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ripplestitchskein · 7 years ago

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Whether We Wake or Sleep part 9

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

On AO3

Word Count: approx 7.4K+

Rating: Teen & Up (Will be Mature or Explicit in later chapters)

Summary: A canon-divergence set after Killian and Emma return to Rumpelstiltskin’s castle, an expanded epic Captain Swan adventure. Killian and Emma must work to break a new curse, one with an unsettling timeline, and align themselves with friends and foes alike.

Notes: As always thanks to my instrumental wife @caprelloidea for the read through and the expert beta. And my love to Mandy @thesschesthair for my beautiful banner. I want to thank all of you who have stuck with this story (THAT WILL BE FINISHED). Please reblog and let me know what you think!

____

Betrayal. That was the only word Emma could think of. It wasn’t the right word. He wasn’t being malicious, but it was all she could feel at Killian’s reluctant admission. Betrayal. It was ridiculous, but it still burned hotly under her skin, stuck in her throat, made her mouth dry and her ears burn.

Graham.

It was an unspoken agreement in Storybrooke not to mention the former Sheriff. Not to speculate or question the manner of his death. Everyone followed the rules for their own reasons. Some out of respect for Emma. Some out of fear of the Evil Queen. The only acknowledgement to the man who had served them for so long was a worn pair of boots and a plaque hung on the station wall. A grave Emma had never visited in the cemetery. And when someone slipped, with a fond remembrance or an anecdote about his life in the town, something he had done or a joke he had told, it was quickly glossed over. The subject was always changed with an awkward laugh or a hesitant glance in her direction. Everyone knew not to remind her of him. Of his death. That look in her eyes, the one Killian had described, was all the grief and anger and powerlessness. The how’s and why’s, and the injustice of it all. The constant stream of bad thing after bad thing that had buried Graham’s death down deep, where it couldn’t be examined, couldn’t be looked at too closely.

Emma wasn’t even sure she had ever really had a chance to breathe after Graham died, much less grieve him. There was always too much to deal with. Regina. Henry. Mary Margaret. Neal. The town. Memories lost and gained. Too much, too fast and all the while a man was forgotten.

For her son, for Henry, she always let her thoughts of Graham dance around the specifics. It was better if he never came up at all. Better for Henry. Better for Emma. Better for Storybrooke.

The simple truth of the matter was Emma couldn’t bear to look Graham’s killer in the face, day after day, and still work with the woman against the unspeakable darkness looming over them. Emma couldn’t work with Regina to save the town if she let herself remember what the woman had done. She couldn’t let herself think of how senseless it was that a good man was gone. Out of jealousy. Out of spite. Emma couldn’t co-parent and be the mother Henry needed if she acknowledged the mysteries surrounding an innocent man’s death. Better to shove it down, keep moving, ignore the obvious. Forget the past. Regina had done unspeakable things. It was easy to justify, to forget, to focus on the present.

And now here he was again, hidden in the shadows of grief in Killian’s eyes as he looked at her, his face cast into darkness by the firelight. Emma set her jaw. She felt almost guilty that she hadn’t realized Graham would be here, in this time, alive. She felt guilty that it had been so long since she had even thought of him. The shoelace around her wrist was a tribute to him that had grown commonplace. Another piece of her daily routine. She hadn’t spared a thought for him in so many months, there was always too much going on. And now, this.

“No,” she said simply, and stood. Her limbs were buzzing, heavy with exhaustion but itching to move, to run, to get away.

“Emma,” Killian’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, and his eyes were just shy of meeting her gaze. “I know that this is rather...difficult.” He looked frustrated with himself for not being able to put a better voice to his thoughts. And heartbroken. He looked so very heartbroken. She could tell he was trying to compartmentalize this. Trying to put on a brave face. But he couldn’t hide the shine in his eyes, the bob of his throat as he swallowed. She ignored it all, pushed it down with the rest. It didn’t matter. If it did, he wouldn’t be saying these terrible things, wouldn’t be putting forth this ridiculous theory.

“Difficult?” Emma said in disbelief. “After all this, after everything we’ve been through already, you are really going to tell me this is difficult. Graham is dead. He’s not my..my...my true love,” she spat the phrase, hating it more now than she ever had. “He’s not anything anymore, because of-“ Emma shook her head. “Graham is not an option.”

“Not in the present,” Killian acknowledged. “But here in the past, he might be.” He swallowed again, glancing away. “Baba Yaga, when I drank her tea, there were...trials.”

“Trials? What kind of trials?” Emma still hadn’t moved, just watched his profile, the flutter in his jaw as he steeled himself.

“Oh you know,” he waved it off. “Riddles and nonsense. The tricks of a mad old witch. We had an arrangement. Play her game and in return for my success she’d answer my questions and give me what we needed to help you. The unicorn, and the feather, namely. That was the agreement, and that was her forfeit when I was victorious.”

“What kind of questions?” Emma almost didn’t want to know. Wasn’t sure how this could possibly connect. Everything was a muddle of nonsense. It was so beyond insane that she thought for a moment that Maleficent’s potion had worn off, that exhaustion had finally addled her brain to the point of hallucination.

“I asked her how we would return,” he said slowly. Emma huffed in frustration, her teeth grinding.

“I heard that, I was there. Spit it out Hook, what else did you ask her? What possible question could you have asked that would make you bring...that..up?

“I asked-“ he winced at her harsh use of his name. “-where we could find your true love. The one who could break your curse.”

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“What...what did she say?” Emma whispered. She was suddenly afraid. She didn’t want to know.

“That it was a man. Within half a day’s ride.” Something in Emma’s stomach eased, her heart sinking a bit.

“That could be, literally, anyone,” Emma snapped, some of the fear trickling away to anger. “That’s your evidence? Some crazy lady in the woods with a weird fucking house and a skeleton boyfriend telling you a random man within a 20 mile radius is my true love?”

“There’s more,” Killian said. His voice was gravel raw, thick with emotion, and it made her eyes tear to hear it. She knew how he felt, had thrown it in his face more than once now. She knew that this couldn’t be easy for him. Hell, it was probably one of the harder things he had done. But the threat of tears was not all born of sorrow, but the anger building inside her as well. Anger that he was so accepting, that he was so gullible, that he could just pair her off with some stranger he didn’t know without batting an eye. It hurt. There was too much going on for her to pull apart all the threads, to examine any one emotion too closely.

“Before we left she gave me one more gift, an answer to a question I hadn’t asked.” Killian closed his eyes briefly, collecting himself, and continued. “She said that the man was already known to you.”

“I guess that’s a bit more specific,” Emma scoffed, still not entirely believing him. She came back to the log, reluctantly sitting down. “Why Gr-“ she caught herself, choking on the name. “Him?”

“I told you,” he still wasn’t looking at her. “I’ve seen that look before. I know it intimately. Your lost Sheriff fits. You felt-” again he paused. “-something for him before he was lost to you.”

Emma could only shake her head. She had never examined her feelings for Graham too closely. It was such a new thing, the spark of a silly crush, mild flirtations, more than a little annoyance, the anger over his betrayal with Regina, and then that faint flicker of something, so brief and bright, dashed as soon as he had collapsed in her arms. Over before it began.

“We weren’t-” she started. “It wasn’t like that. We worked together.”

Killian was silent next to her, still not looking at her, waiting for her to continue.

“I mean, we kissed. Right before he...died. I kissed him.” Emma shook her head. “It was... new. He was so-” Emma could barely get the words out as she remembered that day. Graham begging her to understand. Wanting so badly to believe him despite how crazy he sounded. How confused and frantic he had been. His hands soft on her face. A single tear as he looked at her with such awe and wonder. She shuddered, swallowing back tears. She could see Killian wince again in her periphery, but he kept his silence, letting her speak, letting her relive it in her memory.

“I remember. I remember. Thank you.”

A cold realization settled in her stomach.

“I kissed him and he remembered,” Emma breathed out. “Before the curse broke. He remembered his old life. Here. Before the curse.”

Killian sucked in a hiss of breath as if he’d been struck, a blink and you missed it fluttering of his eye lashes against his cheek. He looked to the sky, took a deep breath, and spoke.

“I think you have your answer, Swan,” he said dully.

“I don’t-” Emma shook her head.

“I know this is painful,” Killian broke in. “I know you’re frightened.” His arm turned, and through the white of his shirt in the glow of the firelight she could make out the faint outline of his tattoo. “Losing someone you...cared for. Believe me, I know.”

“Figures,” Emma whispered. “My true love is a dead guy.” She tried to put some levity in her voice, but failed. It was too heavy, too raw, too close to home for both of them. There just didn’t seem to be any right words.

“But he’s not dead here,” Killian replied. “Perhaps fate has given you a-“ again, he couldn’t seem to force himself to finish for a long moment. It made her heart ache. “-a second chance.”

“Some fairytale,” she muttered to herself, for both of them.

“But that’s just it, love.” Killian turned to face her fully now. His eyes were so blue. So soft and sad. “ You said, by the lake, that you didn’t see yourself in these stories. In your boy’s book. It was just Princesses and fairy tales that you were never apart of.” He tapped the book for emphasis, and then let it fall to rest on his lap.

He reached over, taking her hand in his own. It was warm and solid, a frisson of electric heat where he stroked his thumb over the back.

“What if this is your story, Emma? What if this is your fairytale? You thought of this time, this place for a reason. What if this is it?” He was whispering now, earnest and sad, his eyes shining in the firelight as his voice cracked ever so slightly. It made her breath catch in her throat hearing that crack, and she struggled to breathe. He gave her hand a slight squeeze and let it rest on the leather bound book. “This could be your happily ever after.”

She swallowed and looked away, pulling her hand back, and let out a derisive laugh.

“Then the ending sucks.”

_____

Emma had been silent for most of the day, only asking him now and again for the tiny flask of potion Maleficent had given her. Once just before they had departed, and again as the cart drew closer to their destination. She seemed like she’d rather he keep the potion for her, so he did, tucking it safely in his satchel as Four took them down the ruts and dips of the packed dirt road.

She had sent him to rest the night before, refusing to leave until he had gotten some sleep. She had a potion to keep her wits about her, he had nothing. He needed actual sleep to function she’d reminded him. They had faced a dragon and leapt from a window. He needed some sleep. She had left him alone by the fire, with the book and his troubled thoughts, and gone down to the edge of the lake to be alone for a bit. Away from him. Away from all talks of fairy tales and true love. Perhaps to give herself time to mourn where she hadn’t before. Sleep wasn’t possible for either of them, and as the first light of the dawn broke over the lake they packed up their little camp and set out to find some answers.

Now they were deep into enemy territory. Just miles away from the Queen’s castle, which towered above the trees in the distance, shining and ominous, and in his opinion, rather hideous. The wanted posters had increased in frequency the closer they had gotten, nearly one for every tree they passed. Emma had put her hood up, her cloak still slightly damp and smelling faintly of lake water, hiding her face as best she could. He had no cloak, but had raised the collar on his coat in a half hearted attempt at disguise. Her face was the more recognizable one, the reward on her head much higher.

Thankfully the Queen’s road had been empty for much of their journey, deemed too dangerous for most would be travelers. Not due to the usual ruffians or outlaws, he suspected, but the threat of the Evil Queen herself. The air was thicker here, with anxiety and fear, a palpable thing, mixed with the heavy smoky scent of dark magic that blanketed the land. Even Four noticed the change, the horse jerking it’s head anxiously and slowing it’s pace more and more the closer they got. Even the birds were silent, much like Maleficent’s fortress, all the animals had fled for safer ground, sensing danger.

“We’ll stop in the next village,” Killian said, pulling the reins to guide their cart towards the smoke of chimney fires in the near distance, following the well trafficked ruts in the road. “It’s risky, but we can see if anyone has any idea where we might find him. The closer villages tend to be more sympathetic to the Queen’s enemies, we might get by. Or they could all be dead.” He gestured to the smoke which suddenly seemed more ominous than simple cooking fires. “No telling in these parts.”

“And then what?” Emma asked bitterly. “I just go up, introduce myself, and plant one on him?”

“Not exactly the most tactful plan,” Killian said. The idea of her planting anything on anyone made his stomach twist, equal parts pain and jealousy. He ignored it. “And I doubt it will work.”

“What? Why?” Emma looked at him. “You said that Baba Yaga-“

Emma fell silent as Killian wrapped the reins around his wooden hand, tucking them under his arm. He reached behind them, wiggling the story book out of its place in the satchel once again. He set it carefully on her lap, keeping one eye on the road as he flicked through the pages.

When he came to the one he wanted he stopped turning and tapped the page with a finger.

“Here we are,” he said.

“This is about my parents,” Emma looked up at him confused.

“Aye,” he nodded. He took the reins in his hand again, and clucked softly at Four to correct their course. “In that particular tale your mother accepts a potion from the Dark One-“ the name was said with faint distaste, his lip curling, “-to take away the pain of a broken heart after she loses your father.”

There was a lump in his throat, it was too close to home. He thought briefly of the memory potion still tucked away in his bag. The one that would be consumed on the day Emma was happiest. He had a fair idea now of what day that would be. He could see the appeal of such a decision. He had not quite hit it off with the eponymous Snow White, but in this he understood her perfectly.

“They find each other again of course, they tend to do that,” Killian continued on, he smiled at her wryly, waggling an eyebrow to break some of the tension. “She’d already taken the potion however and it had the unfortunate side effect that she had no memory of him at all. So when he kisses her,” Killian waved the reins in a gesture Emma couldn’t interpret “-nothing happens.”

“Okay,” Emma prompted, idly turning the page. “Not seeing the point.”

“If he doesn’t know you he can’t-” Killian almost said ‘love you’, but that was a step too far. “-break the curse.”

“How do you know this?” Emma asked, looking at the pages.

“I read it last night before I fell asleep,” Killian said. It was only half a lie.

He had meant to rest as she’d ordered, but instead he had spent his evening squinting at the text of the story book in the dimming firelight. It was a last ditch effort, looking for something, anything, that might change things. That story had lit a flame of hope in him, however brief. That was why it had stuck with him.

He’d thought of Emma in New York as he’d read, her eyes looking at him with no hint of recognition, her lips dry and tasting slightly of mint as he’d tried to kiss her memories back. If it hadn’t worked for Snow White and Prince Charming, the golden pinnacle of Truest Love, then perhaps there was still hope for him. Graham’s memories returning after a kiss was perhaps just a fluke, a happy coincidence. Emma was the Savior, the product of that Truest Love, she could do anything, even restore the memories of a cursed man with a simple kiss.

But then reality had come crashing in again. The well. Zelena’s curse. The loss of Emma’s magic, not restored since. The entire reason they were forced to do this. There were only so many loopholes, so many near misses, so many excuses he could make. Not even Captain Hook could argue with fate.

And now he was using his last thin spark of hope to make the case for another man. The lesson of lost love was for this Graham person, the lesson of loss was for Killian Jones. As it should be. Fate, if nothing else, could certainly be cruel, but she stayed the course.

“So I have to get him to what, fall for me?” Emma asked incredulously, breaking into his thoughts, more than a hint of horror in her voice. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

Killian couldn’t look at her, had found it increasingly hard to do so as of late, instead he focused on the horse, on keeping the cart centered in the road.

“I don’t believe it will be as difficult as you fear,” Killian said softly. It certainly hadn’t been for him. A dagger at his throat and sunlight in her hair. All it had taken was one adventure and a bandage. A frantic kiss in a humid jungle.

Emma was silent next to him. Her fingers idly traced the pages of the book, her expression troubled.

“I don’t want to do this,” Emma said after a long, awkward, beat. Just the sounds of the wheels on the road and the rustle of leaves.

He could barely hear her it was so softly spoken. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t want her to do this either. To say fuck fate, or destiny and fuck true love. It had brought them both nothing but pain. He wanted so badly to tell her none of it mattered to him. He didn’t care. He didn’t need destiny to love her. He didn’t need love to be true to feel it. That there was nothing in the world he didn’t want her to do more than he didn’t want her to fall in love with another. But the potion wouldn’t last forever. Emma was dying hour by hour, and they needed this to work. Emma still had a chance. They had to take it. She was a hero and her true love could be right here, just miles away. What he wanted more than her love was her safety and her happiness, and this would practically ensure it.

“It doesn’t feel right,” she said after another long moment.

“Just try love. If not for you, and your happy ending,” he couldn’t help but sneer a bit at that. “-then for Henry and your family. If we break this curse we can work on getting you home, back to them. The rest will work itself out.”

“For Henry,” Emma repeated.

Killian could feel her eyes on him, his skin prickling under her gaze, but he still couldn’t look at her. If he looked at her he’d break. He’d allow himself to be selfish again, become the pirate again, taking what he pleased, damn the consequences. And he’d ask her not to do this. He’d tell her they could find another way. She was wavering on the knife edge already: afraid and reluctant, angry that she had no choice in this, no sense of freewill. One word from him could tip the balance in his favor. He had every advantage.

But they were out of options. Faced with losing her to someone else and losing her forever there was no choice to be made.

Killian remained silent.

_____

The village of Sneewittchen was little more than a collection of ramshackle cottages and lean tos near a roughly painted sign declaring its name. If not for the sign they might have missed it completely, hidden in the trees and scrub as it was. A blacksmith, a tavern with a small attached inn, and a few pieces of wood cobbled together into approximations of market stalls were all that comprised the village square, hard compact earth and a crumbling well the central focus of the village. The people were quiet and industrious, dirty and ragged, and sparse. They were actually too quiet, Emma noted. There was no idle chatter in the streets, no gossiping on the corners. The villagers moved from place to place like wary ghosts, only the occasional squeal or bawk from random farm life filling in the gaps. The people scurried like frightened ants, shoulders hunched and heads bowed. It was a far cry from the bustling city of Phrygia. There was no busy market here , no flamboyant performances and people hawking their wares, no obvious distinction between the rich and the poor. There was just the poor.

“Where are the Black Knights?” Emma whispered. Killian deftly maneuvered the cart to the edge of the road, beyond the straggling brush and into a copse of trees lining it. They were just outside of the village proper, but the square was clear of the Queen’s enforcers. Only a few of the townsfolk moving here and there, or working in their huts. She could hear the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer, and the baying of a barnyard animal.

“This close to the castle?” He frowned, jumping down from the cart. Emma climbed after him, grateful for the chance to stretch. “They aren’t needed. Any thought of rebellion was driven out of these people long ago.” He motioned to the tower of Regina's castle standing sentry, watching and waiting.

Emma peered through the trees at the village. She could see it, on their solemn faces, in the lack of children playing and people actually living. These villagers had been driven into the dirt, had lost enough that they were little more than broken things, going through the motions. Most of the fire in them had to have been snuffed out years ago. The castle looming over them, just a few miles away, always under the watchful eye of the tyrannical all seeing Queen. It was enough of a threat to keep them in line. It made sense. She knew from the book that other villages had already burned, that raids were regular, and that so many had already died. Those who remained fell into step quickly to avoid the same fate. It would be a while before Snow White rose up to oppose her, before Emma’s parents brought life and spirit back to the people.

“You stay here,” Killian said, slinging his satchel over this shoulder.

“What?” Emma looked at him startled. “Why? We should stick together.”

Killian shook his head.

“Just because we haven’t seen the Queen’s men doesn’t mean they aren’t around. I’ll scout ahead, ask around in the tavern if anyone has seen him. I have a feeling that, as dead as this place is outwardly, that’s the place to be.” He smirked. “Always is.”

Emma bristled. It felt wrong.

“I can help,” Emma said. “We can ask around together.”

“Just keep yourself hidden here. The trees should hide you well enough. Busy yourself with Four if anyone comes near. And keep your hood up. Your face was the more prominent one on that infernal bounty but they might not see the likeness with mine. I’m also a fairer hand with a sword if we should run into trouble. Save your strength Swan. I’ll make inquiries, perhaps secure a room you can hide in until we find him.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Emma said. The smirk on his face faded, his jaw growing taut.

“Of the two of us I’m the most expendable,” he snapped. Emma opened her mouth to argue but he was already forging ahead. “If anything happens to me you can still find your Sheriff, and you can still break the curse. You can still get home. If you’re captured by the Queen that can’t happen.”

Emma bristled.

“And how will you get back if that happens, huh? That’s a pretty crappy plan, Hook.” This time the emphasis on the name was deliberate, and he knew it, glaring at her.

He stepped close, so close she could feel the warmth from his chest, count each individual eyelash. She flushed, half from anger half from something she didn’t want to examine too closely under the circumstances. Now was not the time. She sucked in a breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

“Where I go and what happens to me is of no consequence to anyone. I will see that you get home to your family, back to your boy, as I promised. You will break that curse and we will find a way for you to get home. So for once, Swan, listen to me and do as I ask.”

Before she could reply, or even move, he had turned, stalking into the village square towards the dilapidated tavern.

_______

It seemed that fate was smiling on them today, which Killian felt was a particularly cruel twist of the proverbial knife. Nothing about this journey had been simple so far. Of course, now the pieces would fall into place.

The innkeep was a jovial fellow, if not a little subdued, with a shining bald pate and a round jolly belly that swelled out from under a dingy apron. He was half into his cups by the time Killian arrived, apparently a proprietor who drank as much, or more, than he sold. Being several sheets to the wind he didn’t stare too closely at Killian’s face, he only had eyes for the gold in his hand, the last remaining of their robbery in Midas’s lands.

The tavern was busy compared to the square, just as Killian had suspected. He had seen his share of broken towns in his time. Seen what tyranny could do to the good folks who served under it. It was the only respite these people had from the ever present shadow of the Queen: staunch drinks and rowdy company. He blended in perfectly, and all the patrons were too absorbed in their own drinks and their own troubles to pay mind to a weary traveler.

The Sheriff wasn’t in town the barkeep had informed him, he lived in the castle now, a consort to the Queen.

“Not by his will, no,” the man had said with a shake of his head. “Like a dog, he is. Beholden to his mistress. Poor sod.” The man murmured as he poured sour smelling ale into a tankard and slid it across the counter. He topped off his own drink as well and took a sympathetic swill for a fallen man. Killian sniffed the concoction, wrinkling his nose at the odor, but took a sip for courtesy's sake. He pushed the tankard away.

“Does he ever leave the castle?” Killian asked dropping a coin onto the counter. The man made a grunting noise and reached under the counter. He slapped a scrap of parchment down on the wood with a thwap.

“Tax collectin’ day, only time he shows his face,” the man said. “Tomorrow.”

“My thanks for the information. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen my-“ Killian did his best to sound happy. “-friend, so it seems my timing was impeccable.”

“Impreciable for sure,” the man nodded, taking another swig to finish off his pour. “So you’ll be needing a room then?” His eyes flickered to Killian’s hand and he licked his lips.

“Aye,” Killian nodded. “My companion and I will stay the night.” He laid four more coins onto the counter in a neat stack.

“For the room. And the keeping of our horse.” He placed another two on top of it.

“For a hot meal.” And then he set two more on top of those. The man’s eyes widened.

“And for your discretion.”

The innkeep looked up at him then, and Killian winked, taking up the forgotten tankard and downing the sour brew in a few industrious gulps. It was disgusting but it did help clear his head a bit.

“Yessir,” the man nodded. “Thank you, kindly sir.”

“Is there a rear entrance?” Killian asked, leaning closer, lowering his voice. “My companion is rather shy. Hates crowds, you know how it can be.” He slid another two coins across the counter which the man pocketed with a nod.

“Follow me.”

There were running dangerously low on funds after Killian’s display of generosity, but if all went well they wouldn’t have use for it soon. Killian considered it coin well spent once Four was safely stowed in the stable, a weedy looking boy seeing to her tack and feeding and the keeping of their modest little cart, and Emma secreted into their room in the inn.

“What did you find out?” Emma asked once she was inside, pulling off her cloak with a wrinkle of her nose, happy to be rid of the thing.

“Tomorrow,” Killian said. He stowed their bags and supplies in the rickety wardrobe against the wall, shrugging out of his own coat. “Tax collection day apparently.”

“Like the Sheriff of Nottingham,” Emma said absently.

“Different bloke,” Killian said with a shake of his head. A knock at the door revealed a dumpy looking woman carrying a tray of hard bread and brown sludge that could barely pass for stew. Their hot meal apparently. He accepted it with a gracious but cursory nod and firmly closed the door, balancing the tray on his arm. “Did you not read his story?” He asked setting it on an even more derelict looking table. Everything about this place was falling apart.

“I skimmed it,” Emma said defensively. “There are a lot of stories in that book.” Killian pushed a bowl of stew over to her, and a piece of bread, gesturing for her to eat. Deciding against it for himself. Food was the last thing on his mind.

“Might give us some clues on how to proceed,” Killian said. He walked over and picked up the bag with the book, taking it out again. “Would you mind if I-” Killian trailed off, holding it up.

Emma shook her head, looking away, focusing instead on the bowl of unappealing brown water and limp vegetables.

“I just...can’t,” she said finally.

Killian nodded, understanding and settled himself on the bed. It was lumpy and smelled of wood smoke and mildew. A quick inspection had deemed it free of bugs and filth, and it was far better than the ground, or the back of the cart, he reasoned, so he considered it a small victory. He opened the story book, turning the pages until he found the Huntsman's tale, and began to read. He could feel Emma’s wary gaze flickering over to him every so often, nervous and concerned. He ignored her, focusing on the man in the pages.

It was an odd form of self imposed torture. A penance almost. Reading about the person who would capture the heart of the woman he loved. The man she was destined to be with. But he had to know. He needed to understand. And then, as he turned the final page, the story complete, he did.

“He didn’t go through with it,” he said to himself.

“What?” Emma asked. Killian shook his head.

“Nothing Swan, just thinking out loud,” he flashed her a false smile and snapped the book closed. “I’ll just go check on the horse shall I? Stay here, bolt the door. I’ll return in a trice.”

“Killian?” Emma asked concern, moving to rise from her seat.

“Eat your supper, got to keep your strength up,” Killian said, again the false smile, his feet moving swiftly to the door.

“Killian,” Emma said again, sharper this time. He ignored her, pulling the door closed behind him.

He barely registered the short trek to the stable. The details of the story swirling through his head.

So that was it then. That was the difference.

Two men, both faced with a trial from the Queen, a task set forth, a bargain struck. The Huntsman, ordered to kill an innocent girl to protect those he loved. A noble cause to be sure. And in the end, despite that, turning away from it. Saving Snow White instead, and sacrificing himself in her place.

And a Pirate, told to kill his father, his only living family, for the means to seek his vengeance. Not exactly a noble quest. Blood hot on his hands, his father’s breath on his neck as he collapsed into the dirt. An innocent orphaned by a swift, impulsive deed, born out of grief, and rage, and single minded purpose.

Only one of them had succeeded. And only one of them had paid the price with his life. That was it. The moment Killian had proved himself unworthy in the eyes of fate. That was the difference. Graham the Huntsman had died a hero. And Killian Jones had lived far longer than he’d had any right to, driven by dark impulse, hurting and killing for his own selfish purpose.

Killian’s hand trembled as he took out his flask, struggling to get his teeth around the stopper they chattered so fiercely. The barn was still and silent, only Four’s breath and the occasional scrape and slide of it’s hooves along the dirt floor. Killian took a long draw, and then another, anything to ease the sharp spike of panic in his chest. So many mistakes over the centuries, so many wrong turns. It should have been so obvious that one day he would pay the price. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the liquor fill him, and reminded himself of what he now knew for certain. That what the Dark One had said to the Queen was the truth.

“Villains don’t get happy endings”.

______

“Is that him?” Killian murmured out of the corner of his mouth. Emma cast her head down, sneaking a peek back towards the bar and gasped.

Graham.

He looked exactly as she remembered him. The light curl of his hair. The dusting of stubble along his jaw. The way he stood, sure of himself but apart from the world. It was like being hit by a wave, a swift rush of emotion and awe jolting her physically just seeing him again, pulled into the undertow. For a moment she forgot herself, staring openly across the tavern at this walking ghost, at a relic from the past. Killian nudged her with his arm, and she turned back, ducking into the safety of her hood, her heart beating a rapid tattoo in her ears. They were well hidden in the shadows of the corner, but Graham was not alone, flanked on either side by two bored looking Black Knights acting as escort.

“I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?” Killian muttered. He downed the foul ale in one long gulp. It was his third.He had been surly, his face dark and shadowed, since he had returned to their room the previous evening. He had lain next to her in their shared bed without argument this time, turning his back to her without a word, though if he actually slept she couldn’t tell. He’d had no nightmares this time, his breathing steady next to her the entire night. She couldn’t blame him, she understood completely, her own nerves raw and frayed, anxiety pooling in her stomach. You never realized how long the night was when you had to wait for it to pass.

“Yes,” Emma whispered, sneaking another glance. “That’s him.” He was still at the bar, his face solemn and expressionless, but polite, collecting a handful of coins from the innkeeper with a nod.

“Alright then.” Killian put the empty tankard down with a bit more force than necessary. “I’ll distract the guards, see if you can get his attention.” He rose.

“Don’t,” Emma said, panicking. She reached out, grabbing his hand. “Wha-What do I do?”

The smirk he gave her was more of a forced sneer than anything, a flash of teeth, as he pulled his hand away. A fresh stab of hurt had her wincing as he backed away from her like she had burned him.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something Swan,” he said with that horrible false sort of cheer that only made it worse. “It’s True Love!” It was like he had slapped her. Another physical blow of pain that rocked her where she sat.

Killian turned on his heel and crossed the bar. Emma watched him anxiously, torn, and unsure of what to do. She didn’t want this. It hurt too much. She didn’t want to see Graham. But she desperately wanted to see him again at the same time. She didn’t want to cause Killian pain but this plan left her little choice in the matter. This wasn’t right. To be fucked with by some higher unknown destiny this way.

Graham had turned away, walking towards the door. He was leaving. She was about to miss her chance.

“Your story,” Emma whispered to herself. “It’s your story.” She was a bounty hunter. She had been through similar scenarios before. If she couldn’t sort out her own feelings she could at least do that. Pretend he was just like any other skip. This was just another job. Someone she needed to capture.

She leapt to her feet, just as Killian threw himself bodily into another man, at another table, sending half full cups of alcohol and bowls of the same greasy stew from the day before to the floor. Killian gave a slurred apology, playing the drunk with practiced ease, and clumsily went to pick up the discarded dishes, only to drop them again. The man he’d fallen into bellowed in outrage, cursing him and the Black Knights turned at the commotion, amused at the drunken lout. One stepped forward with a good natured chuckle to break it up.

Emma slipped past, her eyes trained on the floor, head turned to the side. She focused on the pair of soft brown boots that were leaving the tavern, apparently not interested in drunken bar fights. She increased her speed, the sunlight bright as she followed him out into square.

Graham was just ahead of her, apparently having no issue leaving his men behind as he moved to tuck away the small purse of gold he’d taken from the bar keep. Emma picked up her pace. And rammed right into his back.

The purse fell to the ground, tiny discs of gold rolling out of it into the dirt.

“Oh gosh,” Emma exclaimed, her voice high and breathless. “I didn’t see you there I am so sorry.” She followed him down to her knees. “Let me help you sir.”

“No, no need. I got it.”

Emma’s breath caught at the sound of that voice. So familiar. The accent thick, not friendly but not angry either. Resigned. She looked up, her mouth dry as she finally took him in fully. His eyes were not the same, she thought. Less open. Duller somehow. He glanced at her briefly as he gathered the coins. “Be a bit more careful, eh?” He said.

Her heart sank a bit. There was no flash of recognition. No grand romantic spark. No bolt of lightning. Just an act of clumsiness and a polite dismissal. Emma checked that off mentally. Made note of it. She wasn’t one prone to romanticized notions, so she wasn’t quite sure why, but it seemed important.

“I-I actually wanted to talk to you,” Emma stuttered. He did look at her with interest now, and more than a hint of suspicion.

“Me? What about?” The last of the gold collected he rose to his feet, reaching down to help her up with brusque efficiency. Emma looked at his hand for a long moment and then placed her own inside it.

Nothing. She didn’t know what she’d expected. His hand was warm, the skin roughened softness from labor, but nothing more than that, and gone as soon as she was back on her feet. She made another mental check.

“I-um-I,” Emma cursed herself. She was better than this. “I just, saw you in the bar, and I wanted to introduce myself.” She said finally, lowering her voice in a way she hoped was interested without coming across too strong. She should know this, she thought. She should know him. What he would like, what he wouldn’t. Her mind came up blank.

Graham just stared at her expectantly, more than a bit impatient.

“I’m Mary,” Emma said finally. “Mary Margaret.”

“Nice to meet you Mary Margaret. If you’ll excuse me though, I’ve a lot of stops to make,” he gave his pocket a pat where the coins jingled. “It’s collection day.”

“I know, I know, I just wanted to talk to you,” Emma rushed. She glanced behind her at the tavern entrance, unsure of how much time Killian could buy her.

“About?” Graham asked. His brow furrowed, scanning her face. “I know you-” he said, trying to work out if he actually did, more of a question than an absolute.

Emma’s heart stopped. He knew her. Did that mean-?

“You’re the girl on the poster. The one the Queen is looking for,” Graham’s voice was rising in alarm, his eyes darting back towards the tavern. He reached out, grabbing her arm.

“No,” Emma jerked back. “That’s not-” she pulled harder but Graham was strong. There was a reason he was chosen to be Sheriff. “That’s not what I need to talk to you about. It’s a misunderstanding. A great big misunderstanding, I just need to-” Graham had a good grip now.

“I don’t want to take you in,” He was saying apologetically. “I don’t have a choice. I have to do as she orders.”

“No you don’t,” Emma said, desperate now. This wasn’t going well at all. As far as meet cutes went this was turning into a disaster. “I just need to talk to you.”

“You can talk all you like on the way to the palace,” Graham said. He was pulling her arms behind her back now, fully in arrest mode. Emma couldn’t get them free, boots sliding across the dirt as he dragged her bodily back towards the tavern and the waiting Black Knights. Back to Regina and her dungeon, a burning pyre and the end of this entire horrible journey.

Emma sucked in a deep breath and blurted out the only thing she could think of, the only way she knew of to get his attention. The only way she knew this might work out. Perhaps she could save herself and an innocent man at the same time.

“I want to help you get your heart back.”

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fanfic #cs mc ff #killian jones #emma swan #wwwos #my writing

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breegullbeakreviews · 7 years ago

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Summary: At last we all live in a Pokémon world and you can be the greatest master of them all. Explore the real world catching and battling Pokémon in the seminal mobile game based off that one franchise with the yellow mouse.

Overall: While certainly a better experience in more urban areas, it’s free and worth trying out if you somehow haven’t already, and with all of the updates since launch it’s absolutely an experience worth coming back to if you left it behind.

Pokémon Go is hard to talk about for me. It’s a systems driven game with a lot of systems I don’t fully grasp, but I guess that’s Pokémon in a nutshell and always has been for me. If you played Pokémon Go at launch and fell off then the picture in your head of what this game has grown into is probably really dated or off. A lot has changed in two years and I’m going to try and convince you that it’s worth coming back to now.

First off there is now a main quest of sorts. Research comes in both field and special varieties. Field research is gained at Pokéstops and you can have up to 3 tracked at any time. These challenges have a lot of variety and offer some much needed structure to the game. Maybe you simply need to battle in a Raid. Maybe spin ten Pokéstops. Each nets you a small reward items it’s Pokémon encounter. There is no time limit to these tasks and you can remove tasks you don’t want to complete. Completing one a day though adds up. Doing tasks on seven different, but not necessarily consecutive days nets you a reward. You get a bundle of items and exp along with a shot at catching a Legendary Pokémon. This cycles occasionally. It’s a relatively new feature but it seems like it’ll be once a month.

Special research is essentially a main quest line. You currently can’t opt out or skip these at all. These longer and more time consuming tasks come in sets of three, each of which gives you a big exp boost. Doing all three in a level nets you an even bigger exp bonus, and a set of items usually hidden behind a pay wall or raids along with the next set of tasks. Now why do all of these hard tasks? Well currently at the end lies Mew, and that’s a goal worth working towards as Mew is not available by any other means.

Gyms got a massive overhaul in time for the one year celebration of Pokémon Go. Gyms now can only hold six Pokémon max, and you can only have one Pokémon of each species, so you can have just one Blissey in the gym. You no longer need to earn spots in the gym, as long as it isn’t full or under attack you can slide your Pokémon in. Instead of earning coins while holding a gym, you get a max of 50 a day for losing the gym. The actual amount of coins you get vary based on how long the gym was held. Gyms are also now Pokéstops with a bonus for players on the team holding the gym. Along with the update you get badges for each gym you hold. It’s basically a way to say how much effort you’ve put into the gym with stats for how long you’ve held it, berries used to heal it’s Pokémon, and how many battles you’ve won here. Basically the new systems promotes gym turn over as opposed to keeping it on lockdown.

Now for Raids. Of the post launch features this is the one I’m least over the moon about. In fact I’d say I’m not actually a fan of it at all. Pokémon Go’s raids are an attempt to realize that initial reveal trailer where hundreds of players swarm a single area to catch Mewtwo. In hindsight that trailer is hilarious. A maximum of 20 players can battle a single Pokémon and if they beat it in three minutes, they get some items and a chance to catch it. No hundred player epics. These pop up at gyms with about 40 to 60 minutes of heads up and another 40 to 60 minutes in which you can start the battle. The big problem with raids is that unless you have an active community of players you will never complete the higher level raids, and sadly, at least up until the research update, this was the only way to catch any Legendary Pokémon. Battling in a big group is fun, but it’s certainly not the norm. I’m lucky that my college campus has an active Pokémon Go scene, but before I started there I’d just see a Lugia raid and think “well I’ll never get that”. Raids feel really exclusionary, especially EX raids, which reward those who do a lot of raids with a ticket to a special raid to catch Mewtwo at a predetermined time and gym. It’s a special club and it makes me feel like I’ll never complete the Pokédex. Oh and you only get one free raid pass a day so if you want to spend the day chasing a Legendary be ready to spend some of those Pokécoins or some real money on them. Oh and the real kicker is that you need to be trainer level 25 to get into raids. This was dropped from the ridiculous 35 when this feature launched, but that level is still to damn high. Trainer level 5 was fine for gyms, but considering how much of a grind leveling becomes that means not a lot of people are going to ever get the chance to try this out.

Both Raids and Gyms will damage your Pokémon, but there are no Pokémon Centers. All healing is still item based which can get real tedious real fast. Along with better Pokéballs, higher trainer levels net you access to better potions and even max revives. Every increase to your trainer level increases the maximum level you can power up your Pokémon to with the current trainer level capping at 40. I’m not a huge fan of how the better stuff is gated off.

Catching Pokémon hasn’t changed much since day one. You touch the Pokéball and swipe up towards the Pokémon. The speed, angle, spin, and when you release the ball determine the arc and distance of the throw as well as if it’s a curve ball. Pokémon no longer sit still. Pokémon will occasionally move around. Every Pokémon has an attack animation that will deflect a Pokéball while it’s running and depending on the Pokémon it could jump, dart around the screen, or move about in other ways. That’s where the berries come in. Razz berries will make the next Pokéball to hit a Pokémon more likely to be successful and a Golden Razz berry does the same but better. That latter is only a reward for raids and some research. Nanab berries slow the erratic movement down and Pinap berries increase the amount of candy you get from catching the Pokémon. Note that all of these effects only apply to the next successful throw and only one can be applied at a time. This means you can run through them rather quickly and that you’ll likely favor certain berries depending on the situation.

There are over 300 Pokémon now with Kanto, Johto, and Hoenn Pokémon all in the game. It’s a massive amount of variety to catch and train, but I’d imagine it makes early days for new players a nightmare. With the addition of Hoenn a weather system was added. Like a real weather forecast it’s not always accurate, but weather it does impact the game. Visually it changes up the game with different textures and effects. Gameplay wise certain types of a Pokémon will appear more often, be stronger, and even earn you more stardust for capturing them. And of course in battle these same types of moves get a boost. This goes beyond just water, fire, and ice types. Every type of Pokémon fits into at least one weather type so everyone gets a shake at showing up more.

I’ve brought up Pokécoins, this games premium currency, but I guess I’ve eventually got to talk about what you can spend it on. Besides extra raid passes there is quite a lot. Special bundles of items are offered for limited times containing a lot of these, but I’ve never bought any of these. All I’ve ever bought was Pokémon and item storage upgrades. Each costs 200 coins a piece regularly and each upgrade increases the storage capacity by 50. There is a hard limit for each, I believe 2000 each, but it’s grown from the 1000 each it use to be. Temporary experience boosters called lucky eggs can be bought alone or in bulk. Same goes for lures and incense. Both lure Pokémon for 30 minutes but the latter needs to be applied to a Pokéstop but everyone can share while the other is for just the one player but can be used on the go. Standard Pokéballs and Max potions can be bought as well, but the only other item of any real interest is the Egg Incubator. While it’s only got three uses before in breaks unlike the infinite one you start with, it increases the value of just walking.

Pokémon Go also has a big cosmetic shop for decking out your trainer. I understand the appeal, but the prices are pretty ridiculous considering I don’t often even look at the trainers at all. It’s all about the Pokémon. Some items are barred behind the in-game medal system which means not everyone can dress up as a Fisherman, but you still need to buy the items afterwards which isn’t ideal.

And lastly back to walking. This is more a personal thing, but I actually lost weight playing this game. I’d go on daily walks just to hatch eggs and hit a few Pokéstops. As far as exercise games go, Pokémon Go might secretly be the best in the genre. While my experience can’t account for your living space nor can Niantic when adapting the world as is to a functional game space. If you are lucky enough to live in an urban enough area you’ve got an excuse to get up and go everyday.

#video games #review #pokemon go #niantic #pokemon

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