#...maybe they should have treated his body the way he treated henry vi's. clearly he had no problem with it.)

[une-sanz-pluis]

Refusing to adhere to the rules of the royal funeral had consequences, often immediately. The embalming stipulations in De Exequiis Regalibus were clearly disregarded by Edward IV when arranging for the exequies of Henry VI, oft referred to as Henry of Windsor. The 1910 tomb opening offers the physical evidence for this, but there is also narrative and financial evidence that corroborates the accusation of poor handling. The interval between Henry’s death and burial in May 1471 was only three days, as he died at the Tower of London. Henry was paraded with an open visage, so that he could be identified. According to Warkworth’s Chronicle, Henry’s body, while coffined, left blood on the ground, once at St Paul’s and once at Blackfriars. “Cruentation” was the medieval urban legend in which a victim always bled in the presence of his murderer. Henry theoretically bled in the presence of the pro-Yorkist courtiers and the royal house. Bleeding after death was also considered a sign of a martyr, and Henry quickly acquired a saintly following.65 The report of blood might be dismissed as pro-Lancastrian propaganda, but given the condition of Henry’s remains in 1910 and the stipulations of medieval preservation, the “bleeding” may have been the result of a poor embalming. The costs of Henry’s embalming were also low, as most of the money designated for his funeral was for the guarding of the corpse. Only £15 3s 6½d, given to Hugh Brice, was set aside for clergy, cloth, spices (the item that implied embalming), torches for the escort to St Paul’s and to Chertsey, and other items, such as the unmentioned embalmer himself. There was an additional payment of £9 10s 11d to Richard Martyn for twenty-eight yards of Holland linen and other items related to Henry’s exit from the Tower, including the soldiers’ salary for escort. Henry IV had spent far more than this amount caring for Richard’s body in 1400 compared to what Edward IV spent in 1471 for Henry’s body. In 1377, £21 had been spent solely upon the embalming of Edward III. The poor condition of Henry’s bones partially reflect the initial lack of a lead coffin—a measure recommended by the prescriptive texts the Liber Regie Capelle and the Household Articles. His exposure to the populace of London, the financial accounts, and the presence of tissue and hair clinging to the skull indicate that Henry was embalmed, though poorly. The body did not withstand the centuries, or even the days before burial.

Anna M. Duch, "'King By Fact, Not by Law': Legitimacy and exequies in medieval England", Dynastic Change: Legitimacy and Gender in Medieval and Early Modern Monarchy (Routledge 2020)

[emmaspirate]

The Birds

A/N: Hey look! 500 years later and I’m back! Anyone still here? Thank you to @lenfaz for looking this over for me! Please forgive me for any spelling/grammatical mistakes, I rushed through this trying to get it up for you all! 

Summary: Meet Emma Swan: mother, detective, and angel. She’s just trying to get through her eternal afterlife in one piece. Naturally the universe has other plans for her. When a murder occurs in the divine community, she must enlist the help of angels and demons alike to help crack the case. Enter Killian Jones, a mysterious demon who has every intention of making Emma’s life a living hell. Angel/Demon AU. 

AO3

Chapter I/Chapter II/Chapter III/Chapter IV/Chapter V/Chapter VI

Chapter VII: Off I Go

“If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them?” - Jodi Piccolut

She was late. Of course she was late. Regina had called her maybe ten times, and Emma had ignored each of those ten calls. It wasn’t like the plane was going to leave without her.

Perks of flying on a private plane she supposed.

She’d thrown a tantrum when Hook had insisted they take his jet to London. She’d flown commercial her whole life and she didn’t see the point in changing that now. Regina had taken Hook’s side, of course. She’d said that there was no way she could handle the two of them and all the common people. Emma had then asked Regina why she was even coming, to which the Queen demon had told her someone needed to make sure they didn’t have a repeat of the Zelena incident. That had made the angel quiet.

That was how Emma found herself running through Logan Airport at six in the damn morning about to board a plane with two of her least favorite people. She also felt like she had the world’s biggest hangover, and she hadn’t even been able to enjoy the means of getting to that state. No, she’d spent about two hours scrubbing red paint (it had been paint, thank God) off her wall. She’d then spent the next two hours staring at said wall before it was time to drop Henry off at David’s. The kid could clearly tell something was off, but bless him for not asking questions.

She just wanted to take a nap for the next few years.

So it really wasn’t her fault when she was a little short with the attendant at the gate desk. The woman’s plastic smile really grated on her for some reason, probably because she figured no one should be so happy when the world was clearly going to hell. “Emma Swan?” the woman asked.

Emma sighed and adjusted her blonde curls. “Who else would it be?”

The woman continued to smile, clearly used to people’s frustration being taken out on her. “We’re all set to go. Shall I escort you to the plane?”

“No, I’d much prefer to waste some more time here for a while.” When the attendant just gave her a blank stare, Emma continued. “Lead the way.”

The human gave her a cheery nod and took her bag before Emma could say anything. The pair quickly made their way outside into the cold Boston air where a shiny jet was waiting. She rolled her eyes and pulled out a pair of black sunglasses from her purse as she climbed the steps.

Stopping suddenly, she took in the spacious interior. Regina was chattering away on her cellphone in the first row, where a large tv was mounted on the wall. Hook was a few feet back on a large white couch thumbing through a newspaper. The floors were hardwood, and there were several more spaces for sitting down. “This is a different plane.”

Hook looked up from his paper and gave her his infamous smirk. “You’re very observant this morning, aren’t you, Swan?”

Emma huffed out a breath and moved towards him. “How many planes do you have?”

His smile grew. “A few. This one happens to be my favorite.”

The angel rolled her eyes. “You have a favorite plane?”

“Yes, this one is a Gulfstream G550.”

The angel crossed her arms over her body, staring at him over the top of her sunglasses. “I don’t speak plane… or rich people, for that matter.”

Hook raised an eyebrow and ran his eyes over her form. “No, I don’t imagine you do. It has the capability to fly 6,750 nautical miles, and was one of the original jets in the ultra-long-range class.” Hook looked around the cabin with a critical expression as he added, “it’s a bit outdated at this point, I’m looking to update, but it gets the job done.”

Emma let out a low humming noise like she was following anything he was saying. “How much does it cost to run this thing?” She asked as she waved down a stewardess carrying a tray of champagne. She wouldn’t normally drink this early in the morning, but she’d already been up for several hours. There was also a time change from Boston to London, so where she was going it was later. Plus she really just needed a damn drink after the morning she’d had.

She could just say that the demons were having a negative effect on her  if all else failed.

Without any hesitation, Hook said, “About seven thousand dollars an hour.”

In all of her abundant elegance, Emma proceeded to choke on the alcohol she’d been downing and spit it all over the floor. She’d figured it’d be expensive, but she couldn’t even fathom that amount of money being blown in only a few short hours. Just how much was Hook worth?

“Can you pull it together for five minutes, Ms. Swan? Your lack of decorum is astounding,” Regina quipped from the front of the plane.

Emma curtseyed and shot the Queen a sneer as she turned back to Hook. “Seven grand? Seriously?” When Hook nodded, always smiling, she shut her eyes. “I’m going to need another drink.”

Hook, ever the gentleman, offered up his own amber alcohol. “Ask and you shall receive.” There was a hint of a challenge in his voice, daring her to take it and not expecting her to do just that.

She’d throw herself into the fiery depths of hell before she ever backed down, particularly where he was concerned. Emma took the glass from him and downed the rest of it. Rum, per usual. Placing the glass down, she took a final look around the cabin before sitting next to him, much to his apparent surprise. “I’m naming the plane Irv to cope with this,” she informed him.

It was his turn to sputter like a fish on land as the smile dropped from his face. “Absolutely not.”

Emma laughed and settled in. “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

“You are not naming my plane something as undignified as Irv! If you insist upon naming it, it needs to be something strong,” he shot back, sounding as though she’d just murdered his first born.

Emma toed off her boots, Hook’s outrage only making her more at ease. “Nah, I think I like Irv.” She pulled her legs underneath herself, sitting criss-cross on the white couch. She patted the wall of the jet and didn’t take her eyes off his face as she said, “Good old, Irv.”

“I’m also likin’ Irv,” a familiar voice called out.

Emma whipped her head around to find Will Scarlet emerging from the bathroom. She wasn’t sure why, but she was actually mildly pleased to see him. Will’s total and complete “lack of decorum”, as Regina had put it, nearly rivaled her own, and that put her at ease. “Scarlet, it’s good to see you again.”

Will did a little jig and gave her an exaggerated bow. “Milady,” he quipped as he tipped a faux hat. “Glad to see you again too. I wasn’t quite sure we’d be runnin’ into each other again, which woulda been a real shame, given how nicely we work together.” Will then proceeded to pick up two glasses of champagne from the stewardess in the back of the jet and give one to Emma. “See ya two are getting along a bit better,” he said as he looked back and forth between her and Hook, one eyebrow raised.

Emma, who had no idea what he was referring to, followed his line of sight to her and Hook’s shoulders, which were firmly pressed against one another. She hadn’t even realized the lack of space between them, and quickly shifted so that she was further away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered at the same time that Hook shot, “we aren’t.”

From the front of the plane, she heard Regina snort in a decidedly un-regal way. “That was ridiculously unconvincing, especially for you Hook.”

Hook stood and shot her a glare, but chose to ignore the comment. “I’m going to go tell the pilot we’re ready to go. Everyone should get comfortable.”

Will moved into the spot Hook had just relinquished. “So, you two are gettin’ along then.”

Emma pulled off her sunglasses and rolled her eyes. “No,” she said and she heard Regina snort again. “We’ve just been spending a lot of time together, which means we have to be civil.”

Will looked at her like he wasn’t buying anything that she was saying. “Seems ya two are quite civil . He’s not all that bad lookin’.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You and I are not seriously having this conversation, are we? I barely know you!”

Will huffed in annoyance. “You know me; we took a lovely trip to New York together.”

“Not by choice.”

“Details. Point is, we’re friends, you and I can talk about this stuff.” Will stood and moved so that he was sitting next to Regina. Not quite done with the conversation, he turned back to look at her and quickly added, “and don’t think I missed the fact that you didn’t deny he wasn’t bad lookin’,” before turning away.

If Emma could still blush she would have. Instead, she fixed her eyes forward and sipped at her champagne. Whatever rum Hook had been drinking had been good stuff, she could feel it loosening her up already.

Hook emerged from the cockpit, speak of the devil, no pun intended, and made his way back over to her. “Champagne treating you nicely, Swan?” He sat down next to her, keeping a distance between them.

Emma hummed affirmatively. “The rum wasn’t too bad either. Hopefully it’ll help me get through this flight.”

Hook looped his hands behind his head, looking quite content. “Won’t be that bad. Just take a nap and we’ll be there right quick.”

Emma froze up, her blood turning to ice in her veins. He couldn’t possibly know how much the simple prospect of falling asleep scared her, and she didn’t want him to. “I’m actually quite rested, so you know, I’ll probably just chill. Or something,” she shrugged, failing miserably at appearing nonchalant.

Hook stared at her. He stared at her for a very long time. So long, in fact, that Emma began to squirm under his gaze. She thought he’d call her out, she could tell he knew. Instead, he just nodded and gave her a tight smile. “Very well,” he said. “Do whatever it is you need to do.” With no warning he stood up from the couch and made his way to a bar in back to refill his glass.

Emma stared at him as he began to make small talk with the stewardess. The woman was clearly a demon, there was no other angelic presence on the plane other than her own. She watched the petite redhead bat her eyelashes at him and swat his arm playfully.

It shouldn’t bother her, she knew that.

But it did.

She didn’t know why. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know why either. They had both made it expressly clear that they weren’t close. She wasn’t sure she’d even call him a friend.

Emma watched the stewardess push herself up against Hook and felt her stomach twist in knots.

Tipping her champagne back into her throat, she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

Emma’s first impression of jolly old England wasn’t exactly a positive one.

Granted, she was in a pissy mood when they landed, having been hovering between sleep and wake for the last 6 hours. Everyone else had slept for the majority of the flight, but she had been too petrified of what might happen if she allowed herself to drift off. She had probably been amusing to watch, given that every half hour or so she’d find herself succumbing to sleep only to jolt up like she’d been electrocuted. Hook had caught her once, and while he’d shot her a questioning look, he still hadn’t asked.

It was raining when they landed, and while Emma assumed it was just typical London weather, she couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t her newly discovered weather party trick. Judging by the way Regina was staring at her with a judgmental look, she suspected that could be a part of it. Then again, when was Regina not shooting her a judgmental look?

She noticed the two black Range Rovers waiting for them on the tarmac as they deplaned, and turned to raise an eyebrow at Will, who was coming down the steps behind her.

“Probably Hook’s,” he shrugged, and she could tell he was as in the dark about their plan of action as she was.

Emma watched as Hook, who was leading them off the plane, made a beeline to one of the cars, where a man in a red cap was waiting. “You all remember -”

“Smee,” Emma finished for him as she stopped in front of the demon. “Nice to see you again.”

Smee didn’t even spare her a glance. “You didn’t tell me a bird was coming, Sir.”

Hook, who had been staring at Emma for the entire conversation, turned and looked at the man with unbridled outrage. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t under the impression that it was me who was reporting to you? Have you forgotten who’s in charge?”

Another demon, who had been standing off to the side, one that Emma didn’t recognize, spoke up. “Well sir, maybe if you hadn’t been wasting time in Boston we wouldn’t have forgotten.”

There was always a moment of pure and absolute calm before the chaos hit. It was a moment of silence, of peace, that Emma had yet to experience anywhere else. Whenever it happened, she felt an almost euphoric high. She was certain that was a bad thing, that it said something about her character that she felt the best when the world was at its worst. She really was a horrible angel.  

Emma felt that euphoria as she watched Hook turn to stare at the demon. It was only when she felt darkness saturate the air that she realized things were about to go horribly wrong.

Hook seemed to make a split second decision, one Emma had no time to react to, and swung out his arm, sinking his hook deep into the man’s neck. He dug in deep, making sure to twist it around before quickly pulling it out. Hook stepped back as black blood, characteristic of a demon, began to pour from his subordinate’s neck.

Emma looked on in mute horror as the demon clutched at his neck before falling to the ground, dead. She then proceeded to stare at the body for what felt like hours as Hook wiped his weapon off with a handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket.

It was Will who took it upon himself to fill in the silence. Turning to Regina he smirked and said, “I thought you were bad.”

Regina, who had been watching the whole situation unfold with apparent disinterest, hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder. “Mouth off like he did and I can assure you I’m much worse,” she replied, boredom leaking into her voice. “Shall we go.”

Emma looked up, her tranquility and subsequent shock were quickly giving way to rage. “Are you kidding me? What about the body?”

Hook stared at her, confusion and annoyance on his face. “What about it?”

Emma stared at him, exasperated at his actions over the past twenty four hours. “You can’t just leave it here! Isn’t there someone we can call? His family?”

Hook regarded her with a neutral expression. “He doesn’t have any family.”

The angel huffed in reply. “I’m sure there’s someone who cares about him.”

He smiled at her, as if he were enjoying her frustration. Maybe he just liked arguing with her. “There’s no one. Besides, anyone who has any sort of kind words to say about him, and I assure you, there are none, work for me. Considering I just killed him, people aren’t going to be lining up to attend a funeral. We’ll leave the body here, someone will dispose of it.”

Emma was about to shout at him, scream at him, ask him why he didn’t get it. Instead, she let her shoulders slump. He was clearly past reasoning with. Instead, she moved to grab the dead man’s shoulders and began to tug.

Hook did little to hide his surprise. “What are you doing?”

Emma didn’t look up from her task. She pulled the body along the asphalt easily; her angelic strength making the bulky man seem light as a feather. “You made it clear that anyone who is afraid of you isn’t going to do anything,” she spat.

He was evidently still confused. “Aye, so what are you doing?”

Emma looked up to meet his gaze. “Doing something.”

Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. His face shifted into a sneer, and he grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her upright. His hand remained squeezing her shoulder as he whispered, “You seem to be under the idiotic assumption that there’s a way to skirt around violence in this world. I don’t know how things work in the world of birds, but let me clear something up for you, for us,” Hook looked at Regina, Will, and Smee. “Killing is a necessity. If you don’t assert your dominance, you die. If you show weakness, you die. If you allow people to tread on you in any way shape or form, you die. Get it?”

Emma shook him off. He clearly hadn’t learned that she wasn’t one to be easily deterred. That, and she absolutely despised being talked down to. “I may not be as old as you, but I’m not stupid. I know about the ins and outs of the ethereal world, and believe me , things aren’t sunshine and lollipops on the other side of the fence either. I know it’s kill or be killed. Doesn’t mean you need to enjoy it. Doesn’t mean that you can’t feel bad about ending a life.”

Hook stepped back, and it was one of those rare instances where he seemed unsure. “You don’t know what kind of person he was,” he muttered.

He was right, there was no denying it. But so was she, and so she asked, “Do you? Do you know who his parents were, because at some point he had them. Do you know if he had siblings? Maybe a dog? Hell, he could’ve been married. Do you know the answers to any of those questions? He was a person before you decided he was nothing.” Emma paused. She usually liked to attribute behavior like this to her angelic side, but this was different. This was different and she wanted him to see that. “If it were you what would you want?” She knew what his answer would be before he even said it, but she tried anyway.

Sure enough, he didn’t disappoint. “I don’t deserve -“

She interrupted him. “Look I know you’ve done some messed up stuff, but your crippling self-hatred aside, what would you want?” She needed him to know that this wasn’t just about this specific man. This was about any loss of life and the tragedy it symbolized. She needed him to know that even for people like him, people like her, there would at least be someone to take care of things at the very end. “I’m burying him.”

Emma went back to dragging the body across the tarmac, trying to get to the grass a little ways away. She watched as the black blood smeared against the pavement and, whether it was her doing or not, she was grateful for the rain. She wasn’t sure how long it would take for his body to lose its ethereal power, and become similar to that of a normal human. At the very least she knew it would decompose eventually. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t even hear him approaching.

His voice was so quiet that even she had to strain to hear him. She didn’t think he whispered out of shame, but rather so that she would be the only one who could hear. “I cannot be seen as weak.”

Emma let the body fall for a moment as she straightened up to really look at him. There was something in his face that looked apologetic, but she had a sense it was more for her sake than his. She knew what he thought of her. That she was perfect, a beacon of moral behavior. The fallen all thought that about angels, that they had no spine and had never experienced true struggle, because if they had surely they would’ve embraced the dark. So Emma met his eyes and allowed her voice to drop into a whisper as well. “There are worse things than that.”

He didn’t say anything this time, and for that she was grateful. Hook looked on as she made her way to the edge of the tarmac, being careful to avoid the blood on the ground. God forbid he get his shoes dirty. Come to think of it, they were probably worth more than Emma’s life.

The angel laid the dead demon carefully on the wet earth. Her boots dug ever so slightly into the mud, and she was grateful the ground was soft; it would make digging easier.

“You don’t have a shovel,” Hook remarked ever so helpfully.

Emma gave him an exasperated look. “Thank you, for that wonderful observation. Nothing gets past you, does it? I’ll just use my hands.”

It was his turn to look put out. She half expected him to chastise her in his usual patronizing tone, but instead he moved past her towards the body. With no explanation, he pulled out the handkerchief he’d used earlier to wipe the blood off his hook. It was stained a dark black color. He looked over at her expectantly. “Go on then,” he commanded.

Emma was absolutely sure he had lost it. Regina had warned her before she’d met him that he was unhinged. “What?”

Hook looked at her like he was amazed she remembered how to breath. “Set it alight,” he said like it was the most obvious thing.

“What?” Emma repeated.

He let his arm drop for a moment. “Set the damn thing alight. I’m not going to have you rolling about in the mud; you’ll get the car dirty, so we’ll just burn the body.”

Emma quirked an eyebrow. “You want to cremate him?” She asked slowly.

Hook nodded, seemingly pleased she was finally getting the point, or, maybe he was just happy he’d come up with the idea. Probably the latter. “And since heat and light are your kind’s area of expertise,” he explained as he dangled the handkerchief in front of her face once more.

There was something in his eyes, an almost earnest look, that kept her from arguing with him. He seemed to be trying to appease her, in his own unique way. He was trying to understand where she was coming from, and while there were still issues between them, she wouldn’t ignore the gesture. So, with a pronounced eye-roll, she twitched her fingers and the cloth went up in flames.

Hook quickly tossed it onto his former employee’s body, and soon enough his cotton t-shirt also caught fire. “Satisfied?”

Emma watched as the fire quickly worked its way up the demon’s body. Emma’s magic was strong, so the rain did little to dampen the flames. She didn’t meet his eyes as she croaked out a “yes,” before turning and marching back towards Regina and Will. “Let’s go,” she called.

The angel hadn’t realized the rain had picked up until Regina was staring at her pissed and soaking. “What? You two don’t want to continue your little melodrama? Perhaps we should go roast marshmallows over his burning body and sing Kumbaya!”

“I told you to wait in the car,” Will muttered under his breath, but it was loud enough for Regina to hear, and she shot him a withering look.

“You work for me, Scarlet, so I’d be careful what you say next.”

Emma pushed past the two of them. “Let’s just go to the hotel,” she called as she yanked the car door open.

From behind her, Regina let out a sharp laugh. “Ms. Swan, I wasn’t under the impression that you were staying at the hotel with us.”

Emma paused and maybe it was the exhaustion, but Regina’s words weren’t making any sense. “What are you talking about?”

The Queen smirked at her and Emma was briefly reminded of those girls who used to make fun of her in high school for wearing the same thing everyday. “I wasn’t aware you could afford to stay at Claridge’s, and on such short notice too. I guess they’re paying Boston PD better than I assumed.”

Emma was in front of Regina in, literally, a flash, rage flooding her veins as the demon’s words clicked. “You didn’t book me a damn hotel room? Anywhere?!”

Regina stepped forward to meet her, still maintaining her superior facade. “I’m not your personal assistant, Ms. Swan. It’s not my job to find you accommodations.”

Emma let out a disbelieving laugh and as she readied herself to give Regina the smackdown she deserved, but Hook was in between them before she could.

“No reason to go at it ladies,” he purred in a voice Emma suspected was usually reserved for getting human’s to do his bidding.

“Can’t say I’m surprised really. Ms. Swan’s complete and utter inability to show any degree of competency is all too familiar at this point.”

Emma reared up, but this time Hook physically restrained her. “Let me kick her ass,” Emma argued, and she knew she could probably get away from him, but she stopped herself for the moment.

Hook moved so that his lips were at her ear, his head turned away from Will and Regina. “Not worth it, Swan, as much as I wouldn't mind seeing that. Just go get in the car.”

She felt his grip loosen and she debated just lunging at Regina. She didn't want to do any permanent damage, obviously, Henry would be pissed, but she wouldn’t mind smacking her upside the head. Nevertheless, she heeded Hook’s words and slowly backed towards the car. She was sure she looked childish, but she kept her eyes on Regina, and it took everything in her not to do the “I’m-watching-you” sign.

Emma waited impatiently in the Range Rover, her knee bouncing up and down as Hook exchanged words with Regina and Will. Smee was in the driver’s seat, watching her with calculating eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I don’t like you,” he said suddenly.

She didn’t turn to meet his gaze. “How will I live?” She replied dryly.

Smee turned around in his seat so that he was facing her head on. They then proceeded to engage in a staring contest for a good minute and a half before he spoke again. “I don’t like you, and I don’t like whatever is going on between you and my leader, but, all that aside, I respect you.” Emma’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the little demon continued. “I respect you for what you did for Hank.”

Emma nodded, suddenly understanding. “He’s the one who died?”

Smee faced forward again, not saying anything. “I don’t like you, but I respect you.”

Emma wasn’t quite sure what to say, and judging by what she could see of Smee’s facial expression in the mirror, she sensed the conversation was over. So, instead she said, “Tell me something, because I’m curious, how do your tiny little legs even reach the gas pedal in this thing?”

Smee smiled.

She was in his house.

When he’d informed her all too casually that she’d stay at his place, she’d vehemently rejected the idea. They’d been blurring the imaginary line she’d drawn between them since Lily’s, and now he was proposing they just skip right over it. She wasn’t sure when he’d decided to throw all the rules out the window, but she wasn’t about to allow it.

He kindly told her that she could spend the night on a bench in Hyde Park if she wanted, since she had no other options. She’d almost done that, but it was still raining pretty heavily and she wasn’t in the mood to be both exhausted and soaking.

So now she was in his fucking house.

It was a beautiful home, although she’d expect nothing less from Mr. “I’m-looking-to-expand-my-fleet-of-private-jets-because-my-current-one-is-too-small.” He lived in Kensington in a big white terraced house, well, technically, four white terraced houses that were all connected. He owned the entire block. Which was completely normal and average and she was handling it all very well.

By very well she meant she was not handling it at all, at all.

Granted, she knew that Regina liked luxury, but she was quickly discovering that was apparently a characteristic of creatures of the dark. The property wasn’t what she would’ve expected for a demon, and, more specifically, for him. It was a very bright space, with floor to ceiling windows and white walls. Every room that she’d been in had a massive fireplace, and various trinkets that he must’ve collected over the years were scattered about the house. She couldn’t imagine how much that stuff was worth.

It did, however, feel a lot like a museum. The place lacked a warmth that she’d come to recognize in most homes. In fact, it was oddly reminiscent of Lily’s apartment save for the difference in opulence. There were no photos, nothing was out of place, and the entire house was the temperature of a morgue. Someone existed in this space, but it wasn’t truly lived in. “When was the last time you were here?” Emma asked as she stared at a painting hanging above the fireplace in one of the sitting rooms. It was an odd piece, a bunch of different colored blobs spread out on a canvas. She did her best to ignore the name scribbled in the bottom right corner, because, if it had truly been painted by him, it likely cost upwards of a million dollars.

Hook, who had been standing in the hallway texting someone, entered the room. “Couldn’t tell you. I spend most of my time in and out of hotels on business,” he called from behind her. The demon paused, and she could practically feel the smirk forming on his face. “Or pleasure.”

Emma rolled her eyes and moved to run her finger across a golden telescope on the mantle. “What is it that you do?”

“I’m an investor,” Hook said much too quickly. Emma turned to see him standing there, scratching at his ear, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

It was her turn to smile. “For someone who pretends to be as confident as you do, you sure don’t like to talk about yourself.”

He shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Let me show you to your room, I already had your bag put upstairs.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Hook shot her a disbelieving look. “Nonsense, Swan. It was the least I could do,” he said before he exited the room.

She was certain his mood changes were going to give her whiplash one of these days. Pulling her purse higher on her shoulder, she followed him down the hallway. With each room they passed, she made sure to peek inside where doors were open. Maybe something in them would finally clue her in as to what game he was playing. They made their way to the end of the hall, and he slowly began to make his way up a staircase.

“That,” he pointed to a painting hanging above the stair landing. “Was done by my brother.”

Emma stopped walking and felt the breath rush out of her lungs. It seemed to have been off-hand comment, but Hook never struck her as the type to give up personal details. “You have a brother?” She whispered.

Hook didn’t meet her eyes, and he tensed up as he seemingly realized that he had just revealed something deeply personal about himself. “I had a brother,” he breathed.

The middle of the stairs wasn’t really the ideal place to be having this conversation, but she couldn’t drop it. “What happened to him?” Their voices were so low they weren’t audible to human ears.

Hook gave her a tight smile and looked up at the painting. “The same thing that happens to all of them.”

It all made sense to her then. Why he was so blunt about Henry’s fate on that first plane ride, why he promised David to keep her safe at Lily’s, even when he insisted that he would never hurt her brother. She had known that he’d probably experienced loss during his many years, they all had at one point or another, but this was different. He’d had a brother. “You know firsthand how fragile humans are,” she reiterated, more to herself than him.

“I wasn't talking about humans,” he replied, interrupting her train of thought. Without another word he turned and walked the rest of the way up the stairs.

Emma paused, trying to make sense of his words. Realizing that he was moving very quickly down the hallway, and that she didn’t want to get lost in his gigantic house, she raced after him. “What do you mean? Who were you talking about?” She shouted.

He stopped abruptly in front of a door on the right and she almost bumped into him. He didn’t speak as he produced a key from his back pocket and shoved it into the door. Swinging it open he looked pointedly at her as he said, “I was talking about the good.”

Emma stared at the ceiling.

There was a tiny crack in the crown molding in the far right corner. Directly above her there was a dark smudge and the paint was slightly chipped, as though someone had thrown something up there. The chandelier, which had probably been connected to a gas line, had six white bulbs, one of which appeared to be slightly loose.

She’d knew all this because she’d been staring at it for nearly six hours, having completely familiarized herself with the layout of the room. It was a beautiful space, with big, ornate looking couches and a large four-poster white bed that was the most comfortable thing she’d laid on in a long time. If only she could fall asleep.

It was three in the damn morning, and she was wide awake.

She was just trying to do her civic duty and make sure that she didn’t murder anyone while she slept. Such a good Samaritan. Letting out a sigh, she swung her legs out of the bed and stood up. If she was forced to stay awake she might as well poke around a bit. She was sure Hook would object to it, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Emma allowed light magic to pour through her hand, using it as a makeshift flashlight to guide her way down the hallway. She was surprised at how many paintings lined the wall; she wouldn’t have pegged him as an art snob. A vast majority were nautically themed, and she vaguely wondered if perhaps he’d been a sailor at some point in his life. Moving quickly through the darkness, she made her way over the stairwell, and creeped down slowly. She wasn’t sure what part of the house his bedroom was in, and she didn't want to risk waking him up. When she reached the bottom floor, she proceeded to wander around aimlessly, occasionally pausing to examine some sort of bauble. Eventually, she found her way into the kitchen, which she could only assume from the quiet, but familiar, hum of a refrigerator. Emma decided that perhaps she’d indulge in a late night snack, at the very least she could try and find his undoubtedly expensive stash of alcohol. She felt along the wall, searching for a light switch. Angels heightened senses were dulled ever so slightly in the dark, so it took her a little longer than usual. After what felt like an eternity, she finally found it, smiling as she flicked it on.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Hook called.

Emma shot up and let out a startled yelp. He was leaning against the kitchen counter wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with an amused expression on his face. She closed her eyes and tried to get her heartbeat under control as she muttered, “Don’t do that.”

Hook held up his hand and hook in mock surrender. “I figured you knew I was here.”

Emma’s shoulders sagged as she finally calmed down. She made her way over to the nearest cabinet, undeterred in her hunt for food. “Yeah, well I didn’t.” Pausing, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Is it possible that I could be growing used to your presence? We have been spending an inordinate amount of time together.”

Hook chuckled quietly. “Perhaps. I haven't spent enough time with your kind to know if that’s a thing that occurs.”

The angel nodded and opened the cupboard, annoyed to find it empty. She quickly moved on to the refrigerator to find it equally as barren. “What the hell?” She shot Hook an annoyed look, demanding an explanation.

“Why would I stock my house with foods I can’t eat?” He shrugged and took a sip of rum out of a glass Emma hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Emma huffed and moved so that she was leaning against the counter next to him. “You can still eat food, you just can't really taste all that much of it. It’s good to keep up with the habit.”

Hook twirled the glass around in his hand, so that the amber liquid spun at the bottom. “Yes, well, I don’t have anyone living with me who would need access to human food, nor do I have any need maintain that habit. Rum, on the other hand, has proven to still be a necessity.”

The angel paused, unsure how to respond. Smirking, she plucked the glass from his hand and hoisted herself up onto the counter, so that she was now sitting on it. “Were you a sailor?”

Hook’s head whipped around quickly to look at her. “Why do you ask?”

Emma placed the glass against her lips. “You have a lot of pictures of boats, and, well, there’s your affinity for rum,” she pointed out before tipping the liquid into her mouth.

Hook looked away from her. “I suppose you could say that,” he replied. There was a long silence, as he appeared to be debating with himself, and then, “my brother and I were in the Royal Navy.”

She nearly choked on her drink. “You were what?” She was surprised at how much she was discovering about him over the course of a few hours. Emma had no idea what had prompted him to open up, but she wasn’t about to tell him to stop.

He gave her a tight smile and swallowed nervously, still not meeting her gaze. “Aye, he was Captain of a ship in the Queen’s Navy, The Jewel of the Realm. I was Lieutenant.”

Emma couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her at the thought of him wearing a navy uniform. “You were a lieutenant in the Navy?”

He finally looked over at her, and while he looked affronted, he was smiling. “And a damn good one at that. Does that surprise you, Swan?”

Emma let out a very unladylike snort. “No, of course not. You, in the Navy, that’s exactly what I would expect given what I know about you.” Her amusement was short-lived, however, as a new thought popped into her head. He couldn’t have been older than thirty when he died, and she knew that six hundred years ago they probably enlisted them young, but there was a good chance that’s how he’d met his end. “Did you die while you were serving?”  

Hook paused, and she was sure he wasn’t going to tell her anything else. Instead, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Quickly, so quickly the words blurred together, he gave her his answer. “I was born in 1350, right at the beginning of what’s now commonly referred to as the Hundred Years War. My brother and I joined the Navy when we were teenagers, and worked our way up from there. In 1372 I fought in the Battle of La Rochelle, it was a huge navy battle and we were slaughtered. That’s when I lost my hand.” He stopped then, drawing in another breath.

She could tell this was where things were about to take a turn. Without thinking, she reached forward and grabbed his hand, which was curled into a fist. She held on until he loosened up just enough so that she could intertwine their fingers together. Giving him a reassuring squeeze, she waited until he was ready to continue.

“Western Europe was in complete and total chaos. The Black Death had wiped out a large part of the population, and taxes were high because of the war. The peasants were hit the hardest, as they always are, and they decided to take action. They rebelled and tried to kill anyone they thought was associated with the royal government. I thought,” he cut himself off then, sighing heavily. “Liam, my brother, told me that it was our duty to protect those under our care, the very same people that were being targeted. He died trying to save as many people as he could. I was turned into this.”

Hook didn’t say anything, and Emma started rubbing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. She was having trouble processing his words, the sheer magnitude of what he was telling her weighing heavy on her heart. To lose your life and your humanity was one thing, but to lose the only family you had was an entirely different ballgame. She wanted to know when he’d become a demon, but she recognized now wasn’t the time. So instead she asked the most important question she had. “Why are you telling me all this?”

He finally looked at her, and he really looked. There was something else in his eyes too, a softness that she’d never seen there prior to this moment. He cocked his head and, in spite of it all, he smirked at her. “What you said a while back, in Regina’s office, about not being able to trust me; it shouldn’t have bothered me.” The smile dropped from his face as his tone became deadly serious. “It shouldn’t have, but it did. I’m not pretending to be a good person, and I’m not saying you should, but I’d like you to feel that you can trust me.”

Emma had completely forgotten she’d even said that. She mulled over his words, and she knew he wasn’t expecting a response, but she found she wanted to give him one. “Hey, I know what I said, but I do trust you, Hook. When push comes to shove, I know you’ve got my back. Believe it or not, you’re one of the few people that I feel comfortable opening up to.” She paused then, and this time she was the one smiling. “But lay a hand on my brother again, and I’m gonna have to kill you.”

Hook rewarded her with a laugh. “Understood and respected.”

Seeking to change the subject, she asked, “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

Hook bristled visibly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for an encounter with Mr. Supremely Delusional, but I also reckon I don’t have much of a choice. See what you drag me into,” he tacked on with a very forced smile.

“You two know each other?”

It was becoming quite apparent this was a subject he wasn’t interested in discussing, but he humored her nonetheless. “We’ve bumped into each other a few times, none of our encounters ended very well. He used to have a working relationship with the man who taught me my mind trick.”

It took Emma a moment to understand what he was referring to, and when she finally grasped that he was talking about his ability to inflict mental torture, she was understandably surprised. “Someone taught you that skill?”

Hook grimaced. “Aye, Love, even the most skilled protege needs a teacher. He was a nasty demon, very powerful. I can’t overstate that. He saw something in me, I guess, and took me under his wing. Taught me everything I know, although I’m not sure why. He never did anything like that again, as far as I know.”

“What happened?”

She didn’t really know what she expected, only that whatever had happened had clearly been bad.  

The demon’s jaw flexed and his expression shifted into one Emma had never seen before. “We had a falling out, the details of which are unimportant. It’s a story for another time.” With that, he sent a clear message; the conversation was over. Maybe not forever, but at least for now.

She was never one to be forthcoming with sentiment, but he’d told her a lot, and it only seemed fair to give him something. Emma knew she shouldn’t tell him. She shouldn’t tell anyone. Yet, she’d just said herself that she trusted him, and for some strange reason she believed it. She knew that he wouldn’t tell anyone else, that he wouldn’t give her up. They weren’t friends, not really, but they understood each other. It was that mutual understanding that prompted her to say, “I had another dream, or, memory. That’s what they are; memories.” She was sure of that now, that she was reliving moments from some past life she couldn’t remember. “I met this homeless guy in New York when I came to find you, and I just gave him some money but he seemed to recognize me. Then he cropped up in my dream except he was just a kid and I was wearing some weird 1960’s-esque outfit which is odd because that would mean-“

“That you were having a memory from the 1960’s,” Hook interrupted. He was nodding slowly to himself, seemingly lost in thought.

Emma shook her head vehemently, not wanting it to be true.“But that’s not possible because I wasn’t alive during the 1960’s. Then I woke up and I was covered in dirt and I’d written on my wall in red paint Nesir Sah Roivas Eht.” Every time she closed her damn eyes she kept seeing that message. It was killing her that she didn’t know what it meant; Hook, Regina, and Google Translate had all confirmed that it wasn’t written in a foreign language, so what the hell was it?

“The message we keep seeing at all the crime scenes.”

Emma rolled her eyes and let out a humorless laugh.“Yes, thank you for reiterating all of these things,” she muttered before continuing. “So now I’m scared to close my eyes because what if I’m the one doing all this, what if I’m the killer?”

Hook turned to look at her, and he seemed genuinely concerned. “When was the last time you slept?”

The question, not in line with the rest of the conversation, took her off guard.“What?”

“When was the last time you slept, and I mean a good, hard, restful sleep? That’s what you need.”

Emma scoffed. “Did you not just hear what I was saying?”

She hadn’t realized that they were still holding hands, that she was clutching onto him like a life line, until he was tugging her off the counter. “Come on then,” he commanded as he dragged her down the hallway.

“Where are we going?”

“To your room,” he answered like it was obvious.

Emma stopped walking, he wasn’t listening. “Hook-“

He interrupted her by giving a sharp tug. “I will sit on the chair and watch you to make sure you don’t do anything psychotic,” he explained quickly.  

Emma raised an eyebrow, voice dropping with disbelief. “You’re going to watch me sleep?”

“In a very non-creepy way, of course.” He gave her a patronizing smile as he quickly added, “I’ll make sure you don’t murder anyone.”

With that the two headed the rest of the way up the stairs, Emma still confused at his ever shifting moods. She knew she wasn’t useful without any sleep, and she was loathe to admit that having him there might finally be enough to get her to rest. At least then she wouldn’t be so damn afraid of herself.

He dropped her hand when they entered her room, and she was surprised by the sudden coldness she felt at the lack of touch. She watched as he made his way over to one of the couches in the corner, and she hadn’t realized how uncomfortable they looked until now.“You can sit on the bed,” she muttered as she herself got under the covers.

It was Hook’s turn to be surprised. “What?” The disbelief in his voice was almost comical.

“You can sit on the bed.” She didn’t like the idea of him literally studying her while she slept, and with him on the couch that’s very much what it felt like. However, she also realized it would be breaking a lot of the boundaries that had been set up between them, so she added, “It’s a very big space, we won’t have to touch or anything, and you can stay on top of the covers. It’ll be more comfortable… for you.”

Hook smiled, seemingly on to her. “If you’re scared you can just tell me, Swan.”

“I’m not scared.” She was. She didn’t want him to know that, obviously, but he read her like an open book, so it wasn’t hard for him to figure out she was lying.

He didn’t call her out, the gentleman that he was. “Of course not.” Hook positioned himself so that he was sitting up against the headboard on top of the covers. His eyes scanned the room before landing on her, a lazy smirk on his face.

She would never admit it to him, but he really was beautiful, particularly when he wasn’t being insufferable. Suddenly, she was exhausted, the weight of the past few days slamming into her like a freight train. She couldn’t explain why his presence made her feel more at ease, she only knew that her eyes were finally drifting closed. “Goodnight, Killian.”

All she heard was a sharp intake of breath and a soft “Goodnight, Emma,” before sleep claimed her.