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bucklesomeswashswan · 4 years

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At the Beginning (4/11)

Once Upon a December Sequel

I am so incredibly sorry for the delay. I don’t have to tell you this has been a crazy time. My work has been slammed, the boyfriend is an ER doctor and he has been stressed, i’m worried about my family and my friends, I canceled my trips I’ve been looking forward to, there are people rioting in the streets. Anyway there’s been some days ( a LOT of days) I haven’t felt creative or motivated to think about writing. I’m sorry. I know a couple people asked for an update as a distraction from the quarantine and the world, but I needed my own and i couldn’t find it in writing.

I hope 15k words (40 pages) makes up for the delay a little. ;)

This chapter is a fun one! And very dear to my heart. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Captain Swan Steampunk Anastasia AU Summary: Emma might have thought her troubles were over after she defeated Gold, the leader of the Industrialists. But not everything is as it seems and Misthaven is in danger. Mysterious new faces and gangs lurk in the shadows as Misthaven struggles to find its footing in the power vacuum left behind when the Industrialists fell. Time is running out to regain control and alliances form and crumble as the betrayals come from those closer and closer to Emma. Will she be able to have the life she always wanted with her family and Killian or will the secrets from the past tear apart everything she thought she knew?

Rated M- earning this rating a bit here! AO3 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 Start over with Once Upon a December [AO3]

Chapter 4: Love is a River

Emma picked at the muffin in her hands as she watched the men unload the wagons outside the palace. A train had arrived two days ago in Steveston just as the storm clouds had started to build. All of their things brought to them just as the air turned even colder.

She shivered against the winter air that blew in through the wide open front doors. Snowflakes floated lazily in after heavy boots and slowly melted on the cold marble floor. She watched the piles of boxes in the entryway grow with mixed feelings.

It had been two days since she’d gone to the city with August, and it had shaken loose a storm of memories that still hadn’t completely settled. Seeing the city again had made everything feel real. Looking at those streets and buildings with new eyes, it felt so different than it had just a few months ago when she had arrived, alone, and desperate to leave. Now she wasn’t running. This was the place they were fighting for, broken and lost in the same ways she was. Struggling.

And yet she had also found a spark of hope there. She knew now there was a way she could learn to control her magic. Someone to help her protect everyone she cared about. She smiled around a bite of muffin.

A warm weight of soft fabric settled over her shoulders as someone placed a jacket there protecting her against the cold. A small and welcome gesture. She pulled the coat a little closer, enjoying the comfort before turning toward the person who brought it.

“August,” she said in surprise. “I didn’t expect-”

She tried to ignore the sinking in her heart at the realization she had hoped it was Killian, that maybe it was a sign he had forgiven her.

“You looked cold standing here alone,” August said.

“Alone?” she repeated glancing at all the people all around them. “I’m hardly ever alone now.”

She saw him take in the bustle in the entryway, the looks sent at the two of them together. The way they always watched her, waiting, for some success or disaster, she wasn’t sure which anymore. The din of her new life.

“You know what i mean,” he said.

He meant Ruby and Killian. Ruby had gone to the Lost Boys, and Killian was giving her space. She knew he was upset that she had gone to the city with August. If she were being truthful, she knew she had been avoiding him too.

“I’m fine,” she told him, as if saying it out loud would will it to be true. “We’re fine.”

He watched her for a moment before speaking. “Good. I wasn’t going to leave you here without any friends.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “You’re leaving?”

He nodded. “I’m leading the envoy to Ludgate Island. We need to secure the prison.”

She heard the words he didn’t say, we need to secure Gold. The memories of him squeezed at her heart: his voice taunting her, the feeling of the amulet pulling at her, fear creeping up her spine. If Gold escaped...

“When do you leave?” she asked.

“An hour.”

So soon. She thought of the map they had laid out in the library a few nights ago, the path south toward the sea and the strait of rough water to the rocky outcropping of Ludgate Island. It wouldn’t be an easy journey.

“How long will you be there?” she asked him.

His sad expression was answer enough. She frowned as she watched him, wondering if she would see him again once he left. Drifting out her life again.

“We all have our parts to play,” he said and his eyes met hers and held. “I need to protect Misthaven from him.”

The way he said it made it clear that he was going there to protect something, someone, more specific. It hung there, unspoken. That loyalty that never faded. The words he wouldn't say.

She slid his coat off, the cold air making her miss it instantly. She carefully, slowly, folded it and pressed it back into his hands. “Thank you,” she said hoping he would understand.

He took it and then reached around to pull a pistol from his belt and held it out to her. An offering. A reminder of the danger that stood before them.

“I don’t want that,” she said, stepping back.

She remembered the train leaving Misthaven, the cold steel of a different pistol in her hands, taking aim at the blackguards chasing after them from the forest. She shivered at the memory. The sight of Killian’s wound, his blood dried on her fingers.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he said, “but I need to know you’re safe.”

Emma considered his words for a moment before she took the pistol, feeling its weight. Her fingers tightened on the handle. Muscle memory, muscles she had never wanted to develop.

“Goodbye, Princess,” he murmured and pulled her gently into a warm hug.

She held him tightly, silently wishing him strength and luck on his journey. Their paths splitting again, their stories tangled but not quite connected.

“Morning, Emma. August,” Killian said from beside them, startling her.

They broke apart and she swung around in surprise, she hadn’t heard him approaching.

Killian’s expression was unreadable, his gaze locked on August even as he gently pushed the barrel of the pistol in her hand away from where it had been pointing absently at him when she turned.

“I was just leaving,” August said with one last look at Emma before he turned away from them.

Killian’s eyes followed him until he left the room before turning to her.

“You could be nicer,” she scolded him, tucking away the pistol. “He’s on our side. We’re old friends,” she said.

He nodded. “Friends.” It sounded cynical.

Emma rolled her eyes, she knew that look. “Now’s not the time to be jealous, Killian.”

He didn’t respond. That irked her even more.

“I don’t get jealous of you and Ruby,” she pointed out.

Killian blinked. “Ruby is family,” he told her as though it were obvious. “He doesn’t look at you like he sees you as a sister.”

She shook off his comment, she wasn’t going to argue with him. Not over August. Not when he was leaving and there was nothing more to say. Not when there was so much the two of them needed to say instead. Everything they had been avoiding. She looked at him across the distance that had formed between them the last few days.

“Why are you here?” she asked him.

His eyes widened slightly and she could have slapped herself hearing how her words sounded. He pulled back slightly, adding again to that distance.

Whatever she had expected or hoped his answer might be, it wasn’t the words that followed. “The Queen wants you to get ready. You’re heading into the city again today.”

“The city?” she asked. “Why?”

“To distribute the supplies and food from the train directly to the people.”

She glanced at the stacks of crates in the entryway.

“A publicity stunt?” she guessed.

Killian frowned. “No. To help them, Emma. That’s the reason we’re here, isn’t it?”

Shame burned through her. She was still adjusting her perspective. She had been skeptical of authority for so long that sometimes it was hard to remember that not everything was a trick. She wondered how many of the people in the city would react the same way she had. Jaded. Betrayed too many times.

She looked at Killian, someone who struggled for everything he had. Who was more used to losing what he earned. And yet here he was, still able to see the good around them, to believe in a better future.

“Of course,” she said. “When are we leaving?”

He looked almost guilty for a moment. “I’m not going with you, Emma,” he said.

Dread twisted her stomach making her feel faintly sick. She knew she had allowed this tension between them to fester but never had she meant to push him away in a meaningful way. Panic rose up within her.

“What?” The word came out a little broken. “I need you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t be seen with your family, Emma. There are already too many rumors. If we want to maintain any cover for me, or more importantly Ruby, about our loyalties, then I can’t stand in front of a crowd by your side and declare allegiance like that.”

She took a breath trying to calm herself. What he said made sense, he was thinking strategically. Still the thought of facing so many people and being the princess they wanted without him almost brought her to her knees.

“What if they didn’t see you with us?” she asked slowly.

He tilted his head, not understanding

“Follow after us, join the crowd, come with the guards. I don’t care how, but I want you to be there.”

He ran a hand through his hair before letting out a sigh and nodding. He didn’t look glad for an excuse to go with her, he looked almost defeated. “Aye, love,” he said at last. “I can do that.”

It didn’t completely ease her worry or feel like a victory. Not when they were being twisted and pulled by loyalties and duties. Not when it felt like a chore or a gamble for him to follow her. Were there forces stronger than them that would tear them apart no matter how much they loved each other? Was their love only one that survived in quiet times and gentle hours?

She opened her mouth to speak, an olive branch, the words she hadn’t said for days on the tip of her tongue. They just needed to talk, a moment to themselves as everything swirled around them.

“Princess Emma,” a lady’s maid said appearing at her side. “You’re needed upstairs.”

Emma blinked at the girl, needing just another minute. But when she looked back at Killian she knew the moment had slipped away.

She was herded toward the stairs to prepare for the day, away from Killian. When she glanced back at the landing he was already gone.

Her mother was waiting for her in her room. Directing the others as the trunks of Emma’s things were unpacked, overwhelming her space with tulle and embroidery, gold and sparkle. Pieces of a life she hardly knew.

“There you are,” her mother said, coming over to pull her close. Her smile as she watched everything get unpacked was almost contagious. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“These are all mine?” Emma asked looking at the armoire already bursting.

Her mother just squeezed her arm, “Of course. Come on, we need to find one for you to wear today.”

Emma sat on the bed as she watched her mother flit between the fine gowns. Her fingers trailing down the fabric and straightening out long trains. This one would bring out the green of her eyes, that one would flatter her figure.

Emma looked around feeling a bit lost. It was like trying to pass an exam after missing all the lessons.

“I’m not sure we can show up in intricate ball gowns,” Emma said at last. “Most of the people there are living off nearly nothing. Won’t it seem... uncaring?”

Her mother set down the dress that had been cradled in her arms. “It’s not uncaring. Today we are going to bring hope, because I love this kingdom and we have come back to see beyond the despair to what it could be again.”

Emma glanced away, looking at the dress lying beside her. Tried to see it through her mother’s eyes. A way to return to a time that had been better. Her family getting back everything it had lost.

This dress was simpler, pale blue with embroidered silver flowers cascading down to the floor. “What about this one?” she suggested.

Her mother’s face lit up, pleased Emma seemed to be taking an active interest. “It’s perfect.”

Emma had the feeling her mother would have said that about anything Emma had picked. Sometimes Emma wasn’t sure what parental love or approval was meant to feel like. Was it a desperate attempt at any connection after so long apart or was it genuine?

But there was something that felt right about letting her mother help her fasten the small buttons at the back of the dress. A vague memory of days long ago. For a moment she felt like this was something mothers and daughters were meant to do. For a moment she felt that sense of family.

Emma’s fingers played at the delicate threads in the flowers. It must have taken countless hours by a steady experienced hand. And now it was hers to wear. She wondered if it had been made with her in mind, or if it was something they were all hoping would fit. Something fit for a princess.

She stepped over the mirror by the window. She thought of the gown she’d worn to the ball in Glowerhaven, when she’d fought Gold. She remembered how lost she had felt buried under all that fabric. This reflection looking back at her felt more familiar. Maybe she could do this, one step at a time.

She waved off the shining jewels they offered her. One small step at a time. She was still getting used to the weight of it all even without the added weight of diamonds and gems. She knew she would only get there by keeping in touch with who she was. And a part of her would always be that orphan girl. Two worlds in one person. Two lives coming together.

Before she felt ready Emma had joined her parents at their place in front of the wagons. She looked back at the group of people who would follow them, seeing no sign of Killian. There were more faces than she had expected. She kept a close eye on them as they walked away from the palace toward the city, watching for any unease on their faces, any wavering of their conviction, any hint of a lie in their intentions. Any signs of danger.

But as they entered the city her attention slipped to her parents, curious what their reaction would be. She remembered the feeling of the city when she had first seen it. The way the buildings had pressed in around her, the hopelessness that permeated from all sides.

The city seemed to hold its breath as they breached its limits. The streets quiet, empty, people pulling back, hiding from the approaching mass, as if they were an invading army.

She watched her mother as her eyes moved over the buildings, and how they rested on the faces peering hesitantly from dirty and broken windows. Shuttered behind their barriers, wary. Maybe they had been wrong, maybe there was no hope for them to regain the favor of these people who had learned over the years to hide and ignore the horrors just outside their doors to survive.

Emma sensed more than heard the sound from the shadowy corner of a collapsed storefront. She paused, wary of some threat. Everyone else stopped and followed her gaze, a few confused whispers echoed behind her. But instead of some hulking monster, a small shape stepped from the shadows.

It was a young girl, her apron spotted and torn, her hair tangled from the wind. Emma knew the look of someone who hadn’t slept tucked warmly in a bed. How many times had she looked like that? How many people over the years had looked away as if she wasn’t there, wasn’t their concern. But now she stood frozen in place watching the girl approach curiously.

Her mother broke away from the group moving toward the girl, kneeling down, her skirts folding onto the dirt and stones on the street. She beckoned her closer. There was something so trusting in the motion. Every hard lesson Emma had learned on the streets screamed at her to haul her mother back. The weight of the pistol hidden in her cloak burned against her as the girl moved closer.

A guard appeared at Emma’s side moving to assist the Queen. He was not brandishing a weapon but instead held a small loaf of bread from their supplies.The Queen offered him a smile in thanks as she took it and held it out to the girl.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

The girl’s eyes locked on the bread and she half ran the last few steps grabbing the loaf. She bit off a big chunk, a smile spreading over her lips.

“What’s your name?” the Queen asked the girl. Her voice was gentle, mothering in the way Emma had missed out on for so many years. She blinked looking away, a tightness in her chest.

The girl looked from the Queen to the group behind her. Taking in their clothes, the wagons. “Paige,” the girl answered softly.

The Queen beamed at the small girl. “Hi, Paige,” she said. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Paige gave another shy smile and took another bite of the bread.

Emma couldn’t help but think her mother was good at this. Where Emma had seen only a possible threat her mother had seen the truth. Not someone to fear but someone to help. Was this who she had been when she had ruled Misthaven? Was this why people had loved them? Was this why they were so sure the people would follow them again?

“Paige, can you do something for me?” The Queen asked.

Paige nodded slowly.

“Go and tell your family, your friends, and anyone you come across that the King and Queen are in the city and they’ve brought food and supplies for anyone who needs it.”

Paige’s eyes widened rising to look at the wagons stacked high with crates.

“Those are full of food?” she asked.

“Yes, there’s lots of food for everyone.”

She hardly needed any more encouraging. Paige turned and rushed up the street and out of view.

It wasn’t long before the faces hidden behind windows and shutters became people stepping out into the street to see what was happening. To confirm the rumors. And their numbers swelled as they made their way through the city until like a strong current they flowed through the streets gaining momentum.

~*~

Ruby watched the sun rise through the morning. The way the sky had turned from blue to gray to rose and then to gold. The light shining off the metal gutters and shimmering on the canals. Before the city woke up and the bustle started there was a moment when the city was crowned in light and gleamed like treasure. And then the sun rose fully and showed the city for what it really was, the light exposing all the darkness, the fairytale burned away.

She shifted her position, the slate roof beneath her uncomfortable after hours tucked up on top of the old central train station. From here she could see the main avenues and canals. Even the silent rails stretched out from where she sat in every direction. She watched over the city like a spider at the center of a web, waiting for something to fall into her trap.

It had been two days of prowling dark corners and crouched between buildings relearning the pulse of her city. The mundane goings on, stolen phrases of a hundred passing conversations, cross sections of a thousand people’s lives. From this perch and vantage point she took in everything.

It had been two days since she had gone back to the Breaker Street Factory and Peter’s knowing smile and this new assignment. Sentry duty. Perhaps a dull and unpleasant job, but she knew this task was a test of her loyalties and an assessment of her skills. It was what she would have done to test a new recruit. Besides, she didn’t mind it so much, it beat a council meeting. Hadn’t she been wishing for just this not long ago?

“So, I’m not the only person who knows about this spot,” a voice drawled from the shadows.

Ruby jumped to her feet drawing her dagger as a figure moved from behind one of the gargoyles she had thought were her only company up here.

“Who are you?” Ruby asked wanting some clue as to how this person got up on the ledge without her noticing. Maybe she wasn’t as good at this sentry thing as she had thought.

The figure stepped further out of the shadow, light falling on a slim figure in woven armor. Her black hair lifted off her shoulders from the breeze. Her dark eyes cool as she looked at Ruby.

“Peter sent me,” she said.

Ruby glanced around almost expecting to see others, perhaps a whole group sent to collect her. But they were alone on the roof.

“Is he calling me back?” Ruby asked.

The newcomer shifted into a casual pose but her expression remained hard. “No,” she said. “He sent me to follow you and watch what you did.”

“He thinks I’m going to betray him.”

It made sense. Peter was covering himself. This was a test with multiple layers. He wanted to be sure of her allegiance. He had made it quite clear when they had met that he knew she had ties to the royal family. He certainly seemed to know about Killian and Emma. Her only play had been to try to convince Peter that she was disenchanted with all of them. That she wanted to strike off on her own.

The woman shrugged before moving with sure feet over the sloping roof. She eased down beside Ruby, her dark hair shining in the sun. Ruby’s gaze traced over her face, her sharp eyes.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ruby asked.

She stared out at the city before sighing.

“Because I know who you are Ruby Lucas. And I don’t think you are loyal to the Lost Boys.” Ruby opened her mouth to make some sort of obligatory protest but she continued. “And that makes you my best chance at an ally.”

Ruby’s mouth snapped shut in surprise. “Who are you?” she asked again.

“My name’s Mulan,” she said, turning to face her. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Ruby wasn’t sure there was anything she could do about it anyway. After all Mulan had tracked her, scaled the side of a building after her, and knew her secrets. She was clearly skilled. That and the large sword strapped to her back. Ruby eyed it warily. If the armor was any indication she probably knew how to use it too.

Mulan noticed Ruby’s attention on the sword. She smiled and it transformed her, softening her fierce demeanor. If Peter had sent her as a trap Ruby was suddenly afraid of just how adept an opponent he might be because she could imagine herself falling willingly into this one if she let her guard down.

“Cursebreaker,” Mulan told her.

Ruby stared at her blankly.

“The sword,” she clarified.Trying to gain a little of Ruby’s trust with information. “It’s called Cursebreaker. It can cut through anything, any material and any magical enchantment. It’s been in my family for generations.”

Ruby traced the intricate engravings on the hilt, a mix of images of dragons and symbols in a language she didn’t know. It was a work of art, its history carved into it. It must have been valuable. And they had entrusted it to Mulan. That kind of faith told her a lot about Mulan.

“I don’t have any family heirlooms left, everything was lost in the revolt,” Ruby said. Though the way her grandmother had tutted about her clumsiness she probably wouldn’t have been given any even if she’d had the chance.

Mulan looked down at the streets below them. “You grew up here?” she asked.

“I thought you said you knew who I was,” Ruby challenged.

Mulan met her gaze. “I heard about the outlaw. I didn't know about before.”

The way she said it made Ruby curious what Mulan thought of her. Outlaw. It was a disapproving word, but her tone hadn’t been.

Some instinct told her to trust Mulan, sensed a similar heart looking back at her.

“My grandmother was a close friend of the Queen,” Ruby told her.

“That’s why you’re with the royals now?” she asked.

“A lot has happened since my grandmother died,” she said carefully. Not a confirmation and not a denial.

“And you chose to fight back,” Mulan said looking steadily at her. “That is very brave.”

Ruby blushed, being called brave by someone in armor felt like a big compliment.

“I’m guessing you’re something of a fighter too,” Ruby said trying to turn the conversation off of her to safer territory.

Mulan tugged at the gauntlets on her wrists. “The world doesn’t always lead you down the path you dreamed of.”

“What did you dream of doing?” Ruby asked, surprised by how much she wanted to know the answer, some insight into who she was.

Mulan leaned back a little, looking up at the sky. “I dreamed of making my family proud.”

“Are they not proud of you?” She thought again of the sword she carried.

Mulan met Ruby’s look. “I don’t know,” she said.

It wasn’t what she’d expected her to say.

“Where are they?”

Mulan’s expression darkened. “They’re gone.”

Ruby looked away. “Orphans of the revolution,” she murmured, Peter’s words. “I see why the Lost Boys recruited you.”

“There are a lot of reasons people join the Lost Boys,” Mulan said. Ruby perked up, this was what she’d said they needed to talk about.

“Why did you join then?” Ruby asked.

Mulan’s reply was interrupted by excited shouts from down on the streets. They both looked down at the commotion, people moving out into the streets beckoning others to follow, until at last the royal banners and guards turned down the avenue. The procession made its way over the wide stone bridge that spanned the main canal headed for the heart of the city.

Ruby stood up from her hiding place and slid to the edge of the roof for a better view of the square where the royals had come to a stop. She could just make out the gold shine of Emma’s hair in the center. A roar went up from the crowd as a large crate from one of the wagons was pried open and sacks of grain were pulled out and passed to the people there. She watched a small girl with curling brown hair scurry across the bridge to the edge of the crowd intent on seeing what was going on. Ruby instantly felt like she was looking back through the years at a younger version of herself. She even found herself scanning the surrounding people for a small Killian darting in between the crowd probably picking pockets.

“You have to tell Peter,” Mulan said quietly beside her.

Ruby looked at her, expecting to see judgement, waiting to see if she would go inform the Lost Boys. But there was only sadness. Like she understood exactly the position this put Ruby in. As if she had walked that very line before. Duty and betrayal.

She wondered what Mulan had traded to get into Peter’s good graces.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” Ruby said standing.

Mulan watched her from where she remained sitting. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

She said it like this exchange was some habit they had formed over years. For a moment it was easy to pretend Mulan was someone she had known all her life. Ruby bit back a small smile and turned away.

Ruby dropped out of her perch and made to head back for the Breaker Street Factory. A part of her hated walking away from where she knew her friends were, away from what felt safe and deeper into danger. Her thoughts spun as she walked the empty streets. Something about meeting Mulan had left her feeling disoriented, confused, like she’d heard a joke but hadn’t understood the punchline.

When she entered the abandoned factory she found Peter easily enough in his office atop the spiral staircase. Sitting at his desk beside a roaring fireplace looking out the windows at the city like a hawk watching for scurrying prey.

“Ruby,” he said in greeting before turning around to face her. An unnerving display of just how much he knew of what was happening around him.

“The royal family has entered the city via the east gate and moved to the central square,” she told him without any preamble. “They’ve brought food for the people.”

Peter turned to her and leaned back in his chair seeming many years older than he looked. “How many guards did they have with them?” he asked her, watching her carefully.

She weighed how much information to give him without compromising the royals’ security measures.

“Around twenty,” she told him, hedging on giving an exact number, but supplied him a little extra information so he wouldn’t notice, “They’re armed with swords and pistols.”

“Industrialist weapons?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Traditional.”

He sneered, a wicked light in his eyes. “Fitting,” he mused. “At least we have a definite advantage there.”

Ruby’s chest tightened at his words, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the implication that the Lost Boys had the royals significantly outgunned or the way he seemed to be including Ruby in his ‘we’.

He reached into a compartment in the desk and pulled out a dusty bottle of triple distilled whiskey. He brushed the dust from the cap before opening it. Clearly he didn’t break this out often. She couldn’t help but feel a little honored when he pushed a glass toward her. She joined him as he took a large sip, enjoying the way the liquid burned down her throat.

A small comfort as her heart hammered in her chest under his watchful gaze.

“How will they leave the city?” he asked her

She frowned. “I don’t know, I came straight here to inform you.”

He took a sip of the whiskey and Ruby found herself copying him. “What would you have advised they do if they had asked you?”

She thought for a moment. Mapping the city in her mind, places she would have told them to avoid, the quickest routes. She took into account the number of people, the possibility the adoring public might follow them out.

“I’d tell them to follow the canal and circle back the way they came in.”

“But you don’t know the actual plan?” he pushed.

She shook her head. “It’s only a guess,” she told him.

He swirled the whiskey in his glass looking at it speculatively. “This isn’t an operation that is carried out on a whim. Gathering the supplies, intelligence, managing security. Surely they planned this at the council meetings,” he said.

She paused. He was right. This wasn’t the sort of thing you could have planned in the last day or two while she had been gone. And that meant they had discussed this while Ruby had been at the lakeside palace with them but they hadn’t included her. Ruby tried to ignore the sting. She took another sip of the whiskey.

“They wouldn’t leave something like this to chance,” Peter said, thinking aloud. “They probably tested the route, had someone case the area.”

He looked over at her. The question clear in his expression.

Ruby tried to remember if she had heard any mention of that happening, any mentions of people or guards leaving to go to the city since they arrived. Emma had been in the city with August. But August was leaving to Lydgate, they wouldn’t send away their source of intel. She tried to think if anyone else had been sent. And then her heart dropped. Killian.

She and Killian had gone to the city. The Queen had told them they were going ‘only to collect information.’ It seemed baldly obvious now. She remembered thinking Killian and the Queen seemed like they were hiding something. It all fit into place. Was he keeping secrets from her too? The thought cut deeper than she’d expected. She felt as if she’d been sliced open and her organs were falling out onto the floor as she helplessly watched.

“Maybe they don’t trust the council,” Peter said offhandedly but Ruby only heard maybe they don’t trust you.

There was a buzzing in her ears. She couldn’t focus.

“They’d be right to be suspicious,” Ruby heard herself say as if she could dull the hurt of betrayal by striking back. “There’s more than a few council members who aren’t as loyal as the King and Queen think.”

Peter’s eyes flashed in the firelight flicking up from the glass in his hand.

He poured her another glass, she couldn’t remember finishing the first. She took another long sip. It seemed to help calm her. That burning rage settling into a glowing ember.

“They’re being reckless,” Ruby said, it felt good to finally say it. “They have no idea what they’re getting into. They think they can march in here and people will embrace them. As if nothing over the last thirteen years even happened.”

“There must be people on the council who have tried to warn them,” he prompted.

She shrugged. “I guess. But they’ve also surrounded themselves with people who think like they do. I suppose Emma is the best bet to make them understand. They will listen to her. Lord knows she has a good idea what this world is actually like.”

“I suppose their followers don’t trust Emma because she missed so many years of the training she was meant to have had to be princess,” he said.

Ruby shook her head with a bitter laugh. “Not exactly. I suspect a good portion of them would follow her, even over their loyalties to her parents.”

He took another sip of the whiskey as he pondered her words.

“I find loyalty is a tricky thing,” he told her thoughtfully. Like he was speaking to an old friend. “It is slowly earned and easily broken down. Too much pressure put on one person, too many lies, and suddenly it dissolves. I’ve had that problem in the Lost Boys. People I thought, I hoped, would rise to be top ranking members, important in our organization, and they let me down. I am much more careful who I confide in now.”

She looked up to meet his eyes, the steady way he was looking at her. The spark of hope in his eyes, as if maybe she was exactly who he had been looking for.

~*~

Killian watched from the fringes of the crowd as people fawned over the royal family. Today the smiles he saw around him were real. People passed him clutching bags of grain and newly cobbled pairs of boots. They remarked to each other how good it was to have the royals back.

It was going better than he’d dared to hope. His eyes were drawn once again to Emma. She shone at the center of the crowd, smiling brightly and shaking hands with anyone who came up to her. The crowd loved her, their beloved princess returned to them. The hero who had defeated Gold, the one who had saved them from the Industrialists.

But as she hauled the large bags off the wagons beside the guards she didn’t seem so elite or intangible. Here she seemed like she belonged, one of the people who surrounded her. She could dress in elegant dresses, but he smiled as he thought how there would always be a bit of the scrappy girl from the streets in her. She wasn’t a delicate shrinking violet, she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, and that was exactly what the country needed.

A tall man pushed past him, knocking him back a step, and Killian might not have paid him any notice if not for the scowl on his face. So different from all the other faces around them that were beaming and delighted. Killian turned just in time to see the afternoon light glint off something in the man’s belt. It took a second before Killian realized what it was, an Industrialist pistol. He watched the man slink off, down one of the narrow streets off the square.

He looked around wildly for any sign they were under attack from Industrialist sympathizers. But there was no commotion, no uneasy faces in the crowd. No flashes of blackguards or black masks. He looked back just in time to see the man disappear around a corner, and he acted on instinct, turning away from the royals and the square and giving chase after the mysterious man.

He caught up to the man easily, keeping a safe distance as he trailed him through the city. At last they broke through the gridded city blocks to the docks. Killian paused. The area was emptier than he’d ever seen it. There were no airships docked, no workers bustling around, no raucous singing spilling from the row of taverns. This place had been the heart of Misthaven industry and trade. Now it decayed, empty and forgotten. It was another sure sign that the city was broken.

He was struck by another thought: this was where he had first met Emma. Years ago, both of them living entirely different lives, neither of them knowing what dangers lay ahead. He remembered the sight of her, shining brilliantly as she stood against the blackguards. The old Misthaven going up in flames around them. It looked very different than it had that night.

Killian saw the mysterious man slip into the cracked doors of one the warehouses clustered by the docks. He sidled up the door peeking through the opening but the place seemed empty, no sound reaching him. His instincts warned him that this could be a trap, but he needed to know who the man was. If he posed any danger. Why he had that pistol.

Killian ducked inside, his eyes adjusting to the dim room. There were groups of dusty crates scattered about the room, pushed aside, forgotten. He took a few steps moving further into the cavernous room toward a flickering lantern at the far end of the room.

Closer he could see the light was sitting on a table that had been fashioned into a workbench of some sort. Pliers and bolt cutters sat among gears and welding supplies. He looked around confused. The Industrialists hadn’t operated like this, they had centralized production in large factories, not a single workstation tucked forgotten into a warehouse.

“What are you doing here?” the man said appearing just to Killian’s left brandishing the very pistol that had caught his interest. “Answer or I’ll shoot you.”

“Hold on,” Killian said, holding up his hands. “I was following you.”

“Is that supposed to convince me not to shoot you?” he growled.

Killian turned to him with his hands still raised. He seemed only a few years older than Killian but his hair was graying at his temples and his small dark eyes and slight frame gave him a slightly manic look. His hand was shaking as he held the gun at Killian.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he told the man.

“I have the gun, if anyone is getting hurt it’s you,” he retorted, giving the gun a shake for emphasis which was not as menacing as it was meant to be. Mostly it told Killian that the man didn’t have much experience with firearms, which did nothing to explain why he was in possession of an Industrialist gun.

“Easy,” Killian said, taking a step toward him raising his arms a little further. “Let’s start over, shall we? My name’s Killian Jones. Who are you?”

“Walsh,” the man said.

He watched skeptically as Killian slowly lowered his right hand toward him. With a moment’s hesitation, the man reached out to shake Killian’s hand. Mistake two, Killian thought as he grasped the man’s hand, it would be only too easy to disarm him and pull the gun from his other hand now. But Killian simply shook his hand and stepped back, overpowering him and putting him on the defensive was not going to get him any answers. He sensed that letting Walsh believe he was in control would yield the best results.

“What is this place, Walsh?” Killian asked looking pointedly toward the workbench.

Walsh glanced from the bench and Killian to the gun and let it fall to his side. Mistake three. Clearly Walsh was not accustomed to dealing with unsavory people.

“This is my workshop,” he answered.

Killian took quick stock of the room for anything else that might be a weapon, either one he could use or something that might activate against him.

“What is it you make here?” he asked him, moving to run a finger down the edge of a set of intricate gears that looked like the locking mechanism of a complex safe.

“I invent things here,” Walsh said with a hint of pride in his voice.

Killian turned to him.

“I’m carrying on where the Industrialists left off,” Walsh continued.

Now they were finally arriving at it.

“You’re an industrialist,” Killian said halfway between a statement and a question.

Walsh frowned. “The Industrialists are gone,” he said slowly in a way that sounded almost like pity, like he thought Killian might have been too thick to notice.

“Who do you work for then?” Killian asked.

“I work for the people,” he said. Killian waited but he didn’t elaborate.

“What do you make?” Killian asked again.

Walsh moved over to the bench straightening a few things and then wiping down the lock Killian had touched, cleaning off the spotless surface. “I make what is needed. That’s what true innovation is. That was what the Industrialists were doing, and now that they are gone I must continue. We can’t afford to let this much knowledge and progress be lost just because some man was defeated.”

Killian froze. For someone who couldn’t even hold a gun steady Walsh sure brushed off Gold’s existence like it had been nothing. It only added to the mystery and puzzle that only seemed more complicated with every small piece of information he provided.

“That is what innovation is all about: moving society forward,” Walsh continued. “It shouldn’t play to the whims of who is in political power at the moment. We can do things today we never even dreamed of ten years ago. We have access to manufacturing techniques that no other place in the world has. We have solved problems of transportation, sanitation, energy production, and medical care. We can’t lose those just because the Industrialists fell. Everyone has demonized them, but they did give us many things we never had before.”

Killian couldn’t deny there was some truth to his words. A perspective he had never considered before. But still his instincts warned him that Walsh’s free agent attitude made him too much of a wildcard to just leave uninvestigated.

“How many others are there, helping you?” Killian asked. He needed to assess the danger this kind of fringe group might be.

“Others?” Walsh asked, again looking like he thought Killian might be dimwitted. He gestured at the dark and empty warehouse. “You think there are so many left? That the engineers and inventors weren’t run off when Gold was defeated? You think the factories weren’t burned down? You think there are workshops hiding in every spare corner? You think there’s some weekly meeting I could attend? Maybe for tea or knitting circle? Perhaps we could start a cricket team, huh? You think I wouldn’t give anything for a sharp mind to collaborate with? To not be surrounded by weak, subservient, placated people who have no desire for progress?”

Killian worked to keep his expression unreadable as he felt a surge of indignation. This was the hubris and arrogance that had made Gold and the Industrialists unbearable. The way they could talk about helping the people and bettering society and then in the same breath insult and belittle the very people they claimed to champion. They cared only about seeing how far they could push science and the glory of discovery. They didn’t care about who was crushed to make it happen.

Walsh could wax poetic about innovation, but he could tell now that parts on the workbench were several pistols in various states of production. Walsh was making weapons.

“Who’s buying these?” Killian asked.

Walsh half pushed one of the pistols under a rag before seeming to realize it was pointless. He didn’t bother looking sheepish.

“There’s always a buyer. Some will pay top price to be well outfitted.”

“The gangs?” Killian guessed.

“There are some who know the value of good craftsmanship,” he said. “The powerful gangs have been around longer than the Industrialists, older than the stones of the city and just as important to its structure. They were imbedded just as deeply with Gold as the Industrialist big wigs. And when the industrialists fell some ran but some adapted, blending into a new landscape. Wearing a new mask. It wasn’t hard to find buyers, hell, some found have been buying from me for years.”

“The Lost Boys?” Killian asked him point blank not bothering to veil his interest.

Walsh swelled with unmasked pride. “Peter has appreciated my work for some time. Now he contracts exclusively with me.”

Killian felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had been blind not to see this coming. “You can produce enough weapons from this workbench for the entire gang?” Killian asked him.

“I’m very good at what I do,” Walsh told him.

Humble too, Killian thought. Walsh would likely be more than happy if Gold managed to escape imprisonment and rise again. Killian wondered again how many others like him there might be, biding their time in the shadows. He almost couldn’t believe it but he was actually glad for August, he only hoped he made it to Lydgate Island soon.

“So are you going to arrest me?” Walsh asked him.

“I’m not the police,” Killian said, he wondered for a moment when he had reached the point so far from who he had been just months ago that he could be mistaken for an officer.

“You are with the royals,” Walsh said, not quite a question or a statement. The mirror of his own accusation that Walsh was an Industrialist. An invisible line between them.

Killian smirked. “I’m not here to arrest anyone.”

Walsh looked him over one last time before he turned his back and sat at the workbench. “Then I’ll ask you to see yourself out. This is private property.”

Killian looked for a long moment at Walsh, back turned. Vulnerable. Unprotected. Completely engrossed in his work once again. His silhouette edged in golden light from the glowing lantern.

He wondered for a second if he was making a mistake, not taking an easy opportunity, as he turned and walked away. Exiting the warehouse and leaving Walsh alone. The man determined to continue to change the world, but he was clinging to the past just as much as any of them.

He had to warn the others.

On the streets the day was clouding over, promising snow. He had barely turned the corner from the warehouses when he ran right into someone. He stumbled back in surprise before he registered the person in front of him.

“Emma?” he looked around. “What are you doing here? Why are you alone? Where’s your family?”

“I came to find you,” she said looking over his shoulder toward the docks. “Where did you go?”

“Followed a possible threat,” he said gesturing towards the warehouses. “I need to find Robin. We need to get a warning to Ruby. I don’t think we can trust Peter, he has a connection to Gold, and she’s walked right into his trap.”

“Killian, you can’t blow her cover to tell her to be careful of the person she is spying on. I'm pretty sure she already knows that. Besides you can’t just go walking into Peter’s stronghold and ask to talk to her.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I need to find Robin. He’ll be able to pass a message to her from within the Lost Boys.”

Emma frowned. “But we don’t know where Robin will be.”

“Actually, I do.”

She considered that carefully, crossing her arms.

“Okay, I’ll come with you.”

He was surprised by her response. “No, Emma, not for this. It’s no place for a princess. You should go back with your family.”

“I’m going with you, Killian,” she said stubbornly.

He sighed knowing she wouldn’t budge. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Please,” she said, making him look up because she so rarely begged. “I want to help Ruby. She’s my friend. Being a princess can’t stop me from helping people I care about. I don’t want to be just a figurehead, a symbol for people to use how they want.”

He thought of the way her face had fallen when he had told her he couldn’t go with her this morning. That fear of abandonment that gripped her no matter how much he tried to assure her.

“Okay,” he said at last.

She looked relieved, like she hadn’t expected him to agree. “So, where are we going?” she asked him.

He watched her carefully as he told her, “The catacombs.”

He enjoyed the stunned way her jaw dropped open before adding, “and you’re going to need a change of clothes.”

She looked down at her dress. “Who’s going to care what I’m wearing? The dead?”

He chuckled. “You’ve clearly never been to the catacombs,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“What does that mean?’ she asked him.

He just turned and beckoned her after him heading for shops up the street. “You’ll see.”

Killian led the way into a store tucked into a dingy corner, there was no window display, not even a sign advertising their wares. A rusted bell clacked roughly above them as he pushed open the door.

The room beyond the door was dimly lit with old gas fixtures, their light a slight green color. And everywhere there were crowded and cluttered shelves, stacks of moldering books and piles of wrinkled clothes.

“Is that Killian Jones?” the old woman behind a warped counter said. “I hate to think what i’ve done to earn this visit.”

“Miss Agatha,” Killian said with warmth in his tone. “Does a fellow need a reason to visit a beautiful lady?”

The woman’s eyes slipped past Killian to where Emma was standing just inside the door. “Seems you already got a beautiful lady.”

Killian struggled to hold back a smile. “Agatha, this is Emma,” he said gesturing to where Emma was hovering behind him.

“I know who she is,” Agatha said looking her over. “The whole city is buzzing about it.”

“Right,” Killian said. Agatha was always quick to get down to business. “That’s actually why we’re here. We need something a little less conspicuous.”

They all looked at Emma’s embroidered dress.

Agatha huffed a laugh, the sound of an engine backfiring. “I never knew inconspicuous to be your style, Mr. Jones.”

“Times change,” Killian said with an easy smile.

Agatha looked between him and Emma again. “That they do. I see you’ve lost your usual shadow.”

Killian shrugged. “Ruby’s on official business at the moment.”

Agatha seemed to file away that information, not everything she sold was as tangible as metal or linen.

“Shame, that girl knows how to spend money.”

Killian stepped forward and dropped a small pile of coins on the counter. “She’s not the only one. I’m trusting this will buy discretion as well.”

Agatha scooped up the coins almost as soon as they hit the counter. “Don’t insult me, Killian. We’ve known each other long enough.”

“Agatha, you are a true gem,” he said.

She scoffed but it didn’t cover her small smile. “Stop flirting or your girl will get jealous,” she said with a wink, easing gingerly off her stool onto arthritic joints. “Come on, sweetheart. We’ll see what we’ve got that suits you. Follow me.”

Emma looked a little startled at being addressed and glanced to Killian who gave her a small encouraging nod. She followed Agatha around the counter along the racks of clothes.

Killian perused the shelves in the front of the store while he waited. Agatha’s had always been a place you might find anything. Usually at a good discount from the shops on the high street or the wide avenues at the center of the city. If you weren’t concerned with how the items got here or if the official tariffs had been paid or if the shipments logged with the authorities, then Agatha’s was perfect.

The shelves showed no sign of organization, antiques shoved beside cooking ware, hardware beside candles. You would be lost if you were looking for something specific. Here, you just happened across treasures, waiting for you even when you didn’t know you were looking.

Agatha reappeared at the counter. “She’ll be a minute. She’s trying a few things.”

Killian nodded looking at a small metal box with an intricately carved keyhole. There was a note pasted to it that said unable to open, key lost.

He stared at the metal box thinking of Walsh’s crowded bench. “Agatha,” he said. “Have you heard of anyone buying up old Industrialist parts.”

“Sure,” she said and he swung around in surprise. “Lots of folks are trying to get spare parts now that there won’t be any new production. Just the other day had some rich folks from the East Side going to every store trying to find a back up engine for their laundry washer. Guess they’re terrified they might have to wash clothes manually like the rest of us.”

Killian frowned. Maybe it was too much to hope it’d be easy to figure out how many Industrialist sympathizers were left.

“Will you let me know if someone comes looking for gun parts?” he asked her.

She put a hand on her hip tilting her head. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?” she laughed to herself. “Get trouble stuck to you like shit on a pig.”

Agatha, always delicate in her word choice. Closest thing he’d ever met to how Ruby described her grandmother. He thought they probably would have gotten along swimmingly, Granny and Agatha.

“Don’t you go dragging that sweet girl into all that,” she said, her tone serious.

He heard Emma’s footsteps approaching. “Who says she’s not the one dragging me into it?” he responded.

Agatha shook her head pursing her lips. But before she could say anything else Emma appeared and he completely forgot about everything except the way her bodice skimmed her curves, tightly fastened with bronze buckles. Her skirt was patchwork but it hung on her like the finest silk. She looked like she’d be at home in the rowdy bars by the water making some steamboat captain fall in love with her. She looked like she was from the city, like this was her home. Like she belonged here.

“Well, that’s...” he trailed off, words escaping him, “much better.”

Emma walked toward him and he watched the sway of her hips, the swell of her breasts over the corset. Gods above.

She nudged him playfully. “My eyes are up here, Jones.”

He blinked letting out a weak splutter. He didn’t even bother looking over at Agatha; he could only imagine her expression.

“Come on, let’s go,” she said, her hand finding his arm. “Thank you, Agatha. Truly.”

“Mmhmm, you take care, dear,” she responded, and yeah she was definitely laughing at him.

Small flakes swirled in the air as they stepped back out onto the street. He took a deep breath the cold burning his lungs, cooling a little of the fire that had roared inside him. Much as he might have wanted to explore each and every layer of Emma’s new look he knew they had something more important to do.

“Follow me,” he said, leading her back towards the central canal. The lamps were beginning to flicker on, casting a warm glow to the buildings, a substitute for the sunset that was hidden behind the thick gray clouds. He thought of the winter solstice only a couple weeks ago and he wondered if there had been a celebration this year. If anyone had put out lanterns and holly wreaths in the chaos of the Industrialists fleeing Misthaven. Winter Solstice had always been his favorite holiday.

At last the street they were following ended at the canal. Its murky water lapping at the stone walls. Emma followed him as he ducked under the small bridge at the next cross street onto a narrow path along the edge of the water until they got to a small opening in the stones in the bridge’s supports.

“This leads to the catacombs?” Emma asked, looking a little warily at the dark tunnel.

“There’s multiple entrances throughout the city,” he told her. “These tunnels run all under the streets. Some say they go all the way to the castle.”

“They do.”

Killian looked over at her, surprised by her matter-of-fact tone.

She caught his glance before adding, “It’s how my family escaped the castle during the revolt”

He stared at her. It had been a common theory that the royals had been smuggled out through the tunnels. But Emma had never spoken since about that night since her memories returned and it caught him off guard.

“Come on,” he said and held out a hand guiding her the first step. “It’s okay.”

Emma took stilted cautious steps into the darkness. The sounds of the canal fading behind them.

“Do you have a light or something?” Emma whispered.

“Just a little farther,” he told her and sure enough when they turned a corner there ahead was a line of torches burning along the tunnel, out of sight from the hidden entrance but beckoning them on.

“Are they always here?” Emma asked

“Every night.”

“How many people know about this place?”

He knew she was asking questions because she was feeling out of her element. Nerves making her ramble. He remembered when she had stitched his shoulder, the words tumbling out of her to calm them both. He smiled at the memory of her touch.

“It’s one of the city’s secrets, but that doesn’t mean it’s a particularly well kept secret.”

They followed the torches through the maze of tunnels, the ground sloping up and down at times, occasionally sounds of dripping water could be heard leaking in from the canals overhead.

Finally the tunnel opened on a large cavern, a sunken chamber of the old catacombs. Already there was a large number of people gathered in the space.

Across the crowd he could see the alcoves that were nestled in the walls and corners, bones scattered along the walls mixed with the rough stones all around them. Music hummed in a thumping rhythm. A pulse beating through the people. The flickering light flashed off metal buckles on a hundred coats and boots and the thick spectacles pushed up from the faces of the factory workers. And it made the bones in the walls appear to shift and dance until it was hard to tell what movement came from the living or the dead. It was the illusion, the magic of this place. Everyone was equal here, surrounded by so many reminders of death. The one thing everyone had in common. It should have made it haunting, but to Killian, this was a place people came to feel alive.

Emma looked around the room in obvious shock. He tried to see it through her eyes, tried to remember the first time he had been here. Sent to gather information about smuggled goods for the promise of much needed coin. He’d been only a boy and this place had seemed like something out of the novels he read. A place more wonderful and terrible than fiction.

“How are we ever going to find Robin?” Emma breathed hopelessly looking at the mass of people. Ever practical, his Emma. Maybe she didn’t see the romance of this place.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the crowd.

She pulled back uneasily, her eyes darting around. “Wait, what am I supposed to do?”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Blend in,” he grinned, leading her deeper into the cavern.

He grabbed two glasses of bubbling green liquid from a tray, slipping the man a coin. He passed one to Emma. “Cheers, love.”

She eyed the cocktail warily. “What is this?”

“This is how we blend in.” He lifted his glass and she tentatively touched hers to his.

He tipped the glass back taking a long drink. The burning taste was familiar to him but Emma coughed lightly beside him before putting on a brave face and taking another sip.

They wove between the people, Killian keeping a sharp eye out for Robin. Emma stuck close by his side and he became aware of the way the others were looking at them. No, at Emma. A mix of surprise and curiosity. It seemed no clothes or green drinks would allow her to blend in. Her identity shone from her, an integral part that could not be buried or forgotten.

A few people gave her smiles, nods of thanks. Whether for her efforts that morning or what she had done to rid them of the Industrialists he didn’t know. But for whatever their reason they seemed generally pleased to have her among them. One of them. Not above them, uncaring or disconnected, but here offering a shy smile.

“You’re causing a bit of a stir,” a voice said beside them. Killian turned to see Robin leaning casually against the wall of the cavern.

“Robin,” he breathed in relief. “We need a word.”

Robin cast a glance over their shoulders at the others in the room. “Maybe somewhere a little quieter.”

He moved into one of the small alcoves, a narrow twist in the hewn wall of the cavern. Here too bones and skulls lined the walls. Small rivulets of water leaked down over the bones like phantom blood, and shadows clung thickly here tucked away from the torches.

“You know, I didn’t expect you to make good on this offer quite so quickly,” Robin said to Killian.

But Emma simply rushed forward pulling Robin into a tight hug. He looked a little surprised before tentatively returning her embrace.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling back. “For everything you did for us.”

“My lady,” Robin replied, bending his head in a small bow. “What’s a favor between friends?” he said, his eyes lifting to Killian.

“Actually, since you mentioned it,” Killian said. “We’re here for another favor.”

Robin smirked. “Sounds about right.”

Killian glanced behind them but there was no one observing them. “It’s Ruby. I need you to pass her a message.”

Robin looked a little wary but he didn’t make any protest.

“Peter has connections to Gold,” Killian said, not wasting any time. “I think they used to work together. He’s buying industrialist weapons. We are trying to secure Gold but even from within the prison he may make a move against the royal family. Peter knows about Ruby’s history. She’ll be in considerable danger while she’s there.”

Robin glanced at Emma beside him. “Peter has been working to acquire weapons for some time. I’ve been suspicious for a while that he plans to move away from petty smuggling and racketeering and use the Lost Boys as his personal army. I have a few allies within the gang, we are working to gather more information.”

“Will you watch out for her?” Killian asked him. “Will you get her out if this goes badly?”

He hated that he couldn’t be the one watching Ruby’s back. Trusting someone else with that job felt like being asked to wear someone else’s face, fundamentally wrong to his sense of self.

“Killian,” Robin said, pausing to wait until he met his gaze. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

He tried to let that promise comfort him.

Robin pulled out a worn bronze pocket watch. “It’s getting late,” he said. “We shouldn’t be seen leaving together. Stay here a while longer.” His gaze moved again to Emma. “People seem receptive to your presence. If you want to harness that political power you should show them you can understand them.”

“Does everything need to be about politics?” she asked with a frown.

Robin looked at her steadily. “Your life will be endless politics, Your Highness. And in politics, perception is everything.”

“No,” Emma said meeting his gaze. “In politics your allies are everything. I am very lucky in mine.”

Robin chuckled. “You’re already better at this than you think you are.”

With a small nod he pulled on his hat and ducked out of the alcove and disappeared into the crowd. Killian turned back to Emma.

“I suppose we could stay, let you get the whole experience,” he said nodding to the crowd.

Emma frowned. “I thought you didn’t want to be seen together.”

The words were like ice piercing him. He’d never meant for her to take his words from this morning that way.

“Emma, that’s not-” he broke off. “Robin will watch out for Ruby now. We might as well stop pretending. People have already seen you here, seen us together. Everyone already knows. I don’t want to act like this is something we need to hide.”

They moved from the alcove. The music had picked up and all the eyes that met his now had a shine from the effects of the brightly colored drinks. He could see Jefferson across the cavern with bottles of his illegally distilled wares, he’d probably make a good profit on a night like this. Tonight there was an infectious sense of celebration among everyone gathered. Nights like this were his favorite in the catacombs.

Taking her hand Killian guided Emma into the group of people dancing. If there was no need to try to conceal themselves any longer he wanted to make the most of this. Emma hesitated standing a little stiffly beside him as he came to a stop. He could see the uneasiness in her eyes.

He ran a hand down over the curve of her waist, as he’d wanted to all evening, the leather soft beneath his palm. He leaned a little closer to her. “It’s okay, Emma.”

“You trust these people?” she asked him quietly so they wouldn’t be overheard.

He glanced around, many of the faces ones he’d seen before, a few he could put names to. He’d squabbled and schemed alongside them for years, but trust? “No,” he told her before adding with a smirk, “but I’m here to keep you safe.”

He bent his head, his lips brushing the edge of her ear. He felt her take a shaking breath. “Give in to it,” he told her, pulling her into the sway of the beat of the music. Give us a chance he begged her silently.

She relaxed into him, following his lead. His heart leapt at the feeling and he buried a smile into her soft hair.

Energy coursed around them, the drums beating a steady rhythm, vibrating up through the stone at their feet. It was like they had crawled beneath the skin of the city to find the beat of its heart. All around them the dancing was getting more uninhibited, freer. All the worries and fears that hung heavily in the streets were shed down here, as if they could all be reborn again to then return and face another day above.

This was not like the waltz he had taught her or they had danced at her parents’ ball in Glowerhaven. This was instinctual, sensual. The two of them moved together. He loved the feeling of her in his arms. His hands ran over her back as she lifted her arms twisting to the melody, her head falling back, her hair brushing over his knuckles.

This Emma, the one he had seen at the coast, was a favorite of his. The one who didn’t have the worries of the world on her shoulders. The one that let herself be vulnerable. He loved seeing past her thick armor.

The crowd surrounded them, pulling at them like currents of the sea trying to pull them under. It would have been easy to be swept away. To get lost in the feeling as he had on numerous occasions in the past. To drink deeply from this dangerous draught.

But he followed her sparkling eyes, her hand tugging him gently. He needed little coaxing, it was always her, only her. And she was guiding him away from the tight press of the others. People moved aside for her as she cut a line through them. He noticed again the way they looked at her, admired her, but she had eyes only for him. She led them out of the crowd and the cavern up the sloping tunnels until the only sounds were the echo of their footsteps, the swish of her skirts, and pounding of his heart.

They broke the surface, the night air biting at them. He looked at Emma, the way her exhale swirled in the air. It was hours after the sun had set and the cold had settled heavily over the city in its absence. Goosebumps broke out over her bare shoulders and arms.

He shrugged out his jacket closing the distance between them, his arm coming around her, stepping into her space as he draped the thick material over her. She trembled next to him, his nose inches from her cheek. He could feel the heat of her skin, smell her perfume, feel her breath on his neck. His eyes found her lips, just parted, almost as if caught in a small gasp. He needed her.

“Killian,” she breathed so quietly he might have imagined it. A stray wish of his heart. But he could see that same desire burning in her gaze. There was no fear, no trace of uncertainty.

She stepped forward, her hand against his chest and she pushed him back a step until he shored up against the brick wall. His surprise was instantly forgotten as her lips found his, hungry. He smiled as she nipped at his bottom lip.

He bent down his hands sliding around her underneath his jacket gripping her tightly as he deepened the kiss. She melted, warm and pliant, into his embrace with a small moan that made his heart nearly stop. Her hands were everywhere, running through his hair, pressed into the back of his neck sending shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

She pulled back a fraction breaking the kiss, her forehead against his.

“I don’t think we’ll make it back to the lake,” she said against his lips.

He breathed out a laugh nudging her lightly with his nose. “Eager, love?”

“I just mean it’s too cold,” she said with a breathless laugh. “We’ll freeze before we get halfway back.”

He smirked bending to place kisses along her jaw. “There’s ways to stay warm,” he said each word pressed into her skin.

“Killian,” she scolded.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I know a place where we can spend the night.”

She pulled back looking up at him. “Where?”

With one last kiss he took her hand. “You keep forgetting, this is my city,” he said and as he led her away from the catacombs deeper into the city he melted into the shadows, skirting around places that were busy this time of night and carefully avoiding clear sight lines from the buildings around them. Falling back into old habits.

They crossed the main avenue and turned down an alley, ducking between broken slats of an old decrepit fence, weaving a path that had once been very familiar to him. Tonight had felt like reliving a memory from years before, except now Emma was here, something different from his memories. But she didn’t question him once, falling into step beside him, as if she had always been there.

When he came to a stop in front of weathered door tucked into the side of a leaning building he glanced over at her.

He watched as her eyes moved over the chipped stones and dirty windows. He tried to imagine what she saw, a dingy slum, nothing like her palace by the lake. Creeping fears of inadequacy slithered from the corners of his mind.

“Was this your home?” she asked him.

He bit down on the inside of his lip. “Come on, with any luck it’ll at least be a little warmer inside.”

He pulled off his glove to pull out the lock picks that were tucked into the metal workings of his mechanical hand. With a practiced move he slid the picks into the lock and felt the pins catch, he turned the lock and with a firm shove of his shoulder the door opened.

He looked back to see her half-confused, half-impressed expression. “Ruby has the key,” he said with a shrug. He couldn’t have told her how much her answering laugh eased the pit in his stomach.

“Careful on the stairs,” he warned her as he moved inside the dark entryway, the only light was from a narrow window letting in a sliver of moonlight illuminate the uneven worn stairs.

The wood groaned with each of their footsteps. He paused at the top looking back just in time to see Emma’s foot catch on the last step knocking her off balance. She stumbled forward and he caught her, pulling her into him. She let out a shaking laugh as she righted herself.

“Sorry,” she said, still gripping him tightly, as close as they’d been when they were dancing, and kissing in the alley.

He leaned closer, brushing her hair back behind her ear and running his thumb down her cheek lingering at the soft skin just below her jaw.

He gazed at her, held in that moment framed in moonlight and dust. Ethereal. A single star in an otherwise cloudy night sky. She shouldn’t feel like she belonged here, he thought, but her eyes held that breathless look of wonder and warmth that felt more like home to him now than any four walls could.

“This way,” he said, reaching back to open the door behind him and holding it open for her. She stepped around him into the room beyond.

He moved by memory in the dark room to the fireplace on the far wall. He opened the chimney flue and swept the small pile of ashes and dust aside before stacking a few new logs and lighting them with the matches from the flint box in the crevice between stones in the hearth.

He turned back to Emma. She was standing in the center of the room he had lived in for years and he couldn’t quite decide how to react to the sight of her in his room. Emma, Princess Emma, the girl who had haunted him, an impossibility for the boy who had lived here. And yet here she was, her eyes moving around the room.

He lit a few of the candles scattered around the room, adding more warm light to the small room.

Emma dragged her fingers slowly over the surface of the desk, shifting a few of the papers there. And then she paused at the stack of books, a small smile tugging at her lips as she read the titles. A private memory.

She looked over at him.

“I thought you were living at the castle,” Emma said, breaking the silence.

He shook his head. “Just conducted some business there.” He took a step toward her, closing a little of the distance between them. “If you can break into the castle, people tend to believe you can do whatever else you say.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly, “All part of the act.” She glanced around the room again. “But this, this is the real you.”

He leaned against the desk.

“It isn’t much,” he said.

She stepped closer with deliberate slowness into the space between his knees, her eyes held his. “It is to me.”

Her words flooded through him, drowning out everything else. “I love you so much,” he told her.

A wide smile lit up her face. “I love you, too,” she said.

It was the first time she had said it in weeks. He knew she had been occupied with everything else, but now, her voice echoing in his ears, the words hanging between them, he didn’t know how he had survived a moment not hearing her say them.

“Say it again,” he begged her.

“I love you,” she said, no hesitation or uncertainty.

He couldn’t hold back any longer, his hands coming up to either side of her face as he kissed her, his fingers tangling into her hair. He had thought he knew what it was to love Emma, the weight and feel of it, but now as he kissed her he felt himself falling deeper, some depth there would never be any escaping from.

He pushed his jacket off her, his hands trailing down the length of her slim arms. Her hands worked clumsily at his waistcoat until with a shake of his shoulders he helped her remove it, tossing it onto the floor beside the jacket.

Emma pulled back then, slowing them down. Her eyes moving over his face, her expression contemplative. Her fingers reached up pushing back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. They traced the edge of his brow, across his cheekbone. He held still under her featherlight touch. At last she brushed his lips, and he placed a small kiss to her fingertips. She smiled despite herself, her eyes flicking up to his in a playful scold before they dropped back to where her hand had moved to the line of his jaw.

Her lips parted absently, like she hadn’t noticed, as she moved down the column of his neck. He shivered beneath her fingers, her careful investigation driving him wild.

When she reached the collar of his shirt she slowly undid the buttons, carefully pulling open the fabric. She bent forward to place a kiss over each new inch of skin revealed. He wasn’t sure he was still breathing by the time she reached his navel, her fingers pulling the hem of his shirt from his waistband.

He captured her wrists pulling her hands away from him, unable to endure it any longer. He turned them setting her on the desk before bending her back onto it in his need to be closer to her. She seemed just as eager, reaching for him, their hands interlocking as he pushed them over her head. There was a crash as books and trinkets toppled over the edge.

“Killian!” she gasped. “All your things.”

He glanced at the mess of papers for a second before placing a kiss on the soft skin of her neck. Nothing in the world could have pulled him from his current task. “Everything I care about is right here,” he assured her.

He kissed down over her collarbones, down her sternum to the tops of her breasts, feeling her heart beating there. She arched beneath him and he kissed the leather edge of the corset.

“I love this,” he told her, leaning back to take in the sight of Emma spread out on the desk dressed like a tavern wench. “You look beautiful.”

She laughed. “Should have known you’d have a thing for leather given that ridiculous coat.”

His fingers moved over the corset, tracing the buckles, slowly opening them. “You don’t like it?” he asked, drawing little meaningless designs into the leather with his fingertips as he went.

“I’m actually a little worried about the damage it’s done to my spleen,” she huffed.

He chucked. “Well, we can’t have that,” he said before tugging it off of her.

If he loved her in the leather fashion of the city, then he was hopeless for her bare skin. His hands skimmed up the sides of her ribs, his thumb dragging just beneath the swell of her breast.

She sat up wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him. He knew what she wanted without her needing to ask. Her body pressed against him, her skin warm, her heart pounding. He picked her up with an arm under her knees and carried her to the bed. Honestly he didn’t think the desk could handle what he wanted to do to her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands finding his waist, tracing the lines of muscle there, following along the indent from hips. He bit his lip as his skin jumped, her gentle touch making him ticklish, not that he’d admit. He knew from her smile she knew, but she didn’t tease him. And this time he didn’t stop her as she loosened the laces on his trousers, pushing them off.

He leaned forward, moving to cover her body with his own, but she hooked her leg around his hip and rolled him under her. He laughed in surprise, looking up at her hovering over him. He loved when she used his own tricks against him.

She settled back onto his lap, her hands dragging down his chest as she held him still. Taking charge. Her expression was speculative, like an artist seeing a masterpiece within a blank canvas. In that moment he was ready to become whatever she wanted to make of him.

She bent down, her hair cascading down over him, strands of golden silk. Her kiss spread fire through his veins and he wanted to be consumed. His hands slid up her thighs bunching up the fabric of her skirt gripping her skin tightly as if it could anchor him to her. Everything in their lives seemed to be spinning further beyond their control, a thousand variables, a hundred reasons pulling them apart. He wanted this moment, this feeling, this night, just for them. And just let the rest of the world flow past.

She gave a small gasp as he pulled her more firmly against him. And it was a wicked torture when she responded, rolling her hips. Emma was never one to be outdone, never backing down from a challenge. Her fingers moved quickly to undo her skirt, letting it fall over the edge of the mattress, leaving nothing at all between them.

“I need you,” she said breathlessly against his lips. It was the sweetest sound he could imagine.

His hands found her hips as she sank onto him. His breath escaping in a long shaking exhale. Her braced against his chest and shoulders as she began to move and he surrendered to the feeling.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #cs fanfic #cs crew #steampunk anastasia au #sequel #at the beginning #sorry for the wait #my writing

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pocket-anon · 7 years

Text

The Long Way Home (7/10)

I am so, so sorry this chapter is coming out this late in the day, guys. Real life has been very hectic this week between work and lecture slide prep and doctor's appointments and car issues and mommyhood. I'm pretty physically and mentally exhausted right now, so I hope my last-minute editing choices for this chapter aren't terrible, LOL. We'll see. Anyway, thank you all for your wonderful feedback and your serial reblogs and your flailing tags. I really hope you continue to enjoy! Please remember the nautical terms glossary linked below - it's newly updated for the events of this chapter! Happy reading.

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback. Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic! Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3. Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.

Summary: After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves. When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet. But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels. A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of. (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU. Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut. Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

The Jolly alters course to make for the nearest port large enough to have a surgeon in residence. Swan begins to devote a couple hours a day to reading to Alec, and Hook even allows her to assume some of the waylaid sailor’s responsibilities, including his shifts as lookout high up on the fore-mast.

Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, she has to admit she enjoys being useful and trusted aboard ship, and though Hook continues to insist she wear the tether, she doesn’t miss the proud light in his eye each time he watches her scamper up the rigging.

“To your post, Swan,” he says with a smile one morning as he reaches out in passing and gives the knot on her harness a playful tug.

She flashes him a grin over her shoulder and swings up onto the shroud. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Her hours spent perched upon the top and staring out at the horizon from between the sails are largely uneventful, but they afford her more time to enjoy the view and to be alone with her thoughts. She’s disconcerted to find, however, that most of those thoughts seem to center around Hook, and the more she tries to focus on other subjects, the more annoyed she is each time her brain finds a way to wander back to him.

There’s something different about him since their encounter with the slavers. He’s quieter, slower to anger. When Thomas collides with him and nearly spills a can of paint, the way Hook simply receives the young man’s effusive apology with a patient nod and moves on leaves Thomas’ jaw on the deck. It’s as though he’s found a small measure of peace somewhere, and every time Swan spies that contented, introspective look on his face, it tempts her to believe that perhaps even a man as tortured as Captain Hook can find his good heart again.

She should be pleased for him, she thinks. And she is. But if it was hard not to find him irresistible before, it’s nigh impossible now.

He’s a charming bastard, isn’t he? You certainly aren’t the first to pine after him.

She won’t be the last either, she knows. She’s just one in a long string of starry-eyed wenches, smitten harlots, bored wives, and who knows who else. But unlike those women, she’s stuck in close quarters with him, and the burden of being forced to spend so much time with a man she shouldn’t want but does wears on her more acutely as the days march on.

Is that what you’re hoping for? A life of unfulfilled pining?

It isn’t, Swan thinks bitterly. But it’s looking more and more likely all the same.

She’s ruminating on this for the hundredth time and staring glumly at the endless waves on her third afternoon on duty when a sudden disruption in the distance causes her to squint. She frowns, wondering if her eyes are playing tricks, and reaches for the lookout’s spyglass, her curious gaze fixed on the water as she extends the scope and raises it to her eye. The area in question jumps into clear view, and she searches the churning waters for a few moments before she sees it again – a short spurt of mist that shoots upward out of the sea. She glances below to where the Captain and a few of the men are sparring. “Hook?”

The clanging of steel stops. “Swan?”

She raises the glass to her eye again and tries to relocate the disturbance. “There’s something in the water,” she calls. “I can’t tell what it is.”

She hears Hook sheath his cutlass. “Where, love?”

“Um…” She peers through the lens and points. “There. Off the starboard bow.”

The rigging shakes as he scrambles up to join her. He’s halfway to the top when she spies another spray of water.

“There!” she says excitedly. “Did you see that?” Her heart pounds as she catches sight of a dark form that breaks the surface briefly and disappears beneath the waves. Another similar form bobs into view seconds later.

Hook pauses to pull out his own spyglass and search the horizon for a glimpse of what she sees. At last he chuckles. “Whales!” he yells to the rest of the men on deck. “Two points off the starboard bow and approaching. Helmsman!”

“Aye?”

“Maintain our heading but move us a bit to port! Let’s give the beasts some room!” He stows his glass and climbs the rest of the way, pulling himself up onto the top with a boyish grin.

Swan scoots over a bit to make room on the small platform. “Whales?” she asks with fascination.

“Quite,” he says, settling next to her, his knee grazing hers. “It’s just a small pod. I take it you’ve never seen their kind.” She shakes her head, and he nods in return. “They’re generally peaceful creatures, but they’re large and powerful. Best to give them a wide berth unless you’re trying to hunt one.”

She looks through her glass again and spies the distinct shape of a broad, lunate tail arcing out of the water, her mouth curving into an awed smile.

“There’s a young one among them,” he observes. “In the middle. Do you see it? The tail that’s smaller than the others?”

A moment later her eyes widen. “Oh! Yes!” The miniature fins flap above the waves as if waving hello, and she coos. “It’s a happy little family.”

“Indeed.”

She falls silent for a few breaths, watching the whales as they draw closer to the Jolly. “I wish I could remember my family,” she says at last, her expression growing wistful.

“You’ll be with them again soon enough, Princess,” he assures her quietly.

Swan casts a sideways glance as she considers him. “You’re still confident.”

He chuffs. “Of course I am,” he quips, straightening a little. “It’s my business to be.”

“Right. Dashing rapscallion.” Swan smirks.

He flashes a winning grin on cue and leans toward her a bit, his low chuckle generating a shiver deep between her shoulder blades. “Always knew you were a fast learner.”

She hates herself for the way her face grows hot and her heart accelerates, and she feels the sudden impulse to flee and try to regain her faculties somewhere where this stupidly handsome man isn’t being so stupidly handsome. Remembering she’s technically on duty as lookout and unable to flee anywhere, however, she settles for forcing her gaze away, raising the spyglass with both hands and making a show of trying to find the whales once again.

One of the creatures abruptly launches out of the water, a hulking dark shape that somehow manages a graceful twirl in the air like a dancer in slow motion before crashing back down to the waves. Swan lets out a cry of surprise, and she reaches out blindly to give Hook’s arm an excited shake. “Did you see that?”

The rich sound of his laugh greets her ears. “Aye. They do that sometimes,” he says. He dares to lean in further. “Keep watching. We might see it again.”

The warmth of his breath on her skin makes Swan turn from her spyglass to find his nose inches from hers, and her stomach swoops as they stare at one another for what feels like a protracted moment in time. Hook searches her face, the mischief in his eyes fading into something almost earnest, and he swallows, the movement of his throat drawing her eyes down. Her gaze alights on his mouth before she realizes what she’s doing, and her pulse stutters.

A sudden shout from one of the men startles her, and her head whips around in time to see another huge whale leaping out of the water, this one only a few hundred feet off the starboard bow. It returns to the ocean with a great whump and a huge white cloud of spray, and Emma chuckles nervously, praying that her cheeks are not as pink as she thinks they are and willing her heart to stop thundering in her ears.

She turns to offer Hook a weak smile, but he isn’t looking at her, instead distracted by something between them. She follows his eyes down to see her hand still resting on his brace. “Oh!” She pulls away, now fairly sure she’s blushing up to the roots of her hair. “I’m sorry.”

She’s not prepared for the way he colors in turn. “It’s quite alright, love,” he murmurs, looking both touched and a bit sad. He bumps his knee into hers half-heartedly. “No need to stand on ceremony.” He clears his throat and tips his head toward the pod. “I’m glad you’re here to see this. We sailors are accustomed to seeing whales now and then, but I imagine there are few others who get the chance.” He smiles. “Perhaps our friends have come to pay their respects to a certain alleged princess.”

They watch in silence as the pod nears the Jolly and begins to pass down along her starboard side. Swan sets her spyglass down and turns, rising up on her knees to be able to see over Hook’s head. She gingerly steadies herself with a soft hand on his shoulder as she watches the dark bodies slipping above and below the waterline. “They’re so beautiful,” she breathes, peering down at the enormous silhouettes just beneath the surface.

He nods wordlessly.

Swan looks down at her hand on his shoulder. She bites her lip before gathering up the courage to give him a squeeze. “Hook?”

He turns his head to blink up at her soberly.

“I’m glad I’m here, too.”

A slow, warm smile spreads across his face. She drops her free hand onto his other shoulder, and he reaches up to cover her fingers gently with his, breaking her heart just a little bit further as they watch the whales drift away.

* * *

The next few days are cooler and colorless, with showers covering everything and everyone in a constant state of damp. Hook offers to excuse Emma from her shifts as lookout so she can remain below deck, but she stubbornly refuses, merely choosing to wear her blue cloak to try to keep dry. Her mood seems to reflect the weather; she grows increasingly distant, more preoccupied, and not as inclined to smile or engage him in their usual banter. She spends less and less time with him outside of their meals together, busying herself with her duties and reading to Alec during the day and finding excuses to return to her cabin in the evenings instead of lingering over the dinner table with him. Hook notes these changes in her with concern. Whatever is troubling Emma, she seems determined to keep it to herself, and though he catches her looking sad on more than one occasion, she does her best to perk up a little whenever she’s aware of an audience.

He watches her hooded figure as she sits up on the top one afternoon, his brow almost painfully furrowed and raindrops smattering his face as he longs for the power to see what invisible weight is sitting on those slender shoulders. He wonders if she’s worried about Alec’s worsening condition or if, like the rest of the men, she’s simply tired of the rain, and he sighs, trying to think of a way to lift her spirits a little. Perhaps he can grant extra rum rations for morale and coax her into an evening of cards or dice with the crew. Or perhaps he can find something she’ll like when they arrive at port later this week – a new book or a spyglass of her own or something pretty to brighten her day. She’d once mentioned her fondness for the color yellow. He wonders if it would be difficult to find yellow flowers at this time of year. He’d pay a king’s ransom for them and let her put them all over her cabin and his if she liked – anything to make her smile, really. He glowers at the overhead clouds and grumbles at no one in particular. If the bloody skies would clear, that might also be a good a start.

The waters grow choppier around sundown, and the Jolly rises and falls like a rearing horse as she crests over the increasingly tall waves. Hook keeps a watchful eye on Emma when she climbs down from the mast, and he comes to meet her at the bottom of the shroud, glad he’s continued to insist on her rope tether as he notes the extra time it takes her to navigate the rigging with the ship lurching beneath them.

“What are you still doing out here?” she asks, gritting her teeth and waiting for the deck to level before carefully hopping down.

He pushes his wet hair out of his eyes and does his best not to look cold and miserable. “Can’t a gentleman escort a lady to dinner?”

The corner of her mouth twitches, and it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s seen all day, but there’s no time to savor it before they pitch over another swell and Emma stumbles forward with a little yelp. He catches her against him, wrapping his arm around her waist and snagging the shroud with his hook in order to keep them both upright. They struggle for a moment to right themselves, eventually managing to regain some semblance of balance while still tangled up together. Hook stares into her pensive eyes, his heart refusing to slow as he registers the desperate way one of her gloved hands is gripping the collar of his coat while the other is buried in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Emma’s face grows red, a spot of bright color in their drably-lit surroundings, and she bites her lip. “Um, thanks.”

She recoils adorably when a huge raindrop hits her square in the forehead, and Hook suddenly notices that her hood has come off. With a sigh and a resigned smile, he releases her and reaches out to lift it back onto her head. “Let’s get below and dry out a bit, yeah?” he says, delicately smoothing one side of the hood down with his hook. He gestures toward the nearest hatch, and they make for it, the ship still rocking beneath them. “After dinner, I thought perhaps we could enjoy some extra rum and cards with the crew in the mess. What do you think?”

His heart falls at the reticent sound she makes, her face hidden as she keeps her eyes on the boards. “You go ahead. I think I’m going to go to bed early tonight.”

He stops mid-step, frustration rising in his gut. “Are you avoiding me, Swan?”

Emma freezes, the guilty stiffening of her shoulders answer enough. “I… No, of course not,” she says, shaking her head and giving him a small, unconvincing smile as she leads them down the ladder. “I… I’m just tired this week.”

Hook frowns at her obvious attempt to deflect him. “I can reassign your duties if you need more rest,” he suggests, pulling the hatch closed behind them.

“No!” She winces at how loud her voice now sounds out of the wind and in the quiet of the shadowy passageway. “No. I can do it. I don’t mind. I just want to turn in a little earlier tonight.” She walks briskly past him toward his quarters. “Come on. Dinner.”

Hook grants the crew the extra rum but elects to spend the evening alone, retiring to his berth with The Odyssey in order to take his mind off of Emma’s notable absence. After nearly fifteen minutes of staring, unseeing, at the same paragraph however, he closes the book and petulantly tosses it aside. His mind races as he dims the lamp and flops down on the mattress.

Has he done something to upset her? Or is she simply trying to avoid interrogation about whatever is on her mind? He gives his pillow a few vehement punches and resettles his head. Before these rainy days, things had seemed to be going well between them, and he’d started contemplating how he should go about confessing his feelings for her. But now… now he doesn’t know where he stands, and it irritates the bloody hell out of him.

He rumbles and rolls over, his eyes scanning the beams above his head as he exhales heavily. Emma might be trying to shut him out, but he’s always claimed to love a challenge. He’ll confront her tomorrow, he thinks, coax her secret out. They’ve always been open with one another before.

That’s what friends do, isn’t it? Emma’s voice echoes in his memory.

He snorts. Friends. If only that were enough.

Sleep comes to him fitfully, and when Hook is aroused from bed at first light by a very panicky Smee shouting down the hatch for him, he sits up in a foul temper. “What the blazes is it?” he demands, rubbing a hand over his face. Within a moment of opening his eyes, however, the cause of Smee’s distress becomes clear. His quarters are cast in strange hues, and Hook’s eyes snap to the windows to note the ominous red-orange glow of the clouds to the east and the relative darkness to the west. He swears an oath and leaps out of bed, dressing at record speed before flying up the ladder.

The sight that meets him above makes his stomach drop. To the southwest lies a solid wall of enormous storm clouds that appears to have coalesced under the cloak of night. It stretches as far as the eye can see, and when the wind begins to pick up and the first rumbles of thunder come rolling across the water toward them, alarm spreads across the Jolly like wildfire.

“It’s a hurricane!” Roberts hollers, hurrying to clang the ship’s bell.

Cold fear trickles down Hook’s back as he stares at the telltale skies. He’s survived many dire straits in his long life, but few things drive terror into the heart of a sailor more than being faced with a hurricane at sea. Vivid memories of the massive storm that destroyed the ship Hispaniola back when he and Liam were young men flash before his eyes. That storm had sent their last master, the hardy Captain Silver, and the rest of his experienced crew down to their watery graves. The idea of the Jolly, of his men, of Emma meeting the same fate makes him feel sick, and not knowing whether he can do anything to prevent it makes him feel sicker.

“All hands!” he commands at the top of his lungs. “Get everything you can below deck and lash the rest down! Pump the bilges and batten down all but the main hatch!” He takes the wheel from the helmsman and grits his teeth as he wrenches it starboard. “We’re going to try to outrun it.”

“Not even the Jolly’s that fast!” Smee protests at his side. “That thing’ll be on us in ten minutes!”

Hook seizes the front of his first mate’s shirt and yanks him forward. “If you have a better idea, Smee, now would be the time,” he snaps. “Otherwise, get below and tell the Lady to stay down in the crew quarters with Alec until someone comes.”

The next several minutes are a bedlam of activity and a torturous march toward the inevitable as the storm, moving at twice the ship’s speed, swallows her up like a great monster. The seas grow more turbulent, the rain begins to pour, and the gusts howl around them like the voice of a great foe heralding its wrath.

“We’ll have to heave-to – see if we can ride out the storm!” Hook yells frantically, handing over the wheel and charging toward the main deck. “Helmsman, come about to beam reach! Roberts, Thomas, clew up the mainsail! Everyone else to the main-mast to brace the yards square! Back ‘em winward!”

With the men on his heels, he scrambles across the swaying, rain-slogged deck. They position themselves in teams around the mast and prepare to haul lines to rotate the yards overhead. Hook cranes his head upward to watch Roberts and Thomas, the most nimble members of his crew (save Alec), scale the ropes as fast as they can to tie up the mainsail.

Emma is suddenly at his side, soaked to the skin like the rest of them with her wet ponytail limp over one shoulder. She reaches toward the rigging and wraps both hands around the line in front of him.

The sight of her disobeying his orders and risking her neck yet again fills him with rage. Bloody. Impossible. Woman. “What the devil are you doing?” he bellows. “You were supposed to stay below!”

“We’re not having this argument again!” she hollers back indignantly, squinting up at him in the face of the rain. “You’re a man down, and you need more hands! Let me help!”

His growl is lost on the wind, but he hasn’t the time to argue. Hook grits his teeth and positions his hand between hers on the line. Smee joins them, and Martin assumes position behind them to keep the line taut as they pull.

Hook glances around at his crew. “Alright, men!” he calls, using his hook to untie the line and pass the end off to Martin, “Heave! Heave!” The others join with him, chanting in rhythmic unison as they tug on their lines and the yards above their heads begin to rotate about the mast.

They nearly have the sails backed to the wind when an enormous wave hits the ship, sending water sloshing across the deck and causing her to list violently. The men stumble sideways, clinging to the lines for dear life, and Emma shrieks as her footing falters.

“Swan!” Hook throws his left arm around her waist and drags her back to his side with a deep grunt. The muscles in his right shoulder burn as the line begins to pull away without their collective strength to help anchor it. “Tie it off!” he barks over his shoulder at Martin, and the cooper’s large hands are a blur as he throws the knot back in place.

Seconds later, another wave strikes, and a scream rings out from above. Hook looks up to see Thomas thrown from the yard arm, his body flung clear of the ship and out toward the waves.

“No!” Emma yelps and twists in his grasp, one of her hands stretching into the sky in Thomas’ direction.

And like that, Thomas’ body disappears in a swirl of white smoke.

A moment later, a second swirl of smoke leaves the lad lying face-down on the deck at their feet, coughing and gasping for breath.

“Swan?” Hook gapes and looks down at Emma, who retracts her arm and stares at her upturned palm in disbelief.

“What?” She trembles. “What just…?”

“Magic,” he breathes. He’d heard rumors that the Princess of Misthaven was secretly a sorceress, but he’d always taken the reports with a grain of salt, aware they might be the exaggerations of adoring subjects or lies spread by denied suitors.

“Look out!” Martin booms behind them.

A shadow looms overhead, and they turn and gasp at the sight of the most massive wave Hook has ever seen cresting overhead, the roar of the water like impending doom as it rushes down upon them. A profound fear like he’s never known seizes his heart, and he draws Emma closer to him, letting go of the line just long enough to wind it around his forearm.

“Hook?” she cries, terrified.

“Hold on to me!”

Her arms wind around him beneath his coat, and as she buries her face in his shoulder, he clutches her tighter and prays to whatever gods will listen for her salvation. “Stay with me,” he whispers, his cheek pressed to her temple.

White smoke suddenly clouds his vision, obscuring the wave from sight, and the thunderous rush of the the water and the drone of the winds vanishes so quickly, he’d have thought himself struck deaf if not for the ongoing yelling around him.

Then the smoke dissipates, the darkness fades, and the Jolly heaves beneath their feet, surprised shouts ringing out from the crew as she drops a short distance and hits the water with an enormous boom.

And then all falls still.

Hook lifts his head, still clutching Emma’s shaking form and his fingers stinging with rope burn as they continue to clench the line. The early morning sky is the palest blue, and a strong but manageable wind whispers across their bow port to starboard. He straightens slowly, baffled, and there’s only a moment to notice the dark storm clouds retreating to the east before Emma begins to shiver uncontrollably and buckles in his embrace.

“Swan?” He lowers her gently to the deck, his brow bent with concern. “Are you alright? Swan!”

She gazes up at him with bleary eyes, and her face is white as a fresh sail as she pants, exhausted. “Hook?” she mumbles. Her lids grow heavy, and she faints dead away.

* * *

He can feel it – the surge of energy in the distance. He can feel it all over the Earth – the push-pull of magic – like a spider sitting atop a great web with his legs poised on the strands to sense the vibrations that register even from far, far away. Not every shift registers with him, of course, but this, oh there’s no way to miss this. Someone somewhere far from here has just done something significant, martialing a great amount of energy in the process, and he can sense the echoes of it, feel them like small waves generated by a remote tsunami.

He pauses his current task, setting the flasks in his hands down and turning his head to try to focus on the disturbance. It smells like light magic, he thinks. Fairies? His mouth twists in a distasteful sneer. He only knows of one other being powerful enough to generate light magic on that scale, and she’s indisposed.

Isn’t she?

Dismay lines his distinctive features as he turns to go consult his crystal.

* * *

The muted sound of another person moving about the room is the first thing to creep into Swan’s consciousness.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but I thought you might want some dinner. You’ve hardly had anything to eat the last few days,” Thomas murmurs. There’s the sound of a tray sliding onto the table.

At her shoulder, Hook gives a low rumble of assent.

“Any change, sir?”

Familiar, calloused fingers slide over the back of her hand, and a heavy sigh is the Captain’s only response.

Thomas’ footsteps retreat, and the cabin door latches gently behind him.

Swan feels the comforting rise and fall of the ship and notes the softness of the Captain’s pillow beneath her head. His bed. She’s in his bed. How did she get here? She gives a soft grunt and cracks an eye open. The last rays of the setting sun supplement the lamplight that glows around the cabin, and a wind rustles through an open pane above her head, the warm air wafting across her skin like a caress.

“Swan?” Hook’s voice rings with quiet disbelief. His hand folds around hers, and his blurry silhouette sits forward in the chair he’s pulled up next to the bed.

She moves to squeeze his fingers back only to find her palm resting atop something smooth and hard. It takes her a few moments to recognize her sand dollar, and she turns her head toward him with a quiet moan as the muscles in her neck protest what seems to be their first movement in a while. Forcing her eyes further open, she blinks away the cobwebs, her forehead wrinkling as his haggard appearance comes gradually into focus. He’s wearing only his shirt and trousers, gray circles line his eyes, his hair is a hand-raked mess, and he’s allowed his usual scruff to darken into a beard. “Hook?” she croaks. Her mouth feels impossibly dry, and she recoils and tries to swallow. “What happened to you?”

His brow twitches. “What do you mean?”

“You… look…” she searches for the right words, and her lips form a wry grin, “less dashing than usual.”

The smile that curves his mouth transforms him back into the man she knows. “You must still have some sleep in your eyes, darling,” he croons. “I’m fairly certain I’m as handsome as ever.”

He is. Bastard. Swan chuffs and rolls her eyes, savoring his chuckle. She holds up the sand dollar and raises her brows in question.

His eyes grow oddly emotional, but he merely shrugs. “What can I say, love? A seafaring man doesn’t take superstitions lightly.”

She hums. “I thought you said I make my own luck.”

“Aye, that you do,” he acquiesces with an affectionate grin, “but no harm in stacking the deck in your favor.”

Swan smirks. “Pirate.” She motions for him to take it so she can push herself up to a sit with a groan, noting that she’s still in her shirt and trousers, her jerkin and gloves draped neatly over the back of a chair at the table and her hair down over her shoulder.

Hook sets the sand dollar out of the way and leaps to his feet. “Easy now.” He leans down and wraps her in a hug, gently hauling her upward in the bed. The warmth of his strong arms feels like sunshine after a rain, and her fingers curl into the wrinkled fabric of his shirt of their own accord. He pulls back much sooner than she wants, but the tenderness in his expression is enough to make her breath hitch, and her heart skips a beat as he gingerly reaches forward to loop a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. Then he colors and hastily redirects his attention to building a mound of pillows for her to lean back on. She collapses against them with a grateful sigh, and he clears his throat, turning toward his dinner tray and splashing a little wine into the goblet. “What do you remember?” he asks, setting it in her hand.

Swan contemplates his question as she drinks, the liquid heavenly on her parched tongue. The corner of her nose wrinkles as she swallows away the rank taste of prolonged sleep. “We were in the storm, and Thomas…” Her eyes narrow with uncertainty over the top of the glass. “Did I save him?”

Hook resumes his seat, scooting around a bit to face her. “You saved us all,” he corrects. “Swan, you have magic.”

She blinks up at him anxiously, taking a small degree of comfort from the encouragement in his eyes before looking down at the palm of her free hand as though she’s never seen it before. “I remember the wave,” she says haltingly, “And I thought… I thought we…” She bites her lip and tries to shake off the memory of that overwhelming fear. Her hand falls on her belly, and she heaves a sigh, giving a shake of her head. “And all I wanted was for the ship to be clear of the storm, and there was this…” her face scrunches up, “this rush and… and then we were there.” She glances back at him for confirmation.

He nods. “That’s when you passed out.”

She hums, taking some more wine. “How long was I asleep?”

“Nearly three days.”

Her mouth falls open. “Three days?” she echoes. Her eyes flit down to his jawline, a crease forming on her forehead. “That explains your beard. What’s happened? Is the ship alright?”

“The ship is fine, Swan,” he assures her with a gentle grin. “Waterlogged and in a bit of disarray, but you got us out in one piece. We’ve had calm seas since.”

Her shoulders relax a fraction, but she cocks her head. “So why do you look as if you haven’t slept?”

Hook scratches behind his ear and looks away. “You aren’t the only one who’s allowed to worry.”

Understanding finally dawns, and her throat tightens, her brows peaking on her forehead. “You’ve been here with me… for three days?” She darts a glance at his chair.

He raises his weary eyes to hers, his face solemn. “Aye.”

The intensity of his stare puts Swan’s heart in her throat, and she tears her gaze away from his, her lashes grazing her cheeks as she preoccupies herself with her hands. “Careful, Captain,” she says with a shaky smile. “Your men are going to start to think you have feelings for me.”

There’s a moment of silence. “And what if I do?” he asks quietly.

She looks back up, startled, and tries to process the raw honesty in the shadows that dance across his face.

Hook rises, gently taking her cup and setting it aside. She swallows hard and shifts over in the berth to make room as he seats himself on the edge of the mattress, gathering her hand in his and pausing, as though trying to decide what to say. “Do you remember that first night we danced?” he asks at length.

Swan folds her lips, emotions welling up in her chest, and manages a small nod.

His gaze grows distant. “That was the first time I’d danced in over a hundred years,” he admits. “The first time I’d felt like dancing since I lost Milah.” He gives a rueful shake of his head. “The truth is, I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of her, never believed I could find someone else...” He raises his eyes back up to hers, looking sad. “That is, until I met you.”

She’s barely breathing, the extremes of happiness, apprehension, and surprise simultaneously washing over her as she listens desperately for the lie. But it’s all truth. She can feel it coming off of him in waves. “Hook,” she murmurs weakly, “you don’t even know who I am.” She bites her lip. “Or what I am.”

His crow’s feet crinkle in that way she adores. “Yes, I do,” he replies, the timbre of his words sending a shiver down her spine and his thumb drifting affectionately over her knuckles. “You’re Emma, Princess of Misthaven. Your powers are only further proof of that. There have long been rumors that Snow White’s daughter was born with magic.” He uses the curve of his hook to gently tip her chin upward so she meets his gaze. “But you could be an orphaned beggar without any powers for all I care. I know your heart, Swan,” he says, his blue eyes burning with conviction, “and I intend to win it.”

Swan blinks rapidly in the face of his stare, her emotions rising in her chest. “You…” she breathes, “you mean that.”

He nods.

The warmth of tears rushes upon her, and she looks away, her eyes falling to their joined hands and her brow wrinkling. A sniffle escapes her. “I didn’t think… I mean, I don’t…” She shakes her head again, the fingers of her free hand tracing the contours of his rings as she struggles to keep from dissolving into a blubbering mess. When she glances back up, her heart melts at the wounded uncertainty that hints on his features, and she reaches out to palm the angle of his jaw, her thumb alighting fondly on his newest scar and her mouth curving into a tremulous smile. “I don’t know if a princess is allowed to kiss a pirate.”

Even without her memories, there’s no doubt that the way his face illuminates with awe is one of the most wonderful things she’s ever seen. “I think,” he murmurs, swallowing hard, “when it comes to this pirate, Your Highness can do as she bloody well pleases.”

Swan bursts into nervous laughter and nods, winding her fingers into the collar of his shirt and hauling him forward, her lashes falling closed and a happy tear sliding down her cheek as she presses her lips softly to his.(*)

Suddenly she feels so many things at once she can scarcely process it all. The glorious sensation of his mouth moving against hers becomes amplified by a rush that surges through her – the same kind of powerful, emotional rush she felt when she moved the Jolly. It overwhelms her senses, and then the memories come, cascading upon her like a tidal wave, her mind so instantly saturated by images and thoughts and feelings that she gasps and blanches, her face contorting into a pained mask.

“Swan?” Hook pulls back in alarm, his hand coming up to wrap around her shoulder. “What is it?”

The mental onslaught ends as abruptly as it started, and her eyes spring wide. She gapes at him in wonder, chest heaving. “I remember,” she whispers.

His jaw drops. “You remember?”

“I remember!” Her voice cracks somewhere between a hysterical laugh and a relieved sob.

He cups her cheek, glowing with excitement. “Emma,” he tries, searching her face.

“Yes.” She chuckles and nods vigorously. “Emma.”

He crows with triumph and pulls her to him for another kiss, slanting his mouth across hers and stealing her breath with abandon this time while she sniffles, her body suffused with pure joy. The enthusiastic press of his lips, the dive of his fingertips into her tangled tresses, the snake of his left arm around her waist – it’s as if he can’t get her close enough, and she mewls, completely content to let him possess her in whatever way he desires.

After what seems like an eternity (and not nearly long enough), they come up for air, their combined breaths hot and insistent. Emma sucks one kiss-swollen lip between her teeth, feeling ridiculously giddy at the satisfied hum that emanates from his chest as he brushes his nose against hers and moves in to kiss her again.

Someone pounds on the door. “Captain!”

They break apart and freeze, swapping a chagrined look as the knocking persists. Hook gives an impatient growl that makes Emma giggle before shooting an icy glare in the direction of the disturbance. He huffs. “Hold that thought,” he mutters, bumping his forehead softly against hers and stealing another quick kiss before he straightens, rotating to face the door and swiping his thumb at the corner of his mouth. “Smee?”

The door bangs open, and the first mate lunges in. “Did you see it?” he pants. He skids to a halt when his enormous eyes fall on them. “Milady!” His face brightens. “You’re awake!”

Emma smiles and gives a small nod.

“Yes, she’s on the mend at last,” Hook concurs. “Now what are you talking about? What did you see?”

Smee seems to remember himself. “The—the…” Smee gestures nondescriptly behind him, “The wind. The light? Like a rainbow?” He looks back and forth between their blank expressions incredulously. “It looked like magic, sir. Went out in all directions from the Jolly.” He glances at Emma anxiously. “We thought perhaps Milady had something to do with it.”

Rainbow light. Hook opens his mouth to protest, but Emma interjects, trying to keep her voice from wavering even while her heart starts to race. “It’s alright, Mr. Smee,” she says. “I… I think it was me. But I’m fine now.”

His shoulders relax. “Are you sure, ma’am?” he asks, sounding concerned. “Is there anything you need?”

She flashes an appreciative smile. “Not right now. But thank you.”

“Privacy tonight, Smee,” Hook orders. “The Lady has been through an ordeal. I’ll call if she requires anything.”

Smee nods. “Shall we continue on course?”

“Aye. Thank you.”

Smee gawks at the Captain’s expression of gratitude. “You’re—you’re welcome, sir. Ma’am,” he stammers, looking pleasantly confused as he slips out the door and pulls it shut behind him.

As soon as the latch clicks, Hook turns back toward her. “What the devil was he talking about, Swan?”

“Rainbow light,” Emma murmurs, her gaze far away. “I’ve heard about something like that.” She raises her eyes to him nervously. “The dwarves say that’s what they saw when my father woke my mother with True Love’s Kiss.”

Hook’s handsome face goes slack. “Bloody hell.” He stares at her, dumbfounded, and gathers her hand back up in his. “So this…? You…?” His voice threatens to crack, and he searches her with shining eyes. “Do you actually…?”

Emma breaks out in a watery smile and nods, leaning forward to bury herself back in his arms with a contented sigh. “I think so. I mean, you were right. I’ve never been in love,” she concedes, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “But this… I was so miserable thinking you’d never feel the same.” She smiles as he reaches up to smoothe his hand over her hair. “Plus, I guess it’s kind of hard to argue with a broken curse, huh?” she chuckles.

He rumbles against her. “What happened, Swan? Who cursed you?”

Emma chuffs and pulls back a little, looking up at him sheepishly. “I did.”

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swans-and-pirates · 7 years

Text

The Art of Remembering (4/?)

Summary: Killian hasn’t seen Emma in months, not since she ran off in the middle of the night. But when he receives a call from the hospital informing him that she’s been in an accident he rushes to be by her side. Nervous and anxious to see her again he’s not sure what to expect—but he definitely doesn’t anticipate that upon waking she would have no idea who he is. Modern au

Word Count: ~4,000

Rating: T

Also on: ff.net, ao3

Catch Up: one, two, three

Killian hardly gets any sleep that night, and it’s not for a lack of trying. The whole night feels like a teasing game of hide and seek, and all he wants to do is find a full night’s rest without feeling like he’s waking up every couple of hours. But sleep continually slips out of his grasp and he’s left alternating between tossing and turning, or staring through the darkness up at his ceiling.

He knows where his restlessness comes from, and it’s a complicated layer of things, but when stripped down and left bare it really all comes down to one simple word.

Emma.

If he thinks about it, all his lack of sleep these days has had to do with her in some way or another. The night after she first left is still a painful blur of a memory, but he easily recalls the way he’d done nothing but tangle his sheets as he tossed and turned all night, kept up by the glimmer of a hope that maybe she’d return tomorrow.

She didn’t, and he’d spent many nights afterwards trying to learn how to sleep alone again. His bed somehow suddenly too big and the nights suddenly too long.

But this time it’s not the stinging sensation that radiates from within his heart as he longs to hold her that is keeping him up. This time it’s an entirely different ache, heavy and deep, that leaves him anxious as he considers everything.

He wants to help Emma heal, but he’s not sure how. He wants to do everything he can to help her regain her memories, but at the same time he’s terrified of losing her again once she does remember. And it’s thoughts like these that steal his sleep.

Just take it a day at a time.

That’s what his brother had said to do, and bloody hell he was going to try his best.

But even with that conviction it doesn’t make sleep come any easier.

Too soon, the morning sun is spilling into his room and he groans as he grabs one of his pillows to cover his face from the offending light.

He’s typically a morning person, but right now he just wants to curse whoever decided there would only be so many hours of darkness each night.

It’s with an exaggerated amount of reluctance that Killian lifts the pillow from his face and reaches for his phone to check the time. It’s early, but he’s not sleeping anyways so he might as well get up.

With a groan he sits up and rubs a hand along his scruff as he tries to shake the tiredness from his bones. Before he stands he takes a long look at his closed door and sighs. Emma’s just beyond that door, and it feels like ages since she’s been this close to him, but at the same time she’s never been farther away.

He gives his head a frustrated shake; he really needs to stop doing this. He needs to stop dwelling on the past, and stop overthinking everything, and he needs to focus on how to be here for Emma.

Just take it a day at a time.

He can do this.

He just might need a hot shower to clear his head and some coffee to wake him up first.

----CS----

Emma’s groggy as she peels her eyes open and stares blearily at the world in front of her. It takes her a second to remember where she is, her brain taking a little longer to wake up than the rest of her. She feels heavy and still tired somehow, though she’d slept so deeply she doesn’t even remember dreaming. Which surprises her—she’d half expected to get no sleep at all, she’d certainly gone to bed with enough on her mind, but her body must have needed the sleep badly enough that it overrode her racing thoughts.

Gingerly she stands and begins making her way to the bathroom. She can’t tell if her aching body and searing ribs feel better or worse after not moving all night. But she breathes deeply and forces her muscles to move, and by the time she’s in front of the mirror walking is already a little easier.

Tilting her head as she looks at herself she sighs and reaches for the toothbrush Killian bought her and begins brushing her teeth.

She’s definitely looked better.

Everything about her right now is a mess—life and appearance included. Her hair is in tangles, and the way it’s standing a little taller on one side is a testament as to why she shouldn’t sleep on it wet. And then there’s the matter of the obvious bags under her eyes that match so well with the bruises she’s already sporting.

But as she finishes brushing her teeth and begins to drag a brush through the knots in her hair she can’t really find it within herself to care much this morning.

After putting her hair in a simple side braid, Emma exits the bathroom and makes her way down the hall. She can smell something delicious, and as she enters the kitchen she’s greeted with the sight of Killian silently flipping pancakes at the stove.

Even through the soft material of his t-shirt she can see the broad expanse of his back and shoulder muscles, and she finds herself a little distracted by the way they move as he shifts a bit on his feet. He must be fresh out of the shower because there’s a bit of delicious water still clinging to his hair.

She feels the slightest fluttering in her stomach, and though she might not remember him, she’s not blind.

Pulling herself onto one of the barstools, she bites her lip against a groan as the effort sends flames licking up her side. Once settled she rests her forearms on the countertop and inhales a deep breath through her nose. Killian finally seems to hear her and turns around, a light smile lifting his lips.

And she’ll deny it, but the fluttering in her stomach picks up just a little bit.

“Morning, Swan. How are you feeling?”

“Much the same,” she says with a tiny shrug. Though terrible would be a better answer, everything hurts and she feels a little lost and overwhelmed, but he already looks at her with concern dripping off every inch of him and she doesn’t need to amplify it. She’ll be fine. She’s always been able to manage on her own.

Though it’s not like she really has a choice at the moment—Killian’s all she really has. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go and anything else she might have had or anyone else she might have known, she certainly doesn’t remember.

And she tries not to dwell on this, because when she thinks about all the things she’s forgotten, all the things everyone expects her to remember, she feels like she’s being buried alive. And every time she’s confronted with something that she’s supposed to know but doesn’t, is just the sand being packed on a little tighter above her.

It’s somehow suffocating and lonely all at once.

Closing her eyes she inhales through her nose slowly before blowing the air out through her lips as she tries to focus on something other than her memory loss. She needs a distraction, and so opening her eyes, she returns her attention to watching Killian move about the kitchen.

Resting her head in her hand, she tilts her head as she considers him. “I’m surprised you have time to make pancakes, don’t you have work or something?”

“Today’s Sunday,” he says as he briefly turns to check on the pancakes in question before turning back to face her. “And I figured both of us could use some pancakes. What do you want in yours? I have blueberries, chocolate chips, bananas…”

He trails off with an arch of his eyebrow as he waits for her response. And dropping her hand back to the counter, she stares at the swirls in the granite before answering—because if she were to guess, then he probably already knows what she likes in her pancakes.

“Don’t you already know that answer?” And she doesn’t mean it to, but her question comes out sad and small. She really is trying not to let this memory loss thing bother her, and this is such a small and inconsequential thing, but she can’t help the way her chest tightens because of it.

“I do,” he answers gently, softness and understanding shining in his eyes. “But you don’t remember telling me, so I’m asking.”

Emma can’t do much but blink at him for a moment, he’s constantly blowing her away with his kindness, and she’s continually caught off guard with how aware of her he seems to be. How he just seems to know what it is she needs, even when it’s something she’s not sure how to articulate. How he can just tell that she’s overwhelmed, that she needs to feel as though she has at least some control over what he knows about her.

She licks her lips and blinks a few more times as she tries to stop staring at him. “Chocolate chips. I… uh like chocolate chips.”

“Chocolate it is then.”

He smiles again and Emma continues to stare at him as he makes his way over to a cupboard and pulls out the small bag of chocolate.

Unexpected tears begin to gather in her eyes and Emma reaches up quickly to brush them away. Doing her best to blink the remaining water out of her eyes before Killian can turn around and look at her again.

Who knew having amnesia would make her so emotional?

She feels a little frayed, like her insides are exposed and vulnerable.

Taking a deep breath to gain control of herself again, she smooths her palms over the cold granite and straightens her spine before lifting her gaze to watch Killian cook.

It occurs to her that maybe doing something that keeps her hands busy will help keep her mind off of everything else. And so turning in the barstool she carefully slides off it and makes her way around the center island.

“Can I help?” she asks as soon as she’s standing next to him.

Killian must not have noticed her approaching because he jumps a little before turning towards her. Immediately his eyes travel along her face, lingering on her lips before finally meeting her eyes. He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything, closing it suddenly as he lifts a hand to scratch behind his ear.

“Of course, Swan.” He seems a little flustered as he turns his head from side to side, searching the counter for something. Spotting what he needs, Killian snatches the spatula from its spot beside the stove and offers it to her. “You can flip the pancakes, I’ll…uh get the table set.”

He leaves her and Emma turns her attention to the pancakes heating in the skillet. They’re bubbling and look about ready to flip and so she slips the spatula beneath one of them and lifts it slightly to check. Deciding it looks golden brown enough, she slides the spatula completely under and flips it.

It sizzles loudly as the uncooked side meets the heat of the skillet and Emma smiles slightly to herself. This is what she needs, something normal, something to distract her from dwelling on how much she’s seemingly forgotten.

Soon enough she’s helping Killian bring everything to the table and pouring syrup all over her already sweetened pancakes. Much like their last meal they don’t say much, and only the sound of their silverware clinking against their plate’s echoes through the apartment.

As a result, the sudden knock that pounds against the front door seems to reverb off the walls as it cuts through the silence that had settled over them.

Emma snaps her head up, looking over at the door before turning her attention to Killian. His forehead creases as a slight frown forms on his lips while he looks towards the front of the apartment.

“I didn’t tell anyone to come over,” he half mumbles to himself as he places his fork down and pushes his chair back to stand up.

He saunters barefooted to the front door and opens it.

“David? Mary Margaret? What are you guys doing here?”

Curious, Emma turns a little more in her seat and cranes her neck to try and see who is at the door.

A small woman, with black, pixie cut hair, stands on her tiptoes as she hugs Killian briefly before pushing her way into the apartment.

“Killian, how’re you guys doing? I’ve been a mess since you called and told us what happened. I wanted to come sooner, but David said Emma probably wouldn’t even be out of the hospital yet. But I wanted to make sure you guys are okay. Do you need anything? I can always make dinner and bring it by.”

The woman says this all a little breathlessly as though she’s been bursting to get this all out for days. A taller man with blond hair follows her into the entryway. He has a baby in his arms and a diaper bag slung over his shoulder, and he chuckles lightly as he reaches out his free hand to shake with Killian’s.

“Sorry Killian, I tried to get her to wait as long as I could.”

Upon hearing the woman mention her name, Emma stands and takes a few hesitant steps towards the group gathered in the entryway.

Killian looks over at her and the concern she’s becoming very familiar with is back and swimming in his eyes. Looking back towards his friends, he steps to the side and almost completely blocks Emma from their view.

“I appreciate you guys coming over, I really do. I just don’t know if now is a good time. Emma’s still—”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret gasps, having finally seen her. She deftly steps around Killian and with a rushed stride makes her way towards Emma.

And before she can even register what exactly is happening, Mary Margaret has her arms wrapped around her, crushing her gently to her chest.

Emma stiffens, unsure of how to respond as panic surges through her and squeezes her lungs. Frantically her eyes flash towards Killian and she gives him a pleading look.

She has a hard time opening up to people in general, and hugging is not something she’s used to, especially not with someone who feels like a stranger.

Thankfully, Mary Margaret releases her before Killian has to intervene. But the relief is short lived as the woman almost immediately replaces the hug with a gentle grasp to both of Emma’s arms.

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret gushes. “I’ve been so, so worried. The second Killian told us what happened I couldn’t stop crying. But you’ll get your memory back in no time I just know it.”

Mary Margaret smiles at her with such joy and hope that Emma stammers for a moment, overwhelmed. Luckily she’s saved from having to say anything back when David steps forward and gently places a hand on Mary Margaret’s shoulder, pulling her towards him.

“Honey, I’m sure Emma’s had a lot to deal with, we don’t need to bombard her.” He turns his attention to Emma and smiles. “I’m glad you’re doing okay though, Emma. We really have been worried about you.”

“Right, of course,” Mary Margaret apologizes, stepping closer to her husband and placing a hand on her baby’s back.

The baby straightens from his spot nestled against his father’s chest and looks at Emma. Immediately she’s greeted with a gummy grin as the baby’s eyes light up and he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. He reaches for Emma, leaning out of David’s arms as he opens and closes his fingers and babbles a bit of happy nonsense.

“Oh do you remember Emma, Leo?” Mary Margaret coos at her baby before taking him in her arms and bouncing him lightly. “I’m surprised he seems to remember you it’s been a while since he’s seen you.”

Leo keeps reaching for her, and she’s worried that Mary Margaret is going to ask her to hold him, but thankfully Killian rescues her.

“Why don’t we sit down? Emma’s supposed to be resting,” Killian says just as he steps up behind her and places a hand at her back.

“Killian’s right, Emma,” David offers as he wraps an arm around Mary Margaret. “You’ll heal faster if you don’t exhaust yourself. We don’t mean to keep you on your feet, you should lie down. We promise not to stay too long.”

And with a kiss to his wife’s head David leads Mary Margaret and baby Leo towards the living room.

Emma’s insides turn to ice, keeping her frozen in place as she watches the little family situate themselves on one of Killian’s little loveseats.

She can’t do this.

She doesn’t know any of this.

She flinches slightly when she feels Killian lean down and put his head close to her ear. “Are you okay, love?”

Emma looks at him and she knows he has to see the distress on her face considering she has no energy at the moment to cover it up—but she doesn’t know how to answer so she simply nods, even though she’s anything but okay.

It feels like there’s not enough space in her chest. Like something is preventing her lungs from fully expanding, and she can’t get enough air because of it.

Killian’s forehead furrows and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something but Emma shakes her head quickly and looks up at him pleadingly.

Please, not now. She can’t handle anymore. She just needs someone to let her be.

He seems to understand, because he closes his mouth and presses his lips into a thin line before sighing and dragging a hand down his face as though he’s equally distressed by this whole thing.

Numbly she lets Killian guide her to the couch, accepting the blanket he hands her. She sets it on her lap without unfolding it and breathes slowly, trying to ease the tightness in her chest as she looks at Mary Margaret and David giggling at little Leo.

“What’s Liam been up to?” David asks Killian once they’re all settled. “I feel like I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Killian’s still looking at Emma with worry pressing on his features and it’s almost like he has to physically drag his gaze away from her to look at David and answer. “Much the same. He’s become quite smitten with a girl at work. Elsa, I think is her name.”

“Oh he should bring her by sometime.” Mary Margaret exclaims as she bounces Leo up and down lightly on her knee, her fingers in the baby’s grasp. “We could have a little get together at our house, it’s been a little while since we’ve had one.” She turns her attention to Emma, smiling gently. “Everyone’s so glad you’re okay, Emma. I was just talking to Ruby the other day and she wants you to know she’s hoping you’ll be better soon. So many people are anxious to see you again. I think dinner would be the perfect opportunity.”

“Mary Margaret,” David interrupts. “I’m sure Emma’s not quite ready for that yet.”

“Oh yes, of course. I mean, obviously I didn’t mean right now, but maybe after your physical injuries have healed. I know Belle is anxious to see you. Regina and Robin will also probably want to come, and Killian you can make sure Liam brings this Elsa. It can just be a small thing. We can even just do appetizers if not everyone’s up for dinner.”

And with the more names Mary Margaret mentions the farther away she sounds, until Emma feels as if she’s listening to her speak from under water. How many more people is she going to have to pretend like she remembers?

Looking down at the blanket in her lap, Emma feels her eyes start to water.

She can’t do this.

She’s completely lost track of the conversation, but when she looks up she can see Killian gazing at her anxiously from the corner of her eye.

“I’m very tired,” she says suddenly, effectively cutting off whoever was speaking before her. She just needs some way to get out of this room, to get away from all of this. “I think I’m going to go take a nap.”

She moves to stand but Mary Margaret and David beat her too it.

“No, Emma stay, we don’t want to make you move. We’ll head out,” David says, placing his hand at Mary Margaret’s back.

It’s hard not to feel as though everything is pressing in on her. What with the way David’s looking at her with nothing but kindness and Mary Margaret gazes at her with an almost motherly concern as she shifts Leo in her arms, the baby babbling happily as he chews on his fingers. Then there’s the matter of Killian sitting in the corner, she doesn’t even have to look at him to know his eyes are drilling anxious holes through her.

They all obviously care for her, so overwhelmed or not, she does her best to smile and hopes it doesn’t come out too shaky.

Killian follows the little family to the door, and they exchange goodbyes that she can’t really hear. She hears the door click shut and the silence that follows is blissful. Closing her eyes, Emma sighs as she leans back against the couch.

“Swan, I’m so sorry about that. I had no idea they were coming over. David’s my mate from college and—” He cuts off with loud sigh and Emma opens her eyes in time to see him running a hand through his hair as he looks up at the ceiling. “I should’ve said something to them beforehand. I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t respond. Only because the tightness in her chest hasn’t quite left and she can feel the pressure behind her eyes start to build again, a tear finally slipping free as she looks out the window in front of her. And she’s scared that if she says anything she’ll completely lose what little control she has.

“Emma…I…Can I get you anything?” Killian asks, clearly struggling with a way to try and help her.

With a sigh Emma looks up at him, and she recognizes the torment on his features. This clearly isn’t just hard on her, but she’s not sure how to do anything but try to keep herself from drowning.

“Killian…I think I’d just like to be alone right now.”

His brow furrows and she’s almost certain that the anxious crease between his eyebrows is going to become permanent. “Of course—you can stay out here, there’s a T.V. and I have some things I can get done in my room. Let me just get you your medicine first.”

He does it quickly, disappearing for only a moment before returning with pills and a glass of water that he places on the table in front of her.

“Don’t hesitate to let me know what you need, Swan.” He smiles at her, but like at the hospital it’s more of just a sad lift of his lips, and the smile Emma offers in return isn’t any better.

As he leaves, she reaches for her medicine and takes all three pills in one swallow before putting the glass back down and resting her head in her hands.

She can’t do this.

Her tears come freely now and she wipes at them as she sits up, gasping as she tries to breathe properly. But the tension in her chest only tightens.

She needs to breathe. She needs air.

Looking around the room she spots Killian’s keys resting on a small table by the door. And not even thinking twice, she pulls herself to standing and hurries to the front door as quickly as her injured body will allow. Snatching the keys off the table, she curls her fingers around them and brings them to her chest, closing her eyes as she tries to settle her racing heart.

She needs to be alone, she needs to think, needs to breathe. And she can’t do that here, not at the moment.

And so with a final shaky breath, Emma opens her eyes and looks back at Killian’s apartment for only a moment before slipping out the front door.

#cs ff #cs fic #cs au #cs ff au #captain swan #my writing #the art of remembering

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