Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away...
The command centre was busy as always, tinny voices reporting in over headsets, soldiers and officers striding through the narrow spaces, a scene of organised chaos.
As organised as the Rebellion ever got, anyway.
Emma did her best to ignore the noise around her as she leaned over the back of Leroy's chair, eyes on the display in front of him. There had to be a way to reroute that convoy to avoid the new Imperial patrols along the Corellian Trade Spine. The Alliance needed those supplies.
She took a moment while Leroy called up the next report to stand up straight and stretch a little, her skin tingling with goosebumps. Even with two layers of cold-weather thermal gear, it was cold.
She glanced around the room, over towards the door, and stopped short. It had just opened again to admit someone, and when Emma saw who it was, she had to bite back a curse.
Dark hair, swaggering stride at complete odds with the Rebel soldiers around him, jacket and half-open shirt in apparent disdain for the cold, and far more handsome features than he had any right to. Killian Jones, also known around the fringe as Hook. Smuggler captain, hotshot pilot, all-around scoundrel.
He strode past a display, eyes scanning the room, and managed to turn around just in time to catch her looking at him.
Even that set her teeth on edge. She had never met a man who could raise her hackles just by walking into a room.
It didn't help that every time he walked into a room, she managed to pick exactly that moment to look over at the door.
She gave him an arch look, raised her chin a little, and turned back to the display.
It didn't work. The background noise that had been almost soothing before now distracted her, because Hook's voice was cutting through it, and because she couldn't help wondering what he was even doing here. The man was impossible to ignore. Emma knew; she had tried. She still did. She'd never been one to be intimidated by impossible.
"Jones." That was Regina Mills' voice, a familiar mix of matter-of-fact and impatient; somehow, she always managed to give the impression of being interrupted in the middle of something important. Emma chanced another look. Hook had his back to her now, facing Regina, so he wouldn't be able to catch her this time.
"The planet appears to be as barren and lifeless as ever, General," Hook said, his voice all business. Emma had to fight to keep from making a face. Maybe this was why he'd come to report in person, to have the opportunity to make it as verbose and flowery as possible. The man loved his words.
Or maybe he just loved the sound of his voice saying them.
"The sensors are in place," Hook went on. "If any unannounced visitors do decide to drop by, you'll know about it."
Emma frowned. Why the hell was he here? That was hardly the kind of report he needed to give in person, and he hated giving reports at the best of times. In fact, from what she could see of him, he looked nervous.
Killian Jones, nervous. Now there was a new concept.
Regina just nodded. "Has Commander Lucas reported in yet?"
"No, he's investigating a meteorite that impacted near his assigned route."
Emma braced herself inwardly, but Regina barely reacted to the change in plans. Maybe she'd finally resigned herself to the fact that when Hook and Neal were involved, there was always a change in plans.
"All the meteor activity will make it a lot harder to spot approaching ships," was all the general said.
It came out, then, in a rush that told Emma exactly why Hook had come in person, and why he hadn't stopped for an argument with her on the way. "General, I need to leave. I can't stay any longer."
It took Emma a second to realise that he didn't mean the command centre. He meant the Rebellion.
He was leaving her.
It was like being punched in the gut, an icy shock that settled in Emma's stomach, colder that Hoth. She'd always known that he'd leave sooner or later. She hadn't realised until right now that she'd been hoping he wouldn't.
Regina's eyes seem to flicker over Hook's shoulder to Emma for a split second, but her expression shows only a mild disappointment. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Aye, well, there's still a price on my head. If I don't pay off the Crocodile, I'm not much longer for the world of the living," Hook said, and Emma marvelled distantly at how he could make dying sound like poetry.
"It can't be easy to live with a death mark like that." Regina actually sounded sympathetic, and there was a smile on her face now as she held out her hand to him. "You're a good fighter, Jones. I hate to lose you."
Hook shook her hand with his good one, and nodded. "Thank you, General."
He turned sharply, almost aggressively, a touch of almost military discipline in the movement hinting at a past that Emma still knew hardly anything about. It was too late to pretend that she hadn't noticed him, but since she was well within earshot, there was no way he'd have bought it anyway.
Besides, this was not something she needed to deny. He knew how she felt about this.
Which was probably why there was an extra dose of defiance and arrogance lifting his chin as he strode over to her. "Well, Swan, I guess this is it."
And just like that, the coldness in her gut flared into white-hot anger. He had a talent for making her angry at the best of times, just by being so insufferably smug and unreasonably confrontational and sarcastic, but this was worse.
Three years. Three years, countless battles, too many moments that had her thinking that maybe she could count on him… and this was how it ended?
This is it.
But if he didn't care, then damn it, neither would she.
She lifted her chin, anger making her movements sharp and her eyes cold. He was not getting a thing from her. Neal would be upset to see him go, and he'd readily admit it, but Emma would not. She was ice.
"Guess so," was all she said, gratified that her voice came out just as controlled and icy as she'd meant it to. Since meeting Hook, she'd found a dozen new uses for her diplomatic training; this was definitely one of them.
It didn't seem to be the reaction he'd been hoping for, and Emma could see it on his face. She could match his fire, but he couldn't do ice the way she could. He tried; she could see him wrestle to regain his balance, but she'd just scored a hit.
Even when he smirked, it wasn't the arrogant, untouchable expression that never failed to raise her hackles. It was a poor attempt at best, the kind of defiance that only confirmed that he was covering up a hit. "Do try to contain yourself," he all but snarled. "Goodbye, Princess."
He stormed out of the command centre, and if the door hadn't been automatic, Emma thought that he would have slammed it.
She hesitated for an instant. But she had hit a nerve, it had been written all over his face. Much as he pretended not to, he did care – what she thought, how she felt, maybe a little of both. He wasn't walking away without second thoughts.
Which meant that she might be able to persuade him not to walk away at all.
And if she couldn't, she could at least vent some of this anger at him rather than snapping at Neal or one of the droids later.
She squeezed past Leroy's chair and hurried out the door.
"Hook, wait!"
He was still within sight, striding down the corridor, and he came to an immediate stop when she called his name. "Yes, your Highnessness?"
She hated it when he did that, but this time she brushed past it, not about to let him sidetrack her into another stupid argument about her name (to be followed by a snide or suggestive comment, no doubt; she'd been down that hyperspace lane before). She stopped directly in front of him, facing him across the corridor. "I thought you had decided to stay, to be a part of something."
Evidently that wasn't quite what he was hoping for either, because he turned to go. "That I did, but the encounter with Mendel changed my mind."
The memory of that particular incident was still fresh in Emma's mind, too, a simple supply run turned sour when two of Rumplestiltskin's minions tracked Hook down. She'd yelled at him for that; for jeopardising the mission, for putting her in danger, for dragging her into his stupid vendetta.
She'd regretted it almost immediately when she'd seen the look on his face. She'd apologised, too, and she'd thought that they were past it. Yes, there was a price on his head, but it wasn't like that was rare around here. They were all wanted for treason, especially Emma herself. Hook had lived with it for years now. This was not just about that.
She gave chase, ducking past a soldier carrying a crate. "Hook, we need you!"
"We need?" He drew up short, spinning to face her again. "And what do you need?"
She caught the change in pronoun, unclear as it was, and a little jolt in her stomach reminded her that this man had a tendency to flip the subject and trap her in innuendo if she wasn't careful. Granted, this didn't seem like the kind of situation where he would, but another thing she'd learned about Killian Jones was that you just never knew.
If in doubt, feign ignorance. "I need? I don't know what you're talking about."
He snapped the fingers of his good hand in front of her face, gave her a look as if she'd just narrowly missed the right answer in a pop quiz. "Alas, you probably don't."
And he was walking again, and she was chasing after him again, unable to let it go. "So tell me! What are you talking about?"
"Oh come on!" he ground out, storming along the corridor like a man on a mission. "You want me to stay because of the way you feel about me!"
She almost lost her patience completely. Of course she did. He knew that she wanted him to stay, she'd made no secret of it. In fact, she'd taken great pains to impress on him that she considered him an important asset, that she valued his help and his skills, all personal difficulties aside. She had reached out to him even when the others wanted to write him off; she trusted him, because she knew he was more than just a smuggler captain out for himself.
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "You're a great help to us, you're a natural leader–"
He rounded on her. "No! That's not it." He leaned back, as if to better regard her; one of the techs used the chance to squeeze past, not giving either of them a second glance. The princess arguing with the smuggler had, in retrospect, become something of a routine occurrence. Even Robin and Neal had given up on trying to mediate.
Hook narrowed his eyes at her and raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Swan, admit it."
She caught on to his meaning then, and sought refuge behind an extra-cold glare. She hated it when he did this, too, steering towards this odd territory of innuendo and something else, just barely glimpsed beyond it. She could have handled the flirting. What she couldn't handle was the sneaking suspicion that, if she ever reciprocated, she'd soon find herself in deeper than she wanted to get.
With anyone.
But she had other reasons. She was doing this for Neal, for the Alliance, for morale, for everyone. There was no time for her personal feelings. Besides which, even if she was in any way attracted to him – and she knew for a fact that no one could prove that – she knew better than to get involved with a man like Killian Jones. A man constantly on the verge of leaving.
The thought put a little extra ice into her reply. "You're imagining things."
The hint of smugness disappeared, replaced by anger again. "Is that so? Then why is it you're following me? Were you worried I'd leave without kissing you goodbye?"
She drew back, no longer quite as cool and controlled as she'd like, feeling the fire in her eyes again. Of all the arrogant, insufferable– "I'd just as soon kiss a Wookiee!"
"I can arrange that!" Hook shot back. "You could use a good kiss!"
And with that, he was storming off again, anger vibrating from every stride.
This time, Emma didn't follow. Instead, she stared after him, anger still roiling inside her.
She should have known better than to go after him in the first place. Should have known that there was no convincing him, stupid mercenary that he was–
But she cut her own mental diatribe short, because she knew it was unjust. There was more to him than money, whether he'd admit it or not. Whether he wanted it or not.
But it looked like he was determined to stay on this path, and she would not beg, and she would not cry.
Just another mark in the losses column.
This one just hurt more than most.