For years I've written about a single pairing, so when my passion for them left and it resurfaced with this pairing, I was a bit nervous. I'm not new to writing, but I'm obviously new to writing Captain Swan stories. Because of that and this world being so fresh to me, I'm not feeling nearly as comfortable. So this is me dipping my feet in the water. And hopefully I've done these two a little bit of justice and you'll enjoy it.
Wailing. It's all she can hear from her perch looking down over the dark jungle. The sniffling and tears and aching of lost little boys. She wonders how long it will take before one of those is Henry. Surely, it's only a matter of time before Pan poisons her son's positivity and devotion; replacing them with the abandonment she's come to understand her entire life. When deserted, it doesn't take much ammunition for that despair to shift into hatred.
She knows. It's what she's felt towards her parents all of these years, after all.
Wailing. Before she realizes what's happening, it's all she can hear coming from her own parted lips. Salty tears free fall down her cheeks, sobs rock her entire body, and her arms wrap around her stomach as Emma tries to hold herself together. Thoughts of losing her son a second time crash through her mind like an avalanche of torment. And although she hates feeling like this, absolutely hates allowing her fears to win, she lets them. If only for the minute.
Then she hears footsteps. By deduction she knows exactly who they belong to because Mary Margaret's –mom's- footsteps are delicate, her fathers are sturdy and sure, and Regina's (whose she's sadly come to familiarize) are always heavy with resentment. That leaves the last person she wants to face when her emotions are this far on the surface and her control is replaced with vulnerability.
He says nothing as the crunching dirt abruptly stops, unmistakably less than five feet behind her. She locks her eyes tight and takes a deep breath, refusing to allow another tear to escape the confines of her lids. And when the silence stretches long after she's regained some semblance of emotional stability, she mutters, "What? No gunpowder to rub in my wounds?"
"Would you believe I'm fresh out of gunpowder tonight?" he responds. There's the familiar arrogance in his voice that makes her cringe, but it's hard to ignore that it's significantly toned down this evening.
"How about some pointless optimism?" she retorts, slashing her head back and forth through the damp night air. "Nobody else seems to have a problem shoving that down my throat."
"I'll leave that for your parents. Optimism isn't exactly my style. And sadly for you, my appealing wit retired along with them and the bi-polar queen for the night."
At the mention of her dysfunctional family, she twists around to level him with a glare. "Then what are you doing here, Hook?"
His shoulders roll through the motion of a shrug, the metal in his hand floating through the air, as he answers, "I couldn't sleep either. So now I've found myself observing."
She scoffs and turns back around. Sometimes she wonders why she throws herself into situations with him. It's not like she gains anything besides high blood pressure from it anyway. "I'm not a caged animal for you to gawk at."
"But you are interesting," he offers, almost to himself before silence settles between them.
She's not sure how to take his comment, but frankly she's no longer interested in the conversation. She's exhausted, she's mentally drained, and she just wanted a minute to collect her thoughts (or release them all over the front of her face). Now he's ruined that, along with everything else he touches.
"You know, for someone who doesn't believe themself to be the savior you sure do place a lot of responsibility on yourself to save people."
The statement catches her off guard and once again she finds herself stretching around in full defense mode. Funny how she always finds a way to it when they're interacting. (She refuses to believe it's because he knows which buttons to push.) Then she declares, "He's my son. I'm supposed to save him."
He found her the first time; she was going to find him this time. She had to. It was just a matter of finding him before Pan demolished any bond she'd recently repaired.
"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that," he insists, throwing his hand and metal contraption into the air in mock surrender.
"Then what are you saying?" she scolds. "Because right now, it feels like you're saying nothing at all." The words taste like venom as they roll over her tongue, but she just can't help it. It's the reaction he gets from her. Every. Damn. Time.
He chuckles at her outburst, somehow finding it humorous, which only irritates her more. "I'm saying you need to relax. You're wound tighter than a Biddle Barb. Surely your health is suffering."
"I have no idea what that is," she scoffs.
His head tips to the right a few inches and his eyes hold a mischievous little twinkle in them, almost as if he's enjoying what he's about to say. "A few more days traipsing through the dark jungle and you will. Don't worry, I'll save you."
She rolls her eyes, deciding to shut him out once again as she shifts her attention back to the obstacle that awaits them many feet below. It'll take all of her strength tomorrow and there was no use wasting any on him.
From above the forest is visually deceiving. So peaceful, but she knows better. They'd gotten lucky today but it was only a matter of time before it took one or all of their lives in their search. It's only one of the many threats standing between her and Henry and right now, its sage and jade greens glare up at her in all of their impending glory.
As plans and terrors work their way through her head, she can hear his breathing behind her, steady and sure. Inhale. Exhale. She wishes hers compared, that hers didn't feel so shallow and feeble as the oxygen rushes in and out of her lungs. It's quicker each second she focuses on that damn forest. And more than she desires Hooks exit so she can resume the embarrassing act he'd caught her in (and thankfully hasn't mentioned once),she wishes for that strength he continues to possess. Surely she's going to need it for what lies ahead.
When it becomes clear he's going nowhere, she admits, "I let him down." It escapes along with a sigh, somewhat startling her. It's one thing to admit defeat to herself, but to the man who steps and settles himself beside her on the cliff; well, that's another thing entirely. "And it's only a matter of time before he realizes that."
After another long moment of calculated silence, he replies, "You can't change the past." He catches her focus before she shifts her hazel eyes onto the cobalt hue of his. "Trust me. I know." There's an unmistakable edge to his voice before he clears his throat and adds, "Just focus on the future, your plan, and stop putting so much pressure on yourself."
"That might be the most genuine thing you've said to me to date."
"Well, like I've said, Emma, I quite fancy you when you're not yelling at me, which doesn't happen often." Despite herself and the dangerous predicaments they've continued to find themselves in, she laughs. It's quick and refreshing before she catches herself and straightens her lips into a thin line.
His eyes narrow as he watches her (or maybe he's studying her) before his lips curl and his expression relaxes. "I'll help you find your son. You can count on that."
It's the first declaration from someone on this island that she believes and the sentiment stings the back of her eyes. If anyone can help her on this godforsaken island, it's him. And for once, she's thankful to have him on her side. "Careful, that's starting to sound like optimism."
"No," he insists, shaking his head through the air. "I'm just beginning to understand that when you set your mind to something, there's really little that can stand in your way."
It's a compliment, a strong one at that, and her cheeks flush in response. Something warm courses through her chest, but she shifts her body, pulling it back from the miniscule amount of space that suddenly separates them. Because Graham's bootlace is still wrapped around her left wrist and Neal's memories are still fresh in her mind. There's simply no room for someone else. Especially not him. Even when he's being charming and helpful and devoted to her cause.
So her defenses return. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know you deflect when you get uncomfortable," he counters, amusement alight behind his irises.
"That proves nothing," she sneers.
"I know what it feels like to overcome obstacles, to seek revenge, which I must point out, is dangerously close to any adventure you and your entourage have ever set out on…" He stops mid-sentence, peeling his eyes from hers as a shadow falls over his features. "And I know what it's like to feel abandoned."
His truth vanquishes the air in her lungs, forcing her to take a deep breath. She's never once asked about his past, at least his childhood and regrettably, she feels guilty. Despite their history.
That guilt only increases when he softly insists, "So no matter what you insist, you are I more similar than you think. You simply need to look past your judgment."
She thinks he can't possibly be right. She's not a villain. He is. In the world she lives in - the one that's hurtled her through doors of the magical and downright unbelievable - that's what he is. Has been since she was a child and that very world was reserved for books and movies. It's engrained in her now.
But there's something about the set of his devious smirk that's not as devious as he once established it to be. Actually, there's something quite sad in it that she now recognizes as camouflage or armor. She just hasn't figured that part out yet (part of her is terrified over how much she wants to).
And it's that sadness of his world breaking through the cockiness that traces the contours of her heart, edging the hatred she once held for him so ardently with compassion. Because it's something they (a supposed savior and a villain) share deep down inside, desperately locked away from everyone else whose lives are based around destinies and true love and happily ever afters. A knowledge they've gained from their pasts and presents...
The heartbreaking truth that blind faith is possibly all a lie.
To everyone else, it's easier to keep faith when you're working towards a happy ending, after all.
But some people don't have the privilege of receiving happy endings, even after all of the adversities and stolen lives and ripped hearts. Especially villains.
She's coming to discover that it's tragic. Partially because although she's been aligned with a certain side since the start of this crazy journey, the one whose futures blaze with potential, she's beginning to feel something shift. Just slightly enough to make an impact - to blur the pre-established lines. It's towards something darker, but it feels like the exact opposite. Maybe even the very thing that will help her save Henry, whom she can't bring herself to believe will survive because of the side she originally placed herself on. Not like her parents do.
So what she does next surprises even her. Her lips lift into a small, understanding smile. It doesn't quite abolish their past, but it assures him that they share an understanding. It pushes through her guards and feels almost foreign on her lips. She hasn't smiled much since Pan and magic ripped Henry right from her grasp. The fact that he's the one at the receiving end of it is downright baffling.
Then she says, "You know, for someone who tries so hard to come across as a villain, you can be really bad at it."
His smirk transitions into somewhat of a genuine smile, extending towards the crinkles of his eyes. "I guess I'll have to try harder than."
"I guess you will."
She lifts herself, careful not to touch his shoulder as she steadies her feet on the soft earth. He mimics her actions and replies, "Or maybe you and I could continue to have these moments and we could leave this island as something more than enemies."
He's directly in front of her and she can feel he's right. In every figment of her body. But she's not about to give him the victory that easily, especially when she's nowhere near close enough to being ready. Plus, he needs to earn it.
So she offers him back that devilish smirk of his and declines, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," before she begins to turn away.
But his arm extends, stretching his fingers over the expanse of her skin as she's twisted back to face him. His lips drift right below her ear but not quickly enough to miss the twinkle in his eyes. Then he whispers, "We're in Neverland now, love; anything is possible."
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