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bandgeek4life8 · 3 years ago

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Guardians - chapter two the lost city of atlantis

Chapter 1

WC: 3, 453

Season 1, Episode 2: The Lost City of Atlantis

Previously on Guardian in Jim's POV "The Nightmares have emerged once more." Pabbie told everyone.

"GREAT GRONKA MORKA!!" Blinky exclaimed.

"And they attend to assimilate an army. They already have the witch Gothel, the bogeyman Pitch Black, the dragon tamer Drago Bludvist with his mother of dragons Red Death, the prince Hans of Southern Isles and Duke of Weselton, the cursed bear Mor'du, the Pirate "Captain Hook" Killian James, and the Boggan Mandrake. And I have a list of who they want. From my visions. But only two people I wish to say it to: Vendel and... James Lake Jr. Because she wishes it."

"Who wishes for me to know?" I asked him.

"Starling."

Some people are chosen for this life and have no choice but to accept its transgressions. Others spend their life completely in the dark about this life we lead. Some, like me, choose to live this life. It is a lot of work for anybody. Not just anybody can get into this life and survive its trials and tribulations. But we were born for this. To become guardians. But I'm not a guardian yet. I'm just an apprentice.

|{[INSERT_OPENING_SEQUENCE]}|

"Welcome to the first meeting of the Druidia Order." I announced.

"Did you have to name us after a planet in your favorite Star Wars movie?" asked the raven-haired time-traveller Wilbur Robinson.

"Spaceballs is not a Star Wars movie, Wilbur." Currently undercover spy, Walter Beckett told him.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Did your dad teach you anything about Star Wars?" asked blonde enpath/ hockey-player from Wisconsin, Riley Anderson.

"Only that he hated the sequels, he loves the originals, and respects what the prequels tried to do." Wilbur said.

"Can we please get to the topic at hand please?" I asked everyone.

Everyone in the room grumbled out a yes and we continued with the precedings. Wow. That sounds way too formal for me.

"Well what can we do? We already made allies with the Arendelle trolls via Elsa and Anna. We had Grand Pabbie alert the Trollhunter of the Nightmares." said Ted Wiggins.

"Which means a group of you have to go find the essence stones." Megamind appeared with a plate of, "who wants cookies?"

"Are you growing soft on us, Meg?" Megamind basically growled at Wilbur for the nickname he used.

"I am trying to babysit Gru's oldest daughter and her friends." Megamind told him looking the kid dead in the eye.

"What do you know of the essence stones?" I asked him, ignoring the intense staredown happening between the two makes.

Megamind turned his attention away from Wilbur only for the time-traveller to blow a raspberry at him and Megamind to turn back and glare at him I rolled my eyes. The same old stupid antics. "I know where you can find the essence stone of the ocean."

"If you tell me we have to befriend Poseidon or-."

"It's in Atlantis." Megamind said.

"Or that." I facepalmed. "And how would you know that?"

"Because I have an evil underwater lair in the city of Atlantis." Cue another facepalm from me.

"And why...? You know what? I don't want to know. So how are we getting there?" I asked.

"It's not a matter of how we, but rather how who is getting there." Megamind said.

"That makes no sense whatsoever, dude." Hiro said as he walked into the room followed by Lucy Tuchi.

"Some of us will go on the mission while the rest research the rest of the essence stones." Megamind suggested.

"You know... your ideas are normally terrible. But this one is actually a good idea." Wilbur told him.

The alien growled. "Easy now, Megamind. When we heading out? And who is coming along for the ride?"

"You, Rayla, Ezran, Callum, Sisu, Hiccup, Jack, Light Furry, Walter, and Toothless." Megamind told us. "And you will leave tomorrow. After school."

"Alright. Before we do anymore planning, I need pizza." I walked over to where Hiro plopped the pizza on.

|{[INSERT_COMMERCIAL HERE]}| "

I cannot believe he has the audacity for this! He knows we're not on the best of terms, and yet he does this." I sighed.

"I'm sure he has a reason." said Hiro.

"It's Megamind. It's a stupid-ass reason." I told him.

Hiro sighed. "But you miss hanging out with Toby and Jim. And you-."

"Don't even finish that sentence. I know what you were going to say." Hiro gapped at me. "I know what you were going to say. Only three people know it. And one betrayed me."

My phone vibrated in my hoodie's pocket and I opened it up to see a text from my grandmother, Margaret. "Is that Marge? What she said?"

"She's wondering about the you-know-what with the you-know-who." I told him. She wants to know about James Lake Jr being the Trollhunter. Grandpa would not be pleased with this anyway. But he's dead. And he doesn't matter.

"You have gym next block right?" I groaned. Of course I forgot. And why of all days did we have to do the Pacer test today!

"And we're doing the pacer test today too!" I would have banged my head on a locker if we weren't coming from History. "Kill me now! Woe is me!"

"Stop being overdramatic. And I'm off my way to Robotics." Hiro said once we got to the hall where we would part ways.

"Don't take over the world of robotics without your team first." I called out to gim.

"Yeah, yeah. Just focus on making chemistry after gym, but preferably during." the smart-ass called back.

I'm gonna kill him one of these days. Just you wait, Hiro Hamada. I grumbled and continued on my way to the ends of the earth. Also known as gym. Because I lack the athletic ability of a worm. My arms are basically noodles before submerged in H20. I got dressed in my PE clothes and walked outside to the bleachers where I plopped myself down on. Gym. The one class I don't have my safety net to catch me. The one block where I feel alone. Completely and helplessly alone.

"Hey, [Y/N]. Mind if we sit here?" asked Toby.

It was just him and Jim. What on Earth are they up to? I scooted some ways away from my spot and patted the spot beside me. Jim took the spot beside me while Toby took the bench in front of us.

"We haven't hung out just the three of us in awhile, huh?" Toby remarked.

"You both seem busy since the semester started. I can't blame you for that one." I told them. The pair shrugged at me, but it was a lying shrug. I would know. I do the same ones. "Anyway, what are we doing for our History Project, Jamie?" I looked over at him.

"I don't know. Wanna brainstorm some ideas after school?" Jim asked me.

"Can't. I have a family thing." Lying to them has gotten harder since I found out. Hopefully they don't catch. But they're idiots. They won't catch on... I hope. "I can come over tomorrow after school if you want."

"That... Th-th-th-that'll be gr-gr-gr-great." What's with the stammer? It's weird. "Oh, don't forget about Pig Zombies on Saturday."

"Don't worry. I have it all set in my calendar. So, what time is the movie?" I asked them.

Toby and Jim shared a look. Oh that is never good. "We don't actually know."

"Then, what are we going to do about Saturday?" I asked them.

"We're more of idea men." Like they're any close to being men. "Creating a plan is someone else's problem." Of course.

"You two haven't changed at all, have you? I'll get to work on that sometime this evening. You guys still have email, righr?" I asked them.

"Who still uses e-mail anymore?" Toby inquired.

"Good point. I'll just have Lucy drive us to the theater anyway." I replied. "So, how are you and Claire going, Jamie?"

"O-o-o-oh, m-m-me and Claire?" stammered Jim. That's strange.

"Yes, you and Claire. You two are dating, aren't you?" I asked him.

"Oh, y-y-yeah. We're g-g-g-good." Hmm. Peculiar. But Jim's always been like this when pertaining to Claire. Nothing suspicious about that.

I hope.

|{[INSERT_COMMERCIAL_HERE]}|

Jim

"So, you have a study date with [Y/N] tomorrow huh?" Claire teased me while we walked to Blinky's library.

"What-. Wait! You told her!" I exclaimed to Toby who was on my left side.

"Of course, I did. Dude, you've been hopelessly obliviously in love with this girl since she stole your first kiss on the monkey bars when we were nine. And she-."

"She clearly has feelings for you, but she's not gonna act upon them since you know we're fake dating and all that jazz." Claire said.

I sighed. "You're the smart one. Couldn't you have come up with something... um... better?"

"What? Because a wuss like you was going to ask her out if I didn't say we were dating?" Claire asked him, raising an eyebrow at her friend.

I sighed once more. She clearly had a point. And Tobes seemed to catch it too. "He tried to ask her if she wanted to go see Pig Zombie 6 for her sixteenth birthday, but dragged me along with them because he wussed out of calling it a date."

Claire tapped her chin in thought. I do not understand girls. Then, she did the thing where you smack your fist against your hand in an aha! idea moment. Which is what transpired next. "I have a perfect idea for your movie date on Saturday."

"Am I going to regret this?" I asked her.

"I hope not. I'm helping you whether you want me to or not." Yea me! Internal frown.

We made it Blinky's library in which the four arm troll was talking animatedly to Vendell. About Essence Stones? What the fuzz buckets are those?

"Um, what are the Essence Stones?" I piped up.

"The Essence Stones are the only thing that can combat the Oncoming Storm." Vendel explained.

"Which is why we should be looking for them! We already know where one is! The Sea Stone!" Blinky told him.

"I already told you the Starling has this under control. This is her fight. Not ours. We shouldn't-."

"But then why have Pabbie tell us about the resurgence anyways?!" Blinky cut him off. I don't think Blinky has ever interrupted Vendel before. This is a first.

"Because to warn us of an even greater danger, Blinkous!! One that we have to face on our own! As Trolls!" the elder roared.

I never saw a look of fear as intense as the look that crossed Blinky's face when Vendel told him that. A greater danger? Even Aaarrrggghh! and Draal had the same look as Blinky. What did it all mean? Vendel left the library.

"I don't care what the goat says. We're getting the Sea Stone." Blinky told us.

"And how do we acquire it?" asked Claire.

"Hate Gyre." Aaarrrgghh! cried. Oh.

"And where would we find the Sea Stone?" Toby asked. "It's underwater right? And we can't breathe in water? So is it in an aquarium? Washed up on a beach?"

"I'll tell you where when we get to the Gyre." Claire, Toby, and I shared a look before shrugging our shoulders and following Blinky to the Gyre.

When we got there, we reached the Gyre and hopped in. "So, where are we going?"

"Under the sea. In an underwater palace where there is no water inside located in what you humans refer to as The Bermuda Triangle. Get ready for Atlantis." And before the three of us could protest, Blinky put in the coordinates and we zipped off towards... did he really say Atlantis? And the Bermuda Triangle?

But I didn't have time to question it as we arrived in a palace? And our clothes were soaking wet. But we never submerged in water? You know what? I shouldn't question it. Me and my friends huddled for warmth. It'll be awhile before we're dry. But why isn't- you know what? Never mind. I don't care.

"Okay, so where do we go first?" asked Toby.

"We head for the treasure room. The Jewel of Atlantis is the Sea Stone." Blinky told us.

"Why are we wet, but you aren't?" asked Claire.

"No clue." Blinky shrugged his shoulders.

The three of us grumbled but followed after Blinky with Aaarrrgghh! and Draal taking the rear. This is going to be a long evening. Our little group trudged, our squeaky footprints giving our location to anyone who would be here. And I think someone was here. Because a familiar ball of silver and blue was charging at us. Not us. Me. Followed by a march larger greenish-blue dragon.

"Hi, Azymondias." I said to the baby dragon when he jumped into my arms.

"I see you humans have already met the Prince. Starling's Zym seems to like you Mr Lake." the green-ish blue dragon said. Um... do dragons normally...

"YOU TALK?!?!" Thanks for that, Tobes.

"Of course, I do. I'm Sisu. Starling sent me after Little Azymondias to make sure he stayed out of trouble." Why aren't Blinky, Aarrrgghh!, and Draal freaking out about there being another dragon? And the elf being here?

"You six, now-seven, looking for the Treasure Room?" asked Sisu.

I shivered as a breeze went by. Why was there a breeze? We're in a dry castle underwater! This is just too weird.

"We were headed that way right now!" Blinky told the dragon.

Azymondias coughed. Or sneezed? I don't know. But he zapped me and I yelped and I'm... dry? Well alot dryer than before. Uh, thank you. Living dryer thay could kill me at any given moment. But you're still cute. So you're forgiven if you do.

"Well I wouldn't go that way! That's where Meg put his evil lair at." Sisu told us.

"Lair?" "Meg?"

"Meg is what the time-traveler calls Megamind. And he placed a lair here when he was going through his 'evil' phase." I did not know Dragons did air quotes.

"Time Traveler? Like the Doctor? Or Loki?" askes Toby.

"Looks like a mix of Matt Smith and Loki as a tween with too much hair gel. Alright, kids follow me." Sisu told us.

Zym appeared on my shoulder, wrapping his small body around on my shoulder and we followed the hopping dragon towards the treasure room. We had reached the treasure room, avoiding all the traps (that was on the ceiling for some strange reason). We arrived there. And Sisu peered inside before letting us enter. Strange.

But I couldn't help peering over Sisu's sboulder "Are you really angry that the Trollhunter keeps unknowingly stealing your pet?" That sounded like... no it can't be.

"Azymondias is not my pet. My pet sounds like I chose to take care of him. The bundle of zappy madness chose me to take care of him. So if anything, I'm his pet." Please tell me that's not who I think it is. But the-I'm guessing- Startouch Elf looks nothing like her. Not one bit. Well maybe except for the nose. And the eyes.

"You make absolutely no sense. And yet you love him anyway." the other voice said. A male with slick-back hair. This must be the time-traveler Wow. Sisu was spot on.

"Kids, easy now. We wouldn't want this to get into the wrong hands. Not this close to the Cotillion." A brunette male that appeared to be the oldest of the group. Why does he look so familiar to me?

"I have a question for you, pig snout. Meg said you wouldn't be here. Why the hell are you here? And why are you even here?" the elf asked.

"I stowed away because none of you are smart." the time-traveller said.

"Says the royal dumbass." the female elf sighed. "I'm so young and yet I feel so old." she emphasized. I was half expecting her to do a dramatic fall like they always seem to do in soap operas notthatIwatchsoapoperasinthefirstplacethat'sabsurd.

"I already knew that, dumbass." time-traveler said.

"Go on, Trollhunter." Sisu used her tail to push me toward the elf's group to retrieve the essence stone. "Introduce yourself."

And suddenly I stumbled upon the room making the group's attention turn to me. "Um...hi." Cue the awkward wave. "I'm... James Lake Jr? I'm the... Trollhunter." I held out the Amulet of Merlin. I could practically sense Toby and Claire facepalming at this.

"Starling, I think this one is for you to handle." I now noticed the brunette boy that stood beside the other elf. Is that... Callum Schlott?? Um... I hope if that is him, he doesn't tell [Y/N] about this.

"I am the one they refer to as Starling as you must know. And we don't need you here. To help us." The girl's hand were running up and down a strand of her waist length periwinkle hair. [Y/N] did the same thing when she had long hair. Not the time Jim.

"I think we do. Because the Seastone is missing if you've forgotten." the other elf said. She sounds like Rayla. And sort of looks like her too.

"THE SEASTONE IS GONE!?!?!?" Blinky exclaimed.

"Unfortunately so. Now, one advantage turns out to be a setback." I didn't notice the other brunette who had a black dragon that was acting like a cat by his feet.

"Do you have any leads?" asked Claire as she stepped forward.

"Just a Roman Penny. No clue from where though." Starling told us. "Now, I think it's time you kids return to California. Don'tyouthink."

|{[INSERT_COMMERCIAL_HERE]}|

"So Atlantis was a flopp?" I had already told Draal about the whole atlantis situation.

Luckily mom had another night shift at the hospital, so Draal could walk around freely while I made dinner for myself. Elbow Pasta and Meat Sauce it appears to be.

"Yes, it was, Draal." I turned the TV on and started flipping through the channels to find the one I wanted. "At least, I met Starling. She was not what I was expecting."

"Most elves aren't. You humans expect them to be small and cute because of the Claus, but they aren't." Draal told me.

"Actually, I think," I found what I was looking for. The French food competition show the World's Greatest Chef Competiton. "she was the exact opposite of what all of you were saying. Sure she was a tad harsh to us, but I think she didn't want to involve us in the Essence Stones. Like she didn't want anymore added help. I don't know." A knock sounded on the door.

"Were you expecting anyone?" asked Draal.

"Not that I know. Toby and Claire wouldn't knock. They'll just barge on in." I told him.

And before I got to the door, the door opened to reveal a boy with white hair, incredibly pale skin wearing a blue sweatshirt and brown trousers. "Don't be such a pussy, Hiccup." That was Sisu.

"Yeah, we're only here since Zym wants the trollhunter to be his dragon rider and to train him how to combat magic." white hair said.

"Um... what are you doing at my house?" I asked them as I held my wooden spoon in my hand, ready to strike them if necessary.

"You and Punzie would be great friends, squirt." The platinum blonde ruffled my brown hair to make it messy. My hair now looks like the dragon boy's hair.

"We're here to train you. I'm Hiccup. And this is Jack. Jack Frost." Wait. What? I'm lost. "I live over in Berk Manor. And you have wandered in a den where you cannot get out of." the brunnette introduced.

"Which is why Starling didn't want you to get involved. By trying to help us with the Seastone, you and your friends have put a target on your back. Starling didn't want that. But now we have to help you. To train you. Hiccup here is a Dragon Rider. And even though Azymondias isn't big enough to be ridden. He will be. I suspect sooner than you think, so he's going to train you to ride him. And I and many others are going come here to help you train against magic. Since the people who will come after you to kill you will have magic." Jack Frost told me. Now I'm really lost.

"So let's begin."

@trollhuntersfanatic

#trollhunters #tales of arcadia #trollhunters x reader #onward trollspies #rise of the brave tangled dragons #the futuristic four #x-villains #miraculous ladybug x tales of arcadia #jim lake x reader #jim #jim lake #jim x reader #jim lake jr x reader #tales of arcadia x reader

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thepiratehero-a · 4 years ago

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Killian did enjoy talking with her. Though he had typically dreaded whatever arranged marriage his father would set up for him. She seemed rather lovely. And she didn’t seem like the typical spoiled princesses he had always heard about. Not that he intended to judge her until he met her himself. He found many people told stories that were not true.

“We’ve never had any animals really, aside from horses,” he admitted. Though he really didn’t spend any time around them. His father always said it was too dangerous. “I like to go for walks too, watch the stars, listen the the nearby ocean.” He did spend a lot of time in the gardens when he wasn’t reading. “We have a lovely garden. It is behind walls but we have so many lovely flowers and I sometimes go there to watch the birds.”

thepiratehero:

Killian never wanted to see anyone be unhappy. He had spent much of his life unhappy because he never had a choice in his life. He never wanted anyone to feel the same way he had. When she said they could perhaps read together he blushed. He hadn’t really had the chance to spend any time with someone else.

“I think I’d like that,” he admitted. He did always feel rather lonely. Perhaps this was a chance where he could find someone to spend time with. Even if he had never been fond of the idea. “What other things do you like to do?”

Seeing color in his cheeks made her flush as well - oh, what a great start. But she didn’t often meet men who would feel flustered by her presence, beside of course gentleman who thought her to be a loose cannon and would blush in either outrage at her presence or embarrassment for her own state. This did not seem the case, perhaps prince Killian had a delicate soul. That seemed a lovely trait to her.

“Me?” she wondered, not for the first time since the match had been arranged, if it was possible that rumors of her conduct hadn’t reached him. It was such a loud scandal, everyone had known everywhere. “Well, to be honest, I’m afraid my singing has often taken most of my time, between daily practice and journeys to perform. I haven’t had much time to develop other hobbies, which is why reading is such a convenient activity to like for me as it can be done anywhere any time… But I do rather enjoy going on walks when it’s not too cold outside, watch the way the sky changes colors… Tending to animals, horses, dogs, makes me quite happy. When my grandmother was still alive I offered a hand to charities on her behalf and found great satisfaction in it.” She couldn’t afford it afterwards, the money wasn’t on her name, but those were ugly topics to discuss now. Lorelei looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to offer his own past-times and preferences.

#lurkingxmurmur #v: lost prince killian

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this-seems-familiar · 4 years ago

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now presenting...

various once upon a time characters and ship tags as songs i’ve heard on the lofi hip hop radio - beats to relax/study to station! :D guess who had a lot of free time during work today.

this is by no means a comprehensive list but did get v e r y long, so i’m going to stick it under the cut. chances are even if your fave is Obscure, there’s an 80% chance they’re on here. although i will admit to running out of steam when it came to the ships--if a character or ship you dig isn’t on here, you can request a song in my inbox if you’d like. <3 and let me know if the links don’t work!

the characters are in complete random order with no rhyme or reason, but the songs are purposeful; headphones are recommended but not required. i hope y’all find this inspiring at least a tiny bit! enjoy~

david nolan/prince charming - j’san x epektase, ‘ghost in my mind’

killian jones/captain hook - dryhope, ‘contrasts’

neal cassidy/baelfire - casiio, ‘back home’

zelena/the wicked witch - ajmw, ‘hometown’

mary margaret blanchard/snow white - no spirit x mell-o x sitting duck , ‘la rochelle’

emma swan - mila coolness, ‘ibis’

belle french - mell-o x ambulo, ‘solace’

henry mills - pandrezz, ‘crystal lake’ ft. epektase

regina mills/the evil queen - iamalex x dillon witherow, ‘lazy morning’

rumplestiltskin/mr. gold - chiccote’s beats, ‘away’

ingrid/the snow queen - g. mills - ‘icicles’ ft. chris mazuera & tender spring

ariel - iamalex x dillan witherow, ‘coral’

elsa - chris mazuera & tender spring, ‘winter’s kiss’

mulan - less people, ‘gyoza’

anna - eisu x softy, ‘snowflakes’

august booth/pinocchio - team astro, ‘helpless’

tinkerbell - dontcry & nokiaa, ‘since’

alice jones/tilly - mondo loops, ‘starside groove’

the blue fairy/mother superior - project aer x wys, ‘after sunset’

ursula - mila coolness, ‘surf’

archie hopper/jiminy cricket - amies x cxlt, ‘things will work out’

sidney glass/the magic mirror - enra, ‘consequences’

grumpy/leroy - tysu x spencer hunt, ‘letting go’

eric - dontcry & nokiaa, ‘tides’

cora mills/the queen of hearts - sitting duck x hoffy beats, ‘slow mornings’

ruby lucas/red riding hood - brillion x chief, ‘moon theme’

malcolm/peter pan - dlj, ‘the docks’

robin hood - brillion, ‘when the sun goes down’

merlin - jordy chandra, ‘late night call’

aladdin - softy, ‘before the rain comes’

jefferson/the mad hatter - xander, ‘missing you’

graham humbert/the huntsman - xander, ‘morning time’

philip - no one’s perfect x kanisan, ‘pendulum’

isaac heller - yasumu, ‘untold stories’

aurora/sleeping beauty - lilac, ‘hyacinth’

ashley boyd/cinderella - purrple cat, ‘caramellow’

granny lucas - oatmello, ‘essenced’

albert spencer/george - team astro, ‘love lockdown’

the dwarfs mining co. - chiccote’s beats, ‘before’

greg mendell/owen flynn - tabal, ‘no return’

cruella de vil - cabal x blumen, ‘crystal land’

dr. whale/victor frankenstein - casiio, ’wondering’

kristoff - monma, ‘winter days’

maleficent - ajmw, ‘way back when’

henry mills i - snug, ‘warm meadows’

marco/geppetto - hm surf, ‘single phial’

ruth - laffey, ‘umbrella’

lancelot - laffey, ‘campfire’

will scarlet - sebastian kamae x aylior, ‘dontyouknow’

anton the giant - g. mills, ‘sublimation’ ft. arbour

daniel - softy, ‘autumn morning’

the apprentice - mila coolness, ‘heron’

violet - oatmello, ‘good night’ with late era

lily - imagiro, ‘wool gloves’

morraine - eugenio izzi, ‘get lost in the mind’s ocean’

dorothy gale - kupla, ‘valentine’

the blind witch/miss ginger - chiccote’s beats, ‘finding’

paige/grace - mila coolness, ‘balance’

kathryn nolan/abigail - g. mills x hm surf, ‘mmmm’

william smee - no spirit x mondo loops, ‘washed ashore’

sister astrid/nova - yasumu, ‘midnight thoughts’

ava zimmer/gretel - laffey, ‘moonlight’

leopold - less people, ‘persist’

billy/gus - glimlip x yasper, ‘floating away’

milah - snug, ‘balcony nights’ ft. spencer hunt

midas - chiccote’s beats, ‘back’

michael tillman/the woodcutter - spencer hunt, ‘moonlight’

walsh/the wizard - mondo loops, ‘drive to midnight’

eloise gardener/mother gothel - towerz, ‘fateful slumber’

liam jones - dryhope, ‘quetzal’

rapunzel - chris mazreua x brillion, ‘juniper’

fiona/the black fairy - kupla, ‘twilight’

jafar - no spirit, ‘glowing lights’

the jabberwocky - mondo loops, ‘winter shells’ ft. kanisan

jacinda vidrio/ella mills - yasumu, ‘questions’

lucy mills - kupla, ‘sleepy little one’

margot west/robin mills - snug, ‘night coffee’ ft. mondo loops

king arthur - brillion, ‘crescent’

guinevere - mila coolness, ‘silent river’

merida - iamalex x dillan witherow, ‘nightwalk’ ft. azula

dr. jekyll/mr. hyde - g. mills, ‘rest your head’/fatb, ‘aurora boreale’ ft. mell-o

ivy belfry/drizella tremaine - chiccote’s beats, ‘illusion’

nicholas zimmer/hansel - chris mazuera, ‘obscurity’

hades - dryhope, ‘down river’

sabine/tiana - chris mazuera, ‘counting’ with g. mills

drew/naveen -hoogway, ‘skyline’ ft. dlj

felix - kupla, ‘roots’

walt d./the author - jhove, ‘if you only knew’

elliott mcgrath/jane hawkins - less people, ‘everything’s a symptom’ _____________

red whale (dr. whale x ruby lucas) - aso, ’espresso’

rumbelle (mr. gold x belle french) - yasumu, ‘waking up’

sleeping captain (aurora x killian jones) - monma x cocabona, ‘garnet’

snowcules (hercules x snow white) - dlj, ‘blackout’

beauty queen (regina mills x belle french) - tabal, ‘inside space’

captain charming (killian jones x david nolan) - pandrezz, ‘cuddlin’

aladasmine (aladdin x jasmine) - kupla, ‘soft to touch’

believe or leave (mr. gold x jefferson x dr. whale) - hoogway, ‘everything (you are)’

brave warrior (merida x mulan) - wys, ‘snowman’

charming whale (david nolan x dr. whale) - sebastian kamae x aylior, ‘outlet’

bellefire (belle french x neal cassidy) - eisu, ‘sheets’

captain charming hood (david nolan x killian jones x robin hood) - yasper x glimlip, ‘infused’

dragon queen (maleficent x regina mills) - tenno, ‘luna’

firewood (august booth x neal cassidy) - sebastian kamae x intoku, ‘lucid’

blue hook (the blue fairy x killian jones) - tysu x spencer hunt, ‘blue moon’

outlaw queen (regina mills x robin hood) - a[way], ‘warm nights’

captain swan (emma swan x killian jones) - hm surf, ‘mud master’

snowing (mary margaret blanchard x david nolan) - brillion, ‘kiptime’ with hm surf

golden queen (mr. gold x regina mills) - team astro, ‘empty shelves’

white whale (mary margaret blanchard x dr. whale) - laffey, ‘nighttime’

red cricket (archie hopper x ruby lucas) - dr. dundiff x allem iversom, ‘pale moon’

swan queen (emma swan x regina mills) - no spirit, ‘memories we made’

curious archer (alice jone x robin mills) - flovry x tender spring, ‘becoming’

swanfire (emma swan x neal cassidy) - pandrezz, ‘when she cries’

wicked hell (zelena x hades) - elior x eaup, ‘ships’

seeing stars (archie hopper x elliott mcgrath) - euginio izzi, ‘the fairie’s city’

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empathos · 4 years ago

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MOBILE MUSES !

movies / musicals

ELLA ENCHANTED: prince charmont, ella of frell

PERKS OF BEING A WALLFLOWER: patrick

THE GREATEST SHOWMAN: pt barnum, anne wheeler, phillip carlyle

THE ADDAMS FAMILY: morticia addams, gomez addams, debbie jillinksky

BURLESQUE: tess, sean, ali rose, jack, nikki

MAMMA MIA: sam carmichael, donna sheridan, tanya, bill anderson, harry bright, sophie sheridan, ruby sheridan

MEAN GIRLS: regina george, janis ian

REPO THE GENETIC OPERA: nathan

MOULIN ROUGE: christian, satine

BEETLEJUICE: lydia deetz, barbara maitland

DEAR EVAN HANSEN: connor murphy, evan hansen, larry murphy

BABY DRIVER: darling, buddy

BRING IT ON: missy pantone, cliff pantone

BRING IT ON AGAIN: tina

BRING IT ON: ALL OR NOTHING: britney allen

BRING IT ON: IN IT TO WIN IT: carson

BRING IT ON: WORLDWIDE #CHEERSMACK: destiny

HEATHERS: veronica sawyer, jason dean, heather chandler

PITCH PERFECT: jesse swanson, beca mitchell, chloe beale, aubrey posen

JENNIFERS BODY: jennifer check, nikolai

THE PRINCESS BRIDE: westley, inigo montoya

THE PRINCESS DIARIES 1 & 2: nicholas devereaux, mia thermopolis, charisse renaldi, joe

RENT: mark cohen, maureen johnsen, mimi marquez, roger davis

SCOOBY DOO: daphne blake, sibella dracula, fred jones

HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL: sharpay evans, troy bolton, ryan evans

SKY HIGH: warren peace

SPIDERMAN: peter parker, harry osborn

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY: mantis, drax, peter quill

HOCUS POCUS: thackery binx, max dennison, sarah sanderson

MALEFICENT: maleficent

TWILIGHT: jasper hale, rosalie hale, carlisle cullen, emmett cullen

ACROSS THE UNIVERSE: max carrigan, jude, sadie

HARRY POTTER: draco malfoy, sirius black, hermione granger, andromeda tonks. bill weasley, charlie weasley, fleur delacour

HAIRSPRAY: link larkin, penny pingleton, amber von tussle, velma von tussle

ANOTHER CINDERELLA STORY: mary santiago, joey parker

tv shows

THE MAGICIANS: eliot waugh on his own blog, margo hanson

GLEE: santana lopez on her own blog, hunter clarington on his own blog, jesse st james on his own blog, quinn fabray, blaine anderson, kurt hummel, sam evans/evan evans, rachel berry, jean baptiste

DYNASTY: fallon carrington, sammy jo flores/carrington, kirby anders

RIVERDALE: veronica lodge, cheryl blossom

SHAMELESS: ian gallagher, mandy milkovich, veronica fisher, kevin ball, mickey milkovich, colin mikovich

TEEN WOLF: isaac lahey, jackson whittemore, lydia martin, stiles stilinski, peter hale

LOST: james ford, charlie pace, claire littleton, desmond hume, boone carlyle

YOU: joe goldberg on his own blog, love quinn, forty quinn

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES/THE ORIGINALS: caroline forbes, bonnie bennett, lorenzo st. john, niklaus mikaelson

LEGACIES: lizzie saltzman, alaric saltzman, josie saltzman, hope mikaelson, kaleb hawkins

IMPOSTERS: maddie johnson

SKINS: effy stonem, tony stonem on his own blog, mini mcguinness, chris miles

PRETTY LITTLE LIARS: spencer hastings

CRIMINAL MINDS: penelope garcia, spencer reid, derek morgan

EUPHORIA: cassie howard, maddie perez, nate jacobs

THE POLITICIAN: astrid sloan, river barkley

SEX EDUCATION: eric effiong, aimee gibbs, adam broff, maeve wiley, jackson marchetti

BROOKLYN 99: jake peralta, gina linetti, amy santiago, terry jeffords

NEW GIRL: cece parekh, winston schmidt

THE OFFICE: jim halpert, pam beesley, dwight schrute, angela martin, andy bernard

COMMUNITY: annie edison, troy barnes, abed nadir

SCHITTS CREEK: david rose, alexis rose

PSYCH: shawn spencer, carlton lassiter, pierre despereaux, juliet o'hara, henry spencer

PARKS & RECREATION: april ludgate, chris traeger, donna meagle, jean ralphio saperstein, mona lisa saperstein

SCREAM: brooke maddox, noah foster

ONCE UPON A TIME: rumpelstiltskin/gold, killian jones, belle french, regina mills, robin hood, neal cassidy

DEGRASSI NEXT GENERATION: eli goldsworthy, marco del rossi, fiona coyne, manuella santos, craig manning, gavin mason, jay hogart, paige michalchuk, jane vaughn, ellie nash, mia jones

DEGRASSI NEXT CLASS: miles hollingsworth, lola pacini, jonah haak, zoe rivas

DEXTER: dexter morgan

FAKING IT: shane harvey, liam booker, lauren cooper

THE FLASH: barry allen, iris west, caitlin snow, harrison wells (earth 2)

SUPERGIRL: kara danvers, cat grant, mon-el, lena luthor

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER: spike, buffy summers, rupert giles

IN THE FLESH: simon monroe

BATES MOTEL: dylan massett, gunner

STRANGER THINGS: steve harrington, jim hopper

MERLIN: arthur pendragon, morgana pendragon, gwaine

GALAVANT: galavant, king richard

THAT 70’S SHOW: jackie burkhart, steven hyde

GOSSIP GIRL: blair waldorf, chuck bass

HEMLOCK GROVE: roman godfrey

DRACULA: lucy westenra

THE FOSTERS: mariana adams-foster, jesus adams-foster, mat tan

A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS: count olaf, uncle monty

AMERICAN HORROR STORY: madison montgomery, tate langdon, oliver thredson, maggie esmerelda, the countess elizabeth, tristan duffy, donovan, jimmy darling

SCREAM QUEENS: chanel oberlin, chad radwell

THE NANNY: fran fine

VICTORIOUS: jade west, beck oliver

SUITE LIFE OF ZACK & CODY: cody martin, zack martin, london tipton

WIZARDS OF WAVERLY PLACE: alex russo, mason greyback, juliet van heusen

LIV & MADDIE: liv rooney, holden dippledorf

cartoons & anime

HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE: howl jenkins pendragon

AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER: iroh, zuko, mai, sokka

STEVEN UNIVERSE: pearl, greg universe, lapis lazuli, steven universe, peridot, sourcream

BEAUTY & THE BEAST: belle, adam, gaston

FROZEN: elsa, hans

TANGLED: rapunzel, flynn ryder

MOANA: maui

THE INCREDIBLES 1 & 2: violet parr, tony rydinger

KIM POSSIBLE: shego, drakken

ANASTASIA: dimitri

BARBIE: LIFE IN THE DREAM HOUSE: barbie roberts, ryan, raquelle

BARBIE: PRINCESS & THE PAUPER: anneliese, julian, dominic

DANNY PHANTOM: danny fenton, sam manson, vlad masters, paulina

TEEN TITANS: raven, terra

6TEEN: jonesy garcia, wyatt williams, nikki wong

OURAN HIGH SCHOOL HOST CLUB: hikaru hitachiin

FRUITS BASKET: haru sohma, kyo sohma, shigure sohma

video games

MYSTIC MESSENGER: jumin han, jihyun kim ( v ), ryu hyun ( zen )

ARCANA: julian, azra

webcomics

LORE OLYMPUS: eros, hades, persephone, hera

CASTLE SWIMMER: siren

EDITH: edith, phillip

#mobile muses #hope this helps ! for future reference #lmao this took so long #i am happy to have it though #made me realize a few mistakes on my page #ᴍʏ ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ ʜᴀs ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ғᴏʀ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ₅₀ ʜᴏᴜʀs ( ooc )

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captkillianjcnes · 7 years ago

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( looking at my verses’ page, and those I have started (closed verses and open ones and all that) since I last updated it, I have 12 verses that need to be added and have their info put in:

v; not the man you think [ season 7 (and beyond?) verse | status : open ]

v; canon (au) [ a slight variation on the v; au verse | status : open ]

v; more important than revenge [ knightrook verse | status : open ]

v; surprise fatherhood [ unexpected family verse | status : closed ]

v; the part of him that’s me [ rogers & emma verse | status : closed ]

v; it’s all about survival [ walking dead verse | status : closed ]

v; professor jones [ college professor verse | status : closed ]

v; crowned prince [ heir to the throne verse | status : closed ]

v; a woman loved (and lost) [ dark one milah verse | status : closed ]

v; save each other [ soldier finds his way verse (cs) | status : closed ]

v; can’t make you love me [ hooked queen true love verse | status : closed ]

v; determined father [ canon-divergent papa!killian verse | status : closed ]

I’ll be trying to do that soon, but in the meantime, here’s a list of those verses that need to be added to the page. )

#{ method behind the madness ;; ooc }#{ status }#verse update

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thepiratehero-a · 3 years ago

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@tinkeringwings wanted a random starter (like ages ago)

Killian couldn’t say he snuck out of the castle very often, or at all. But he had been so miserable at the party that his father set up that he had managed to sneak out when a couple noblemen started fighting.

He didn’t go far from the castle. Just far enough that he could try to relax some. He saw a sudden light in the trees nearby which caused him to stand up and wonder if he should run back to the castle.

Still the light was almost soothing. “Hello?” he called out curiously.

#tinkeringwings #v: lost prince killian #i don't thing prince and her have met yet

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qqueenofhades · 7 years ago

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The Rose and Thorn: Chapter VI

summary: Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter V

The city of Bristol and James Joseph Hawkins, Junior, did not get along. In fact it was some time since they had even been on terms of cordial acquaintance, and the relationship only appeared to be deteriorating. It was the general opinion that a young man of nearly five-and-twenty should have a proper and honest occupation by now, perhaps even a wife and child, but the problem with the proper and honest occupations was that they did not like Jim either. He had enlisted in the Royal Navy at the age of sixteen, thinking to follow in the footsteps of his father and of his distant ancestor Sir John Hawkins, the famous Elizabethan seafarer, adventurer, explorer, and defeater of the Spanish Armada (along with his cousin, Sir Francis Drake), but the Navy was a bloody cesspool of human misery, shit, blood, and weak grog, and Jim’s habit of disrespect to his superiors had not helped the problem. It was a mark of the impression he had made that even the Navy, which was normally so desperate for able-bodied men that the press-gangs would kidnap apprentice greengrocers if needed, decided it could not tolerate him. He had been drummed out in disgrace, sent home to the disappointment of his mother and the dismay of their neighbors, and spent a few aimless months accomplishing nothing in particular. He tried to help out at the old Benbow, the inn the widowed Sarah Hawkins ran on the waterfront, but “help” was rarely accomplished when Jim was involved. He earned a few shillings working as a longshoreman, loading and unloading the cargo of the arriving ships, fat with the spoils of the Bristol slave trade, but if he had to spend the rest of his life like this, he’d kill himself.

Jim really had not set out to be such a disappointment. He had thought several times about rejoining the Navy, as he wasn’t a bad sailor and his father, James Hawkins senior, had served with distinction as purser aboard HMS Imperator, a career which had claimed his life when Jim was very young. He did not in fact remember his father at all, as Hawkins had set out to the Caribbean when Jim was only a few months old, and never returned. The story was that he had been killed by pirates, which was rather a romantic fate, but not a particularly useful one for a lonely and misfit lad whose mother loved him, but could not spare the time and effort to deal with all his troubles. It had been good for a brief pittance of money from the Admiralty, which was gone in a few years anyway, and yet one more sense that Jim had let someone else down by his failures, of hating that life so much. But not even for the sake of pleasing his father’s shade could he stand to return. So he was here instead, vexing everyone else.

Most recently, Jim had tried to get a job with his uncle at the Seven Stars, the pub he ran in Thomas Lane, but as that was still close enough to the Benbow, which was located on the Narrow Quay on Prince Street, for tales of his exploits to travel, that had likewise backfired. So then it was back to the docks, from which he also managed to get himself sacked after an altercation with some miniature bastard of a cloth merchant who insisted Jim was purposefully damaging his trade goods (it was cloth, it couldn’t bloody break, what was the damned problem?) That left him emphatically and, to the looks of things, all but permanently unemployed. It would be the bottle and debtor’s prison for him, or something worse. At points, the gallows did not seem at all out of the question. The things he put his poor mother through, the neighbors whispered. Really, with a son like that, they did not know how Sarah stood it.

It had been the end of June when the old mariner arrived, and things changed.

Jim, put out of work and thus unhappily back at the Benbow, had been ordered to help haul and carry and otherwise make himself less than actively catastrophic. The man had not particularly caught his eye at first, as all sorts of sailors and sea dogs and old salts (and those who fancied themselves such) passed through here. Bristol was a bit of a fool place to have a port; it was seven miles inland from the Atlantic along the River Avon, so ships had to navigate the shallow estuary before reaching the sea, and you could always spot the amateurs who had come to grief in getting here. This one, however, was certainly not an amateur. He was uncommonly tall, with a grizzled grey-blonde beard, knotted muscles, and a wary, suspicious way of peering out at the world. He carried a small hardwood chest with him, banded in bronze and locked up tight, which he doted on as if it were his unmarried maiden daughter and never let out of his sight. He wore a tattered cloak and slouch hat, arrived in the Benbow’s common room at nine o’clock in the morning, and was drinking in the corner by ten. The only name he gave to the startled Sarah, who had dealt with colorful customers before but not quite this, was Bones.

Jim watched him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the urge to punch him would arise, though he hoped not; he could hurt his hand, whacking a bloke of that size. Bones’ gold was good – more than good, it was some hefty old coin, etched in some old writing Jim couldn’t read – so there was no reason to turn him out, but the other patrons kept eyeing him nervously. In the past, and still at times in the present, the Benbow catered to the Navy men who had been Hawkins senior’s friends and colleagues, and Bones looked like the sort who, just by something in his fundamental nature, would have a problem with Navy men. Jim couldn’t blame him for that, but one more run-in with the Bristol magistrate would stretch the limits of his luck to the utmost, and he wanted to avoid any dust-ups if possible. Even if he protested, truthfully, that he had not started it, they would not be surprised in the least to find him in the middle of it.

Bones drank for most of the afternoon, duly paying for each tankard brought to him, until at last, as Jim was setting down the next one – having been made to serve this particular customer, as the maidservants were afraid of him – he cracked a bleary eye and regarded Jim with a blend of curiosity and hostility. “Don’t you have something better to be doing, lad?”

“No, actually.” Jim picked up the empty stein. “Don’t you?”

Bones looked as if he was thinking of saying something tart in response, but conceded the point with a grunt. “Ale’s good,” he said, evidently by way of explanation. “And I’ve a while to wait. You hire rooms?”

“We’re full up,” Jim said, which was a lie, but he doubted anyone wanted this hobo loitering around any longer than necessary. “You can try the Seven Stars, that’s my uncle’s pub.”

“Seven Stars?” At last, something flickered in Bones’ blurred eyes. “The one on Thomas Lane?”

“Aye. Why? Heard of it?”

“Was there a time or several as a lad. My parents were printers. In Plymouth. Fixed up pamphlets about tyranny and slavery and man’s right to determine his own destiny. They traveled there often to hold meetings, and I’d sell the pamphlets for two groats.” Bones smiled bitterly, half to himself. “That was what got me snatched by the press gangs, I always reckoned. In retaliation.”

Jim was surprised, not least that this weathered old tree stump actually had parents and had ever been young. “You’re from Plymouth, then? Turning up here to visit old haunts?”

“This is my first time back in England since I was kidnapped. I was thirteen.” Bones’ basilisk stare remained unswerving. “It still reeks of mold and shit.”

Jim could not deny that. He shot a glance back over his shoulder, but the evening wasn’t that busy (doubtless in part due to Bones himself scaring off the customers) and his mother appeared to have it under control. He hesitated, then took a seat. “So where’ve you been?”

“Around.” Bones’ mouth twisted.

“You planning to keep going?”

“What’s it to you if I am?”

“If you were in the market for an assistant before you left, well.” Jim shrugged. “I’m available.”

Bones stared at him, then barked a laugh. “Wanting to take up with me, boy? You really must be desperate.”

This was of course true, but Jim did not feel like admitting it. Affecting casualness, he plucked up one of the half-finished tankards and took a drink. “I’ve been stuck here ever since they th – I, ah, I left the Navy. Think it’d be better for everyone if I found somewhere else to go.”

“Former Navy?” Bones’ voice said that he had a number of opinions on this, equally divided between rampant hatred for the bastards and Jim’s decision to ever join in the first place, and grudgingly commending him for being smart enough (or rather, troublesome enough) to leave. “Better than current, I suppose.”

“My father was.” Jim didn’t know what possessed him to bring it up, but Bones had mentioned his own parents earlier, and this was the longest conversation he had had without being shouted at in too depressingly long a time to remember. “In the Navy, that is. I tried to make it work for his sake, but it. . . didn’t.”

“Father?”

“Aye. I had one too. Also James Hawkins, he was the purser on HMS Imperator. He was killed a long time ago, though. In Nassau, by the pirates.”

Something definitely flickered in Bones’ eyes at that. “HMS Imperator, you say? Was that before or after she turned pirate herself?”

“Wait, what?”

“You don’t know? The Imperator became one of the most notorious pirate ships in the Caribbean, the Jolie Rouge. Under the command of one Captain Hook.” Bones’ mouth twisted even further. “Taken over by Captain Rackham after the war, or so I heard later. Your father one of those scurvy brigands, then?”

“No. He was an honorable man, a loyal one. The Admiralty specially commended his devotion to duty in the letter they sent to my mother.” Jim looked down. “I was just a baby when it happened. He’d. . . probably be disappointed in me.”

Bones considered briefly, then hauled himself to his feet, scooping up the chest. “I’ll see your mother about a room, then.”

“Ah – ” Jim hesitated. “Well, er, I did say that we were full – ”

Bones gave him a look as if to say that this had been so transparently a lie that he had not wasted a moment’s thought on it, and that he had dealt in his day with such an advanced class of liars that Jim would have to do much better to even qualify. Wavering only slightly from the considerable quantity of ale he had consumed, he stumped off, got himself a room – the Benbow was a bit down at heel these days, they couldn’t be turning away admittedly well-paying customers – and went upstairs. That left Jim still none the wiser about his full name, why he had turned up in England now after what must be close to forty years overseas, who or what he was waiting for, how long he planned to stay, what was in the chest – and what he knew about Nassau. Jim could be mistaken, but he was quite sure that Bones had registered that on considerably more than an abstract historical-interest level. He knows something. Might have been there during its glory days, with Flint and Vane and Hornigold, Blackbeard and Bellamy and the rest. (Jim had read A General History of the Pyrates several times, and was felt to have more interest in this subject than was entirely healthy for anyone’s peace of mind.)

That was how it went for the next week. Bones sat in the common room, drinking steadily, or went out on hours-long errands, returning late after the doors had been locked (most taverns only had a license to operate until nine o’clock at night on working days, ten o’clock on Saturdays) and obliging Jim to go down grumbling to open them and let him in. “You do realize there’s a curfew, don’t you?” he demanded, after the third such incident. “You’ll be swept up by the constables if you keep doing this, and I’m guessing neither of us want any better of an acquaintance with them.”

Bones looked at him with a brief, guarded flash of amusement. “Local miscreant?”

Jim squirmed. “I’d just like to avoid it.”

Bones studied him for a long moment. Then he said abruptly, “Very well. I’ll cease these expeditions if you tell me – and only me – if there’s a letter or any other message from a Lady Murray. Also, if you spot anywhere, or even hear about, the presence of a one-legged man.”

“A one-legged man?” Jim blinked. “What’s this one called, Hopper?”

“No.” Bones did not look amused. “As a matter of fact, Silver.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Definitely not.” Bones’ tone had turned even cooler. “Just do it.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Aside from avoiding run-ins with the constables? Here.”

With that, he unclicked the locks on the chest with a complicated set of spins (Jim tried to follow, but quickly lost track), reached in, and pulled out a ruby the size of his thumbnail, which he casually lobbed at the startled young Hawkins. Jim managed to catch it, and before Bones slammed the lid, he thought he caught a glimpse of something rolled up – maps, or charts, or something that looked navigational of some sort. “Bloody hell,” he said, turning the ruby so it caught the low light, winking scarlet in its facets. “Where’d you get this?”

Bones grunted, checking that the chest was locked again and hoisting it under his arm. He appeared set to stagger off to bed, then stopped. “You ever heard of Captain Flint?”

“Flint?” Jim blinked again. “The master of the Walrus? I’ve read the stories, aye. He’s dead, though, isn’t he? Been dead a while.”

Bones did that now-familiar facial expression where he was deciding not to say anything. “Plenty of men have claimed to be him before they hanged, yes. Good night.”

He headed off down the dim hall before Jim knew quite how to respond, more confused than ever. He wasn’t sure that half of this was not paranoid ranting and raving; Bones wasn’t exactly insensible with drink, but he was a long way from sounding sane and sensible – one-legged men, letters from a mysterious lady, that odd question about Flint as if he expected Jim to know a legendary pirate captain personally. Jim had paid a visit to the Seven Stars the other day, though, and his uncle dimly recalled hearing about a William and Anne Bones, printers from Plymouth, who had used the place for meetings many years ago. They had had a son, he was also fairly sure, but didn’t know if he had ever heard the boy’s name. This had all happened during his predecessor’s tenure as landlord anyway, so he couldn’t be sure. Why the sudden interest, anyway?

Jim had made some noncommittal noise – he thought it was for the best if word did not get around that an old firebrand and scion of subversive intellectual stock was staying at the Benbow – but it at least confirmed that Bones was, so far as that went, telling the truth. Jim could not deny that he was burning up with curiosity, and this did give him something to think about apart from the dismal prospects of his future. He could also not exactly stroll up to a merchant in the street and spend the ruby, so he would either have to get all the way to London, to the Bank of England on Threadneedle-street, and obtain an exchange into currency, or visit one of the counting houses along the docks. As he was clearly not going to London, that left the latter option, but those bastards cheated fit to outdo the Devil Himself, and they definitely also hated Jim. He’d just keep it for now. As a down payment.

The following week likewise did not stimulate any sudden desire on Bones’ part to be forthcoming, and Jim decided to take matters into his own hands. It had been over a fortnight of him loitering around and drinking their casks dry, there had been a near-altercation with a snippy fresh-promoted lieutenant off HMS Glory, and Sarah Hawkins was starting to fear what rumors might attach to them if this kept up. Jim knew that he had caused her a good deal of heartache and worry already, and this at least was in his power to do something about, so he bought a seat on the public stagecoach that made the weekly circuit between Bristol and Plymouth. It was a hot, jouncing, stuffy three-day ride for the hundred and twenty miles south, stopping at various rural hamlets to collect the post along the way, sitting across from a middle-aged gentlewoman and her two frilly daughters who eyed him disapprovingly from behind their fans, but he arrived more or less in one piece.

The Bones parents were long dead, but after combing through the gravestones in St. Andrew’s churchyard, Jim finally found them – put in an out-of-the-way corner and heavily grown over, with no other living relative to tend their upkeep. (Likely as well they had not made themselves popular in the community for their rabble-rousing.) But by taking the dates, recalling that Bones had said he was snatched by the pressers when he was thirteen, and reckoning him to be in his middle fifties, Jim went to the parish archives, concocted some tale about doing a favor for an elderly relative, and flipped through the dusty old baptismal registers, squinting at their bloody awful handwriting, until he finally hit on it. One William Fitzgilbert Bones IV, son of William Fitzgilbert Bones III and Anne Cranmer Bones, had received the sacrament of Anglican baptism on the thirty-first of May, 1683 A.D., eleven days after his birth on the twentieth.

Seeing as the dates, the names, and the location all matched, Jim could be quite confident in feeling that he had found his man. Searching a few years on for the confirmation noted it as being given to “Billy,” and he disappeared from the records altogether after the winter of 1696. If he had been back to England at any point in the subsequent forty-four years, it had not been here.

Billy Bones, then? Jim could swear that the name was faintly familiar, though for the life of him he could not think why. He headed out and gritted his teeth for the return journey to Bristol, this time eyed up by a weedy country solicitor and a young vicar who already looked set to die of consumption, and wondered if he should confront Billy with his findings. Not that it offered any clarity on his present or future, only confirmation of his past, and nothing very helpful at that. Whoever he was waiting for, this Lady Murray or otherwise, they should damn well hurry up and get here. Either Billy did something or he didn’t, but either way, Jim’s patience was running short. Make a move, or bloody leave.

He finally got back to Bristol on a particularly sticky late-summer night; the trip had taken an extra four days due to the coach breaking an axle in Exeter. As Jim was climbing out, stiff and sweaty and hungry and otherwise out of sorts, he caught sight of a man and a woman making their way up the docks from a recently anchored ship. The woman was stylishly dressed in black, high-cheekboned and beautiful, and the man was around Billy’s age, with brown-grey curls and a scruffy beard – not to mention a thoroughly distempered look. Something about them caught Jim’s attention, and as he trailed after them, as they reached the street and set off, he realized to his considerable surprise that they were also making for the Benbow. Bloody hell, is that her? Bones’ mysterious Lady Murray? Who’s the other bloke, then?

He followed them at an unsuspicious distance, and once they had gone inside, waited a few minutes and then did the same. The woman was having rather demanding words with poor Sarah Hawkins, while the man was standing stock still, looking like an ox that had been hit on the head. “Christ,” he muttered. “It’s exactly the bloody same.”

“Scuse,” Jim said. “Can I help you?”

The man started, looked around – and if he had been confronted by a ghost to walk into the Benbow, it was twice that to lay eyes on Jim. He blanched. “Hawkins?”

“Wait, what? My name is Hawkins, aye. Jim Hawkins. But I don’t recall we’ve met.”

“No, we. . . we haven’t.” The man belatedly composed himself, running a hand over his face. “I’m. . . I’m sorry. You look very much like your father, is all.”

That, to say the least, Jim had not expected. His heart skipped a beat. “You knew my father?”

“I knew him well, yes.” The newcomer swallowed and glanced down, before meeting Jim’s gaze as forthrightly as possible. “My name is Captain Liam Jones. Your father served as purser under me on HMS Imperator, from the moment my brother and I took over the ship. He was a good man. All but a father to us as well, in many ways.”

“You’re the captain of the Imp – ?” The surprises were coming thick and fast. It seemed uncouth to ask if Captain Jones was aware that his old vessel was, according to Billy, a pirate ship, but this was the first time that Jim had ever met anyone who had served with his father – much less his former commanding officer. “The devil are you doing in Bristol, then? Er, sir?”

“That,” Captain Jones said grimly, “I very much want to know myself. I was removed from my home by her – ” he tilted his head scathingly at the woman in black, still haggling with Mrs. Hawkins – “and have been allowed no opportunity to send word to my wife. Mrs. Regina Jones, of the Rue Malebranche in Paris. If there’s any way you can help me dispatch a letter – ”

“That won’t be necessary.” The woman in black had evidently overheard him, even though he had been speaking quietly, and turned to regard them with a pleasant smile. “Surely you recall Sarah Hawkins, Captain? Come, make your greetings.”

“I – Mrs. Hawkins.” Liam Jones politely doffed his hat. “It has been a. . . very long time.”

“Liam?” Sarah blinked, then stared. “Liam Jones?”

“Aye, the same.”

“This has been an age and then some, my heavens! Where’s Killian? We did hear some dread tales about what happened to him, but I never believed them. Your brother was always such a sweet lad. Still the politest lieutenant I’ve ever met.”

Liam’s mouth tightened. “Killian is. . . likewise enjoying a quiet retirement. He lives with his family in America.”

“Oh, really? America, fancy that. Whereabouts?”

Liam’s eyes flickered to the woman in black, who was listening avidly. “The Colonies, someplace. It’s been many years since I’ve seen him, they could have moved.”

“That will be strange, then,” Sarah said sympathetically. “The two of you were always together before.”

Liam nodded, seemingly at a loss for words, and the silence was poignant until the woman in black clapped her hands. “Captain, don’t you want to vouch for us to your old colleague’s wife? Seeing them again after so long, it would be a shame for the reunion to go sour all at once. Likewise, insisting on sending word to your wife – we don’t want young Jimmy in any more trouble, do we? Poor lad suffered enough, especially growing up without his father.”

Jim was insulted at being spoken of as if he was five, not twenty-five – for all his missteps and misadventures, he was an adult, if perhaps a completely shit one – and thus missed the sinister undertone in this. Indeed, he only realized that there had been one by the look of pale, barely restrained fury on Liam’s face. After a moment, sounding choked, he said, “Sarah, if you would see fit to provide lodgings to Lady Murray and myself for the time being, I think everyone would be grateful. We shouldn’t be long. For – for James’ memory.”

Jim supposed that this was in reference to his father, even as his mother’s eyes welled up, she came around to hug Liam, and promised that of course the Jones brothers were always welcome beneath her roof. Liam himself hugged her with such an anguished, guilty expression – which only Jim saw – that it finally clicked. Lady Murray was not-so-subtly threatening Jim, Sarah, and the entire Benbow if Liam withheld or complicated his compliance in any way, and given what he had said about being snatched from the streets in France, it seemed that he was not here of his own volition. But whatever the bloody hell the whole lot of them were cooking up, Jim had rather suddenly lost any taste to play along.

He kept trying to get a moment alone with his mother that evening, to warn her, but the supper hour was ludicrously busy, and they and the barmaids were all run off their feet. When the rush finally subsided, he tried to pull Sarah aside in the scullery, but Lady Murray – who seemed to have a dozen ears – popped up on the instant with some query about the rooms she had purchased, and Sarah was obliged to take her upstairs to sort it out. Jim stood swearing under his breath, then spun on his heel and marched into the emptying common room, where Liam and Billy – Jones and Bones, it sounded like the opening to a tuppence vaudeville – were sitting in a corner and glaring at each other suspiciously. It was difficult to imagine a meeting of two more stubborn individuals, or two set so intractably to either side of an affair and forced unwillingly into conjunction. The only question is who blows first.

“So,” Jim said flatly, coming to a halt in front of them and folding his arms. “Tugging my mother’s heartstrings to advance you and your lady friend’s slimy little intrigues, Captain? And to think my father respected you.”

It was contentious, purposefully so, as he good and damn well intended to provoke Liam into a response one way or another. In this it succeeded, as the older man’s face flushed brick red. “I have nothing to do with Lady Murray, or her intrigues. I am staying, in fact, because I fear what she’d do to you and your mother if I tried to leave. But – ”

“She said she’d recruit us a captain,” Billy interrupted. “I bloody well wasn’t expecting it to be you. And are you going to tell the landlady what really happened to your brother, or should I?”

Liam grimaced. His voice when he spoke, however, was chillingly cold. “If you put Killian, or the rest of his family, in danger for the sake of your old fucking grudge against Flint, I swear – ”

“Flint?” Jim broke in. “As in the same Flint you were asking me about, Billy?”

That caught Bones, finally, decidedly on the hop. “I – how did you – ”

“Went to Plymouth,” Jim informed him. “You’re from there, just as you said. Billy Bones – that’s you, isn’t it? I haven’t worked out what the hell you’re up to, or how the rest of you fit in, but you leave my mother and the Benbow out of it. This old place is all she has, it’s not making as much as it used to, and I, well, I’ve not made her job any easier. If you need headquarters for your evil plots, piss off somewhere else. I don’t care if you and my father used to sail together, Captain. I tried the Navy myself. Didn’t take.”

That, at least, sufficiently surprised Liam and Billy so that neither of them had an immediate response. Then the former said, “Jim, I – ”

“Shut it,” Jim said, more wearily than anything. “For what it’s worth, I did reckon that you weren’t here because you wanted to be. But I want some answers, and I want them now. What’s in that chest? What are you scheming? And what would a bloody one-legged man, or a supposedly dead pirate captain, have to do with any of this?”

Liam and Billy exchanged a look, briefly forced into alliance by their mutual unwillingness to explain – Liam to try to keep Jim out of danger, Billy because he was clearly a true believer with a very large axe to grind against person or person(s) unknown, and Jim was starting to have more than an inkling that it might just be Captain Flint. There was another hesitation. Then Liam said, “I scarcely know much more than you. All I have been told is that Lady Murray wanted my old connections here in Bristol, and now that evidently I am being recruited as a captain for a voyage. It is customary, in case it’s slipped your mind, to tell said captain where that bloody is.”

Billy ignored the sarcasm. “Leave if you want, Jones. I was confident in our ability to manage the plan without a third party, so I won’t be trying to stop you. Besides, I’m the one with the bearings, so unless I give them up – ”

“The bearings.” At that, a dawning look of realization, and further anger, crossed Liam’s face. “Oh, Christ. She told me in the carriage, but I didn’t think anyone would be that foolish. You really are trying to hunt down Skeleton Island, aren’t you? That’s what this is about. You have – or think you have – a way to find the damn place and retrieve the treasure, and you’ve offered to sell the information to Lady Murray in exchange for whatever favor she’s promised you. Whatever she wants the money for, God knows, but it can’t be good. What’s so bloody worth making bargains with her?”

“You tell me.” Billy remained unyielding. “Haven’t you climbed into bed with a few devils in your own day, all for your personal benefit?”

Liam opened his mouth, made an angry sputtering noise, and shut it. Jim, for his part, was still hung up on the earlier bit. “Skeleton Island? Isn’t that just a story?”

“No,” Billy said, still more darkly. “Trust me, it’s real. I was marooned there for three years.”

Just as Jim was about to remark that this seemed to explain a great deal about Billy’s character and general personality, it struck him that he had not seen his mother for a while – that he had indeed let her go upstairs alone with Lady Murray, even when warning her about the woman was precisely what he meant to do. He jumped to his feet, heart in his throat, even as he thought he smelled something from neither hearth nor lantern nor lamp. Smoke.

“Son of a bitch,” Jim said, pivoting around and starting to run. “Son of a bitch!”

He thought either Liam or Billy might have shouted after him, but he did not stop to hear. He crashed up the narrow stairs, heard doors opening and the Benbow’s other guests hurrying out with alarmed shouts, and could very definitely see a dark cloud billowing from under the door at the end. He sprinted down the corridor and yanked and rattled at the handle, but it was locked. “Mother? Mother!”

There was no answer from within, and Jim slammed his shoulder into the latch hard enough to bruise. The smoke was intensifying quickly, stinging his eyes and searing his throat, and if he ran downstairs long enough to find something to break it with, it could be too late to make it back. He wrenched and pounded again, able to hear the crackle of flames, and was just about to try taking a running start and diving into the door headfirst when someone shoved him aside. Liam, cravat soaked in water and tied over his nose and mouth, battered violently at the wood with the poker from the kitchen hearth, until it finally splintered. “I’ll get her!” he yelled at Jim. “Run!”

Jim remained exactly where he was, as he did not trust this man with his mother’s safety. Yet in a few moments, Liam emerged from the eerie orange glow with the unconscious Sarah Hawkins slung over his shoulder – at least Jim hoped it was unconscious, as the alternative did not bear thinking of – and Liam grabbed him by the arm, dragging him along the corridor as it blackened behind them. They made it to the stairs and clattered down, through the common room, and burst into the dark street, just in time to hear the roar as first the wall, and then the roof, crashed in fiery fountains. Bells had started to ring in alarm, and the neighbors were forming a bucket brigade from the riverfront. Jim ran to assist, as a fire in old, wooden, crowded buildings like this was everyone’s worst nightmare. The Great Fire of London in 1666, less than a hundred years ago, had started as a similar small, isolated blaze, and would have flattened the entire city if it had reached the gunpowder stocks in the Tower. There might not be a fully loaded armory here, but given his already delicate relationship with Bristol, Jim could not help but think that burning the lot of it down – even if it was not directly his responsibility – would be regarded very dimly indeed. Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody hell.

It took countless buckets, an assist from the stout brass fire engine with its pump crew, and the sacrifice of several nearby barrels, troughs, and anything else that could hold water, but they finally got the fire out before it could spread down Prince Street. This, however, came far too late to save the Benbow. It was a burnt-out, steaming husk, charred beams tilting and falling in thunders of ash and soot, embers still spitting sparks, as the neighbors gathered in anxious, muttering knots before turning their communal accusing stare on Jim. “Mr. Hawkins. Care to explain?”

“Look, for once, this is not my bloody fault.” Jim shoved through the crowd to where Liam was crouched by Sarah, helping her to sit up and weakly sip some water. His heart turned over with relief at seeing her alive, as he threw himself to his knees next to her. “Jesus, Mother, are you – that bloody witch started it, didn’t she? Lady Murray? Where’d she – ”

He glanced around, as if expecting to see the woman, but he could not spot either her or Billy among the crowd. It was probably far too much to hope that the bloody pair of them had just up and died, and Jim wasn’t normally the sort to wish that on folk – a nice crisp roasting around the edges as a sharp lesson, sure, but burning to death seemed a bit much. Still, he stood up. “Anyone seen her? Woman in black, looks like she’ll eat your ballocks for breakfast? Or the other one, the big blonde bastard? Bones?”

Blank looks greeted this enquiry, as it hit Jim that his efforts to keep Bones’ presence under wraps had evidently worked too well – either they did not know who he was talking about, or figured he was seizing on a harmless old drifter as a convenient culprit for his own crime. Why they thought he’d want to burn down the Benbow was a mystery, but he had to admit it was just the sort of thing they would expect from him, inadvertently or not. It didn’t help that he did feel bloody responsible – if he’d not let his mother go off alone with Lady Murray – but why would he expect her to set the damn place afire, when she’d already gone to such effort to get Liam to secure them rooms? God, what a mess. Given how Jim had just about nailed shut the coffin on his chances of getting work anywhere else in Bristol, there was no obvious way of paying for the repair, or much money to support them in the meantime. He did still have the ruby Billy had given him, as he kept it in his pocket, which he’d now have to fence somewhere, but –

A brief and mad idea crossed Jim’s mind, but was gone as quickly as it had come. Besides, Billy and Lady Murray were gone, literally up in smoke, so there was no way of finding Skeleton Island even if it was real. Instead, he looked back at his mother. “Hey. I’m sorry, I should never – if I’d known Lady Murray was going to do that – she did, didn’t she?”

“N-no.” Sarah Hawkins shook her head, eyes wide and staring in her soot-smeared face. “No. She didn’t.”

“What?” Jim was not remotely about to buy that this had been a coincidental accident. “What do you mean, she – ”

“He did,” Sarah insisted. “He did.”

“What? Bones? We were downstairs with him the whole time, I’m not sure I like him either, but this at least, he – ”

“No. No, he did.”

“Mother, you’re not making any sense.” Jim frowned at her. Glancing up at Liam, he demanded, “There wasn’t anyone else in the room, was there?”

“No.” Liam looked unnerved, as well as rather offended at the resulting implication that he would have left them to burn alive if so. “Only her, not any – ”

“He did!” Sarah raised a shaking hand – and pointed directly at Liam.

There was a brief, stunned silence, and then a murmur of anger. Jim was equally startled, as well as about to note that he had likewise been downstairs with Liam the whole time, not to mention that Liam had saved her life. But an instant of doubt caught at him – if Liam had set it somehow while Jim was distracted trying to talk to his mother, sat back and waited, and thus known to get upstairs so quickly and rush to the rescue – and that prevented him from saying anything long enough for the notion to immediately take root among the crowd, fractious and on edge and searching for someone to blame. They advanced on Liam and the Hawkinses, reaching out, as they grabbed hold of Liam and dragged him off down the street, shouting.

Jim did not think they were going to string him up from a yardarm, but it might not be out of the question. With a word to his mother telling her to wait, he managed to struggle to his feet and run after the mob. “Hey. HEY! At least take him to jail first! You can’t just – ”

Someone, not inclined to listen and doubtless still convinced that he was to blame somehow, backhanded him across the face, and Jim saw stars. Then someone else punched him, he had to punch back, and the whole thing devolved on the spot into a chaotic free-for-all. Jim’s face hit paving stones at least twice, clenched knuckles several more times than that, and he was twisted and hauled headfirst through some reeking puddle, the citizens of Bristol finally getting a chance to vent their accumulated frustrations with him, as something else banged his chin, he bit his tongue so hard that he half-expected to spit it out, and tasted blood. Then someone lifted and flung him bodily, he hit someone else, and he and Liam Jones landed arse-first in some dismal damp cell, just in time to hear an iron grate slam shut above them. “You’ll hang soon, you bastards!” someone yelled, and then they were gone.

Jim sat where he was, gasping for breath in raw, whooping gulps, a hank of chestnut hair loose and pasted to his face with mud and blood, both lips split and a fine shiner rising on his left eye. Frankly, killing someone did not sound like a bad idea after all. “I swear,” he said at last. “If you did set the fire, I’ll – ”

“I didn’t.” Liam grimaced, drawing a painful few breaths of his own. “Christ as my witness, I don’t know why your mother said that.”

Jim wasn’t sure if he should thank Liam or not, as they seemed to have gone from the frying pan, to the fire, to an even bigger fire. He worked his tongue around his mouth with a grimace, to see if any teeth were loose. “So what the fuck are we going to do now? My mother’s inn burned down, the city thinks we did it, and we’ll be lucky to talk our way off a lynching. Even if your bloody friends don’t turn up again, we’ll just – ”

“They’re not my friends.” Liam’s voice was grimmer than ever. “And in fact, I feel more than certain that we will soon be seeing them again.”

-----------------

It did not take Killian long – indeed, no more than a few seconds after opening his eyes – to realize that he was on a ship. He had spent too much time in the darkness below decks not to recognize it immediately, from the reek of tar, turpentine, brine, and the stale, shut-up feel of air that never saw the sun, damp and moldering. He was lying awkwardly on his side among tightly wedged casks, wrists tied behind him and false hand gone, head still ringing from the blow that must have sent him into his just-escaped state of oblivion. The roughness of barnacled boards rasped his cheek, he could hear the slop of water as more senses slowly returned, and while he had certainly had a too-cozy acquaintance with the floor at various points in his madcap youth, it was considerably distressing, for several reasons, to find himself forced back into intimate relations with it now. Not least due to the small fact that when he had last been compos mentis, he had been on dry land, at the Nolans’ estate in Charlestown, still angry but nonetheless about to go inside and hash things out with Emma. He was right about what she had done, running off alone, but she was likewise right – as usual – about him, and that instantaneous aspiration to revenge and bloodshed. No matter how long Captain Hook had been locked in his trunk, he could still pop up at inopportune and unwelcome moments, and that had been one of them.

As a result, and perhaps only fittingly, what Captain Hook was presently locked in instead was the devil of a lot more alarming than a trunk. His ankles did not seem to be tied, so either they had run out of time to properly effect his capture, or they figure that knocked stoutly over the head and hands bound was good enough to contain a gentleman of seasoned years, even a former pirate. Killian experienced a moment of intense rage at the presumption of these whippersnappers, before realizing that he had just used (or at least thought) the word “whippersnappers” in earnest, and would thus entirely deserve it if he had fallen and could not get up. This was just bloody embarrassing.

And yet, newfound sympathy with Flint’s disdain for masquerading as a geriatric or not, his wits would have to step up if the rest of him was slacking on the job. The fact that they had not killed Killian outright (and who the bloody hell were “they?”) and instead thrown him into the hold of a ship suggested that this had been some sort of carefully planned operation, and that he was worth more alive than dead. But the knock on his head (and doubtless, he thought blackly, general age-related forgetfulness) was making it difficult to recall any more of who might have ambushed him, or why. They had certainly made a very neat job of it. Managed to get into the Nolan estate without raising any alarm, caught Killian from behind in the dark as he never saw them or had any chance to defend himself, and incapacitated him long enough to transport him all the way aboard their getaway vessel and whatever unknown distance out to sea. Jesus, Emma must be worried sick. Unless their following move had been to storm the house and take her, Flint, and Miranda as well, along with David, Mary Margaret, and anyone else who –

At that thought, Killian began to struggle against his bonds in good earnest, twisting and grunting and swearing until he finally got his arms awkwardly wrenched over his head, found a jagged end of a beam, and rasped at the rope, back screaming, until it finally parted with a snap. He pulled off the coils and straightened up slowly, breathing hard. Being free was a promising first step, but there were probably a good deal more of them than there were of him. He would have to think this through.

Killian climbed cautiously through the barrels to the ladder, where he could just make out voices from overhead. They sounded English, not Spanish or otherwise, which increased his lurking suspicion that this had been an inside job, and when he distinctly heard the words “Lord Murray,” his heart skipped a beat. Bloody hell. That was what they all got for being so merciful and forbearing and insisting that the man could not possibly be as bad as his infamous uncle. The wee bastard – unless Killian was imagining things, which he did not believe in when it came to the Gold family and their vigorous exercise of boundless annoyance – had had Killian assaulted, kidnapped, and removed to his present quandary here on his way to who-knew-bloody-where, and nobody was likely to be any the wiser. Emma must be looking for him – there was no sign of other prisoners in the hold, so for better or worse, they must have taken him alone – but if she just thought he’d up and stormed off after their fight –

Deciding that the urgency of acquiring answers was worth risking his neck, Killian started up the ladder, as a sudden hush fell in the conversation. They were afforded further leisure to contemplate their inadequacy in life when he emerged into the middle of the crew’s hammocks, there was a general roll and scuffle as they dove for weapons, and Killian abruptly found himself on the business end of a dozen pistols. “Hey, lads,” he remarked, holding up his hand and stump – which might have been a mistake, as it immediately brought to their attention that he was untied. “Easy.”

“Get back, pirate.” The nearest one – they all in fact seemed offensively young, fifteen or sixteen, though many sailors were – jabbed at him with a musket. “Or we’ll – ”

“Pirate?” Killian arched both eyebrows. “Well then. I’ve not been called that in years. What’s got you all in a lather for it now?”

“We know that’s what you are. Aren’t you.” Richard the Lionheart here administered another jab with the musket. “Hook.”

“First, stop poking me with that, you fat-headed pup, unless you want a personal demonstration of why it’s stupid to use a musket on a ship. Second, was it Lord Murray you kidnapped me for? Be interested to hear just what he thinks I’ve done.”

“None of your concern, pirate. Go below and don’t make no trouble, and this doesn’t have to be unpleasant. Otherwise I promise, you won’t – ”

Killian had heard enough. These lot were utter idiots, and he wanted to get back to his wife. “Do you know why it’s stupid to use a musket on a ship?”

Caught momentarily off guard, the lad blinked. “Wh – ”

“Because.” Killian bared his teeth in an amiable snarl. “The pirate you did a really shit job of snatching will wake up, come to find you, and – ” Fast as a snake, he reached out, grabbed hold of the muzzle, and wrenched it out of the boy’s hand, cracking the butt-end viciously over the little bastard’s head hard enough to crack the stock. “Do that.”

There was a brief, complete, almost impressed silence as the others regarded their dropped compatriot in considerable surprise. Unfortunately, however, they recovered quickly from the shock. They lunged at Killian as he swung the musket like a quarterstaff, managing to catch another in the gut, and a third tripped over a coil of rope. Killian ducked as a shot went off just over his head, ran for the ladder to the main deck, and encountered substantial difficulty in climbing and holding onto the gun at the same time. He had to awkwardly tuck it under his arm, nearly lost his balance, kicked out at the hands trying to grab him, and tumbled onto deck. If they were still in the harbor or even just anywhere close, he could jump overboard and swim for it. They’d doubtless shoot at him, but it was dark and in the water, they were less likely to inflict lasting damage. He sprinted to the railing, prepared to dive, and –

No sign of land. Nothing to indicate where they were or where they were bound, or how long since they had left Charlestown. Nothing but black water, and enough wind against his face to know, even without seeing, that all the sails were up and they were well underway. He could still jump, but it was as likely to end him up sucked under the keel, eaten by a shark, or just plucked straightaway out again in dripping indignity. What the bloody, bloody hell was this –

As he hesitated a split second too long, a blow crashed into the back of his head so hard that he saw white sparks, and he staggered forward, almost going over the rail anyway. The crew had, most unfortunately, caught up with him, and dragged him by the legs across the boards as he still fought to break free, getting nowhere, until another shadow fell over him. This one was a young man in a stylish coat that had once been black velvet, but was slashed and patched with red silk so as to render the garment striped, and hair that had been coiffed with bacon grease into the distinctive style that gave the Mohawk Indians their name. It looked incredibly stupid, in Killian’s opinion, and he was about to express said opinion, but one of Mohawk’s associated miscreants rabbit-punched him in the kidney, and he was briefly rendered unable to do so. When his spinning vision cleared, he snarled, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Keep a civil tongue in your head, pirate.” Mohawk paced nearer, evidently threateningly. He looked a bit like a Chinaman, though in this dim light, Killian could not be certain. “You know what we do to pirates?”

“Blind them with your appalling fashion choices?”

That got him a kick. “Try again.”

“Ineptly assault them with your halfwit gang of juvenile delinquents?”

That got him several kicks, from all sides, as Mohawk grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up. “My name’s Rufio. Captain Rufio. This is my ship, the Pan, and you’re my prisoner.”

“Lord Murray sold me to the local home for troubled youths?” Killian spat out a bit of blood and regarded his teenage captors balefully. “If you were old enough to shave, I might take you seriously, but as it is – ”

“You want a little moonlight swim, Hook?”

That, at least, he had decided he did not, and noxious as this bunch were, there were plenty enough of them to put him overboard. He didn’t think they would, at least yet, but still. Instead of answering, he glared at them.

“Tie him up. Make sure he doesn’t escape this time. Hands and feet.” Rufio jerked his head at his pubescent henchmen. “If he didn’t appreciate our hospitality before, I’d say he can appreciate it less. Take him below, boys. And don’t feed him until I say.”

And with that, and Killian utterly certain that this was the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him in a life that had sadly not lacked them, they did.

------------------------

It was six or seven hours out of Bermuda, and thus far, just as Geneva had wagered, the only trouble they had encountered were a few spits of rain, a bit of churn on the waves, and a stray gust of wind or two that sent odds and ends cartwheeling across the deck. But the Rose was stout – she kept the old girl well chinked and careened – and once she had her crew reef the topgallants and keep a careful eye on the rest of the canvas, they were even still making progress, if somewhat more slowly. Geneva herself had been on the wheel for the last few hours, relieving her helmsman, and her greatest current inconvenience was the fact that her thick dark hair had blown loose from its stylish twist, pasting in her eyes and against her sun-freckled cheeks, while she did not have enough hands to tie it back again. She was more interested in finding how it felt, a storm in deep water, just her and the ocean testing each other that bit more with each round. It was hard work. Despite the chill when the wind blew, sweat was dripping into her stays, and her arms and shoulders ached something fierce, but she paid no attention. She could do this.

The clouds were getting darker, however, and not only because it was getting on to sundown. They were in for a bouncy night, but Geneva had forewarned everyone of that already, and they could probably tell by looking anyway. She kept at it, matching the weather’s considerable stubbornness with her own, until the hatch opened and her great-uncle climbed out, wearing an oilskin and obliged to use the storm lines strung up along the rails to keep his balance. “My dear, it’s getting a bit foul!” he shouted. “Mr. Arrow said he’ll take over, come below!”

“In a minute!” Geneva yelled back. Her first mate, Phineas Arrow, was a solid sailor and had served as her mentor as well as her parents and grandfather, but he was past fifty, and it was easier for her, at twenty-four, to take a beating. “Be careful, Uncle Thomas, the waves are nearly over the gunwales!”

Thomas, who had just been knocked hard by one, gave her a look. “I assure you, I have noticed. Not to second guess your decision, but this is a bit worse than you reckoned.”

“Only a bit.” It was true, however, that she should tie herself to the wheel if she was staying out here much longer. A man (or woman) who went overboard in these conditions was almost impossible to recover. Geneva started to say something else, was interrupted as a solid-white sheet of spray scalped off the next wave and soaked both of them, and finally decided that discretion might be the better part of valor. “Fine, fetch Mr. Arrow, but warn him it’s exciting up here, and – ”

At that moment, she was interrupted as the bottom of the world went out from under them. The Rose’s prow pointed down the side of a vast green mountain, and the twenty-gun sixth-rater went sledding like a child on a toboggan in winter. That sort of sledding, however, was supposed to be fun, and this – well, this was not fun at all, even for someone of Geneva’s adventuresome sensibilities. Furthermore, the crest of the wave was still rising behind them, and their sails snapped and went oddly slack as the wind was cut off. There was an instant in which the entire world was silent, and then it hit.

Pummeling, shrieking, rushing blackness engulfed Geneva to every side, ripping at her, tumbling and tossing her, until for a terrifying instant she felt herself lose contact with the Rose altogether and hang unsupported, untouched, in the utter heart of the abyss, completely dependent on the sea’s whims to either drop her back on the ship, or drag her down to its depths. She kicked and clawed, lungs straining, and then out of nowhere was thoroughly winded, gulping and retching, as mercifully but unfortunately solid deck boards punched her in the chest. She flailed out, got hold of a rope, felt it burn against her palms as it was ripped away, and struggled to swipe away enough stinging salt to see. Thomas, where’s Thomas, where’s Thomas? Oh God, if he –

The Rose rode up another wave, down the just as terrifying far side, through it managed to avoid being completely inundated this time, and Geneva staggered to her feet. “Thomas! Uncle Thomas! Uncle Thomas!”

She heard a faint answering yell, sprinted to the side, looked down, and felt her heart stop as she beheld Thomas, clinging to the starboard strakes like a barnacle and struggling to get a grip on the soaked tangle of the shrouds. It was not at all a secure position – one even middling-size wave could knock him off with a direct hit, and to say the least, more-than-middling-size waves were too bloody plentiful at the moment. Geneva grabbed a rope and threw it to him, which Thomas managed to get hold of, and had almost finished tying it around his waist when he vanished in a torrent of whitewater. Geneva briefly and horrifyingly felt the rope go slack, sobbed in utter terror, and then saw him reappear – tied in, but having lost his grip on the ship entirely, bouncing and dragging along like a runaway kite on the end of a string. He was in just as much danger of being sucked under the keel and torn to shreds as he was from the storm, and she was hauling, heaving with all her strength, palms bleeding and the wounds burning with salt, but it wasn’t enough, she couldn’t, it wasn’t going to –

At that moment, another set of arms seized Geneva from behind, awkwardly balanced on the sliding deck, but she was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She and the second man pulled like Hercules, and with their combined effort, Thomas was able to somersault back onto deck, winded and wheezing, blood running down his face where he had banged headfirst into the timbers. Geneva wanted to fling herself to her knees and hug him, but they were not out of the woods yet. Instead she helped him frantically to his feet, satisfied herself that he was more or less intact, and turned. “Thank you, Mr. Arrow, that was a very timely – ”

“You’re welcome.” John Silver gave her a half-smile, holding tightly to the capstan as his false leg slipped and skated under him. “Maybe a bit more careful next time, then? And how about we get the fuck below before next time happens?”

“I – ” Geneva shut her mouth hard enough to hear her teeth click. “Mr. Silver, I didn’t – ”

“I’d prefer it if Flint’s granddaughter and his. . . Thomas did not die on my watch. As well the fact that you are the captain of this vessel, so – ”

Silver had been yelling over the tumult, but at that moment, everything flattened out and quieted down, nearly that quickly. The Rose landed with a jerk on unnaturally calm water, even as the sea raged and thundered not far behind them, and a hazy, distant halo of rain surrounded them to all sides, a break in the furious anvils of clouds revealing a veiled moon and massive, jagged forks of lighting plunging from sky to sea in the near distance. It was as if they had abruptly stumbled into the one part of the storm that had been switched off, and Geneva, even without the mercury, could feel the pressure drop fast enough to make her ears pop. “What are we – look, we’re clear of it, we can – ”

“We’re not clear,” Silver said. “We’re in the eye.”

“We’re in the wh – ?”

“The eye. The central point around which the body of the hurricane spins.” Silver whirled, pulled out his spyglass, and hastily tried to judge the distance of the far side. “It’s the worst right in the bands nearest to it, which means we’ll hit the screaming wife of what we just went through in about, oh, half a bell. It’s not bloody safe for anyone to be up here, I warned you we couldn’t – ”

“Later!” He was right, damn it, but Geneva could not spare any leisure for the realization. She ordered Thomas belowdecks at once, where he went after a worried look at her, and she, Silver, a few of her men, and Mr. Arrow desperately tried to ready the Rose for her rapidly approaching next round of punishment. There was not much that could be done, aside from double-knotting everything, making sure the cargo and guns were firmly stowed, and there were no major leaks – though even if there had been, there wasn’t much to fix them with apart from spit, sawdust, and prayer. They got all the sails tied – Silver could not climb rigging, so he confined himself to management of the deck – and Geneva could hear the unearthly scream of the storm rising again as they were shoved inexorably toward the far side of the eyewall. The Rose spun like a bottle from stem to stern, pointed almost backward into the maelstrom, and Geneva thought briefly of how her godfather had died, a story nobody in her family could bear to tell much. Wrecked in one of the worst storms Cape Cod had ever seen, the Whydah driven up on the cliffs of Eastham and broken apart with the loss of all her treasure, her captain, and her men. Of a hundred and fifty souls who served under Black Sam Bellamy’s flag, only two had survived.

No. No, this is not ending the same, I forbid it. At least, she could be sure of that since in this case there were no cliffs, but Geneva forced that particular morbid thought aside. She and Mr. Arrow splashed across the deck to the wheel and tied themselves in, hauling the Rose the right way again, pitching and yawing as the distance closed to only a few hundred yards. All the lanterns were out, having been doused in the last go-round, and the approaching wall of darkness felt like the gates of hell themselves, the Rose screaming and straining as her timbers were punished by the fury. Oh, Geneva thought. Oh, this is a storm at sea.

The next instant, the eyewall hit like the breaking of the world. They were pointed almost straight up, and then straight down, and then slewed around, taking the attack of the raging waves broadside, as the lifeline tied around her waist snapped like a carriage whip but held, if barely. Geneva’s face smashed into the helm-housing, she was suspended upside down, and then crashed down atop it. The impact was brutal enough that she momentarily thought she had broken her back – her entire body would be covered in bruises when this was over, if it was over. She had lost sight of Silver, hoped he had been wise enough to get below before this hit – and then, as the next wave negligently flicked them off it, she saw Mr. Arrow pulled bodily across the deck, catch against the railing, and then, with a horrible sound, be crumpled like a bit of wet paper. The rope snapped, and the next instant he was not there.

“No!” Geneva was not sure if she thought it or said it or both, just that it was the only word that existed anywhere. She crawled madly on all fours across the deck, torn hands screaming, cracked ribs aching, staring into the water, waiting for his head to break the surface, for him to come back up. It hurt like the son of a bitch to scream, but she did anyway. “Phineas! PHINEAS!”

Nothing.

Geneva spat out a mouthful of salt, and had a brief and suicidal impulse to dive in after him. But it was too late anyway, they were ten or twenty or thirty feet past the place where he had fallen, and she could see nothing living in the waves. Only the heaving, howling hinterland to every side, the sleeping giant awoken and screaming, capriciously crushing the insects that crawled over it, Brobdinag and Lilliput from that novel by Mr. Swift, the one she had gotten her grandparents as a present. “MR. ARROW!”

Nothing.

He was gone.

Geneva felt as if all the bones in her body had turned to butter, sinking against the helm, as she barely heard the storm continuing to vent its fury. It lessened only slowly, in miserly increments, until it finally passed over close to dawn, the Rose spun heavily battered but still afloat into calm water, and Geneva was too terrified to move, lest this was another eye and they were in for a third repeat of the ordeal. She was coughing, sore, sodden to the bone, freezing, bruised, and bleeding, and her hands were too slashed and raw to unpick the knots of rope still holding her to the wheel. So she just sat there, shaking without a sound.

A few minutes later, the hatch banged open again, and Thomas, Silver close on his heels, bolted out, racing across the deck to her. “Jenny! Bloody hell, Jenny, are you – are you – ”

“ ‘m fine.” Geneva gave him a weak smile, despite having never felt less fine in her life. Thomas threw himself down and tried to undo the knots, but likewise could not budge them until Silver pulled out his knife and sawed through the wet rope. Her teeth were chattering so hard her jaw cracked, but she still tried to push away Thomas’ arms. “Uncle Thomas, ‘m fine, I – ”

She took a step, just about collapsed, and he caught her, hoisting her awkwardly across his chest and making his way to the cabin, where Madi was trying to pick up the things that had been thrown everywhere. Upon sight of Geneva, however, she instantly abandoned her efforts, took her from Thomas, and helped her to the bed – which, if damp and disheveled, was at least horizontal. Then she arched a cool eyebrow at Silver, hovering by the door. “Did you also need something, then?”

“I just – thought I’d look in and see if you were – ”

“If you came to gloat, neither of us wish to hear it.” Madi shook out the quilt and draped it over the shivering Geneva. “You were right. You usually are, John, but that does not mean it is in a way in which you should take any pride.”

Silver flinched. “Christ, I didn’t come to gloat! I wanted to see if you were all right!”

“I am fine.” Madi’s long dreadlocks fell forward, hiding her face, but something about her voice made Geneva think that it was somehow as much a lie as when she had said it. “I will look after her now. You may go.”

Still Silver hesitated, looking at his ex-wife with desperate, unguarded yearning. Then Thomas stepped up, put a hand on his arm – gently – and showed him out, the door creaking shut behind them. After the madness of the storm, the stillness rang unbearably in Geneva’s head, buzzing like a nest of hornets.

Madi helped her out of her wet clothes, dried and warmed her, and brought her some broth, and Geneva dozed fitfully, on and off, hearing voices outside as the men tried to whip the Rose back into shape. Surely they must realize that Mr. Arrow was gone, that it was her decision that was to blame, that she had wanted to prove to all of them that she could handle an Atlantic storm and Silver alike, and failed decisively at both. She was cold, she was cold, she was cold, cold, cold. She wanted to be home in Savannah, drinking tea on the veranda, talking about books with Granny, about sailing with Grandpa and Daddy. She wanted to see Mother, she even wanted to see her git of a little brother. Adventure was all well and good, but at least presently, she had had more than enough of it. She had killed Mr. Arrow, she had nearly killed Thomas as well, and it was only luck that she had not. God. She would never have been able to face her family again.

At some point Madi stepped out, and when Geneva heard the door open again, she assumed it was her returning. She cracked an eye, about to say that she should get up and face the crew, even if it was the last thing she felt like doing – then stopped, going tense. “What do you want?”

Silver held out both hands, making no move to come any closer. “I’m sorry about your first mate.”

The air seemed to run out of Geneva’s lungs. She wanted to say something sharp, but she just stared at the white-painted boards of the rocking ceiling. At last she said, “I killed him.”

“The storm killed him.” Silver perched in the chair, keeping an eye on the door, as if knowing that Madi would not be pleased to come back and find him here. “You didn’t – ”

“I gave the order to sail into the storm. That’s my fault. I know it is. Is that why you came? To remind me?”

“No.” Silver’s voice was quiet. “I said that I’ve been through my share of storms. One of them, aboard the Walrus, I was belowdecks with one of the men, a friend of mine. We were trying to patch a leak. A cannon shifted, pinning him to the hull, and I could not move it. The water rose higher and higher, while all I could do was try desperately to keep his head above it. My efforts did not make any difference. He drowned before me as I watched, utterly powerless to stop it. I have not forgotten that. I know you likewise will not with Mr. Arrow. I’m sorry.”

Geneva was once more at a loss for words. She sensed, as she had before, that Silver was genuinely trying to connect with her, but she did not want his calculated empathy, not when this entire affair was of his purpose and devising. Yet she did not want to order him out either, if only because that would mean being left alone with her thoughts. At last she said only, “Why?”

“As I said. You are Flint’s granddaughter. And he was also often in the habit of spurning what I said, merely because I was the one who had said it.” Silver regarded her steadily. “As I also said, it would be much easier for us to be friends. To work together. When Flint and I finally did, we were all but unstoppable.”

“I’m not your second chance with him.”

Silver flinched again, ever so slightly, but his tone remained courteous. “Of course not. But there are similarities. If you did work with me – ”

“What did you do to him on Skeleton Island?”

“I – beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You want us to be allies, because I think you want to make up for whatever you did to Grandpa on Skeleton Island, what passed between the two of you, why you and Mother left him behind and she thought for years that he was likely dead. If you want me to trust you – and remotely believe that I would not come to the same end if it suited – then tell me. Or go.”

Silver looked truly flummoxed. He opened his mouth, then shut it. “Geneva – ”

She wanted to remind him that it was Captain Jones, but that took too much effort. “Well?”

Silver opened his mouth a second time, then likewise shut it. “I think I see Madi returning,” he said at last. “I’ll spare you another of our squabbles. If there is anything else I can do for you, please do let me know.”

And with that, he went.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #the jones brothers #treasure island #the rose and thorn #black sails #cs next gen

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lenfaz · 8 years ago

Text

Time Upon Once, ch. 7 (7/?)

Summary: Killian Jones is a bailbonds man, living in Boston and doing his own thing. But on his 29th birthday, a kid knocks on his door and claims to be his son. What happens when Killian is forced to face his past along with a mystery prophecy about his own purpose in life?

Rating: M (eventually)

A huge thank you to @tnlph @businesscasualprincess and @blessed-but-distressed for beta duties and @shady-swan-jones for the banner!

Tagging a few people that showed interest in this story: @lk0622 @nowforruin@sambethe@xemmaloveskillianx @l-e-x-a-xd @profoundlyfadedprincess @once-uponacaptain@icecubelotr44 @poetic-justice-96 @allietumbles @el-kelpo (want to be tagged? let me know and I’ll do it)

on Tumblr: I II III IV V VI

ao3 ff.net

Chapter VII

Killian didn’t know why he was even at a party for a man he hardly knew, let alone a man who wouldn’t have remembered him now even if they had known each other. He’d been given the invitation at the station that day, Kathryn Nolan giving him a hopeful smile. And he’d accepted, not really knowing what else to do.

On one hand, he wanted to stay at the loft and be on hand to distract Mary Margaret from the party she decided to skip and the life resolution she’d taken when she’d resigned from her volunteer work at the hospital. But on the other hand, it was - perhaps - the only chance he’d have to see Henry for a while. Regina had held firm on her decision to ground Henry, and as much as Killian wanted to see the lad, he knew he would have to abide by her rules. Henry had tried sneaking into the station to see him, but Killian had reluctantly turned the boy away, praying that his mother would never learn of it.

But Mary Margaret, sensing that Killian’s desperation for even the smallest of contact with Henry, had sent him on his merry way to the party, claiming that she’d be more than fine on her own. “I’ve been alone for a lot of nights before you came along, Killian. I’ll be okay.” A small part of Killian wanted to hug her and promised her that she wouldn’t be alone from now on, but he knew a thing or two about making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep, well-intentioned or not. He had given her a hug anyway, engulfing her petite frame in his arms before he left for the party.

That was how he’d ended on the foyer of the Nolan’s house, sharing a bench with a 10 year-old that was still hung up on a curse.

“You know why he doesn’t remember, right?” Henry prompted. “The curse isn’t working on him yet.”

“Henry, David has amnesia.” Killian insisted, trying to gently infuse the difference in Henry’s mind.

“Well, then the amnesia is preventing the curse from replacing his fairy tale story with fake memories,” Henry insisted, speaking in a low voice and stealing glances at the kitchen, where Regina was.

“Aye. Because everyone here has fake stories that prevent them from remembering who they really are,” Killian tilted his head and pronounced the last quip almost sarcastically, hoping that Henry would understand. But his son either didn’t take the hint or had just decided to ignore him, just another blind adult who couldn’t see his truth. If Killian were to take a wild guess, he’d say it was the second, because the way his son’s eyes glinted at him with half-annoyance, half-bossing-around was painfully familiar. Emma used to give him the same look every time he tried to talk her out of something she’d set her mind on.. And every time he’d failed miserably, Emma moving forward with whatever she wanted to do anyway.

“Right. And now’s our chance to help him.” Yep, the lad definitely took after Emma. Killian felt himself losing the battle again. “We just have to get him to remember that he’s-” Henry trailed off, looking at Killian’s expectantly.

“He’s Prince Charming,” he sighed, finishing the boy’s thought. My bloody father.

“We just have to jog his memory by getting him and Miss Blanchard together.”

Hell, no.

“Didn’t we just try that?” Killian argued, every single fiber of his being blanching at the idea of causing Mary Margaret more heartache. She was already suffering as it was, only because Henry had wanted to be proven right about his cursed town theory. And while Killian was on board with preserving his son’s fantasies if they helped him deal with complex emotions, it couldn’t be at the expense of people’s - Mary Margaret’s - feelings.

“And it woke him up!” Henry stated proudly.

“Lad, listen-” Killian started but he was interrupted by the man of the hour coming over to stand next to them.

“Hey,” David said, a feeble smile coming to his lips. “You’re the ones who saved me, right?”

Killian stood, facing the man in front of him. They were about the same height, and he found himself studying him. They definitely did not seem alike. “Aye, I guess you could say so,” he offered with a smile of his own.

David fidgeted, his smile morphing into a nervous chuckle. “And, uh, you’re also the only ones I know here,” he acknowledged with a sincere voice.

Killian felt bad for the man, clearly feeling like a stranger in his own house. He knew the feeling, that ache of never quite belonging, as it had been his sole companion for decades. Only twice he’d felt like he’d belong: first with the Joneses and later with Emma. And he’d lost them both. Stealing a look at Henry, he thought perhaps, maybe thrice. “You can hide with us,” he offered and David beamed.

“Fantastic,” he said as he stabbed a cocktail snack from a tray that a waiter carried nearby with a toothpick.

“So,” Henry started and by the tone of his voice Killian was already fearing what would come next, “have you ever used a sword?”

“I’m sorry?” David asked confused and Kilian gave Henry a stern look.

“Henry,” he admonished, cocking an eyebrow in a clear message for the lad to drop it. “Not now.”

“You live with Mary Margaret, right?” David asked, almost nonchalantly, but Killian could spot a loaded question a mile away.

“Aye, yes, we share a household,” he said softly, not giving much away and waiting to see what David would ask next.

David seemed to falter for a moment, before he casually continued. “I didn’t know that you two - she didn’t mention -”

It was painful to watch, even for him and Killian didn’t have the heart to go on. The man was already second-guessing and hesitating about everything -and everyone - in his life.

“No, no,” he waved his hand in the air. “As lovely as Miss Blanchard is, ours is a relationship of a friendly nature.”

David’s eyes lit in a way no married man’s eyes should lit at the mention of any woman other than his wife. “Is she coming tonight?”

“I’m afraid she couldn’t make it,” Killian replied and watched that light snuff away. He felt sorry for the man, he did, but he also realized that now, more than ever, he needed to be there for Mary Margaret. He could see Henry wanted to push David a little further but he turned away and gave his son a stern stare. He wanted to help the lad, he really did, but they had no business aiding a confused married man and getting Mary Margaret hurt in the process.

It seemed their silent conversation took longer than they both thought, because the next thing he knew, Kathryn was walking over to them, asking them if they’d seen David. It was only then that Killian noticed the man had vanished. And considering the way he’d looked when he’d mentioned Mary Margaret, Killian had a pretty good hunch on where he might be headed.

Bloody hell.

/-/

Killian had no intention of confronting Mary Margaret as he wasn’t eager to bring the topic of David with her - even after spotting the man leaving as he was arriving to the loft. But he couldn’t avoid it when the first thing that greeted him as he entered the apartment was the view of Mary Margaret obsessively scrubbing a dish in the kitchen.

“Love, is abusing the Brillo pad a good way to end the evening?” he asked gently, as he crossed his arms over this chest and waited for her answer. She stopped her scrubbing, only to deposit the plate in the water-filled sink.

“Dishes were just piling up…” she trailed off, not really meeting Killian’s eyes. He sighed, removing his black leather jacket and going to take a seat at the counter.

“Perhaps your actions are more related to David stopping by than the actual need to have a perfectly clean household?” he said, and Mary Margaret looked at him as if she were a deer caught in headlights. “I saw him leaving with a sulking expression as I pulled up.”

“We just, uh” Mary Margaret let the dish drip before she put it on the rack, avoiding his gaze and stumbling on her words, “he just-”

“Aye, you both just,” Killian sighed, running a hand through this hair. “For what is worth, I believe you did the right thing, love.”

“Well, he made a pretty compelling case,” she replied, her hands attacking the next dish.

“I know - I was at the party,” Killian admitted.

“What do I do?” she asked, her nail fidgeting with the side of her forefinger, her voice dropping to a low whisper that was filled with longing.

“First, you need to stop cleaning,” he said kindly as he stood up and extended his hand, palm up. “And have a drink.” He cocked an eyebrow.

Mary Margaret gave him a small laugh that didn’t quite lift his spirits, but he’d take it for now. She gave him her hand and he squeezed softly before he redirected her to the table and made her sit. He retrieved the brand new bottle of rum he’d purchased a few days before - his first contribution to the household - and two glasses. He poured a healthy amount in each as he continued speaking.

“Lass, I don’t know much about relationships - other than having my heart broken followed by a string of one-night stands and poor choices.” He handed her one of the glasses before he sat on the other chair and faced her. “But generally speaking, if you think that something you want to do - or a certain activity you want to partake in - is wrong, then it usually is.” He gave her a soft smile, his eyes looking at her with fond concern. “You have to stay strong, Mary Margaret. And he needs to figure out his life. You deserve better than this situation and you know it.” He raised his glass and clinked it with hers. “Cheers. Bottoms up.”

Mary Margaret downed half of her glass with one gulp, grimacing as it went down. “Did you ever feel - with Emma - that it wasn’t right?” she asked hesitantly.

Killian took another sip of his drink, letting the alcohol burnt his throat before he answered. “Never.” The word came out broken, the sting of the drink adding a rawness to it.

“Then what happened?” she asked curious, leaning her body forward, her elbows resting on her legs, the glass cradled between her hands.

He didn’t want to talk about the circumstances that led to him and Emma parting ways, the wound still very much un-healed even after a decade. He’d kept that pain deep within him, as his silent companion, never speaking of it. He wasn’t even sure he could go there. He’d always secretly believed that the reason he hadn’t completely fallen apart was because he’d never talked about it, the pain woven through every part of him somehow also holding him together. The moment he talked about it - the moment he shared the story with someone, anyone - he feared he’d simply unravel, never able to put himself together again.

Mary Margaret let the silence stretch between them, tilting her head to the side and offering him a comforting smile. “It okay, Killian,” she whispered, one of her hands reaching to squeeze one of his. “Maybe one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me.”

He swallowed, marveling at her selfless offer for comfort when he was the one that should’ve been comforting her.

“Aye, I truly hope so,” he admitted.

/-/

Killian sat at his desk at the station, his eyes scanning an old file. It turned out that, so far, the only difference between his bail bonds work and being a deputy had been trading stale coffee and uncomfortable hours sitting in his car in a stakeout, for terrible coffee and uncomfortable hours sitting at his desk at the station. Action? Not so much, not after the stunt they pulled on the mines.

He closed the manila folder and placed it down on his desk. He was about to pick up another when Graham walked in, carrying a box of bloody doughnuts from the local bakery in his hands.

“Mate, really?” Killian asked, his voice making it clear he found this beneath the sheriff - and mostly - him.

“What can I say? Sometimes clichés are true,” Graham shrugged, opening the lid of the box so Killian could take a peek. He looked from one to another, noticing the bear claw almost right away. He hadn’t had one in years, but it didn’t mean they weren’t the first thing he’d always looked for.

“Alright, spill. What do you want?” He cocked an eyebrow at Graham, not willing to take the bribe before knowing what he was committing to.

“Remember when I said no night shifts?” Graham grimaced and Killian could see how this sentence was going to end. “I need you to work tonight. Just this once.”

“You better have a good excuse for that one, Sheriff, because I had plans today.” There were two half-truths in there and Killian knew it. One, no matter what he was promised, he was Deputy and Graham was Sheriff. The other man was his boss, so Killian could have thrown any tantrum he wanted, he still would have had to follow orders. And two, he didn’t exactly have plans tonight - at least not any set in stone - but he had been toying with the idea of asking Mary Margaret to go with him to the local bar, have some beers and hot wings. He had hoped it would take her mind off David Nolan and perhaps he could find a suitable, eligible, single decent guy for her. There had got to be one in town, somewhere. Perhaps Graham -

His thoughts were interrupted by Graham’s voice. “I volunteer at an animal shelter, and the supervisor’s sick, and someone needs to feed the dogs.”

On further thought, why hadn’t Graham and Mary Margaret fallen for each other? It seemed they were both so bloody perfect for each other with their good deeds and optimism. He would have to look into that, perhaps make some hinted remarks to one and the other, see what came out of that. But it would not be tonight, clearly, as Graham had civil duties to perform elsewhere.

“You’re too good for your own good,” Killian said as he reached for the bear claw, “and for the price of one bear claw, I will cover the night shift.”

“Well, you do sell yourself cheap, Jones,” Graham joked, “I thought I’d have to at least relinquish half of the box.”

“What can I say, I’m easy, Humbert. I’ve never been able to resist a pair of pretty eyes.” Killian batted his eyelashes at him. “And you have such pretty eyes.”

Graham’s retort died in his lips as Mary Margaret barged into the station and headed directly towards Killian’s desk. “Killian, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Humbert cocked an eyebrow at him amusedly, clearly getting the wrong idea but before Killian could say anything, he was retreating towards his office. “I’ll just go patrol my office and leave you birds alone.”

Oh, bollocks.

The moment Graham was out of earshot, it was as if a dam had broken in Mary Margaret. “He left his wife. David – he left her. He left Kathryn.” The entire sentence was pronounced in one breath, and now Mary Margaret was gesticulating with her hands, clearly agitated over this ordeal.

“Slow down, love,” Killian started and she took a deep breath.

“He did it for me.” And she was back at speaking at the speed of light as she walked to the other side of him and Killian had to turn in his chair to follow her. “He wants me to be with him. He wants me to meet him tonight.”

“That’s- well-”

“I mean, I’m trying so hard to be strong, but he just keeps coming.” She paced to the other side again. “I mean, how do I stop it? You know, how do I let him down? What would you do?”

There was such longing in her voice, and such hope hidden in it, that even if part of Killian was still repelled by the idea - the man had just left his wife - he simply didn’t have the heart to crush her dreams.

“I’d go,” he shrugged.

That seemed to finally made Mary Margaret stay still. “What?”

“Well, lass, he left her,” Killian pointed out. “It’s one thing to say that he wants you, but it’s another to actually make a choice and now, it seems that he has. That’s all you can ask for.” He still felt the need to leave her heart a little guarded, just in case. “Just, you know, tread carefully.”

Mary Margaret leaned on his desk. “Given her new friendship with Kathryn, I don’t think Regina would be happy. “

Oh. “Regina - aye, that won’t be a good thing but, the heart wants what the heart wants.” Killian placed the bear claw on his desk and cleaned his fingers before he reached for Mary Margaret’s arm, his eyes boring into hers. “If he’s willing to fight for you, maybe - just maybe- he might deserve you.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes were lost in a sea of her own hope. “Good Lord, is this really happening?”

“It seems so.”

/-/

Since he had the night shift, Killian felt no remorse in leaving Graham to his own devices for the rest of the afternoon and heading back to the loft to catch some shut-eye before the beginning of his patrol. Throughout the years, his random sleeping patterns and work hours had made it easier for him to simply command sleep to come to him regardless the time of day, and sometimes a quick nap brought him more rest than a restless night filled with nightmares and aching.

The small mezzanine of the loft had become a very welcoming lodging for him, the one that felt more like a bedroom than a lot of the places he’d had over the years. The spread was a little flowery for his taste - maybe a lot - but he knew how much Mary Margaret had put of her own heart into arranging this place for him. He couldn’t care less if it seemed more appropriate for a young girl than an old rapscallion like him. It was the thought that counted. And Mary Margaret’s welcoming thoughts could be counted in spades in that little room. He could buy something more to his taste - a navy blue comforter and some naval themed sheets - once he finally got a steady paycheck.

He woke up after a couple of hours and took a long shower, before pulling on his jeans, a shirt and a soft sweater to keep him warm if the night were to get a little chilly. He grabbed his leather jacket and shot a text to Mary Margaret as he left the loft, wishing her good luck on her date later that evening.

Killian was no stranger to spending long nights working. He’d spent half of his last job doing stakeouts, spending countless hours sitting in his parked car, waiting for skips. Night patrols weren’t that much different, if he were to admit it, the only thing that varied was that he was constantly driving the town streets instead of standing still in one place. Other than that, the coffee still tasted like tar, the night was still too silent and the ghosts of his past still decided to show up, reminding him of all the other nights he’d spent wandering around with Emma, either driving around with no purpose or laid over the hood of the car watching the stars.

He was deep in those thoughts, remembering one night at the very beginning, when they were still walking that line between acquaintances that didn’t quite trust each other and friends, where he had shown her the stars and told her everything he remembered from Liam’s stories. She’d listened, mesmerized, asking questions as she kept pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, her green eyes so pure and honest in that moment that he knew then he’d never look into another girl’s eyes in the same way he looked into hers.

From the corner of his eye, a flicker of movement at a second floor window of Regina’s house caught his attention. He cursed his luck, as of all the places in town a burglar could decide to rob, it had to be the mayor’s house on the night he was assigned the patrol? He pulled over as soon as he was able and got out of the car, slowly making his way towards the gap in the hedge, his nightstick ready in his hand. The moment the man made it to the sidewalk, he ambushed him, throwing all his weight into the hit. Caught by surprise, the man fell to the ground and in that moment Killian saw the streetlight illuminating his face. He gasped as he recognized Graham.

“You call this volunteering, mate?” he spat, shoving Graham one more time. His clothes were in an interesting state of disarray and he was carrying his jacket in his hand. He quickly stood up, grunting.

“Plans changed,” he said, not meeting Killian’s eyes. “Regina needed me to-”

“Spare me the details, Humbert. If you needed me to cover your shift for a bloody booty call, you could have just said so.” Killian clenched his jaw. To be honest, he couldn’t care less who Graham - or Regina - slept with. This put a damper on his plans to set him up with Mary Margaret, but other than that, it was none of his god damn business. But he didn’t like being lied to. “Why were you sneaking out the window?” he asked confused.

“She didn’t want Henry to know.”

Now, that he had a problem with.

“She’s lying to her son?” He couldn’t help the next words that came from his mouth. “You’re both lying to my son?”

“Killian, let me explain, I-”

“You know what, Sheriff. I don’t want to hear it tonight. You could have just been honest with me from the beginning about your liaison with her. You offered me this job, you asked me to help you at the station. You knew things between me and the Mayor were tense, there was no need to keep me in the shadows if we were going to be a team at the station.” He tossed him the keys of the patrol car. He had to get out of here. “You can finish the bloody shift for me, mate.”

He turned around and walked away. The Rabbit Hole wasn’t far away and he had all the intention of drowning all his frustrations with more than one healthy dose of rum.

He didn’t make it back to the loft until late that night, and considering that Mary Margaret still wasn’t back, he was glad that at least one of them seemed to be having a pleasant night. He climbed the stairs carefully, the alcohol making his movements slightly clumsy, and he stripped out of his clothes, not bothering with pajama pants as he climbed into the bed only in his boxer briefs, ready to put the night behind him.

/-/

He decided to sleep in late the next day, not really caring if he missed part of his shift - or all of it. He was supposed to have the day off after the night shift and he still intended to benefit from that. Mary Margaret was gone by the time he made his way downstairs, a slight headache a sign of the mild hangover he was sure he’d be nursing for the rest of the day. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned on the coffee machine and opened the fridge to search for something to eat. There were eggs and bacon and Killian’s mouth began to water at the idea of a hearty breakfast. Deciding that the best way to start the day after his dreadful night was to start fresh, he quickly jumped into the shower while the coffee was brewing.

One shower, two cups of coffee and a fantastic plate of scrambled eggs and bacon later, he took the time to tidy up. He cleaned the kitchen, did his laundry and sat down with a book to kill a few hours.

Mary Margaret had texted him that she would be out late in a school meeting and by the time the sun was setting, Killian had had enough of the apartment and headed for Granny’s. The sight that welcomed him as he entered was the one of a slightly inebriated sheriff throwing darts with deadly accuracy. Killian’s frustrations from the night before came crawling back and he clenched his jaw to reign himself in. He refused when Ruby asked if he wanted a drink, choosing to simply leave. A dart thrown in his direction, sticking into the doorframe right by his head was enough to make him stop and face Graham again.

“What in the blazes, Humbert? You could have hit me!”

“I never miss, Jones,” Graham said, downing his drink and walking towards him. “You missed your shift.”

“Sheriff, this is not the time nor the place to have this conversation,” Killian pointed out. “And if you’re so discontented with my performance, you can always fire me,” he said as he walked away.

Graham followed him out to the street. “You’ve been avoiding me because of Regina, haven’t you?”

Killian didn’t want to have this conversation, and it seemed sarcasm and quips were the only way he was going to get out of it. He turned around, turning on his best smug smile, his eyes all but blazing at the other man. “Mate, this is looking quite weird and I was under the impression, after seeing you practically leaving Regina’s bed last night, that you didn't bat for this team. So which one is it? Do you find me that attractive?”

Graham might be slightly intoxicated, but he was no fool. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Killian. We’re partners.”

“We’re barely acquaintances, Graham. You’re my boss. Nothing else,” Killian retorted. “Whatever you do with your personal life is not of my business.”

“Can we talk about this?”

“Why?” He really couldn’t understand why Graham wanted to discuss this with him.

“Because I have no one else to talk but you, Jones. No one.” There was such despair in Graham’s voice that it almost made Killian cave. But he wasn’t here to get involved in people’s personal lives. He had enough with Henry’s insistence they all came from a fairytale world. He’d already let Mary Margaret get deep under his skin in a way that none ever since Emma had - although in a completely different and non-romantic way. He didn’t have time to help the Sheriff sort out his love life. Especially when said love life involved the adoptive mother of his son.

“Mate, go talk to Archie about your bad judgement,” he said, exasperated.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Graham insisted, leaning against the wall brick of the alley, his eyes lost. “You don’t know what it’s like with her-”

Bloody hell. “Probably not, but bad relationships are just that, Graham. Bad,” Killian offered, running a hand through his hair and leaning in next to Graham, wishing he had his old flask with him.

“I know you and Regina have issues and I should have told you about us before you took the job.” Graham said, and Killian nodded at that.

“Why the secrecy? We’re adults and I’m hardly some naive maiden. I have my own track record of poor choices and shady liaisons. It’s not like I was going to be horrified by it. You’re screwing the mayor, big deal.”

“I just - I don’t know, I guess I didn’t want to admit there’s nothing there,” Graham said. “That I feel nothing. And if I say something to you...”

“Then you would have to admit it to yourself,” Killian sighed, clasping his hand on Graham’s shoulder. “It’s too late for that now.”

Graham was startled, his eyes lost in the horizon for a brief minute before he shook his head.

“Are you alright?” Killian asked worried.

“I don’t know, mate. I don’t know,” Graham sighed. “I-I better go.”

“Do you- do you want me to go with you?” Killian asked, fearing that Graham wouldn’t make it back home in one piece.

“No, I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow at the station, Jones.”

“See you tomorrow, Humbert.”

/-/

Killian retired early for the night after his strange meeting with Graham, falling into a somewhat peaceful slumber for most of the night. He was down the next morning in time to see the bouquet of flowers sitting by the counter.

“Mary Margaret?” he called and turned to see her coming into the living room with a stack of folders. “I take it that things went well with David two nights ago?”

Mary Margaret’s face turned into a sad expression and Killian wanted kick himself. “I - David remembered. He decided to go back to his wife and give his marriage another chance,” she said in a soft voice.

“Love,” Killian started to take a step towards her but she cut him off, moving to the side and speaking quickly, keeping herself entertained with the folders and the flowers.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” she repeated almost to herself.

Something still didn’t sit well with Killian. “Then who sent you the flowers?”

Her face turned crimson, her eyes avoiding his as she put the flowers in a vase. “Uh… Dr. Whale.”

“Why would Dr. Whale-” Killian started before he put two and two together just in time for Mary Margaret to give him a pointed look. “No. Really?”

“It’s a disaster,” she sighed.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that,” Killian said. Granted, he wouldn’t have pegged Mary Margaret for the type to pick up a guy for rebound, but it seemed to be working in her benefit. “It seems things are going well and you’re getting over David.”

“First of all, there’s nothing to get over and second of all, it’s just a one night stand,” she defended herself.

“There are flowers involved, Mary Margaret. That is not a one night stand.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have called him.” Mary Margaret sighed.

“You called him?” Killian asked shockingly.

“Well, okay – I’m still learning. I never had one before.” She was pacing around the apartment, avoiding his gaze. “I felt guilty.”

Killian chuckled and stopped her pacing, bringing her to his side in a friendly hug. “Lass, no. Rule number one of a one night stand: you never call. Actually, you don’t even stay for breakfast. You leave in the middle of the night.” He gave her a side smile. “Without ever mentioning it again…”

She smiled at him. “Wow. You have a little of experience with that, don't you?” There was something in her tone that made Killian slightly uncomfortable, but in a good way.

“Why do I feel I’m being judged by me mum?” he cocked an eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes, extricating herself from his arms.

“Maybe because I’m supposed to be your mother,” she said matter-of-factly.

Gods, he hadn’t thought of that. And here he was, discussing one night stands with the woman.

He ran his hand through his hair. “If this curse proves to be true, we’re going to need so much therapy.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I don’t think even Archie could repair that kind of damage.”

“Are you going to be okay??” he asked concerned. He hated the idea of Mary Margaret being sad over this.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’ll get there.”

“Maybe you should give the doctor a chance?” Killian suggested. “He sent you flowers, after all.”

“I don’t think he wants a relationship,” Mary Margaret said, as she grabbed her things and readied herself for school.

Killian’s thoughts went back to the idea that had been on his mind for a few days and he decided he might as well put it out there. “What about Graham? Have you ever thought that you and him... Perhaps? You’d make a good match.”

The stare that Mary Margaret gave him was a clear answer. “I’m not that naive not to know he’s sleeping with the mayor, Killian.”

“True, but it seems that things might not be going well. I’m just saying-”

“Hey, how about we talk about your love life for a change?” she interrupted him.

“I don’t have a love life. Nor do I intend to,” Killian said. “One nights work pretty well for me. I know the basics.” He cringed at the harsh tone of his words but Mary Margaret didn’t seemed the least bit fazed.

“I know you’re still hurting, Killian. And there’s that wall you’ve built,” she gave him a soft smile.

“There’s nothing wrong with being cautious, love,” he said feebly, his jaw clenching. He knew she was right, he had a wall. He’d built it and fortified it around his heart for years.

“Oh, true. True. But, Killian, that wall of yours? It may keep out pain but it also keeps out love.”

That’s what she got wrong. That wall wasn’t keeping out love, it was keeping it in.

/-/

It had been an odd day for Killian. He wasn’t sure if it had been triggered by the conversation he’d had with Mary Margaret early that morning, or the fact that Graham had seemed so out of sorts the night before. But when the clock struck noon and Graham still hadn’t arrived - or called, he started to get restless.

He’d left a few messages on Graham’s voicemail, but there had been no call back. Hell, he’d even tried calling Regina, but the Mayor told him that he wasn’t paid to meddle with the sheriff’s life - or hers - and that he should leave the issue alone.

You may think you’re doing nothing, but you’re putting thoughts in his head. Thoughts that are not in his best interest. You are leading him on a path to self-destruction. Stay away. Killian wasn’t quite sure what Regina was referring to, as the only thing he’d done was tell Graham that his life choices were his own, but apparently Regina was eager to pin him as guilty for anything - or anyone - going wrong in this town.

He was still fuming from his conversation with her when Mary Margaret showed up at the station, her face showing signs of distress.

“Is everything alright?” Killian asked, “Did something happen to Henry?”

“No, no,” Mary Margaret said but she seemed hesitant for a moment. “Graham came to see me. He was - he wasn’t himself. Kept asking me about how long we’ve known each other and then he started rambling about past lives.”

“Past lives?”

“Yeh, he seemed very interested to know if I thought we’d met in a different life.” Mary Margaret paced back and forth, rubbing her hands together in a clear sign of distress. “I didn’t realize he was burning with fever, not until after-”

“After what?” Killian’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

“I told him about Henry and the book. I’m sorry Killian, I didn’t know,” she said, her voice full of remorse.

He was by her side in an instant, placing a comforting hand over her arm. “It’s okay Mary Margaret, I don’t think Graham would hurt Henry.”

“We have to find him.” Mary Margaret pleaded.

“Aye, we’ll do that,” he promised.

It wasn’t hard to track Graham, considering Killian had a very good idea of where he might have gone. If he was delirious and thought he was remembering past lives - or if he believed in the curse - then Henry would be the first person he’d go see.

And just as they suspected, they saw Graham coming out of the Mayor’s house just as Killian pulled his car into the street, and he and Mary Margaret got out.

“Hey, mate,” Killian started slowly, trying to come up with his best soothing voice. “I heard you’re having a rough day.”

“Says who?” Graham asked, clenching his jaw. Killian noticed the slight disarray of his clothes and the way his eyes were not completely focused.

“Graham,” Mary Margaret started, taking a step towards him. “I told Killian. I’m worried about you: you were burning up, we need to get you home, have some rest.”

“I’m fine, Mary Margaret,” Graham spat and Killian moved closer to her instinctively. He knew rationally that Graham wasn’t the type to hurt a lady, but Graham didn’t seem to be in his right mind at the moment, so he didn’t want to take any chances.

“You’re not fine,” he said firmly. “You just went to see a ten year old who believes fairytales are real for help.”

“He’s the only one making any sense,” Graham said, looking around him frantically.

Mary Margaret started to move towards the sheriff and Killian held her arm, not really wanting for her to get so close. She turned around and gave him a look that was half understanding his concern and half ‘I’ll do what I please’ stubbornness. Killian let go of her and she simply walked towards him.

“You’re usually not like this, Graham,” she said softly, her eyes searching his face, trying to understand. “What’s really troubling you?” her voice was soft, as if she were soothing a frightened and wounded animal.

“It’s my heart, Mary Margaret. I need to find it,” he said feebly.

Killian almost took a step back, worried about Graham and the fact that he wasn’t making any bloody sense, but Mary Margaret didn’t even flinch. It seemed she was more used to hearing fables than Killian. She tilted her head, as if she were examining the man’s words and taking them seriously.

“Okay,” she said in a tone Killian was pretty sure she used to placate her students. “And how are you going to find it?”

“I just need to follow the wolf.”

“Wolf?” Killian said in disbelief and Graham startled. Mary Margaret snapped her eyes at him and Killian felt the silent scolding she was bestowing upon him. Clearly his tone had set back the work she’d been doing in calming Graham and reaching to the bottom of the issue. She turned around, her hand reaching to touch Graham’s face and making him look at her.

“Which wolf?” she asked, her tone the complete opposite of Killian’s prior and he took note of how well Mary Margaret was handling this as opposed to him. She seemed to reach to Graham in a way he wasn’t able at the moment.

“From my dreams. It’s going to help me find my heart. I need my heart,” Graham said in a desperate tone.

“Do you really think you have no heart?” she asked, her eyes boring into his, her hand still on his cheek.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” he whispered, closing his eyes, a tear running down his cheek. “It’s the only thing that explains why I don’t feel anything.”

“Graham, look at me,” Mary Margaret asked and Graham opened his eyes. Her hand moved slowly from his cheek and down his chest. She placed her palm flat over the left side of his chest, underneath his jacket and vest, pressing where his heart was. Graham looked mesmerized, not able to tear his eyes from her face. “You have a heart, Graham. I can feel it beating. It’s real.”

Graham shook his head but Mary Margaret didn’t let go, taking his hand and placing is over hers. “See? You can feel it too,” she said with a soft smile.

“It’s the curse, Mary Margaret,” he said in a strained voice, pushing her hand aside. “None of it is real.”

“Graham,” Killian said, taking a page of Mary Margaret’s book and speaking softly, soothingly. “You can’t really think that none of this is real. That we’re cursed-”

Whatever words he was planning to say were cut off by Mary Margaret’s gasp. She was looking at something behind Graham and she seemed in shock. Killian follower her stare and he had to refrain the colorful curse that came to his lips the moment he spotted a bloody wolf with two colored eyes looking at them. He’d only been able to catch a glimpse of it the night he arrived into town and he’d crashed the sign, but he’d bet all his money - and his existence - that this was the same wolf he’d spotted that night.

What in the blazes was happening in this town?

The wolf stood there for a moment, its eyes moving from Graham to Killian to Mary Margaret.

“Be careful,” Mary Margaret said, her tone showing a slight hint of panic. Graham turned to look at her, giving her a soft smile, the first normal expression that Killian had seen in him that day.

“He’s my friend. He won’t hurt us,” he promised. At that moment, the wolf ran away and Graham took after it. “But I have to follow it.”

Mary Margaret exchanged a brief look with Killian, both of them sharing the same thought. They couldn’t leave Graham alone. He quickly nodded before they followed Graham down the street.

/-/

Of course the bloody beast would lead them to a graveyard. What better place to look for a missing heart than a graveyard?

The wolf seemed to have vanished, and if it weren’t for the three different people that had spotted it, Killian would have pegged it as a figment of his imagination by that point. But - and even if Graham might have been delusional - Mary Margaret had seen it too and she was currently between him and Graham, walking among the graves, looking for it.

What was becoming a fruitless search led them to the top of the hill, where an intricately carved mausoleum sat, noticeably better cared for than those around it.

“Perhaps we should head back,” Killian said, but Graham was looking at the crypt and he’d gone paler than before.

“Graham? What is it?” Mary Margaret asked.

“It’s my heart. It’s in there,” he announced as he took out his flashlight and made his way to the entrance.

“Mate, wait!” Killian called, pulling his flashlight and handed it over to Mary Margaret as he went after Graham.

“Stop! Graham, stop!” he called as he reached the man and pulled him gently out of the entrance. “You can’t desecrate a grave like this.”

“My heart is in there, Killian. I have to look in there,” Graham pleaded.

Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew that even if he were able to pull Graham away from here - resorting to physical force if needed - the man would come back at the first chance he’d got, and Killian and Mary Margaret wouldn’t be there to help defuse any situation that this might trigger.

“Okay, but let me try,” Killian said, trying to open the door and finding it stuck. “Stand back,” he called as he gained momentum and then threw all of his weight into it, the door giving way under the force of his shoulder.

/-/

The crypt looked exactly as creepy as you’d imagine someplace would be if it were hiding human hearts. Killian stepped in, followed by Graham and Mary Margaret. Graham started to search frantically, going through each one of the shelves and shaking one of the urns.

“It’s got to be in here, somewhere,” he started to pull at the urns and even the shelves, trying to loosen some of the boards. “Maybe there’s a hidden door. A lever. Something.”

Killian exchanged a quick look with Mary Margaret before he slowly approached Graham. “Graham, mate,” he started cautiously, not wanting to startle the already fragile state of mind of the sheriff. “There’s nothing here.”

“There has to be,” Graham said stubbornly, his eyes scanning the crypt, his voice shaky with fear. “If there isn’t, then-”

“It’s okay,” Mary Margaret said, her hands reaching for his arms and squeezing softly until she was able to calm him and have him focused on her. “It’s going to be okay. I promise,” she said with a soft smile and Graham tilted his head, nodding slowly.

The piercing sound of Regina’s voice tore the fragile calm they’d just achieved. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Killian pulled Graham and Mary Margaret out of the crypt as his eyes focused on Regina. “Regina? What are you doing here?” he asked confused, trying to make sense of the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Bringing flowers to my father’s grave like I do every Wednesday,” she spat at them and Killian felt the blood in his body running cold at the implication of her words. He didn’t have much time to react to the news before Regina had moved her attention to Mary Margaret.

“Miss Blanchard, I see that you’ve moved from giving damaging books to children, to disturbing the peaceful rest of the death.”

“Don’t blame her,” Graham said, standing in front of Regina, leaving Mary Margaret protected behind him. “It’s my fault. I wanted to look in there.”

“Why? What were you looking for?”

“Nothing, it was nothing,” Graham whispered defeatedly, his head hanging low, his shoulders slumped.

“You don’t look well, dear. Let’s take you home,” Regina announced in a soft tone that had more than just a hint of patronizing in it. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the exit, but Graham broke free, taking a few steps back and reaching Mary Margaret’s side.

“Regina, I… I don’t want to go home. Not with you.”

Regina gasped in surprise, her eyebrow raising for a moment. Her eyes transformed into a murderous glare the moment they set on Mary Margaret. “Oh. But you’ll go with her.”

“This is between you two, Madam Mayor,” Killian said, his arm closing protectively around Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “Leave her out of it.”

“He’s right,” Graham said, turning to face her one more time. “This is between us and things have to change.”

“I wonder why that is all of the sudden,” Regina’s eyes were still trained on Mary Margaret with such venom that Killian felt the need to simply pull her friend out of this situation and leave the other two to figure it out, but a quick glance from Mary Margaret told him she wasn’t willing to leave Graham like this.

“It has nothing to do with her,” Graham insisted. “You know, I’ve realized that I don’t feel anything, Regina. And I know now it’s not me – it’s you.”

Killian could see Regina’s physical reaction to the punch Graham had thrown her with his words. She curled into herself for a moment before she bit back.

“What was it, Miss Blanchard? You couldn’t steal David Nolan from his wife so you decide to take Graham from me instead?”

“Regina, I’m not leaving you for her. I’m leaving you for me,” Graham insisted, his eyes looking for Killian and Mary Margaret for support. Regina’s eyes throw murderous looks at them.

“I don’t know what I ever did to you, Mr. Jones, to deserve this. To have you and your friend keep coming after everything I hold dear. My son, Graham-”

“Killian has nothing to do with this, Regina!” the other man shouted, running his hand through his hair. “This is about us, about me!”

“None of this happened until he got here,” Regina’s voice was so full of hatred that Killian took a step in front of Mary Margaret, shielding her from the words and the looks.

“Regina,” he said softly, not wanting to antagonize the woman any further. “Henry came to find me. Graham is now making his own choices. This has nothing to do with me - or Mary Margaret. Perhaps,” he sighed, “perhaps it’s time for you to ask yourself why this is happening, instead of trying to find people to blame.”

She was in front of him in an instant, the force of her slap enough to make his head turn to the side. He wasn’t shocked by it. But it was better for her to redirect all her hate and frustration on him and leave Mary Margaret out of it.

“Regina!” Graham shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. He gave her one look before he tilted his head and motioned Killian and Mary Margaret to follow him as he left.

Regina called for him several times, but Graham never looked back.

/-/

It had been silent journey back to the station. Mary Margaret wanted to go with them, but Killian was determined that she stay back at the loft. She had been involved enough in this ordeal and as much as Killian wanted her and Graham to become a thing - eventually -now was not the time. So he dropped her off and then he and Graham made their way to the station.

The other man was calmer now, it seemed the fever and whatever had possessed him for the last few hours was gone.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I kind of lost my mind.” They were sitting by the deputy desks. Killian had pulled his old flask out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket and served them both a healthy dose of rum into a couple of mugs.

“Don’t fret. You were tired and feverish. And heartbroken,” Killian dismissed the other man’s apology. He knew a thing or two about broken hearts and bad relationships, and Graham’s delusional ramblings were nothing compared to some of the things he’d done back in the day. He wasn’t proud of any of it, but what was done was done and he couldn't turn back time.

“I don’t know why I let myself get caught up with her in the first place.” Graham sighed and took another sip of his mug.

“Because it was easy. And safe,” Killian shrugged as he played with his own mug. “Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you feel sucks.”

“You seem to know a lot about these things, Jones.” Graham gave him an inquisitive look and Killian fidgeted under his stare. “Was it Henry's mother? Did you and her-”

Killian didn’t let him finish the sentence. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone thinking that, even if they never knew Emma. “Gods, no.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It was pretty much everyone after her. But Emma, mate, she was everything.” He trailed off, his mind going back to the moments he’d shared with Emma.

“Killian why are we stopping here? You know the last housekeeping shift was two hours ago, there is no way we can sneak in.” She pouted and pointed to one of the rooms of the motel where he’d parked the Bug.

“We aren't sneaking in, not tonight.” He pulled the key out of his leather jacket pocket. “I - I got us a room,” he stammered, averting his eyes to avoid hers, his cheeks blushing.

“We can't afford this, Hook” she sighed, her tone soft and calm as she reached for his hand reassuringly. “The backseat of the Bug is more than fine… especially now that we sleep a lot closer than before.” Her hand moved down to his knee, her voice low and slightly seductive.

He knew he was blushing but he looked at her anyway. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, her curved smile changing into a “O” form. “Oh, Killian is that why you’ve been holding out on me? Because you think the Bug-”

He cut her off with a stutter. “You noticed?”

She rolled her eyes. “I might not have done it, but I’m not stupid, Killian. I know how things are supposed to go in these situations and clearly you have been holding back. Why? Is it me?” There was a hint of self-deprecation in her tone and Killian wanted to punch himself for making her hesitate like this.

“No, Emma.” He reached out to kiss her, pouring everything he felt for her in that kiss. He rested his forehead against hers. “I just- you deserve better, so much better than me and the life I lead. The life I can give you. I just wanted to give you more, for one night at least. I wanted to give you a nice bed, soft sheets-”

“Stop it.” She reached for his hand and pulled it to her heart. “You’ve given me so much and you don't even know it.” She took the key from him with her free hand. “One night, huh?”

“For once, I want to fall asleep with you in my arms in a bed and pretend this is our life.” His eyes bored into hers. “Nothing has to happen, that isn't why I-”

She cut him off with a searing kiss that left him dizzy. “But what if I want something to happen?”

He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten to have Emma Swan in his life. His lips curved into a smirk. “Well, I suppose we could.”

“Let's go inside, Killian.”

“You really loved her, didn't you?” Graham’s words shook him out of his thoughts and Killian realized he’d been staring at nothing, his eyes lost, the hint of a smile on his face. He nodded.

I love her still.

“Aye. We had nothing, and yet she made everything better. Every hardship, every bad turn life threw at us, none of it mattered when I got to hold her in my arms each night.” He drained his mug, needing the rum to keep his emotions at bay. “After she left, it was hard to make room for anyone else. No one could make me feel like that. I don't know much about love, but I know that if you’re not willing to give it all for the other person, then maybe it’s best not to give them false hope.”

Killian turned to look at Graham, but the other man’s eyes were lost ahead of him, as if he were someplace else. Killian feared that he’d been pulled into his delusions again.

“Graham, are you okay?”

His eyes were glassy when he looked at Killian, a tear running down his face. “I remember.”

“Remember? Remember what?”

But before he was able to say another word, Graham’s face contorted in pain and he put his hand on his chest and grunted.

“Graham!” Killian yelled as he watched the other man collapse on the floor. “Mate!” He shook him by the shoulders, but Graham didn’t respond. Desperate, Killian reached to feel his pulse. There wasn’t any. Killian massaged Graham’s chest as he started CPR. “Come on, Humbert!” he screamed, but it was pointless.

His heart was still and he had no pulse. Graham was gone.

#cs ff #lenfaz fics #time upon once #captain swan #canon divergence

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