulers of Agrabah; Tiana and Naveen, happily avoiding royalty in their restaurant; the vibrant ex-mermaid Ariel and an ecstatic Eric. Esperanza takes to Ariel, who despite being in what Emma refers to as 'the 200 months pregnant stage’, keeps her two and a half year daughter entertained. Ian, like his father or mother (depending on the day and who you asked), made trouble by slipping a tray of pastries under a skirted table, sharing his loot with his cousins, and inducing a glorious sugar crash.

In the brief moment of peace, Emma and Killian disappeared into one of the quieter roped off parts of the palace.

“We have to -” Killian's mouth met hers, demanding and hungry, intimacy not in short supply but not frequent either, always having to be carefully planned. Spontaneous escapes like this were rare if not unheard of. “Be quick,” Emma moaned as he nipped at her collar bone, hiking up her skirts.

“Bloody hell, I don't want to be quick,” he murmured against her throat, licking a trail to her ear. “I'd love to taste you, mark you -”

“For now.” She palmed him through his trousers and he hissed. “This. I need to feel you inside me.”

Another crash of their lips, her hands finding his belt as he pushed her against a wall, fingers pumping inside her wetness until he was freed. Moaning into his mouth as he thrust into her in a smooth motion, Killian grabbed her leg to pin her tightly between the wall and his body.

While it was fast and hard, it was also passionate. Emma clawed at him and they moaned together, savoring the heat that sparked every time they connected. They came together, each other's names sweet in their mouths. Sneaking back to their seats, only David narrowed his eyes with a shake of his head. Killian gave him a cocky nod and a wink.

Will and Belle had almost given up trying, but finally welcomed a tiny baby girl into the world. They named her Victoria, and Will finally got his comeuppance for teasing his fellows about crying when their children were born. He sobbed, holding his baby for the first time, her small hands making his look so large. Belle lay sick after the birth for several weeks, Will reading to her and rocking their babe as the crew took care of her, the day she was finally able to come up on the sunshine of the deck with her small baby girl celebrated.

Whale gave in to Tink’s demands, accepting a steady stipend paid for him to stay on board to provide care for the children he delivered and their mothers. His bedside manner did not improve but deckside, Uncle Vic was a delight to as many children he could chase as they pretended he was a monster.

The Gilded Wing was alive with activity and noise from dawn until dusk, tired parents staying up when they had the energy to make conversation or nodding at each other in shifts as they groggily bounced or rocked children back to sleep in time with the ocean’s sway.

Emma found herself on deck more often than not. Esperanza was still a sickly child who needed the fresh night air. The Twins were almost three, talking non-stop and inquisitively taking in the world. It was exhausting. Luckily, Ian slept like the dead, his wild running throughout the day leading to a blessedly quiet wind down. Esper fought sleep, longing for starlight and the moon, Emma whispering constellations gently in her dark hair until Killian joined them on deck or she joined him in their bed.

Laying a finally sleeping Esper down in her bunk above Ian's, Emma made her way through the quiet corridor, slipping into bed and her waiting husband's arms.

“I love you,” he murmured in her ear, and when her answer didn't come in return, he cracked open an eye. “Love?”

“When was the last time I bled?” she whispered, facing away from him.

“I figured two weeks ago; you were moodier than usual and I let you be.” Killian replied drowsily. Her hand guided his to her stomach, a familiar swell against his palm jerking him awake. “Emma?”

“I didn't put the pieces together until a week ago. I should be just about four months along or so, maybe five. That’d be Rose's announcement ceremony. I haven't felt kicking yet -” Rolling her towards him, he captured her lips in his, grinning.

“You are a marvel, Swan. A bloody marvel. I love you so much. How do you feel? You're so small, I wouldn't have guessed...” Kissing her breathless, she pulled back laughing.

“Thank the Gods above and below, I believe there's only one this time. I'm fine. Tired, but fine.” Killian pressed a kiss to her forehead, blue eyes dancing as he looked down at her.

“Are you sure you can't make it two or three? David's lot is catching up to us, and if we get a nice lead -”

“Oh, shut up.” Smacking his chest and ignoring the salacious eyebrow wiggle he gives her, she doesn't ignore the steady beating of his heart as it lulls her to sleep.

Emma's second labor is easy, a chubby girl who is absolutely determined to prove her lungs work well. The name is long planned in advance; his mother’s name. Alice. She is fair haired and light eyed, a lighter shade of blue than Killian's own when they finally finish their change.

Liam's eyes, Killian tells Emma in the quiet still of the night. A reminder that even in all of this love, there are still scars and quiet pain they all share. Her arms around his neck is a soothing balm; each of them having a source of relief from old nightmares. Emma finally relents, and they spend some time in the small cabin on the cliffs he owns. She finds it’s not as terrible as she imagined and enjoys the quiet, or swinging on the creaky porch watching their children play. Not enough to give up the sea, or the ship, but enough to take reprieve when things get to be too much.

Killian reminds her that they’re old, but not that old. He reminds her frequently, until she tells him that she has suspicions that his reminders have ended in a well intentioned accident. Emma feels the movements earlier this time, hasn’t been as sick as her first pregnancy, but it’s still rough. Killian sits through a delivery that feels so much like when he almost lost her, so much strain and struggle, but Emma beams at him when it’s done.

“William?” she whispers softly, tucked into Killian’s side. He’s holding their last child and crying with her, arms wrapped around them both in the quiet before the rest of their children wake.

“William,” Killian agrees, pressing kisses on her sweaty forehead, making Emma chuckle. “Liam for short.” Her head lolls, exhaustion setting in although she fights it and the pain she's in with a grimace. When she shifts in the bed, Killian watches her with an ache in his chest as she swallows back whimpers and curses.

There’s no question about how close to leaving him she came again as her screams echo in his head, but Killian changes bloody sheets, and tells her after he’s sent their children off to play on deck that he loves her more than anything - That the thought of not having her sends him reeling. Pressing soft kisses to her pallid forehead, he cried into her hair, holding her tightly. Regina visits later with a potion that ends any worry for them, which thrills Killian even if it means his wild oats have ended their run.

Their children grow, and Piracy loses its appeal all together as raising them turns out to be much more terrifying and complicated than anticipated. Emma and Killian barely survive, the world around them changing rapidly, threats rising and danger around every corner.

Why wouldn’t it change, when someone finally let in a golden crocodile to their soul with open arms?

But that’s a story for a different time.