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pocket-anon · 7 years ago

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The Long Way Home (9/10)

A fic update at a decent hour? *gasp* Amazing how much more you can accomplish when you're not working 12 hours a day, isn't it? This chapter got a bit away from me in terms of length, but I hope you all like it. You guys have been amazing and said the most wonderful, effusive things about this story, and I really can't thank you enough for all your continuing support. Your words have been a gift. Enjoy!

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.

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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.

When Emma finally emerges from below deck, refreshed and tidied up a bit, a great shout arises, with Smee roaring to the rest of the men, “Three cheers for the Lady! Hip-hip!”

“Hurray!”

“Hip-hip!

“Hurray!”

“Hip-hip!”

“Hurray!”

Killian sets his sextant on the sideboard and comes to meet her, beaming as the Princess, glowing with joy and embarrassment, is swarmed by his rough-and-tumble crew. They descend upon her to bestow hugs and kisses as if she were a beloved sister, and her exhilarated laughter can be heard in the ensuing commotion.

“Alright, alright, mates,” he barks, waving his hook hand in feigned annoyance as Martin rounds out the pack by giving Emma a hug that lifts her boots right off the boards. “Give the Lady some space.”

Martin sets Emma back on her feet, and the men back up a little, the cheerful din dying down.

“We have news,” Killian announces. “Some of you are aware that our lovely Swan had lost all memories of her life prior to arriving in Vicarstown. But the curse that was responsible has been broken, and I’m in a position now to introduce you all to Her Royal Highness, Emma,” he turns his head and favors her with a proud smile, “Princess of Misthaven.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, and the men gape, a few of them removing their headwear and giving Emma deferential bobs of their heads.

“The plan remains the same,” he continues, his tone taking on a stern edge, “We get her safely home. But there is some urgency to the matter now, so we must make haste. Am I understood?” He nods at the scattered calls of acknowledgement, and the tiniest of grins tugs at his mouth. “Extra drink tonight to celebrate the Princess’ recovery, but none for those I catch idling. Back to work!”

At his command, the crew disperses in good spirits, and Killian turns to see Emma’s knowing smirk. He smiles, puzzled. “What?”

“You’re in a good mood.”

He lifts her hand into the crook of his arm and leads her on a stroll astern. “Can you blame me?” he asks quietly in her ear.

Emma ducks her head as though to hide the flush in her cheeks and the way she bites her lip. “I guess not.” They arrive at the aft rail, and she releases his arm, turning to squint up at him in the sunlight. “Time for morning inspection?”

“Aye,” he agrees with a rueful grin.

“Want to spar this afternoon?”

Killian allows himself to grin like a cad, and he leans down so his breath warms her cheek. “With swords or below deck?” he teases. “Because my answer is yes.”

“Hmm.” She colors again, rolling her eyes even as she tries to suppress her smile. “Maybe I should magic your sword away in the middle of practice today.”

“That’s hardly fighting fair, darling.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, and her green eyes glint impishly, “maybe there is a little pirate in me.”

His mouth falls open in a thrilled smile, and he revels in the innuendo, whether she intends it or not. “If you’re trying to tempt me to drag you back to bed,” he mutters in her ear, “it’s working.”

Emma chuckles. “To your post, Captain,” she says, gracefully slipping out of his reach. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He watches her walk away, admiring the subtle sway of her hips and trying not to focus on the memory of how he gripped those hips between his hand and stump as he knelt atop his berth and took her from behind scarcely an hour before. He groans inwardly. Gods, but he’s a lucky bastard.

Roberts approaches and follows his gaze. “She seems to have come through the storm well enough,” he remarks, throwing Killian an astute sideways glance.

Killian quickly puts his prurient thoughts aside and arcs an eyebrow at his quartermaster. “Say what you mean, Old Man.”

Roberts is no fool, and he chooses his words carefully. “It looks as though you two have reached a new understanding,” he observes. “She looks… very happy.”

Killian allows himself one more muted but self-satisfied smile as his eyes continue to follow the Princess across the deck. “Aye,” he answers softly.

“Well, forgive me for sayin’ it’s about bloody time.” Killian turns his head to fix him with an incredulous grin, and Roberts shrugs. “What? We aren’t blind.” He rubs the back of his head. “And she really is the Princess.”

“You doubted me?”

The quartermaster snorts. “Like I don’t know better.” He shuffles his feet a bit. “What becomes of you when we return ‘er to ‘er kingdom?”

Killian’s smile fades, and he looks away, his throat tightening. “That remains to be seen,” he admits at last.

Roberts hesitates, as though weighing the risk of asking another question. “Would you let ‘er go?”

“Back to work, Mr. Roberts,” Killian orders quietly. He rotates away to face the rail and directs his eyes blankly out over the water.

He can all but hear the other man’s sigh of resignation. “Aye, sir.” The boards creak beneath his feet as he retreats.

Killian stares out over their wake, miles upon miles of traversed ocean stretching out behind them. They’ve come so far, he thinks somberly. The thought of sailing away from Emma, of saying goodbye and choosing the sea over a life with her, causes his stomach to clench. Never. But what will that mean for the crew? For the Jolly? His hand drifts absently over the painted yellow rail. This ship has been his home for over a century, his most constant and enduring companion, and as much a part of him as anything in his life. A captain’s heart belongs to his ship, Liam had been fond of boasting.

The sound of Emma’s enthusiastic call causes Killian to look over his shoulder, and he turns partway round to watch her join a few of the men in trimming the sails. The corner of his mouth quirks fondly, and there’s a sad smile in his eyes as they flit about the ship. Sorry, Old Girl, he thinks with a resigned sigh, his gaze returning to the Emma’s shining face. My heart belongs to another now.

The morning passes swiftly, what with there being three days’ worth of issues – issues Smee had wisely determined could wait until the Captain was fully available – to deal with. Most have to do with the blessedly limited damage they sustained in the storm and the loss of supplies that had washed overboard. Thankfully, none of the concerns prove to be truly serious or difficult to address, though Killian is still vastly grateful at midday when the audible gurgle of Smee’s stomach causes his first mate to stuff the dog-eared list of items back into his pocket and decide the remaining entries can be dealt with later.

Sword fighting practice with Emma is enjoyable and satisfying as always. The Princess’ skills continue to progress nicely, and he allows her to try disarming him today, crowing triumphantly when she finally succeeds in loosening his grip and forcing his blade out of his hand. It clatters to the raised platform housing the mid-deck hatch.

“Very good!” he commends her, holding his arms up in mock surrender.

“Is this the part where you beg for mercy?” she teases, advancing on him with an irresistible smile on her lips and the tip of her cutlass aimed at his throat.

He grins and surprises her by stepping on the tip of his sword and flipping it over the edge of the platform. The grip lands back in his hand, and steel clangs again as he catches her blade effortlessly. “Pirates don’t beg.” Killian savors the breathless admiration on her face with a chuckle and pulls his cutlass back in order to assume another fighting stance. “But you’re welcome to keep trying. Again!”

* * *

As promised, they enjoy a night of celebration out on deck, with the crew milling about and Thomas handing out portions of the evening meal from a makeshift station he sets up on a couple large crates. When everyone is outfitted with food and grog, he leaves to fetch more water and rum for the second round of drink. He returns to find Emma using what remains of the near-empty water cask to mix a few more cups of grog for the men.

She meets his stunned stare with a knowing smile as she hands a cup over to Roberts. “Hope you don’t mind me standing in for a minute,” she says cheerfully, holding the next cup out to him. “I do have some serving experience, you know.”

Thomas sets the new cask and bottles he’s carrying down and accepts the cup with a little laugh. “Yes, mil—Your Highness.” He raises it to her and then sips, his eyes lighting with pleasant surprise.

Emma smirks. “Taste alright?”

He nods enthusiastically, drinking again and swishing the watered-down spirits around in his mouth. “For a princess, you make a pretty good pirate,” he comments shyly. “Never knew that day you asked to climb the mast how well you’d take to…” he waves his hand around the ship, “all of this.”

Emma chuckles, handing a cup to Martin and grinning as the carpenter accepts it with a comical little bow and moves off. “I have my parents to thank for that, I guess.”

He cocks his head quizzically and sits down next to her to open the new cask. “I thought you didn’t have much experience on ships.”

“I don’t.” She grins, pouring fresh rum into the now-empty grog pitcher and squeezing in the juice of two lime halves before passing it off to him and wiping her hands on a rag. “But my mother taught me to climb trees and throw knives and shoot with a bow when I was just a girl. After years on the run from the Evil Queen, she decided survival skills were kind of essential.”

"Oh." Thomas looks impressed. “Makes sense, I guess.” He begins cutting the rum with water. “And your father taught you to fight with a sword?”

Emma nods, looking nostalgic. “Well, he and my godfather, Lancelot. Lance brought me my first toy sword when I was three. Mother says the head groom was a little horrified when I started chasing imaginary dragons around the gardens with it, but Papa and Lance were so proud.”

Thomas shares her little laugh. His sets the cask aside and gives the pitcher a good swirl, falling quiet for a moment. “You must miss ‘em.”

Her smile turns a bit sad. “I do, but I’ll see them soon.” She studies him. “Do you have any family?”

The young man shakes his head. “Never knew my father, and my mother died a few years back. My older brother and I survived doing odd jobs at the docks until he was killed in an accident,” he reveals, looking blue. “Wasn’t long after that that I met the Cap’n and he offered me a position on Jolly.” He darts a glance around them at the other crewmen. “This is as close to a family as most of us have now.”

Emma feels a twinge in her chest, and she flashes him a heartfelt smile. “Well, thank you for letting me be part of your family for a little while,” she says gently.

Thomas blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “The debt’s still ours to pay, ma’am.”

When dinner is over and the music commences, Smee comes over to where Killian and Emma are seated against the gunwhale, his hat humbly in his hands and a hopeful grin on his face. “Captain? Permission to ask the Princess for a dance?”

Pure intrigue crosses Killian’s dark features as he peers up at his nervous first mate, but one glance at the sparkle in Emma’s eyes causes him to nod, an amused grin tugging at this mouth. “Granted.”

Smee makes a slightly clumsy bow and extends his hand, the apples of his cheeks glowing red. “Your Highness?”

Emma flashes Killian a brilliant smile as she lays her fingers in Smee’s plump palm and climbs to her feet with a chuckle. “Of course.”

The crew roars at the sight of one of their own escorting the Princess to the center of the deck, and it emboldens a handful more to step forward. Emma laughs and shrieks with delight as Martin, Thomas, Alec, and a few others each take a turn, whirling her around the boards and then handing her off to the next man. At last there comes a rowdy cheer, and she finds herself being spun into a familiar pair of waiting arms as Killian, having left his heavy coat aside, finally claims the rest of the dance for himself. Roberts switches the tune on his shrill little pipe, and the crew begins to clap and chant:

The maiden, oh, the maiden, oh, The sailor loves the maiden, oh! So early in the morning, The sailor loves the maiden, oh! A maid that is young, A maid that is fair, A maid that is kind and pleasant, oh, So early in the morning, The sailor loves the maiden, oh!**

Killian reaches down and wraps his arm around her hips, his face jubilant in the lantern light as he lifts her off her feet and spins them around. Emma gasps in surprise, bracing her arm across the back of his shoulders and beaming down into his shining eyes. Her hero. Her sailor. Her love.

He sets her down at the song’s end, and she wraps both arms around his neck to steady herself, her heart thrumming in her chest and her lips parting in awe as she realizes that, for the first time in all their nights on deck, he’s singing too, directing his smooth baritone down to her while he draws close and bumps his forehead affectionately into hers.

“The sailor loves the maiden, oh!”

* * *

It’s late in the evening by the time they slip below, the muffled sounds of the crew’s merrymaking still audible above their heads. Killian sets their lantern on the table as Emma presses the cabin door shut behind them and hangs up his coat. He comes up behind her and runs his hand down her arm, nuzzling the side of her face and placing a soft kiss on her cheek. “Tired, love?”

He smiles at her throaty little chuckle. “Only a little.” She spins and lays her hands on his chest, and desire rolls into the pit of his belly when her lips find his. Her kiss is gentle at first, tender and slow, but she mewls when he emits a quiet growl and tugs her hips flush with his, her hands winding up and over his shoulders and her mouth opening wider to allow his questing tongue better access.

His trousers grow tighter as the heat between them flares, and he pulls away a moment, panting, the tip of his nose drifting across her cheek. “Would you like to...”

“Yeah.”

An idiotic grin spreads across his face as she presses forward and kisses him again, and they stagger backward toward his berth in a progressively mad fumble. Her slender fingers work at the clasps of his waistcoat until she can slide her hands beneath the soft leather and push it free. Killian chuckles into her mouth at the hunger in her kisses and the efficiency of her movements as she strips him, a little groan tearing from his throat when she manages to undo his shirt buttons and her hands alight on his bare chest, her fingers smoothing upward through the soft dark hair atop his skin and skimming laterally along his collarbones until she shoves the fabric up off his shoulders. He struggles to detach his hook in time so he can finish shedding the shirt without tearing the cotton, opening his eyes long enough to toss the brace and hook haphazardly onto the shelf behind the bed with a clatter. His lips are still upturned and his voice gravelly as his shirt hits the floor and he reaches for her jerkin. “My turn.”

In a few minutes more, he has Emma naked and on his bed, and she barely has time to pull her hair down before he sheds his boots and trousers and chains and crawls up over her to resume his assault on her mouth while his fingers traverse the miles of creamy skin beneath them, caressing the globes of her breasts and then running south to skim her damp folds. Her breath catches at the latter, and he smiles and fingers her sex again. “So perfect.”

Her hands flail between them, tickling down across his stomach, but his involuntary laugh turns into a sharp intake of breath when she finds his swollen member and her fingertips drift down the shaft. Emma looks up at him with uncertainty. “Is this…?”

His hair hangs in his eyes as he nods vigorously, groaning again when her hand tentatively closes around him and begins to pump slowly. “Bloody hell,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and letting himself savor the tantalizing sensation that washes over him in waves. She begins to twist a little with every stroke, growing bolder and picking up speed, and he falters, rolling to one side and pulling her with him. They wiggle about on the narrow mattress until he’s under her, and he gazes up at her spellbound as she straddles his thighs and reaches for his erection again. Her continued attention makes Killian throw his head back against the pillow, chest heaving and eyelids heavy. Pleasure surges through his veins, building by the second, and he begins to sense that familiar tingle at the base of his spine. “Swan…” he grunts, face contorting with need. “Please…”

He hears her quiet giggle, and her hand slows. “I thought pirates didn’t beg.”

Her cheek causes a faint smile to ghost across his face while he does his best to retain his self-control. “I stand corrected,” he manages. “There’s not a man alive who wouldn’t be asking for mercy right now.” He gestures. “Come here.”

She obliges, rising up a little and shifting forward, and he brings his knees up and plants his feet, guiding her hips until she’s lowering herself onto him. Emma tosses her head and bites her lip, whimpering as he fills her, and she sinks down until she’s fully seated, her backside resting against the slope of his thighs.

The sight of her like this – bare, magnificent, and mounted, with her head thrown back, hair cascading over her shoulder and throat exposed in a graceful line – it’d be enough to make him weep if the sensation of her wet heat around him didn’t reduce Killian’s coherent thoughts to a mere memory. His hand and stump remain on her waist when she leans forward on his chest and begins rocking, grinding against him and whining as she seeks her climax. They establish a rhythm, with her pushing and him pulling in tandem, and her breathy little moans only serve to drive him closer and closer to the brink as she rides him with increasing fervor until at last she cries out and buries her face in his neck. Her entire body shudders, her muscles pulsing tight around him, and he finally lets go, his eyes clamped shut and his jaw slack as ecstasy overtakes him.

Emma rolls her hips against him a few more times before giving into exhaustion and falling still at last. Her body continues to tremble, and he smoothes her hair back and turns his head to press his lips to her forehead before rolling them back over.

“Emma,” he murmurs, cupping her cheek in his hand and trailing soft kisses down across her face. “My Emma.”

She chuckles with breathless satisfaction.

He drifts back to her mouth, pulling at her lips with his. “For the record,” he says between kisses, “you’re welcome to make me beg like that anytime.”

Emma laughs beneath him. “Noted.”

* * *

The rest of the week flies by like a wonderful dream, their usual daytime activities now punctuated with shared looks and a habit of easy, casual affection on deck – a hand around her hip, a touch on his arm, the diminishing space between them when they stand together with his hand on her back or her fingers around his hook.

She asks Killian to show her more of the stars, so they take the night watch one evening when the wind dies down and the seas are calm, bundling up together beneath a blanket on the top with the sails above them furled in order to give them a better view of the northern sky. He points out the constellations one by one, his voice growing melodious in her ear as he waxes poetic about the legends surrounding each cluster of stars until well past midnight. From there they turn to other topics, and under the cover of darkness they share warm, lazy kisses and stories of their past adventures until Emma doses off, snuggled in his arms and reclined against his chest.

He watches her sleep as he keeps an eye out for anything unexpected ahead, reflecting with a private grin that the soft, even cadence of her breathing may have surpassed a tranquil ocean horizon as the greatest calming force in his life. A deep sigh escapes him as he listens to the hushed lap of the water and familiar groan of the timbers and the occasional squeak of a rusty hinge on the solitary lamp that hangs off the bow to light their way. It’s perfection, this moment, he thinks. Up here on the mast with Emma in his arms, the stars overhead, and the ship below – it’s as though everything he needs is here in this one place. Peace. Home. Love. He wonders whether he’ll ever be afforded another moment as perfect as this. He’s long been used to uncertainty about his future, long appreciated the potential for each day to bring something new, but now that he’s found Emma, he finds himself feeling anxious about the unknowns that await them in Misthaven. How will he keep her safe from the Dark One? What will her parents think of their precious daughter taking up with a pirate? Will they try to drive him off, or worse, try to send him and his crew to the gallows? Out here on the ocean, there’s nothing to come between him and Emma, but when they reach land, aye, that’s a different tale. Killian sighs again and tightens his arm around her shoulders, touching a worried kiss to the top of her head. One moment at a time, he thinks, focusing on her breathing and trying to silence the fears niggling at his heart. One moment at a time.

The sky lightens over the next few hours, transforming from black to navy as the golden penumbra of the rising sun peeks over the lip of the visible world off to their right. As the light grows brighter, pinks and oranges bleed into the sky and cause the low clouds that hang just above their heads to glow with the same warm shades.

Emma stirs, shifting against him groggily and shivering a little as she reaches up to rub her eyes. “What time is it?”

He buries his nose in her hair. “Just about six, I imagine,” he says with a little smile. “Cold?”

“I’m okay.” She tugs the blanket tighter around them. “Though I wouldn’t mind a warm little nap in your cabin this morning.”

He chuckles and hugs her tighter to him. “Agreed. Would you like to head down now? I can join you when Alec comes to take over as lookout in a bit,” he offers. His smile widens when she shakes her head.

“I’ll stay with you.”

Killian leans forward and kisses the cold shell of her ear. “Good.”

Her lashes flutter as she rolls a bit in his embrace and stares upward, and he admires the gleam of her green eyes in the morning light before following her dreamy gaze to the tip of the fore-mast as it skims the rosy clouds above their heads.

A glint in the distance draws his attention back to the sea, and he blinks, wondering if it’s a trick of the light until he sees the little flash again.

Emma senses his distraction, and she cranes her neck back toward the horizon. “What?”

Killian squints, reluctantly releasing her so she can sit up and he can reach for his spyglass. “There’s something out there,” he says with a frown. “Something small.”

Emma shades her eyes as she peers into the glare of the rising sun. “Bird?”

He shakes his head, extending the barrel and raising the glass to get a better look. “No. It looks like it’s… floating.” His brow furrows as he considers the options and sees the sunlight reflect brilliantly off the little object again. “It looks like gold.” He hands the spyglass to Emma. “A magical talisman?”

Emma raises the eyepiece, looking perplexed. She’s silent for a long moment before she suddenly bursts out laughing.

Killian straightens. “What? What is it, love?”

She hands the spyglass back to him with a sly smile and flips her palm upward. In the distance, the object disappears in a poof and reappears in her hand, and Killian gapes down at a jeweled hair comb, the gold intricately molded to look like a spray of tiny flowers.

Emma grins at him, her cheeks pink with amusement. “It’s the comb Blue enchanted to find me,” she says. She dries the water droplets that still dot the precious metal with her shirt sleeve. “It must have been in the ocean this whole time.”

“Huh.” Killian’s forehead wrinkles. “At that speed, it would have taken a year to find you in Vicarstown,” he points wryly.

She chuckles and shrugs. “Admittedly, most people don’t disappear to the other side of the world.” She runs a thumb over the flowers affectionately. “I’m glad I got it back. It was a gift from the dwarves. Buttercups are my favorite.”

He nods, suddenly feeling another pang of melancholy at this reminder of her impending return to her other life. He bows his head and forces a smile. “It’s lovely, Swan.”

“Mm.” Emma tucks the comb into her jerkin and snuggles close to him again with a contented sigh, her eyes returning to the multicolored sky and the radiance of the rising sun. “I could stay here forever,” she hums.

The warmth of a tear presses its way to the corner of his eye, and he turns his head to plant a fierce kiss on her cheek, closing his eyes against the ugly fears begin to claw at his heart once again.

She rubs the angle of his jaw without taking her gaze off the light dancing on the ocean. “Have you ever done this before?” she asks. “Watched the sunrise up here, I mean.”

He thinks, frowning as the answer occurs to him. “I haven’t.”

“Ever?” She chuckles incredulously. “In over a hundred years?” She fixes him with a curious look. “Why not?”

“Well,” he shifts, tightening his arm around her torso, “Milah never cared for heights. And since then, there’s been no one to share the stars with.” A sad little smile twitches at the side of his mouth. “I might never have done this, had it not been for you.”

Emma lays her hand on his chest and closes the distance between them for a slow, ardent kiss, her cold lips somehow managing to warm something deep within him. The corners of her eyes crinkle when she pulls back. “Well, I’m glad we did,” she murmurs.

“As am I.” Killian looks down and reaches for her other hand, lacing his fingers between hers. “But it’s not watching the sunrise that’s special, you know,” he adds quietly, leaning his forehead against hers. “It’s having you here with me.”

Moisture gathers on her lashes as she blinks rapidly up at him, his own happiness reflected in her huge eyes, and she seems at a loss to do anything but press forward and draw him into another excruciatingly gentle kiss. Their lips are unrushed as they move together, every shared breath deliberate and saturated with emotion and promise, and he hears her sniffle just as a solitary tear leaves a cold trail down his cheek.

She’s changed everything for him, he realizes. It doesn’t matter what awaits them in Misthaven. He’d abandoned the hope of finding a happy ending long ago, but he understands now that he was wrong. It’s here. It’s her. And now that he’s tasted heaven, he’ll walk through hell if that’s what it takes to keep it.

* * *

Well, isn’t this interesting?

The Dark One stares with fascination at the image of the pirate kissing the Princess that fills his crystal ball, and his blackened heart swims with a myriad of emotions – ages-old bitterness, hate, disgust, curiosity, and even perverse amusement at the idea that the he’s about to have the opportunity to get Excalibur back and kill the arrogant bastard, Hook, once and for all.

He supposes he couldn’t have planned it any better, really.

With a wave of his hand, the crystal goes blank, and he rises and heads for his spinning wheel. He always does his best plotting while at the wheel, and between planning a welcome home of his own for the Princess, a suitably painful execution for the pirate, and the assassinations of a veritable rainbow of fairies, there’s much to think over.

* * *

“Land, ho!” Alec’s voice booms triumphantly overhead.

His call brings Emma and Killian’s latest sparring session to a halt, with the pair of them whirling to look fore. Killian stows his cutlass and reaches for his spyglass, waiting until Emma’s hands are free to hand it over with an encouraging smile. “Go on, Swan. Set your sights upon home.”

She grins weakly and makes haste for the nearest shroud, shimmying up onto the rigging in a flash.

Killian comes to stand below, fixing his eyes on the dark green shoreline in the distance. “How far is it to the castle?” he asks as she drops back down to the deck.

Emma clears her throat and hands back his glass. “Not far. Less than a day’s ride.”

He frowns at her pensive expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” She gnaws on her lip, her eyes faraway. “Maybe you should stay here with the ship.”

“What?” He frowns sharply. “Why?”

Poorly-suppressed emotions cross her face, her eyelashes fluttering with uncertainty. “Just until we deal with the Dark One,” she explains, trying to sound firm. “I’ll send word when it’s done.”

Killian straightens, cocking his head back with indignation. “All due respect, darling, but that’s a load of bloody nonsense,” he grinds out. “I go where you go, and I’m sure as hell not letting you face the Demon alone.”

Her green eyes shimmer, and she shakes her head with increasing frustration. “It’s too dangerous. Even if he didn’t already hate you, it’d be dangerous.”

“Aye, he hates me,” Killian nods, “but you’re the one he’s coming after. And it is dangerous. That’s why our best choice is to face it together.”

“I…” She turns away, her voice cracking.

He rolls his eyes and reaches out to rotate her back toward him. “Swan—”

“I can’t lose you!” she explodes. She glances around self-consciously at the surprised looks from a few nearby crewmen, her cheeks growing hot. Her gaze falls to the toes of her boots, and she sniffs. “I just… I can’t.”

Killian stares, his features softening as he reads the resolve in her face and wonders yet again what he’s done to deserve a woman like this. He shoots his men a look that sends them scuttling off before turning back to her and wrapping his hand reassuring around her arm. “Love, you don’t have to worry about me,” he replies gently.

Emma blinks up at his soft grin, her wide eyes searching his face expectantly.

“One thing I’m good at,” he reminds her, stepping closer and tipping his head forward, “is surviving.” He grins as some of the anxiety fades from her expression and she manages a weak smile, and he closes the remaining inches between them and captures her lips with his.

She melts in his arms, her whine soft as he draws her up against his chest and continues to kiss her soundly, and when they finally pause for air, she blushes an even deeper shade of pink. “The men are watching.”

“Let them,” he rumbles, pressing forward to kiss her again.

The Jolly makes port at the seaside town of Jennings Harbor by midday, and though it takes the harbor master a few long minutes to recognize Emma standing at the gunwhale, excited calls suddenly erupt along the wharf.

“It’s the Princess!”

“The Princess has returned!”

The ship is moored and the boarding plank lowered, and Killian is the first off, stepping out on to the plank and turning to offer Emma his hand and a sober grin. “Welcome home, Swan.”

She squeezes his fingers gratefully as they descend, her face a mixture of relief and apprehension.

Having bustled out on to the dock, the harbor master doffs his hat and greets them with a low bow that belies the man’s portly frame. “Welcome home, Your Highness. Are you alright?” He eyes Killian and the crew beyond with a nervous smile.

Emma gives him a gracious nod. “I’m fine, Mr…?”

“Rosen, ma’am,” he supplies, setting his hat back atop his head.

“Mr. Rosen.” She smiles. “May I present Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Roger?”

Rosen’s jowls pale a bit at confirmation of the ship’s identity. He bows his head hastily in Killian’s direction, his brown eyes widening at the sight of Killian’s hook. “S-sir.” He darts Emma a questioning glance. “Your Highness?”

“These men are my friends, and I owe them a debt,” she tells him firmly. “They’ve sailed halfway across the world to bring me home, and they’re to remain in port for the time being. Please look after them for me?”

He gulps at her request. “Y-yes, Princess.”

“We need a horse,” Killian tells him. “We ride for the castle immediately.”

Rosen gives a hasty bob of his head. “Of-of course. We’ll send word to the Royal Guard in town,” he says, looking to Emma for approval.

News of the Princess’ return seems to spread across the town in mere minutes, and the guardsmen are quick to arrive even without a summons. They ride up in a party of four bearing silver armor and shields emblazoned with what Killian supposes is her parents’ crest.

“May we escort you, Your Highness?” the middle-aged captain asks, aiming a wary look at Killian as Emma selects one of their mares and swings expertly up into the saddle.

She beckons Killian to climb up, and he happily follows, hoisting himself into place behind her, her back warm against his chest. It’s not lost on the Guard when she twists a little and gestures for him to take the reins for a moment, but if she notices the disapproving stares that come when he softly slips his arm around her waist to grab them, she pays them no mind. “That’s not necessary, Captain,” Emma replies with a little smile, tilting her head sideways and tugging her hair down to hurriedly plait it over one shoulder, “but you’re welcome if you can keep up.”

Killian smirks.

The guards swap bewildered looks before the captain signals gruffly for two of his three men to accompany them.

“My thanks for your help, Sirs.” Emma’s hand drifts over Killian’s as she reassumes the reins and catches his eye over her shoulder. “Ready?”

He flashes her a grin and nods. “Aye, love. Let’s go.”

* * *

It feels a bit surreal to be home and flying along familiar forest roads with Killian at her back and her world so changed since she was last here, Emma thinks as she drives the horse west at an aggressive pace, hooves going thubuddy, thubuddy against the packed dirt. Killian’s hand is solid against her belly, and the way they rise and fall together with each extension of the mare’s legs makes her mind drift to more pleasurable activities – thoughts that make her skin tingle even as her stomach clenches with anxiety at her parent’s reaction to her choice to be with him. The guards’ reaction to seeing her physical ease with Killian was not subtle, and she bristles inwardly at the thought of having to endure the same looks from virtually everyone they encounter. As it does around the world, Killian’s reputation precedes him here. She remembers the stories she heard growing up in Court of a dashing and treacherous pirate with a hook for a hand, and though she now knows those tales mix truth and exaggeration and do not accurately portray the complicated man she loves, the problem of how to get her parents and the rest of the kingdom to see what she sees gnaws achingly at her.

They ride hard for several hours with the guardsmen in tow before electing to stop at a noisy brook to stretch and rest the horses for a short while.

Emma kneels by the water to scoop a few handfuls up to her mouth and then splatter some on her face, the ice cold splash the perfect relief for her sun-warmed skin. She catches Killian grinning at her as she dabs at her jaw with her forearm. “What?”

He shrugs. “Nothing, love. You just seem at home here.”

She gives a dry chuckle. “I had an early education when it comes to the forest. My mother knows this land better than even our most experienced huntsmen.” She spies a berry bush a dozen steps upstream and wanders over to pick a few of the small, dark fruits that hang heavy among the prickly leaves. The sweet and slightly tart taste is as well-known to her as her favorite songs and her most cherished childhood memories, and her fingers work absently, her restless thoughts continuing to simmer.

Killian’s footsteps approach from behind. “What’s wrong?”

She turns her head a bit as he draws near, a half-hearted dimple appearing at how unnecessarily close he pulls up next to her. “Hmm? Oh. Nothing.” Her voice is soft.

Killian’s hand brushes soothingly across the small of her back. “I’ve heard that one before.”

Emma glances at him, both annoyed and touched that he knows her so well. "How do you know?"

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” he informs her cheerfully, "but you’re something of an open book, Swan.”

His continued use of her nickname makes her smile, wistful as she is now for that time when she was a simple barmaid with no worries about royal obligations, political affairs, or some impending battle with the Dark One. She arcs an eyebrow at him and holds out a handful of berries. “Am I?”

“Mm-hmm.” His hum generates a pleasant shiver between her shoulder blades, and she watches him slip the fruit into his mouth and consider the taste. “Worried about introducing me to your parents?”

“I…” She rolls her eyes at how spot-on he is. “Maybe a little.”

He falls silent for a moment, though she can virtually hear the wheels in his head turning as he catches his hook on the bramble to hold a branch steady while his fingers pluck off a few more berries. “I can’t ask anyone to turn a blind eye to what I’ve done in the past, love,” he says soberly, “but I’ll do what it takes to be with you.”

“And what if my father just wants to have you thrown you in the lake?” she asks, her face glum.

Killian smiles. “Then I should be happy to oblige him. I’m an excellent swimmer, you know,” he quips, popping a few more berries into his mouth and brushing his hand on his shirt.

Emma chuckles in spite of herself. “Pirate.”

“Naturally.” He reaches up to finger a stray lock of hair over her ear, his expression turning solemn. “I’ll figure something out.” He thumbs at a bit of juice at the corner of her lips. “I always do.”

The sun is beginning to set as their destination finally rises into view, the golden rays shining from behind the looming stone towers and buttresses in a brilliant halo and shimmering across the waters of the surrounding lake. The royal palace looks at it always has, with a dozen spires of various heights reaching for the sky and flags waving proudly in the spring breeze, and despite all her uncertainties, the sight of it fills Emma with an enormous measure of relief.

“That’s it!” she calls excitedly. “Home!” A elated laugh breaks from her chest, and she sniffles.

Killian’s arm hugs her closer, and he presses his face close to her ear. “Is that it? I was expecting something… grander.”

She giggles and elbows him lightly in the ribs.

A heavy gate flanked by stone guardhouses stands at the beginning of the great bridge that spans the divide between the mainland and the rocky island on which the castle is built. Emma’s homecoming causes more shouts to ring out as she’s immediately recognized by the soldiers standing watch, and there’s a great scramble to swing the wrought iron out of the way in time.

They thunder by, the loud clip of the horses’ hooves across the bridge’s gray pavers announcing their arrival, and mere moments later they pass through the even larger, more imposing gate leading to the castle grounds.

Emma draws them to a halt in the main courtyard, the mare blowing and knackering while Killian leaps off and takes the horse’s head to steady her.

“Princess!”

A familiar voice cuts through the air, and Emma’s face lights up. She jumps down and greets the white-haired head groom with a hug. “Marcus!”

“Thank goodness you’ve returned! We’ve been so worried.” The uniformed gentleman holds her out at arm’s length, his brow wrinkling in confusion as he studies her rumpled clothes and appearance. “What on earth are you wearing?”

Emma rolls her eyes at the fastidious old man. “The appropriate clothes for a long voyage at sea,” she explains patiently. “It’s been quite a journey.”

He seems unconvinced. “Ah.” He glances fleetingly at her attire again, a distressed grimace hinting at the corner of his mouth. “Well, I shall have a bath set up in your chambers straight away.”

“Later,” she says with a shake of her head. “Where are my parents?”

“The King and Queen are in the Council Room, last I knew.”

“Good.” Emma turns and gives the weary guardsmen a quick smile. “Thank you for the escort,” she says, grabbing Killian’s hand and summoning her magic. “Excuse us.”

Smoke surrounds them, and when it dissipates, they’re standing in the wide hallway just outside the heavy wooden doors to the chamber in question. Her heart races with anticipation and nervousness, and she pauses to take a deep breath, turning to Killian and squeezing his fingers. “Ready?”

There’s matching anxiety in the brief way he licks his lips, but he puts on a smile. “After you, Swan.”

Emma studies his brave face and pulls him into an impulsive hug, cradling his jaw and kissing him deeply, unsure when she'll have the chance again. She looks back up at him, her thumb brushing across his scruff as she tries to memorize the weight of his arms around her. “I love you.”

The heart-wrenching devotion in his blue eyes is something else to savor. “And I you,” he murmurs. He gives her another peck. “Go on.”

She gives him one more shaky smile and lets him go, taking a massive door handle in each hand. “Mother? Papa?” she calls, “Are you here?” With a shove, the doors swing open.

* * *

Emma’s parents are indeed in the Council Room, and a bit of excited chaos ensues when she pushes her way in.

The King and Queen are standing on the far side of the room next to a great crackling fireplace that sits beyond an enormous rounded table. Their heads are bowed together as they confer about something, but Emma’s voice causes them to both look up in astonishment.

“Emma?”

“Emma!”

Their voices echo in the cavernous room, and Emma scurries across the polished stone floor, threading a neat path around the table and the wide red-and-gold trimmed stone pillars that bear up the ceiling. She grunts happily as her father catches her in his arms, and the trio locks into a tight embrace. Light from the hearth dances over the emotion that wells up on the King's face. He cups the back of Emma’s head while her mother bursts into relieved sobs, and the sight of the triumphant reunion causes Killian’s chest to swell as he wanders in and positions himself unobtrusively next to a nearby pillar.

“Thank the gods you’re alright!” Emma’s father mutters. “Are you alright?”

Emma nods against his chest and shudders, her voice muffled in his tunic. “I’m fine. I missed you.”

“We missed you too. We were so worried, honey,” the Queen sighs. “We were so happy when Blue told us she’d seen you.” She opens her eyes and spies Killian, her lips parting in surprise. “Oh! You brought a guest.” She pulls away from her husband and daughter and hurriedly dabs at her tears with the end of her sleeve.

The King looks up as well, creases forming on his forehead and his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he takes in Killian’s appearance. He straightens and squares his shoulders. “Hello.”

Emma steps away from her parents and motions toward him. “This, um, this is the man who brought me home,” she explains, sounding nervous. “Captain Killian Jones.”

Killian gives her a soft smile as he takes her hand and lets her draw him forward. “Your Majesties,” he says, dipping into his best formal bow. “A pleasure.”

The King glances with a frown at the way their hands linger together for a second too long. “Captain.” He bobs his head stiffly, meeting Killian’s eye before allowing his stare to fall to the hook. “The Blue Fairy told us you were involved. Thank you for returning our daughter to us.”

“Yes, thank you,” Emma’s mother echoes more effusively. “We owe you a great debt.” She finishes composing herself with one last sniffle. “We will gladly compensate you for your efforts.”

Killian gives her a warm smile and bows again. “I’m sure my crew will appreciate it.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence.

“Um, where are they now?” the Queen asks politely.

“My ship is at Jennings Harbor. The men stay with her pending further orders.”

“Right.” The King clears his throat. “Well, we won’t keep you from them long. We can outfit you with your reward and have you on your way tomorrow morning.”

Killian and Emma share an uneasy look. “Actually, I was planning to stay close by,” he says carefully. “Emma may be home, but she’s still in danger of attack by the Dark One, as I’m sure the Fairy also told you.” His eyes flit back to Emma, and the corner of his lips tugs upward solemnly. “I don’t intend to leave her in a time of need.” Or ever, he thinks.

The Queen looks genuinely moved, but her husband shakes his head with a chuckle. “Well, that’s very noble of you,” he says with a smile that comes just short of genuine, “but we don’t need you to stay.”

Killian tips his head back, surveying Emma’s father coolly. “It’s not open for debate, I’m afraid.”

The King blinks, his incredulous grin widening. “No. It’s not. We don’t need help from a pirate. We’ve already got a plan.”

“And what’s that?”

“That’s none of your concern,” the King shoots back, his voice now bordering on testy.

Killian snorts. “The bloody hell it isn’t.” He feels Emma's fingers intertwine with his, and his thumb sweeps across her knuckles restlessly in reply.

The King looks affronted and the Queen curves a brow as they note this action with a mix of interest and alarm.

Emma layers her other hand over the back of his, and Killian glances up to see a silent plea for patience in her large eyes. He folds his lips, trying to suppress his look of irritation, and she turns to her parents.

“What’s the plan?” she asks.

“Emma, are you two—”

“What’s the plan, Mother?”

“Squid ink.” All attention turns to the King, who impatiently pulls a small vial out of the chest pocket of his dark red velvet tunic. “It stops any magical creature in its tracks. We’ll use it to disable the Dark One and capture him.”

“It was Blue’s idea,” the Queen explains. “Our friend Ariel helped procure it.”

“See?” the King says pointedly, glowering at Killian, “We’re perfectly capable of protecting our daughter.”

“Oh, are you now?”

They whirl in the direction of the open door, and Killian’s sword is out of its sheath at the first sound of that sinister, sing-song voice he knows all too well from his nightmares. Bloody fucking hell. The Queen gasps as a spritely man with a gold sheen to his leathery skin and a coat made of crocodile hide steps into view, and even though he’s across the room, they all back instinctively toward the fireplace.

“Shame that you’re the ones that need protecting,” he cackles, the light from the overhead chandelier glimmering off his unnatural complexion. He passes over the threshold, waving one hand in that peculiar, dramatic way of his, and the squid ink flies out of the King’s grasp and plummets to the hearth with the sound of smashing glass.

** So Early in the Morning (a.k.a. The Sailor's Loves) is an real traditional sea shanty. You can read more about it and listen to the tune here, though I imagine Roberts' version to be much more upbeat. :)

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#csbb #cs ff #cs fic #cs smut #captain swan #captain wench #captain duckling #cs ef au #cs anastasia au #cs au #cs au ff #ouat ff #ouat fanfic #my writing #the long way home

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