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aksannyi · 8 months ago

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Left Behind (1/1) - Captain Swan

Emma and Killian are urban explorers, taking camera crews and checking out abandoned spots to get footage of these liminal spaces for their docuseries - Emma's on YouTube, and Killian's on Netflix, when they converge on one location by complete coincidence. They argue over who has the rights to film this location when they find themselves trapped, and they come to realize that they’re more alike than not.

(I have been more than a bit obsessed with watching explorations of abandoned locations and learning their history and I just needed to put Killian and Emma in one of them.)

“Whoa, look at this place! This is so creepy!” Mary Margaret lowered the camera she’d been holding to take in their surroundings, her jaw dropping as it came into view.

The building loomed before them, its dark, brick exterior peeking out from behind the thick overgrowth of trees and vines. It was massive, so massive that they couldn’t see the full length of it from where they stood, and its dark, partially broken windows gave only the suggestion as to what the interiors once held.

Emma Swan, of YouTube fame, along with her friends (and camera crew) David and Mary Margaret, had always had a fascination with abandoned locations. There was something so unsettling about these liminal spaces, as though she could step within and be transported to a different time. Perhaps even be someone else for a while.

“How long has it sat here?” David was always amazed by just how much a space could decay in a short period of time, particularly with no upkeep.

“2005, I think?” Emma chimed in, taking her phone out to do a quick search of the location. “Yeah, 2005.”

“There’s no way this building is only 20 years old, Emma, look at it.” Mary Margaret said it with a wave of her hands, as if to punctuate her statement.

“No, that’s just how long it’s been abandoned. It was built like, a hundred years ago. But it’s only been left to rot since 2005.”

They walked toward the building, taking care not to trip over the cracks in the pavement. They’d parked Emma’s car a bit further away, so as to not arouse suspicion. It was best not to draw anyone’s attention to their excursions. “A hundred years old,” David mused. “That makes more sense. They were probably doing a bit of maintenance when it shut down, but couldn’t keep up with all the problems such an old place would have.”

“Okay, Bob Vila,” Emma teased. She always joked that David must have been a carpenter in his past life ‘or something,’ because he was always talking about the structure and maintenance of these places.

“I’m just saying. If this building was only twenty years old, it wouldn’t look like that. Even if no one so much as picked up a broom.”

“All right, all right,” Mary Margaret intervened. “Let’s hurry up and get inside before someone sees us.”

“You see anyone?” Emma had been keeping an eye on their surroundings as they approached, but it was always a good idea to make use of everyone’s senses.

“No,” David said, taking another glance around.

“Not a soul,” Mary Margaret confirmed.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54187552

They didn’t approach the front entrance of the building – that was almost certainly closed off, boarded up tight. Anyone wanting to keep someone out would have closed off the front door as their first line of defense, and it was probably the most heavily watched. Emma didn’t see any cameras, but if there were any, they’d be toward the main entrance of this dilapidated former hospital.

Instead, they headed toward an entrance to the side, which sat hidden under an awning of sorts, almost like it had been a hotel. She could see cars driving through here, picking up and dropping off patients, or perhaps ambulances. She shivered at the thought. Hospitals were not exactly her favorite place to be, even when they weren’t abandoned.

“Can you get it?” Mary Margaret was saying, watching over David’s shoulder as he used a crowbar to pry the doors apart. They had clearly been glass doors once. The glass was long gone, of course, but the doors were firmly boarded against trespassers.

Such as themselves. “Almost…” he grunted. “There!” The crowbar clanged to the ground loudly, startling all three of them as it echoed through the quiet space.

“Come on,” Emma beckoned, prying the doors a bit further apart and stepping carefully inside. They would have to try to close them when they left, so it would be best if they didn’t break anything.

“Oh my god,” Mary Margaret breathed as she took in the space.

It was a mostly empty room, save for a few thick support pillars, all of which had peeling paint and graffiti. “I FUCKED UR MOM” one of them proudly proclaimed, while others were considerably less coherent. There were a good number of swastikas and racial slurs throughout, and Emma rolled her eyes at the amount of blurring they’d have to do so that kind of crap would get minimal exposure. There were already enough assholes on the internet, no need to stoke those flames. She continued looking around, noting that the walls looked much the same, although there had clearly been a two-toned paint pattern, with some peeling wallpaper in a few spots.

A handful of chairs were scattered about, two of which were joined together, as waiting room chairs often were. One was turned on its side, and papers were scattered all around the floor – almost none of them containing anything legible, though a poster reminding patients about skin cancer still warned against the dangers of UV rays, even from its crinkled spot on the floor.

Some ceiling tiles were missing from the space, and stripped wires hung down, unimpeded. Some of the tiles lay broken on the ground, while a few others leaned against a wall. All of the fluorescent bulbs had been taken out, leaving only the shell of what was undoubtedly a bright, buzzing interior. A few boxes sat in the corner, their age apparent by the way they sagged beneath their own weight, and a lamp sat overturned, its lightbulb and shade both long gone.

“Wow,” Emma breathed, impressed. The first sight of any of these places was always the most breathtaking, and this was no exception. She knew that David had gotten her reaction, while Mary Margaret was busy filming the scenery.

“Smells kinda…musty,” Mary Margaret said, crinkling her nose at the smell.

“That’s an understatement.”

David was sure to keep Emma firmly in the frame, the light from his camera casting unnatural shadows in the darkened space.

“You’d think, with all the broken windows…” she trailed off. Would it really air out that much, with such a small amount of exposure to the outside air? Sure, there were plenty of broken windows, but many of them had been boarded up, and the ones that weren’t were quite a way off the ground.

“Well there’s a lot of dust,” David said, kicking at the dirt on the ground. The building seemed to hear them, as one of the ceiling tiles that had been leaning against the wall fell over, kicking up a cloud of dust that caused all three of them to start coughing. Sometimes, Emma wondered if it wouldn’t be a good idea for them to wear protective masks or something.

Emma cleared her throat, reaching into her backpack for a bottle of water. “You’re getting all of this, right?” She took a swig, then tossed it over to David, who caught it deftly, even with the massive camera on his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he confirmed.

“Good.”

Emma continued to walk around the space slowly, taking in everything. This was only the first room, a waiting area of sorts, and she knew there would be plenty of other spaces to explore. This type of abandoned building was a gold mine for decay junkies like her viewers. (And herself, obviously.)

“Look, some of the furniture is still here. Ugh, look at all that mold on the cushions. It amazes me how they just leave these places. It’s like one day they just…stopped coming here. Like they just locked the doors one day and never came back. Everything just left here.”

“That’s actually true though. This part of the building was never used as anything after the hospital closed.”

“Yeah, I think they wanted to use it but couldn’t find a tenant.”

“Hard to imagine why,” Emma murmured dryly. The building was in horrible condition, that much was clear.

“Well, it looks like looters did pretty well for themselves,” David commented, noting the obvious lack of furniture, fixtures, and even coverings for the electrical outlets.

A shrill, quick beep sounded from down a hallway, and all three of the occupants jumped in surprise.

“Oh Jesus! Was that a fire alarm? Low battery?” Emma would never admit it to a single soul, but the mournful chirping of a dying smoke detector was probably one of the most unsettling sounds in the universe. She hated that sound. She always changed the batteries in her smoke detector well before they could ever hope to get to the point of alerting her that they were barely clinging to life.

“I think so, yeah,” David confirmed.

Emma was unnerved. “How long has that thing just been beeping every few minutes?”

“Probably as long as the building has been vacant.”

“That’s so creepy,” Mary Margaret breathed, and Emma nodded in agreement. Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.

The alarm chirped again insistently, and all three of them startled again, despite knowing to expect it.

“Case and point,” Mary Margaret added unnecessarily.

“Like they just up and left! Those things have battery backup, but they’re mostly electric, right David?” He nodded. “But the electricity has been off for years, and that thing has been beeping pitifully ever since?”

“There’s no way,” David supplied. “No batteries are that good. I wonder if they just keep a few smoke detectors rigged up in case of fire?”

“Ooh, yeah. Arson is a problem at some of these places.” Mary Margaret began to rattle off a list of other abandoned places, some of which had been burned to the ground by vandals looking to get a cheap thrill.

“But why would they care? The building is condemned. What difference does it make if it gets torched? They could rebuild something better.” Emma kicked at the ground, scoffing. “It isn’t like this place can be repaired.”

David shrugged under the camera. “Beats me.”

“Maybe it’s an insurance thing.” They would have to have smoke detectors on the premises to get an insurance settlement, right? That had to be it. The alarm chirped again, and Mary Margaret took a deep breath. “So how long would this one have been here before its battery dies?”

Emma set her backpack down on the ground and reached into her pocket for her phone. She clicked on a few things, then rattled off the answer: “This site says anywhere from a year to like, five years. Depends what batteries they used?”

“Really?” David seemed intrigued, and Emma knew that he would do some more research into this topic when they made it back to their hotel.

“Yeah, today I learned that smoke detectors work better with specific batteries.”

“Huh,” he responded, confirming that he, too, had learned this very thing today.

Beep

“That’s gonna get old,” Emma said, heaving a deep sigh.

David shrugged again. “Well, do you have a nine-volt battery?”

“Of course I don’t, David! Who the hell ever has a nine-volt battery?”

“Well then let’s just try to ignore it and keep going.”

Mary Margaret changed the subject. “Oh my god, look at this. That’s the reception desk.” She had walked across what had to have been the waiting area to a curved counter, faded turquoise, the formica cracked – and in some places, gone entirely. Above the counter, the outline of the letters RGEN Y were still visible, although many had been painted over by vandals, obscuring their original verbiage. “Look, you can still see the outline where the letters were. Wow, this was the ER.”

“Well, the ER waiting room. Or like, triage,” Emma corrected. The actual emergency rooms would be down the hallway a bit. She wondered if any of the beds or curtains were still there. Probably not.

“Wonder how many people died here?”

David coughed. “Good lord, MM, why are you so macabre?”

“Like seriously! I’m just saying! This place has got to be haunted.”

“We’re not Ghost Adventures,” Emma reminded her. While it would be cool to have a show on the Travel Channel alongside big name shows like Ghost Adventures, she wasn’t sure that their particular brand of entering – which often involved the “breaking” part of “breaking and entering” – would be palatable for TV, even for cable television.

“Oh, come on, Emma, they’d love this!” Mary Margaret’s eyes were shining. She loved the show, and even Emma had to admit that it was fun to watch late at night with the lights off. Even if Zak Bagans and his team were overdramatic as all get-out.

“All right, all right, now can you stop fangirling and get over here with the damn camera?”

She picked up the pace with a huff. “Coming.”

Emma was standing behind the reception desk, poking around. There had once been drawers, but they were long gone. A small piece of corroded wire stuck out from inside one of the recesses where the drawers used to be, and some broken glass sat atop the desk, covered in dust. “Look, there’s some files.”

Mary Margaret zoomed in on the small pile of paperwork. It was a stack less than a centimeter high, the file folders warped with moisture damage and mold. “Do they have anything important?”

“They’re all stuck together. But I’d really doubt that they were personal medical files just…left here.”

“That’d be one hell of a HIPAA violation. Did HIPAA even exist when this place was still operating?”

“Nice pun. And I think at the end? Maybe?” Emma shrugged. She didn’t really feel like looking it up this time, and the signal here was weak anyway. “These were probably like protocol files or something.”

“I guess we’ll never know,” David replied with an exaggerated inflection. “One of the great mysteries of this place.”

“Oh, not you too with the dramatic haunted house crap,” Emma grumbled. “You guys-“

Suddenly, there was a loud banging noise coming from somewhere else in the building, followed by a shuffling sound and a couple of thumps. All three of the explorers jumped before freezing, their eyes wide with fear.

“What the fuck was that?” Emma whispered, her voice wavering slightly.

“I told you this place was haunted.”

“Mary Margaret, I swear to-“

“A rat?” she supplied, keeping Emma from finishing whatever threat she’d been about to level.

“Would a rat have been that loud?” David asked, and they all knew the answer.

“No, but at least a rat wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve encountered.” A few years ago, they’d come across an angry, terrified raccoon. They had no intention of harming it, but the wild animal certainly hadn’t known that, and it looked like it wanted their blood. Instead of exploring further, they’d turned around and explored other parts of the building, hoping it’d leave them alone.

It had.

Emma, David, and Mary Margaret still stood in place, not moving. Just as Emma was about to shake it off and get them back into the exploration, another series of noises wafted toward them.

It was voices, and they were muffled. Emma could only make out every few words or so. “We’re on…Haven … Hospital … 2005. … 1987 … was built, and it … the years, but nothing … building, who had hoped … hotel, … to rot …fell through.” Whoever it was had quite a monologue going, Emma mused.

Mary Margaret sighed. “There are other explorers in here?”

“Who the hell?” David asked.

“I think I know who that is,” Emma said, and she hoped she was wrong. “Hello?” she called out, alerting the others to their presence.

From the distance, she could vaguely hear another voice saying something about reshooting.

Emma wasn’t amused. She knew they had heard her, so why were they ignoring her? “Who’s there?”

“The last thing we need…” they heard, as the voices inched closer, “…some amateurs out here causing trouble.”

The voices were nearing, and there was one she definitely recognized. Damn it, not this guy. “Yeah, we need to get these trespassers out of here. They’re a liability.”

Emma heard the word trespasser and her blood ran cold. Shit. She couldn’t afford to get another trespassing charge. While she and her crew were always careful, that didn’t stop curious, concerned citizens calling in on them, which resulted in their getting citations more often than not.

But another group of urban explorers wouldn’t rat them out, would they?

Suddenly, an entire entourage came around a corner, three men and a short woman. Emma knew all of them. Killian Jones, the star of a Netflix documentary series about abandoned places, and his crew, Robin, Will, and Belle.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she groaned as she spotted him, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms around her chest.

“Emma Swan,” Killian Jones said, looking as though he had just discovered buried treasure. Emma was far less amused at the sight of him, but then she realized that he’d said her name.

“You know me?”

“Of course I know you. We seem to explore quite a few of the same places. Killian Jones, at your service.” He stepped forward, offering his hand.

Emma didn’t take it. Instead, she stared him down. “I know who you are.”

He lowered his hand, wiping it on his jeans. “So then you understand why we’re here, exploring this place,” he said, as if that made the fact that he’d encroached on their shoot any less obnoxious.

“It’s a cool location that I’m sure will be extremely popular with my viewers.” Behind her, David coughed again, and she could practically hear Mary Margaret thinking, but neither said anything. They both knew about Emma’s dislike of Killian Jones and had listened to the way she’d rant about him after hate-watching his show. Neither David nor Mary Margaret understood Emma’s vitriol toward the man – or his series – but they were her friends, and friends let friends rant about Netflix docuseries and the smarmy British narrators who made them.

Or so Emma had said, once upon a time.

“I would say the same, which is why I’m here.”

Emma wasn’t budging. “Well I heard you talking about kicking us out of here. You don’t own the building, so you have no right.”

He stepped forward, and Emma steeled in her resolve not to move. She wouldn’t let this guy push her around. “Given how nervous you were when we came around that corner, it seems that you felt as though you were caught. Breaking and entering, Swan? Is that how you get to all these places the other YouTubers don’t ever seem to hit?”

“It appears that way, doesn’t it,” she said, leaving the last word to hang between them for a few minutes.

He shook his head. Behind him, she watched his crew stand silently, though a look passed between Belle and Will. “Tsk. Do your viewers approve?”

“I’m not stupid! I would never put anything incriminating on film. Which reminds me – you’re going to need to delete that footage.”

“Well this certainly got a bit more interesting,” he mused, and there was that look passing between his crew members again. Emma felt her hackles raising.

“Listen, we’re just here exploring. How we got in here is irrelevant, isn’t it?” David chimed in from behind Emma, sensing Emma’s growing annoyance. She turned her head and looked back over her shoulder, shaking it slightly. Let me handle this, was the message.

Killian was already replying. “I wouldn’t say that it’s irrelevant-“

“Isn’t it? We’re here now.” She shrugged slightly, scuffing her boot on the dusty floor. “But it also appears that you’re doing the same exact thing, so I don’t get why-”

“Not quite. You’re going to have to leave.”

“Hold on a minute, we were here first! And if you’re breaking in, too, I don’t see how you have the right to tell us we’re wrong. A bit hypocritical,” she pointed out. Killian rolled his eyes, but didn’t address the accusation.

“Ahh, but you see, I’m filming a professional production,” he supplied.

“What the hell do you think we’re doing?”

He shrugged. “Being amateurs,” was his response.

“Asshole,” she spat.

“An honest asshole.” Emma’s YouTube channel was very popular, and her videos got hundreds of thousands of views, but they weren’t, strictly speaking, professionals as far as the industry was concerned. It was one of the pitfalls of content creation platforms – it was a job, but at the same time, it wasn’t. And it pissed her off that Killian was right. They were amateur filmmakers. Talented amateur filmmakers, but amateurs nonetheless. That still didn’t give him the right to be a dick, though.

“Honest my ass! You don’t get to come in here and kick us out when you’ve just done the exact same thing you’ve accused us of doing. “

“I-“

She put her hand up to stop him, gesturing with her finger as she spoke. “So just turn around, walk your ass the other way, and get the hell out. We were here first.”

It was clear that she wasn’t going to listen to his explanation, so he decided he’d try to be diplomatic. This space was enormous, surely they could get enough unique footage to satisfy both of their audiences.

“Look, we’re both here now, why don’t we just do this together? You don’t have to get me in any shots, and I’ll keep you out of mine. We can agree to be silent while the other team is talking, aye?”

“Why would I do that? You’ll get all the same footage as us.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “While I might get some of the same footage as you, you may have noticed that this building is massive. And besides, why are you so worried about overlapping footage when your video will be posted before my film is edited and released?”

“Are you saying we don’t edit our footage?” Emma was rarely this easily angered, but he’d managed to strike every nerve he possibly could in the short time they’d been speaking to each other.

Killian drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Emma waited silently, giving him the opening to answer her question. She could tell that he was getting aggravated with her. Good, she thought. Maybe she’d piss him off enough that he’d get tired of arguing and just leave so they could get back to filming.

“I’m saying you’re not professionals. We are. And professional productions take time.”

“Fuck you. “

“Perhaps later, you may wish to clean yourself up first.”

She balked, resisting the urge to repeat her previous statement, lest he take it even further. “Listen, just because you’re some bigshot Netflix star doesn’t mean you get to treat everyone else around you like shit. My channel has been steadily growing for the past ten years, I have a solid viewership, and I know what I’m doing. So why don’t you take your big, expensive camera crew back around that corner and go fuck off to somewhere else.”

He shook his head. “After all the work I’ve done on this location? You’re mad.“

“All that work and yet, we still got here first.”

“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way then.” He nodded his head to one side, indicating that his crew should follow him. Robin had set his camera down, and he picked it back up, following Killian’s lead. “We’re on the site of the Mist Haven Memorial Hospital, which closed in 1987. It saw a few ownership changes in the time since, but fully closed – and was left abandoned – in 2005. When the-“

Emma started speaking over him. “We’re going to head down the hallway-“

He raised his voice, continuing, “they thought they could transform the building-“

“remnants they’ve left behind-“

Killian stopped, rolling his head back and interrupting her. “You’re polluting my footage.”

“You’re polluting my footage.”

They were in a standoff, staring each other down. Behind them, both crews stood quietly, watching but unwilling to interrupt. Emma narrowed her eyes, then Killian narrowed his. They both took twin deep breaths, and Killian tilted his head slightly with a saucy wink, knowing it would irritate her.

“Ugh!” This was going to cost so much extra time in editing, to remove all traces of Killian fucking Jones and his stupid fucking documentary voice. She turned around, motioning for Mary Margaret and David to follow her.

“Come around this way, look down this hallway! One of these rooms is where a nurse was stabbed.”

“Guess it’s a good thing they were already in the ER,” David supplied, and Emma let out a slight puff of air, amused. She was still annoyed, and she couldn’t seem to get a natural flow back knowing that Killian Jones was there, probably overhearing everything she said. She kept speaking, but despite her best efforts she couldn’t shake the feeling of being observed. She hoped that their footage past this point wouldn’t look forced or unnatural.

“This hallway is creepy,” Belle spoke up behind her, after having been instructed to also continue observing the space as though the other team was not there.

Killian continued into a nearby room, continuing his history lesson. “Back in this room, the founder of the hospital died, which was the first death knell in the lifespan of this hospital. A series-“

“Look at how this handrail is falling off!” Emma exclaimed, much louder than she’d have normally pointed out a feature of a location. Her team was still in the hallway, but she knew that her voice would carry and the other team would have to reshoot. She gloated inwardly. “David, zoom in on that.”

“Oh gross, it’s moldy,” Mary Margaret added, getting a different angle.

“Christ, that stinks,“ Emma continued, wrinkling her nose and stepping back.

“Opened back in 1927, this hospital saw the worst parts of the Great Depression, as people suffered from easily curable diseases they simply had no money to pay to eradicate. Suicides were at an all-time high, and many of the nurses sat right here on watch, trying to ensure-“

“This room is freezing,” Emma interrupted again, and Killian glared at her.

“Reshoot,” he said with a sigh, the obnoxious chirp of the dying smoke detector punctuating his statement. “You know, we could take turns-“

She interrupted, pretending to ignore him completely. “All these patients, all these rooms, now empty. Left to rot, like-“

“Water damage,” Killian pointed out, stepping in front of Emma’s crew and crouching near the baseboard to get a closer look at the line that indicated that there had been some type of flood.

“Really?!”

“What? You interrupted me, I feel it only right that I should do the same.”

“You’re the most aggravating-“

He stood back up, turning to face her, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “Hey now, I offered to share the space. You wanted to do this the hard way. So by all means, keep going. I’m going to do my job. My editors are going to charge me double for this.”

“Then get the hell out of my shots.”

“My shots.”

They stared each other down, but neither of them wanted to concede even an inch. “I’m wasting time,” Killian said to his crew, turning and continuing to talk about the location. “It’s eerie, isn’t it, the way this bedframe is just situated at an angle? It certainly wasn’t like that while the hospital was operable-“

“Oh my god, look at the writing in here! What the fuck does that even say?” She ran her fingers along the letters, faded from years of wear and tear, and unintelligible.

“Swan, you can’t curse on my footage,” he growled.

“I’m not on your footage.”

“Unfortunately, you are.”

“Emma-“ Mary Margaret began, but Emma ignored her, focusing solely on getting Killian Jones out of this damn abandoned hospital.

“Could you just go away?”

“No can do, Swan. I’ve a deadline to meet.”

“Killian-“ Robin spoke up, but he was also ignored.

They were standing at a doorway, and Emma turned to enter the room at the same time as Killian did. The doorway was not narrow, but they jostled for position all the same, Emma bracing her hand on the doorframe and standing with her legs far apart, raising her elbows to shove him when he tried to pass. “I was here first!”

He elbowed her back. “You keep saying that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got a film to make.”

David spoke up again, sighing. “Come on, Emma, we can go to the other side of the building.”

“Why should I? We got here first. They can go shoot over there and come back here later.” She stepped on Killian’s foot, and he kneed the back of her thigh. He was now bracing himself on the other side of the door frame, refusing to give an inch. It was childish, and they both knew it, but neither wished to be the one to forfeit.

“When there’s less light? Hardly.”

“Jones…” Will tried, as unsuccessfully as the other crew members, to get them to stop.

“Bugger off,” was Killian’s response as he took an elbow to the back.

“Let me in the goddamn room!”

“Watch your elbow,” he grunted out after she hit him with it a third time.

“Well, if you’d let me in the room I wouldn’t have hit you!”

“Listen, I offered for us to share-“ They were both bracing on the doorframe still, and he heard a slight cracking sound, as though the wooden frame was faltering. They both stopped, their limbs still half-entangled from their battle.

“What the fuck was that?” There was another crack, and Killian released the doorframe.

“We should probably-“

It was as if everything happened all at once: the building was creaking and groaning and the next minute, the foundation above the doorway was falling away, causing the beams from the ceiling to fall. He didn’t even think, just jumped toward her, pushing her toward the ground and out of the way of the falling beam. He landed on top of her with a grunt, but they seemed to have avoided the biggest pieces of debris.

A few more rumbles and they heard more of the building crashing down around them. He could hear Emma beneath him, screaming, and he couldn’t exactly blame her.

The dust settled. A small bit of light peeked through a crevice in the debris, and he could see that the space they were in was pretty tight – they’d narrowly missed being crushed to death.

They both spoke at the same time.

“Ahh, shit!”

“Bloody hell.”

“You can get off me whenever.”

He shuffled away carefully, trying to make sure he didn’t disturb anything that had fallen around them, in case the building wasn’t done yet “Sorry,” he apologized awkwardly.

“No… thank you.” He could tell what a supreme effort it took for her to thank him, but even Emma Swan couldn’t be so crude as to refuse to thank someone for saving her life.

“I do suppose gratitude is in order.”

“Yeah that’s why I thanked you. And I don’t think this is something you can flirt your way out of, hotshot. Unless those pouty lips can lift this door frame.”

He chose not to comment on the descriptor she’d chosen for his lips. “Unfortunately, my lips lack the skills to lift heavy wooden beams out of the way. They do, however, have other skills…”

“Ugh! Stop!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop,” he said, laughing slightly. “You do realize that I’m just trying to get a rise out of you?”

“You succeeded. Now we need to find a way to get out of here.” She looked around, surveying the damage. The space they were in was just barely big enough for the two of them to sit up, and neither dared to lean on anything. “How the fuck did this happen?”

“We’ve both been exploring for years. These buildings are all falling apart. It’s a wonder it hadn’t happened sooner.”

“Well that’s comforting,” she muttered. “Don’t you have people who come out to check these places first? Like, for safety? For your big, professional productions?”

“Of course I do, and I’m given specific instructions on places I should avoid for this very reason. This part of the building was determined by the insurance adjuster to be sound.”

“Well, someone fucked up.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Us.”

She was immediately on the defensive. “You think that our argument caused this?”

He looked at her, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Perhaps it was your yelling, it disturbed the delicate foundations of this place.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Perhaps it was your gigantic ego being incapable of fitting through the door.”

“Perhaps- “

She sighed. “Perhaps arguing isn’t fucking getting us out of here. Come on, if we reach up here we can probably-“

He shook his head, taking another long look around the space. He couldn’t be sure that they weren’t under several layers of debris down here. If they moved one thing, everything else could come crashing down. “Love, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She glared at him. “You got a better one?”

He took his phone out of his pocket, clicking the home button and seeing that he had no service. Emma mirrored his action, seeing her phone screen was cracked.. She groaned as she attempted – unsuccessfully – to turn it on. Calling for help was out of the question.

“Wait for rescue?” He asked, and even he knew it sounded pathetic. She let out an incredulous huff.

“From who?”

“The crew?”

Oh God, the crew! In their current predicament, she’d forgotten that she’d brought two other people in here with her, and that Killian had brought his team, as well. “Do you hear them? What if they- oh god, what if they’re all… it’d be my fault, I dragged them here…”

“Shit.” It was quiet. He thought they’d have heard some yelling by now. What if he’d been responsible for killing his entire crew?

“If they’re… and we’re stuck here… how long…?” She found it hard to speak the word. If they were dead. Dead. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. These were her best friends. She would never live with herself if she survived and they hadn’t.

“I don’t know.” He let out a long breath. Emma could tell that he, too, felt the weight of responsibility for the people he’d brought with him.

“Would anyone nearby be able to hear the crash? Would they think to look for people?”

“My truck is parked outside, so I’d hope so,” he replied. Sure, they hadn’t parked directly in front of this exact location, but eventually someone would find it odd that there was a car parked in front of an abandoned hospital.

“Mine, too.“

“That ridiculous yellow contraption?”

She felt her irritation rising again at his tone. “I like it” The Bug was old, but it was hers – one of the first things that she’d ever bought for herself.

“It fits you, I guess,” he said, and she snapped her head to look at him.

“And what does that mean?”

“That thing looks like it’s held together by duct tape and dreams. Kind of like-“

“Do not finish that statement,” she warned. She didn’t know what he’d been about to say, but it couldn’t have been anything kind, judging by their conversation so far. She sighed. For a moment, it had seemed like they were starting to get along, but now he was antagonizing her again.

“Fine,” he snapped.

“Fine,” she snapped back.

The silence enveloped them, and Emma realized at that moment just how little space they had. She could see that there were some small openings in the debris – she could barely see the light from one of the windows – so it wasn’t like they would run out of air, but the space was not a comfortable one by anyone’s definition. She wondered what would happen if they had to sleep here – if they had to spend the night, waiting for rescue, in a tiny space where perhaps one errant move could send the rest of the building upon them.

It was only when Killian spoke again that she realized she’d started breathing a bit more rapidly. “Your breathing is disrupting my thinking.”

“Oh, I’m sure your thoughts are exhilarating,” was her reply. As much as she’d tried to sound sarcastic, she was secretly glad that he’d drawn her out of her headspace.

“They are, actually. Not that I can hear myself think over the sound of you hyperventilating.”

“Well excuse me for panicking! We could die in here, and you’re hellbent on antagonizing me!” He recoiled, realizing that his attempts to lighten the mood with teasing had not been taken in jest. “This is your fault!”

It was his turn to be defensive. “How in the hell is this my fault?”

“If you hadn’t come around that corner and bothered us while we were filming…” she waved her hand, seemingly showing the result of him walking into the hospital.

“Oh, so I was supposed to just know you were here?”

“You could have just seen us and turned around. Let us do our thing. It isn’t like the building is going anywhere.”

He turned his head toward her slowly, giving her a pointed, incredulous look.

She swallowed. “Okay, so the building was going somewhere. How were we supposed to know that?”

“Exactly, love,” he nodded. “How were we supposed to know that?”

Emma huffed, a short breath pushing a few errant strands of hair away from her face, and she reached up to brush her hair back behind her ear. As much as she wanted to blame Killian Jones for all of her current woes, she knew as well as he did that they were both responsible for their predicament. Had they not been shoving each other like a couple of five-year-olds, the building probably would still be mostly intact.

He was still talking, she realized. “And we could have collaborated, if you’d been amenable to it.”

“Could you cut out the proper British guy act? This isn’t fucking National Geographic.” Who the hell uses words like amenable?

“I hate to break it to you, love, but this is my natural accent.”

“I mean your stupid vocabulary,” she amended, and he snorted, trying to keep from laughing.

“The mere fact that I have a vocabulary indicates that it is not stupid.” And damn it, she hated that he was right. Again.

She sighed. “This sucks.”

“On that, I am in agreement with you.”

“Fuck, I don’t even have my backpack on me.” Killian raised an eyebrow, silently asking her to elaborate as to why that mattered. “My backpack has water. Some snacks.”

“Planning on getting trapped?”

“No. But you so eloquently pointed out my ‘yellow contraption,’ which is kind of old. I like to be prepared. Plus, I like to snack. We spend hours in these places. You mean to tell me you don’t bring snacks? You don’t have anything to drink?”

“We keep a cooler of water in the truck, but snacks, no. Not on location,” he mused. He’d never thought to bring snacks into one of these places; they would shoot different parts of the documentary at different times, and they could always grab something to eat while outside the venue.

“On location,” she mimicked, her horrible rendition of his accent making him snort with laughter. “You sound so pretentious.”

“I’m a filmmaker, love. That’s what it’s called.”

“Totally pretentious.” He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, snickering softly under his breath.

Emma was less amused. “What’s funny about this?”

“I’m laughing at you,” he replied with another shake of his shoulders, though he at least managed to contain his grin.

“Yeah, sure, laugh at me, kick me while I’m down! We’re both in here, we’re both gonna die! Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“I am!”

“No you’re not!”

“Okay, well, first of all, we’re not going to die, and I was just trying to make you feel a bit better,” he said with a shrug, his tone apologetic. He realized that his approach with Emma had been wrong. She was far too guarded to find the humor in a situation such as this, and he should have contained himself, at least more than he had.

“Why should I?” She asked, throwing her hands up. “Feel better, I mean?”

“What’s the use in panicking? You’ll use more energy,” was his response.

“Why should that matter? We’re not going to be pushing our way out of here, we’ve already established that.”

He reached to push her hands down, keeping a grip on her wrist. He was surprised when she didn’t push his hand away. “When a crew comes to let us out, you might need some strength.”

“When. You seem awfully confident,” she retorted, her eyes betraying the worry she’d been trying to conceal. Despite her tough exterior, he could tell that Emma was more afraid than she’d let on.

“People know I’m here,” he said, hoping to provide an extra bit of reassurance. “They will be expecting to hear from me.”

“People other than your crew?” She swallowed again, trying not to think too hard about what might have happened to their friends.

“Yes, believe it or not,” he replied. “People actually care about me. People who aren’t on my payroll.”

At that, she cracked a smile, but decided to keep playing the role. “Like who?” she asked, as if she didn’t believe him.

“Like my brother, who will no doubt gloat about my idiocy in getting trapped in here, and who will be sure to tell me to stop my ‘foolish dangerous hobby,’ as he calls it.” Emma dropped the façade immediately, becoming indignant on Killian’s behalf.

“It’s not a hobby if you get paid for it.”

“Exactly. I told him that. This is my job. A job I quite enjoy.” As an afterthought, he added, “most of the time.”

“This is mine, too.”

He was surprised by that. It wasn’t easy to be able to support oneself with a career in content creation. “Really?”

“It’s almost impossible to produce good, quality YouTube content like this without committing to it. I worked for the first few years while I ran my channel, and you can tell by the quality of my videos, because I didn’t have the time to devote to the locations, or the time for editing them the way we do now Then I…I lost my mother,” she took a shaky breath and felt him squeeze her arm, “my adoptive mom, I never knew my real mother – and I decided then that I’d pursue this for real. She left me a bit of money, so I could comfortably quit and try to make this happen. If it didn’t work out, I’d at least know I tried. If it did – well, I’d be where I am right now.”

“Trapped in a collapsed building with me.”

“Maybe I should have kept my job,” she joked, but there was no bite behind it.

“Am I all that bad?”

No, she wanted to say, but somehow couldn’t form the word. It had been hard for her to let people in, to trust people, and she was already trusting him a lot more than she’d ever intended upon. True, she hadn’t expected to meet him and then become trapped in a tight space under a partially collapsed building, but she still wasn’t ready to be completely open.

He could see her warring with herself, so he continued. “I think we’ve got quite a bit in common, love. You say you never knew your birth mother, I’m assuming that extends to your birth father, as well?” He paused, and she nodded in response. “My mother died when I was four, then my father abandoned my brother and I when I was five. Liam was fifteen. One of his friends’ mums took us in so we wouldn’t get separated from each other. She kind of became my second mum.”

“What happened to her?” Emma asked, though she sensed there was no happy ending to this story.

“She died,” he said, swallowing hard. “Last year. Cancer.”

“It’s a bitch,” she said softly.

He chuckled darkly in response. “Indeed.”

Emma didn’t know how to respond, other than the usual platitudes and sympathy, and she had a feeling that he wasn’t one for wallowing. She was the same way. Hearing people offer sympathy to her forced her to think about it, and she didn’t want to think about it.

“Let me ask you something, Swan,” he said softly, and she lifted her head up.

“Hmm?”

“Is that why your series is named ‘Left Behind’?”

“Um. Yeah, actually.” She was surprised. There were so few people who understood the double meaning of her series title, and in mere hours he’d picked up on it.

He nodded sadly. “I knew I saw it in you. The look of someone who had been abandoned. You put so much love and care into these explorations. You’re fascinated by things left behind, but you recognize the tragedy in it all..” She was too stunned to reply. “We’re more alike than you think.”

That shook her out of it. “I suppose. And what about your series? ‘Desolate and Deserted’?” She watched him reach to scratch behind his ear, a nervous gesture that made him seem oddly endearing.

“Aye, I was in a kind of rough patch when I came about the name. My girlfriend had just left me to go be with one of my mates, and I felt pretty much desolate and deserted.” He stopped for a moment, then continued. “Looking back, it never would have worked out, so I guess I should thank her for it, but the name is rather unfortunate, at that.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry. Cheaters are the worst. No one should have to go through that. It’s a shitty feeling.” Feeling like you’re unwanted, she didn’t add, but she didn’t have to. He understood.

“I told you. We’re more alike than you think.”

“I suppose we are.” It was weird, realizing that she may have been wrong about him, and that for all his bravado as portrayed on TV, he was just as flawed and broken as she was. “Look, I’m sorry for all of that, back there. Being the first to explore a location, that’s kind of my whole thing. Audiences are fickle, and I’m terrified of losing everything I’ve built.”

“I understand, Swan. More than you think. When you come from nothing-“

“Do you hear something?” They both sat silently, listening for something out of the ordinary. Then he heard it – some faint yelling. Were people here already, looking for them? Should they begin yelling?

The yelling was getting closer, though they couldn’t make out what the person was saying. Whoever it was didn’t seem to know where they were. “Is that-“

Mary Margaret interrupted him, her voice calling loudly from what must have just been outside the room they were in. “Emma! Killian! You guys in there?”

“Jones!” Robin’s voice called, and he heard Belle and Will calling further off in the distance.

“They’re alive,” he breathed.

“Oh thank God,” Emma replied, heaving a huge sigh. Not only were the people she loved alive – and probably fine, but they were actively looking for them.

“We’re here!” She yelled as loud as she could. Killian flinched and tried not to cover his ears, despite the volume of her voice. “We’re both fine! A few scratches!”

“Killian?” Will shouted, apparently needing to hear him.

“I’m fine! What took you lot so long?”

Even through a thick brick wall and a mountain of debris, Killian could hear Will’s biting tone: “We were trying to get out, you wanker!”

“We thought you were dead!” Mary Margaret yelled. “You weren’t calling for us, so we assumed…”

“We thought you were dead!” Emma shouted, and wiped a tear that had started rolling down her cheek. When they got out of here, she was going to give Mary Margaret and David the biggest hug imaginable.

“We’re calling 911! Don’t kill each other!”

“WHAT!?” Emma bellowed, her face turning to panic. The group outside didn’t respond, so she assumed that they were already in the process of calling.

“How else do you think they’re going to get us out of here? Divine intervention?” Killian asked.

She rolled her eyes. “The cops will come.”

“So?”

“We’re trespassing. Why are you not freaking out? We’re trapped under all this shit, the foundation is probably not that sturdy given… everything… and we’re going to get arrested once they pull our stupid asses out of here. How can you be so calm?”

“I have a permit, along with liability insurance,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You do?” Now it all made sense, the way he’d reacted to her crew breaking into the location.

“You mean to tell me you don’t?”

“Would I be freaking out if I did?”

“Fair point,” he conceded. He had been teasing her earlier, but now it seemed that their explorations were a lot more amateur than he’d thought. When they got out of here, he’d try to convince her that she should start doing things the legal way. That wasn’t a conversation to be had at this particular moment. “But anyway, my insurance specifies ‘Killian Jones and his crew.’ None of their names are listed on the document.”

What did that have to do with anything? she wondered. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you could pretend to be a part of my crew – you and your own crew – and you can avoid the charges associated with trespassing.”

It was a generous offer, one Emma couldn’t believe he would make. “Why would you do that? After all the shit I’ve given you today?”

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”

She didn’t respond, because she realized that everything she’d said about him earlier had been borne of assumptions, almost all of which were wrong.

He continued. “An asshole?”

“Listen, I didn’t mean…I mean…” she pursed her lips together. She knew she had to apologize, but Emma wasn’t always the greatest at admitting when she was wrong.

“No, no, I’m your competition, after all. That’s why you were so upset that we were here. You don’t want to lose half your viewers to my episode.”

“I mean, you’re not really my competition.” His eyebrows shot to the sky, and she quickly amended, “You’re not a YouTuber. Our audiences are not the same, and people expect different things on YouTube than they do on Netflix.”

“So then you really shouldn’t have been so upset about us being here,” he pointed out, and she shrugged. He was right.

“But to be fair, we are often covering the same locations, a fact that you have mentioned more than a few times in your videos.”

Emma was shocked. “You’ve watched my videos?” It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, given that he’d recognized her on sight, but she still felt flustered at the knowledge that someone as prominent as Killian Jones, a renowned documentary filmmaker who had a non-zero amount of Emmy nominations throughout his career, sat down to watch her videos.

Suddenly, she wanted to know more. Did he subscribe to her channel? Was he familiar with her posting schedule? Had he ever commented on one of her videos before?

“I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I? They’ll get us out of here, I’ll give them my insurance information, I’ll say we were all here filming together, and we can go our separate ways. Nothing to worry about, Swan.”

No one had ever called her by her last name before, and she kind of liked it, loathe as she was to admit it to herself. “Thank you.” She waited for him to make a snarky comment, or to make another flirtatious remark about how she could properly show her gratitude. When he didn’t, she turned to look at him, noting the way his eyes had softened.

“And when the firemen finally get us out of here, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“Can’t just let a favor go for free, can we?” she snarked, immediately regretting her words when she saw him flinch slightly. She let out an apologetic breath, giving him the space to continue.

“Well you see,. I quite fancy you, when you’re not yelling at me.”

If someone had told her this morning that not only would she meet Killian Jones, but she’d be sitting next to him under a pile of rubble while he confessed to liking her, she’d have called that person a dumbass. And yet…

And yet.

He watched the surprise play across her face before continuing. “I’ve watched your videos for years, Swan. Not to copy your locations – we have similar tastes, is all. I actually enjoy your content. You have a fresh enthusiasm that my documentaries lack. A – youthfulness, a feeling of whimsy.”

“Yours are kind of clinical,” she agreed, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “How old are you anyway? Fifty?” Emma Swan was not one for sincerity, but teasing? That, she could do.

He ignored the age comment, pointing playfully. “I knew you watched them!” His wide grin was perhaps the most endearing thing Emma had ever seen.

“Sometimes there’s nothing else on Netflix,” she shrugged. He narrowed his eyes at her, letting her know that he didn’t believe her for a second.

“Okay, okay! I’ve watched them! The history you dig up is really interesting. I sometimes wish I went through all the trouble before getting to these places. I mean, we do get a little bit of background, but you’re like an abandoned building archaeologist. The stuff you find out about these places is fascinating.”

“It does give the exploration more depth,” he agreed. It was a lot of work, the research that went into each of his videos, not to mention the interviews and location shots. He was glad to hear that someone he admired as much as Emma appreciated it.

“Tell me the history of this place.”

“Now, now, Swan, no spoilers.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I know how this episode ends already,” she joked, and he had no response to that.

“All right, so, George Mills made a fortune in the steel industry at the turn of the century. He was one of the first to open a steel mill just outside Pittsburgh, which – as you know – is well-known for steel production. He met his wife there, a woman half his age by the name of Regina Barnes. She was, according to many accounts, a tyrant, and just prior to the first World War, she forced him to sell the mill and move their family – they had three kids at this point – and settle in this area.”

“Why here?” Northern Maine wasn’t particularly close to Pittsburgh, so it seemed an odd choice.

“She had ‘a feeling about this place.’ A small, unincorporated area of the country, well off the beaten path, and she wanted to live there. She packed up her family, ‘convinced’ dozens of families to leave Pittsburgh with them, and they all settled down and incorporated the town of Storybrooke, which holds its name to this day.”

Killian’s use of air quotes had not gone unnoticed. She imitated the motion, asking, “Convinced?”

“Coerced. Allegedly.” Emma gave him a pointed look, urging him to continue. “She was apparently great at getting dirt on people, which was an excellent means for her to get her way. So she basically brought a small town’s worth of people with her to settle down, got them all to build her a mansion which, sadly, burned down about ten years ago, and appointed herself mayor of the town.”

“Her husband wasn’t bothered by this?”

“He was very enamored of her, it seems.”

“Or she had something on him, too,” Emma suggested, and he nodded slightly.

“We’ll never know, I suppose. Anyway, that’s how this hospital came to be. One of their children developed a chronic illness, and rather than travel to another city for healthcare, she blackmailed a doctor out of Boston and had the hospital built. They began construction in 1920, and the first wing of the hospital opened that year. This whole massive building was built and operational by 1927, funded in part by the number of disabled war veterans needing continuous care. Storybrooke was a thriving small town at that point, and the hospital was the largest for miles for over thirty years.

“It saw the tail end of the depression, had a major boom during the Second World War, as did the town. George Mills died shortly after the war, and Regina inherited his fortune. She ran the town, and the hospital was part of the town. She wasn’t mayor anymore, but every subsequent mayor answered to her. She had the money, and with it, the power. There is a lot of scandal surrounding Regina Barnes-Mills, so much that I can’t possibly put it all in the episode. I could do an entire documentary on her alone.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I don’t have time, for one. Perhaps I will revisit her story someday.” He paused, heaving a slight sigh. “Anyway, she died in 1983. She was 102 years old then, and held onto control right up until the end. Following her death, her children had a huge battle with each other over inheritance. Our lovely Mayor hadn’t been too clear about her intentions. Some local historians say that she didn’t intend to die.” He paused, giving Emma a chance to giggle. “The familial in-fighting and lack of leadership at the hospital was essentially its death warrant, though there were many other factors. Newer, more state-of-the-art facilities, people leaving the town, and the questionable decision to convert the hospital – well, a wing of it, at least – to a mental health facility. Problem was, there weren’t enough patients locally, so they kind of… outsourced.”

“I take it that didn’t go well?”

“Not as such, no. There were some lawsuits over the mistreatment of patients, and the hospital closed in 1987. A wealthy investor bought this place hoping to turn it into a hotel, and some parts of the building were converted into rooms. That lasted a couple years. It’s not like this area is a tourist hotspot. Except, you know, for people like us who want to explore decrepit, abandoned places,” he joked.

“I know the rest, I think. They couldn’t find anyone else to buy it and there was a huge fire all the way on the other side of the building. People wrote it off, right?”

“That’s essentially it, yes. And here it sits.”

“And here we sit,” she grumbled, heaving a deep sigh. He responded with a sigh of his own. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Emma pretended to be supremely interested in her cuticles.

Killian broke the silence. “So, have I made this place more interesting to you?

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head and trying to hide her smile from him.

“I beg your-“ He grabbed her wrist, causing her to look at him. “You were hanging onto my every word!”

Emma couldn’t help but laugh. He was so offended at her feigned disinterest. “Perhaps I was merely appreciative of the messenger.”

“And not the message?”

She huffed out a breath, pushing an errant strand of hair away from her face. “I was trying to compliment you.”

“You were?” He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he cleared his throat slightly. “All right then. Thank you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance. “You guys all right in there?” Robin’s voice carried over the rubble.

“Fine!” Emma called, trying not to be too annoyed at the interruption from outside. They were just trying to help, after all.

Killian seemed to sense her frustration. “But you could get us out, yeah?

“The firemen are on their way. Try not to kill each other,” Robin advised. Killian made a mental note to remind Robin later that he didn’t need a second over-protective older brother.

“No promises,” Killian shouted back, winking at Emma as he did so.

Right then, she seemed to make a decision about something. “Okay,” she said, agreeing to an unknown prompt.

“Okay what?”

“Okay I’ll go to dinner with you,” she replied, her eyes glinting with amusement at the way his face lit up.

“Really Swan, what changed your mind?”

“I quite ‘fancy you’ as well,” she replied, in a poor imitation of his accent.

“Emma Swan, were you watching my documentaries to admire the locations, or just to admire me?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows in an animated fashion.

“You really are such a dick sometimes.” The insult was spoken, but it had no bite.

He shrugged casually. “It’s part of my charm.”

“I suppose.”

“But you didn’t answer my question,” he pressed, and she looked down at her fingers again, picking at one of her nails.

“Both,” she muttered.

“Both?” He repeated, wanting to be sure he’d heard her.

She threw her hands up exasperatedly. “Both the locations, and you. All right?”

“Was that so hard?”

“Admitting that I’ve been a bitch to you all this time because I didn’t want you to know that I liked you?”

And there it was, out in the open. Sure, there had been the worry about him getting all of the prime bits of footage before she could manage it, but the real reason she was being so prickly was that she hadn’t wanted to admit to him – or to herself, for that matter – that she liked him. Kind of a lot.

“I wasn’t going to say it.” He knew better than to use that particular word in reference to a woman. She smiled then, surprisingly relieved that it was out in the open now.

“So what do you say, Swan, care to plan a collab? Starting here?”

What did she have to lose? “Okay,” she said. “But I still get to release my video on my schedule.”

“I wouldn’t dream of trying to manage how you run your channel, love.”

“Good.”

Inwardly, she wondered how it would all work – would they have contracts? As much as Killian said he wouldn’t want to meddle in her production, she knew that the folks over at Netflix would probably have a few more stipulations.

As if reading her thoughts, he continued. “I can’t promise that my agents will appreciate me bringing another personality onto the team. Especially one as volatile as you,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t make me find something to throw at you.”

He grinned. It really was too easy to get a rise out of her. “But. If we were to collaborate with each other, even if it’s only on this location - I think we could really have something. Your videos are good. And I daresay my documentaries are good. But together…”

“We could be great,” she finished, letting her mind wander beyond just their filmmaking endeavors. They could be great. What would it be like to get to know Killian Jones on a personal level? How much of his narrative charm was genuine? The more she got to know about him, the more she wanted to learn.

She startled when he spoke again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re quite fetching in that tank top.”

“I’m sweaty,” she protested, her face beginning to flush. “And covered in dust. And I probably smell terrible.”

He was close enough to dispute that assertion. “You smell nice, actually.” His voice was lower, huskier. He reached to brush a strand of her hair away from her face, and she shuddered at the gentleness of his touch.

She turned her head then, meeting his intense gaze. She leaned ever-slightly toward him, noting that he did the same. A pang of longing shot through her, and she parted her lips in anticipation of what was to come.

They closed the distance slowly, their lips barely grazing when a loud cracking noise pulled them from their reverie. “Y’all just sit tight in there, we’ll have you out in a few,” came the reassuring voice of what could only have been one of the firemen over what must have been a megaphone.

“All right,” Emma yelled weakly, barely trusting her voice. A loud motor roared to life outside, and the moment was effectively broken. The faint sound of rhythmic beeping, signaling that a vehicle was backing up, seemed to draw closer. She wondered how much work the rescue crews would have to do to pull them out of there. Exactly how much of the building was piled on top of them?

“We’ll finish that later,” Killian promised, grazing her cheek with the back of his hand. How he desperately wanted to pull her into him and claim her, but the background noise of the rescue effort was especially jarring. They may as well have doused him in freezing water.

He and Emma hunched over, keeping their eyes shielded in an effort to avoid any falling debris. There was a constant din – between the motors of vehicles, the yelling of workers, the beeping, and the sound of the building being lifted, Emma would be surprised if she left without a headache.

Be grateful that’s all you’ll have, she reminded herself. She grasped Killian’s hand, and he squeezed it reassuringly. “Bit loud,” he commented, and if she hadn’t just been thinking the same thing, she’d have made some sarcastic comment about him being Captain Obvious.

The fireman had said, “a few,” but they had no frame of reference for that statement. A few minutes? A few hours?

The noise was such that they couldn’t really converse, so they sat beside each other waiting for their eventual release, trying to be patient. Periodically, one of them would look up to check the progress, but that didn’t really give them any indication as to how much longer it would be, and the rescuers weren’t stopping to give them any updates. Eventually, though, the firefighters were pulling them out – Emma first, followed shortly thereafter by Killian. The sky was slightly darker, but night hadn’t quite fallen.

There was a flurry of activity as everyone rushed to hug each other and express their overall relief that this ordeal was over. The police had already questioned both crews, and they gathered statements from both Killian and Emma.

Emma must have seemed worried, because the officer reassured her that the questioning was merely for insurance purposes. The firefighters left first, and before long, the police officers were leaving, as well, leaving behind a construction crew, who had been tasked with ensuring that they got everything cleared from the site. They were all given strict instructions not to reenter the building by both the police and the construction workers.

“Good thing we got all of the cameras then,” Will grumbled, though Emma suspected that Will – not unlike herself – would have had very few qualms about disobeying the police.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Mary Margaret fussed over Emma, and Emma could only respond with a pointed look. A few meters away, Killian was subjected to similar treatment from Belle, and he met Emma’s gaze as he repeated – much like she had – that he was fine.

“I’m fine, Mary Margaret,” she said again, not even looking at her friend as she did so. In the waning daylight, Killian’s slightly mussed form seemed even more enticing, if that was even possible, and she caught his eye, noting how his gaze darkened with lust. “I’m fine,” she breathed, hardly aware of anyone – or anything – other than Killian Jones.

He raised an eyebrow at her and that was it. She stalked over to him, grabbed the collar of his still-dusty leather jacket, and practically crashed their lips together. Within seconds his hands were tangling in her hair, pulling her possessively closer and groaning deeply into the embrace. She felt her knees go weak as he kissed her passionately, his toned frame seemingly the only thing keeping her upright.

They breathed each other in, their hands clinging, groping, desperate, their breaths hot against each other when Emma finally – reluctantly – pulled away slightly, her lips trembling and a shudder shooting through her. She had never been kissed like that.

“Would you like to have that dinner date now?” Killian asked softly, his words low and gravely. For as long as she lived, Emma was certain she would never, ever forget how absolutely fucking sexy he sounded in that moment.

She giggled against him, pressing her lips to his in another short, quick, kiss, giggling again when he chased her lips with his own. “Maybe we should just skip the dinner part for now,” she suggested.

“I like the way you think,” he murmured against her, “But I do still want to take you out on a proper date,” he added, closing the distance between them again as she nodded her agreement.

“Mate, you gonna keep snogging her there all night?” Robin teased, and they stepped back from each other, noting the various states of amusement on the faces of their spectators.

“Right,” Killian said. He wasn’t going to stand here so his mates could give him the third degree, not when Emma Swan wanted him to take her somewhere more private. “Shall we, love?” he asked Emma, nodding slightly toward where his truck was parked. The crew could take care of the equipment and get the van back to their hotel.

Emma reached into her pocket and grabbed her keys, tossing them toward her friends. “M&Ms, take the Bug, would you?” Mary Margaret caught the keys, just barely, jingling them a few times with a pointed look, one that very clearly told Emma that they were going to have a long talk about this, and Emma felt Killian put his arm around her waist, leading her away from the stunned onlookers.

“Told you,” they heard Mary Margaret whisper loudly as they began to walk away, and Emma could only smile as she let Killian lead her to his car.

A few years later

“For Deserted and Left Behind, I’m Killian Jones,” he began the sign-off.

“And I’m Emma Swan,” she continued.

“And we’ll see you in the next exploration,” they finished together, holding their final pose until the camera crew gave them the all-clear. They’d probably reshoot that a few more times, but Emma personally felt that it was satisfactory.

It was one thing she’d had trouble adjusting to when she’d agreed to these periodic special collaborations with Killian – Netflix’s need to have them constantly reshoot everything. It was for camera angles, or lighting, or just a different tone of voice. She’d never known how exhausting it all could be.

“Hey, don’t go anywhere,” he said as she turned to leave, grabbing her elbow before turning to one of the cameramen.. “Can we get some more footage real quick?”

“Killian, I’m hungry,” she protested. “Can’t it wait?”

“This won’t take long, love.” He nodded to the cameraman, who started recording again before nodding back, indicating they were rolling.

“Three years ago, I ran into this lovely yet infuriating lass when we both stumbled upon the same location-”

“They know all this-“ she began to interrupt, but he silenced her with a finger on her lips.

“Like I said, infuriating.” She tilted her head to the side, giving him that affectionate-but-annoyed look she’d perfected since they’d begun dating. “Little did I know, however, that I would find not just a partner in exploration, but one in life.”

He took her hand, dropping to one knee. “And I’d like to ask her to continue to be my partner, for the rest of our lives.” Her mouth hung open, tears welling up in her eyes as he took out a small ring box, opening it to reveal a perfect, beautiful ring.. “Emma, will you marry me?”

“Infuriating?” she teased as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Takes one to know one.”

“Emma…” he warned with a groan, squeezing her hand. Only Emma Swan could take a proposal and make it sarcastic.

“Yes, Killian. I’ll be an infuriating wife to an infuriating husband,” she agreed with a huge smile, and he slid the ring on her finger before standing up and pulling her in to a searing kiss, oblivious to the cheers – and tears – around them.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” he asked against her lips, and she shook her head slightly before diving back in.

“God, I hope not,” she replied, and kissed him again.

#ouat #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #emma swan #killian jones #my fanfiction #also hi hello this is my first published captain swan fic

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winterbaby89 · 7 years ago

Text

Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke - Chapter Two

A Captain Swan, Season 1 Canon Divergence Collaboration by: @hollyethecurious, and @winterbaby89

Beta’d by: @ilovemesomekillianjones

Amazing Artwork by: @xhookswenchx

Rated M for language and dark themes (and maybe (probably) some sexy times… later ;o)

Summary: Moments before the Evil Queen’s Dark Curse whisks our beloved fairytale characters to Storybrooke, Captain Hook finally gets his revenge on the Crocodile. Twenty-eight years later, Killian Jones awakes in Storybrooke expecting just another ordinary day, that is until a number of abnormal occurrences disrupts his otherwise scheduled life. The greatest of which is a new face in town. A young woman by the name of Emma. Emma. What a lovely name…

Disclaimer: Canon dialogue and scenes from various episodes will appear within this fic. To Adam, Eddie, and the OUAT writers goes all the credit.

Line breaks indicate change in POV or Scene.

Also available on ao3, my fic page, and Hollye′s fic page And if you want to catch up on the last chapter.

This work is no longer available on FF.net. Unfortunately the site does not allow authors to co-publish collaborative works.

Chapter Two

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Hands. Plural. As in, he had two of them again. How?

Was it a side effect of Regina’s curse or from his being...

The Dark One.

The bloody Dark One.

I’m the bloody Dark One!

It had all come back in a rush. Fast and sporadic flashes of memories - his memories - that told the story of his long life. A life that spanned centuries, and yet the truth of it had hit him in an instant. The truth of who he truly was.

Killian Jones.

Orphan.

Slave.

Lieutenant.

Pirate.

Captain Hook.

Dark One.

Killian shuddered at that final memory, and then panic seized him once again. He spun around surveying the room, expecting the Crocodile to manifest himself at any moment with his mocking and jeering. But he hadn’t appeared. Not in the bar. Not on the long walk home. Not even now as Killian paced the length of his manor.

Why?

‘This new realm is a land without magic’, he remembered suddenly. Regina’s words, just before she’d solicited him to kill her mother, echoing in his ear.

A Land Without Magic.

‘Where The Dark One will be stripped of his power.’

For the first time in what seemed like hours Killian took a deep, steadying breath. The Dark One had no power in this land. He had no power in this land. Even still, Killian could feel the rage, the anguish, and the all encompassing darkness he’d felt in that clearing. The memory of their collective presence haunting him more severely than any of his other demons ever had.

And even if they now lay dormant within him, it didn’t change one other fact… he was still Captain Hook. A villain in his own right. A scourge and a scoundrel out for only one thing. Revenge.

Killian pressed his fingers onto the now vacant space on his forearm. Milah.

Revenge had been his, but at what cost?

He’d become the very thing he hated the most. The very thing she hated most. Rumplestiltskin may not have been The Dark One when they’d been together, but Killian had seen it in her eyes when he’d told her of his run in with her husband turned Dark One on the docks; the loathing at what he’d become coursing through her.

For centuries Killian had justified his own depravity and darkness because it was all in pursuit of avenging her. He believed that she’d understand, would offer him absolution for his actions because the ends would justify the means. But now…

Now all he felt was shame. Shame at what he’d become, and thankful to all the gods that she had not lived to see how far he’d fallen in his quest for vengeance. And not just Milah, but Liam as well.

Liam.

Killian clasped at the chain hanging from his neck, but knew it would not hold what he sought. Liam’s ring. What had become of it? What had become of all his possessions? His hook, his coat, his sword, his…

Dagger.

The Dark One dagger.

It had been in his hand when the curse hit, and even though he knew it no longer had the power to control him (at least, that is, as long as Regina’s curse and the lack of magic in this land kept The Dark Ones at bay) he in no way wanted it in anyone else’s possession other than his own.

Killian tore the manor apart in his search, upending rooms he had no memory of ever even entering before. Memories of his cursed life interspersed with his real life. Bloody hell, leave it to Regina to over complicate matters. As if three hundred years of his own memories weren’t enough for his mind to contend with, now he had twenty-eight years of practically the same day recurring over and over again in his head. The only detail making the days distinct from one another was Henry.

Henry. He knew.

The lad knew about the curse. He’d mentioned it before, his suspicions that the stories in the book his teacher had given him were true. Killian had recognized it as a coping mechanism, a way for the lad to try and escape the reality of his unhappy life. A way to ground himself to something more hopeful.

Killian now understood why Henry Mills had come to mean so much to him. He was a lost boy, just like Killian.

On some level Killian had recognized that trait in Henry, even as he had forgotten his true self. It’s probably what had prompted him to suggest that the boy seek out information about his birth parents in the first place. Of course, he never considered that Henry would actually run off in search of the woman who’d given birth to him. But seek her out, the lad had, and her presence in Storybrooke had already begun to change things.

The mystery of why her name broke the spell he had been under notwithstanding, Killian knew he’d only just scratched the surface of the intrigue Emma Swan possessed. But he couldn’t focus on that now. On her. He had a dagger to find and a secret to keep.

As Emma dressed the next morning, and thought about stopping at the diner for breakfast, she heard a knock on the door. Answering it revealed Regina with a basket of apples in hand, and a fake smile plastered on her face. Great, I have to deal with her crap before I’ve even had the chance to drink my first cup of coffee? Just great. Before Emma could manage a polite hello, Regina thrust an apple toward her and started in on some random spiel.

“Did you know the honeycrisp tree is the most vigorous and hardy of all apple trees? It can survive temperatures as low as 40 below and keep growing. It can weather any storm. I have one that I've tended to since I was a little girl, and to this day I have yet to taste anything more delicious than the fruit it offers.”

“Thanks,” Emma responded dubiously as she took the proffered apple Regina extended to her, still clutching her cup in her right hand.

“I'm sure you'll enjoy them on your drive home.” Regina tried to hand over the full basket of apples, but Emma took a half step backward, refusing to reach out for it.

“Actually, I'm gonna stay for a while.”

A brief flicker of anger and agitation crossed Regina’s face at Emma’s declaration and refusal before she schooled her features into a mask of pleasant nonchalance. “I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Henry has enough issues. He doesn't need you confusing him.”

“All due respect, Madam Mayor, the fact that you have now threatened me twice in the last twelve hours makes me want to stay more.”

“Since when were apples a threat?”

“I can read between the lines. Sorry. I just want to make sure Henry's okay.”

“He's fine, dear. Any problems he has are being taken care of.”

A concern for Henry’s well being swelled within her chest at Regina’s words, prompting her to ask, “What does that mean?”

“It means I have him in therapy. It's all under control. Take my advice, Ms. Swan, only one of us knows what's best for Henry.”

That’s right, Emma thought. She remembered meeting Henry’s therapist the other night when she brought him back to Storybrooke, he was the kind man that had given her directions to Regina’s place. She remembered as a sense of relief flooded through her that Regina wasn’t referring to something more sinister. Great I’m starting to think like Henry, she’s not the Evil Queen, just a concerned parent, most likely a bad parent, but concerned nonetheless.

“Yeah, I'm starting to think you're right about that.” Emma didn’t miss the glare Regina sent her way at that comment.

“It's time for you to go.”

“Or what?” Emma challenged.

“Don't underestimate me, Ms. Swan. You have no idea what I'm capable of.” Considering that the end of the disturbing conversation, Emma shut the door without another word to Regina, and locked it before going back to getting ready for the day.

Thirty minutes later, Emma found herself perched at the counter in Granny’s diner. Perusing the menu, she debated what to order, when Ruby set down a hot chocolate with cinnamon and whipped cream in front of her.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you, but I didn’t order that.”

“Yeah, I know. You have an admirer.” At that comment, Emma turned and tried to tamp down the hope that it might be from a certain blue eyed gentleman who had haunted her dreams the night before, only to see Sheriff Humbert. Her disappointment swelled within her as she picked up the cocoa and approached his table, intending to let the poor man down gently.

“Ah, so you decided to stay.”

Was it really that much of a surprise to him? “Observant, important for a cop.”

“It's good news for our tourist business. It's bad for our local signage.” Graham looked a little uncomfortable with the awkward pause as his joke fell flat. “It's... it's a joke. Because you ran over our sign.”

The only immediate response she can muster is to roll her eyes at his terrible attempt at a joke. “Look, the cocoa was a nice gesture, and I am impressed that you guessed that I like cinnamon on my chocolate, 'cause most people don't, but I am not here to flirt, so thank you, but, no thank you.” Gently placing the cup on the table, she considers whether or not she would have accepted it from a different, accented man.

“I didn't send it.”

“I did. I like cinnamon, too.”

Her head shot towards the front table by the window at the sound of Henry’s voice. How did I not see him there earlier? “Don't you have school?”

“Duh. I'm ten. Walk me.”

He’s definitely my kid with that eyeroll. Without so much as another look at the sheriff, Emma placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder and began steering him out the door towards the bus stop.

Killian stopped abruptly in the back hallway of the diner as he watched the Swan girl and Henry make their way out of the diner and along the sidewalk that led to the bus stop. He was going to have to come up with some sort of excuse for avoiding Henry, as he was not quite ready to bring himself to lie to the boy by keeping up with his cursed facade in the lad’s presence. For now, he had a more pressing issue at hand; one he hoped the good Sheriff might be able to assist him with.

Killian prided himself on possessing a stealth that served him well in keeping people on their toes, or catching them off guard with his approach, but he’d never been able to get a jump on the Sheriff. The man somehow always knew when Killian, or anyone else, was approaching him, he seemed to have a sixth sense about him. In light of Killian’s regained memories he wondered just who Graham was back in their realm, and what the man would say if he knew that it was the infamous Captain Hook, or The Dark One for that matter, that was making himself welcome in his booth.

“Good morning, Mr. Jones. Something I can assist you with?” the Sheriff questioned, his disdain only slightly veiled in his tone.

“Actually, Sheriff. I’ve come to do my civic duty as a responsible citizen and business owner,” Killian replied as he placed a hand gun on the table between them, causing the Sheriff to tense momentarily before Killian could add, “I found it at the docks. Thought it best to turn it in to the proper authorities.”

The truth was Killian had found it during the search of his home overnight. Guns, knives, legal documents, and all manner of possessions had been uncovered. While not completely inconsistent with his nature, the items weren’t altogether authentic to who he was, cursed or otherwise, either, and no dagger had been found among them. It was only after he’d felt certain that no location within his home had been overlooked that Killian began to consider where within the town he might continue his search.

The stash of weapons he’d found concealed in various rooms had led him to the idea that the dagger may lay unclaimed within the Sheriff’s station. Not wanting to tip the lawman’s suspicions any further than they would be prone to, Killian had devised the ruse of turning over the firearm in hopes of naturally opening up the opportunity to question Graham about unclaimed blades.

“You found it?” Graham questioned suspiciously.

“Aye.”

“At the docks?”

“Aye.”

“And you’re just turning it in?”

“Would you rather I not?” Killian quipped inquiringly. “Too much paperwork involved, or are you running out of room to store unclaimed weapons at the Sheriff’s station?”

“We don’t have any unclaimed weapons at the station,” Graham admitted, unaware that he’d just provided the pirate with the very information he sought.

Damn! Killian cursed to himself. He’d have to continue his search elsewhere.

��Right. Well, first time for everything I suppose. I’ll leave you to it then, Sheriff.”

Killian exited the booth and took purposeful strides toward the door. He ran through his mental list of potential locations the dagger could be hiding, as he made his way to the sidewalk a flash of blonde curls and red leather caught his eye. He watched Emma make her way through the door that led up to Dr. Hopper’s office, or according to Henry, Jiminy Cricket’s office, and was once again struck by the urgent pull he felt toward the beguiling woman.

Shaking off such fanciful notions he turned himself towards the docks. He had a dagger to find and a day of searching through warehouses, offices, and his beloved Jolly Roger ahead of him.

Emma lounged on her bed at the B&B as she scoured the files that Dr. Hopper had given her about Henry. So far nothing was jumping out at her, but she wasn’t completely sure what she was looking for. She wasn’t a therapist, and until about three days ago she hadn’t considered herself a parent either. Not that she did even now that Henry was in her life.

A sharp knock at the door added to her current disgruntled state. When she found Sheriff Humbert on the other side she couldn’t help the sarcastic greeting that fell from her lips.

“Hey there. If you're concerned about the Do not disturb signs, don't worry, I've left them alone.”

“Actually, I'm here about Dr. Archibald Hopper. He mentioned you got into a bit of a row with him earlier?”

“No,” Emma clipped firmly as she placed her hands on her hips in annoyance.

“I was shocked, too, given your shy, delicate sensibilities,” Graham mocked, earning him an eyeroll. “He says you demanded to see Henry's files and when he refused, you came back and stole them.”

“He gave them to me.”

“Alas, he's telling a different tale. May I check your room, or must I get a search warrant?”

Unbelievable. Emma turned and allowed Graham to enter. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.

“Is this what you're looking for?” she asked, gesturing to the numerous papers scattered across the bed.

“Well, you're very accommodating,” Graham needled as he picked up a few papers before delivering the news Emma had been waiting for, even as she reeled at the outrageousness of it all. “I'm afraid, Ms. Swan, you're under arrest. Again.”

“You know I'm being set up, don't you?” It was more a statement than a question as Graham affixed cuffs to her wrists.

“And who, may I ask, is setting you up?”

Emma continued to proclaim her innocence, casting accusations at Regina all the way from the B&B to the Sheriff Station. She questioned Graham about Regina’s hold and influence on the town even as he booked her.

“Regina may be a touch intimidating, but I don't think she'd go as far as a frame job,” Graham argued.

“How far would she go? What does she have her hands in?”

“Well, she's the Mayor. She has her hands in everything.”

“Including the police force?” Emma accused.

“Hey,” an excited voice echoed from the hallway.

“Henry, what are you doing here?” Graham asked.

“His mother told him what happened,” Mary Margaret supplied, having accompanied Henry to the station from school.

“Of course she did,” Emma exasperated as she stared pointedly at Graham before addressing her son with a bit of trepidation. “Henry, I don't know what she said-”

“You're a genius,” Henry interrupted.

“What?”

“I know what you were up to. You were gathering intel for Operation Cobra,” Henry speculated with hushed excitement.

“I'm sorry. I'm a bit lost,” Graham confessed.

“It's need-to-know, sheriff,” Henry said dismissively, “and all you need to know is that Ms. Blanchard's gonna bail her out.”

“You are? Why?” Emma questioned incredulously.

“I, uh, trust you,” the petite woman stated skittishly.

Looking between Henry’s smug face and Mary Margaret’s quiet understanding Emma felt her need for retribution spike as she turned to Graham with her hands out in front of her.

“Well, if you would uncuff me, I have something to do.”

Killian aimlessly wandered along the streets of Storybrooke, having had no success in locating the dagger. Though, he had uncovered more intriguing items that would require his attention and focus once the bloody damned blade was back in his possession.

He was starting to wonder if the infernal thing had come over in the curse at all. For all he knew, it remained in the Enchanted Forest sealed away in the vault he had emerged from after the Crocodile’s death. The only way Killian could be truly sure was to either keep searching and find the bloody thing or march into the Mayor’s office and ask Her Majesty. The latter option was not one he was willing to entertain, so he continued his trek as he ticked off all the locations he’d already explored.

Not in the manor, not at the Sheriff’s station, no sign of it in any of my usual hiding places within the Jolly. The warehouses and dock offices were a bust as well. Perhaps I should… what is that blasted noise!

The sound of a motor cut through Killian’s internal mutterings as he realized he was just across the street from the Town Hall. His curiosity piqued at the unusual sound, Killian made his way towards the building’s courtyard to investigate, but then quickly had to find a place to tuck himself away as he saw the Evil Queen exit the building.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the mayor exclaimed as she rushed across the courtyard towards the racket that continued to permeate the area.

A racket, that Killian could now see was being caused by the lovely Emma. She was wielding a chainsaw, ruthlessly plundering the Mayor’s prized apple tree as she made a quip about picking apples. Now, more than just Killian’s curiosity was piqued at the sight before him.

“You're out of your mind.”

“No, you are, if you think a shoddy frame job's enough to scare me off.”

Frame job? What else have I missed? Killian wondered.

“You're gonna have to do better than that. You come after me one more time, I'm coming back for the rest of this tree. Because, sister, you have no idea what I'm capable of.”

Killian watched as Swan violently tossed the chainsaw aside and challenged, “Your move,” before stomping away. A fresh appreciation for the tough lass washed over him. So, she and the Queen are at odds, then? Not surprising, he supposed, Regina’s at odds with everyone in this accursed town.

Just as Killian was preparing to extricate himself from the dark cluster of shrubbery he’d hidden away in, Sheriff Humbert pulled up in his police cruiser, no doubt having received a complaint about the noise of the chainsaw. Killian decided to remain tucked away for their exchange. Treasure and priceless commodities came in many forms, none more valuable in his experience than good, old fashioned gossip. Information that one could use against one’s enemies was a prize worth harboring in the bushes for.

Killian patiently listened as Regina expressed her desire to once again have Swan arrested, only to have the Sheriff question the effectiveness of such an action, even as he inferred his suspicions that Emma had, indeed, been set-up for her earlier transgressions.

“I think your schoolboy crush is clouding your judgment,” Regina barbed accusingly at the Sheriff.

The accusation caused a spark of rage to ignite in Killian’s chest, he bit back a growl that threatened to reverberate from within. Taken aback by having such a fierce response to the implication that Graham may harbor feelings for the same woman who had so ensnared him, Killian nearly missed the remainder of their exchange.

“You want me to arrest her again, I will,” Graham complied.

“Good.”

“But she's gonna keep coming at you, and I know you, you're gonna keep going at her, and you will do whatever it takes to get her out of here and you may succeed-”

“No, I will succeed. He's my son. It's what's best for him.”

Killian could barely contain the scathing retort that burned his throat, knowing now just how manipulative and cruel the woman had been in regards to the boy.

“I know that's what you believe,” Graham stated sympathetically, “but if this escalates, it seems to me the only one who will get hurt is Henry.”

Killian watched as Graham departed, leaving both he and Regina to stew in their thoughts of how the repercussions of Emma’s presence in Storybrooke would ultimately affect the boy. Even with the gut-wrenching realization of his true self, and the knowledge of what lay dormant just beneath his surface, Killian could not bring himself to resent Henry for bringing his birth mother there, and ultimately waking him from his cursed state. She was changing things, and Killian believed that such changes would only benefit Henry. It was apparent, however, that Her Majesty did not share this sentiment.

“There has got to be a way of getting rid of that woman without Henry blaming me,” Regina muttered to herself, as she passed Killian’s hiding spot. “If ever there was a time I needed my powers… wait-”

Killian’s attention sharpened at Regina’s mention of her powers. I thought this was a land without magic?

“Perhaps that little imp had something stashed away. Somehow my curse failed to bring him over, but perhaps there is something in the pawn shop that could be of use.” Regina’s speculations prompted her to abandon her immediate concerns for the mangled tree, and Killian watched as she rushed back into her office building - presumably to grab her purse and keys.

The Crocodile. Regina didn’t realize the truth of just why the curse had failed to deliver Rumplestiltskin to this land. But she believed something useful of his might be hidden away within the abandoned pawn shop?

Killian began to wonder whether or not a certain item he’d been in search of might be located there as well. He was at a disadvantage, seeing as he was on foot and Regina would have her car to get her there ahead of him, so Killian wasted no time in making his way back towards Main Street, hoping against hope that her search would not lead to the dagger before he arrived.

Chapter Three

Tagging some lovelies that have asked to be tagged, as well as some we believe might enjoy. Please let us know if you do, or don’t wish to be tagged.

@abeylin1982 @aprilqueen84 @artistic-writer @ashar663 @captain-k-jones @captain-swan-coffee @downeystarkjr @florenzu @freakassbuthunter @gingerchangeling @golfgirld @greenleaf777 @ilovemesomekillianjones @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @laschatzi @leiaswanjoneskid @like-waves-on-the-beach @rookiehookie @seriouslyhooked @teamhook @ultraluckycatnd @xhookswenchx @yayimallamaagain

#cs ff #cs canon divergence #cursed killian #dark hook #season 1 #cs fanfic #Captain Swan #dark hook comes to storybrooke #winterbaby89writes #words by hollye #cs fan fic #cs fan fiction #captain swan fic #cs #captain swan fanfiction

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