Hello all! I haven't written in quite sometime, but I've been recently inspired by wishful thinking. Let's see what comes of it? What if Emma Swan and Captain Hook landed in Sunnydale instead of the Enchanted Forest? Set from season 3 (once upon a time) and season 6 (buffy).

The Savior, The Witch, & The Slayer

Chapter One

The Savior landed first, flat on her back, with a less than elegant sound. She managed a strangled breath, focusing on the moon overhead, before Hook eclipsed it—toppling on top of her, a tangle of leather and limbs.

For a moment, stunned by his weight, she desperately gasped for air, then finally jabbed her knees and elbows at any part of him she could reach. It was not the gentlest plea for mercy, but when had gentle and Emma Swan ever been friends? Wordlessly, he obliged, but not without a gleam of teeth and curl of lip, and then, in one fluid movement, he was on his feet.

"Are you all right, love?" He asked, offering her his good hand, as his gaze caught hers.

Bastard.

Emma hated his gracefulness. She hated his smirk. She hated even more that his smirk did not altogether reach his eyes. But, most of all, she hated herself for even detecting his concern in the first place. Grudgingly, she took his hand.

"I'm fine. No thanks to you."

"Now tsk, tsk, Sheriff Swan. I followed you, did I not?" He questioned pointedly, clearly insulted. "I could have left you here to fend for yourself—wherever bloody here is—a little gratitude would…" He trailed off, noticing their surroundings at last.

The moon was weighted, lavishly pregnant in the sky, her aura casting the land in an azure hue. The headstones, like gleaming teeth, stood silent watch all around. There was no breeze. The air encircled them, a balmy exhalation, like a lover—the sun's eternal promise of return.

"A cemetery?" Emma questioned, more to herself than to Hook, and ran a hand over the top of a gravestone. The rows of graves ran far into the distance, too neat and too modern to be the Enchanted Forest. "Where the hell are we?"

"Kansas?" He quipped, eyes twinkling in the moonlight, all swagger again. She rolled her eyes at his attempt at humor.

"I don't think this is Kansas. And I definitely don't think we're in the Enchanted Forest."

"I daresay that's obvious, Swan. " He pointed with his hook at the limestone inscription, while simultaneously removing a piece of grass from her hair. "Look at that."

Hook's tactic—divert, approach, and conquer—had always worked for him in the past and he was confident it would not fail him now. Admittedly, Miss. Swan had yet to be conquered, but if he had learned one thing in his past few hundred years, it was patience. Aye, yes, he knew he could be the most patient of men.

"Buffy Anne Summers…1981-2001…Hey! Stop that!" She swatted his hand, which had been rolling her golden strands between thumb and forefinger, and stepped away. Lately, it seemed that distance was her only ally when it came to all things Killian Jones.

Nonplussed, he flashed a wicked grin her way, as Emma began to pace. They needed a plan. She needed a plan. She feared her sanity depended on it.

"I must say, my dear, there's something quite enticing about how you bite your lip when you're in a tizzy."

She ignored him, but stopped her incessant chewing.

"Killian." His true name a reprimand, yet a bribe. "Focus. If this grave is to be believed, we can't be in the past. We must be in the present…or the relative present. But this is certainly not Storybrooke. Where do you think Zelena's time portal could have sent us?"

Hook shrugged. "Damned if I know. Perhaps the witch's portal went rogue and just sent us outside of Storybrooke."

"We must be far outside of Storybrooke then." Emma surmised, pulling off her gloves in disgust. Everything was sticky. She was sticky. She hated sticky. "This is not Maine weather."

He leered at her. "Do you want some help shedding –"

"Shhh." She paused, hand raised, eyes searching through the moonlight. "Do you hear that?"

But before he could respond, Emma was off like the white rabbit, heading up toward a line of trees at a quickened pace.

"Oh hell." He growled, striding after her. "Swan, for god's sakes. Wait up!"

For Killian knew he had no other choice. He would follow her always. She was his north star.

(888)

He was a flurry of fists, a whirl of black and white. Dancing back and forth, cigarette dangling from his lips, he should feel alive. Carefree. This is what he lived for, this violent dance, for as long as he'd been undead. But lately, it hadn't been the same. Because all he could think of was their dance.

Nothing could compare to the Slayer—her enraged fists, her wanton thighs, her swollen bud of a mouth—and to make matters worse she was like a broken faucet, running hot and then cold in a blink of his undead eye.

"Bloody women!" Spike roared, landing a satisfying punch to his unlucky prey. He had stalked this one from Willy's. She was young and blonde and newly turned. Poor girl couldn't have been more than seventeen. If he had a soul, he told himself, he would of dispatched of her quickly. But he didn't. And he cared more for a punching bag than a hollow act of redemption. He had the vamp on her back now, his rant punctuated blow for blow. "Never. Satisfied. Are. You? You. Bloody. Want. This. You. Bloody. Want. That. Nothing. Is. Enough. Nothing! What's a bloke to do?"

Spike had a split second to look down, long enough to glimpse the fledging's fear, before he found himself tackled and pinned by the throat. Instinct had him swing for his assailant before his brain had time to register the warmth of hands. Then the chip took care of the rest.

"Bloody hell!" He howled, gripping his head.

"Run!" Emma called out to the vamp-girl, hands and thighs tightening around Spike with surprising strength, as Hook swooped in with a gallant crack to the face. Had Spike been human, he would have been knocked out cold, but instead he just grinned through the blood beginning to spill from his nose. Well, this was quite an unexpected turn of events.

"You're gonna regret that, mates."

"Oh are we?" Hook pushed Emma aside. Hauling Spike to his feet by the lapels of his coat, he swung the bleached blonde back against the nearest tree. "You know it's bad form to beat on a lady. Unlucky for you, I don't like bad form, mate."

Spike laughed, briefly considering shifting into his game face, as he assessed his new companions. "Is there a costume party going on that I wasn't invited to, Captain? I'm almost hurt. But I must say you make a better pirate than that poof Xan—"

"Does this feel like a costume?" Hook threatened, pressing the point of his hook into the side of Spike's neck. "But before I decide to make good use of this or not…my lady and I need a little information."

"Oh is that right?" Spike challenged, clearly unthreatened.

"Yes, and you're going to tell us. Where are we? What is the name of this land?"

"This land? " Spike howled with laughter. "Escaped from the Looney bin, have you?"

"Uh, boys?" Emma intervened suddenly, grabbing Hook's shoulder. "Looks like we have company. And they don't look friendly."

Hook peered back to see five men and the young lass, who they had rescued only moments earlier, approaching from the left. Something was not right. Their faces were ridged and distorted, eyes bright amber, even in the darkness. Definitely trouble.

"Looks like the bitch got some back up." Spike eyed the pack of vamps, then Hook, who still had him held firmly in place. "Best let me take care of this, mate. Unless you're both skilled at killing vampires?"

"Let him go." Emma ordered, no time for incredulity, and pressed herself back-to-back with Hook. Eyes never leaving the approaching group, she tried to remember anything she'd read of Dracula or vampires in high school, while blood and fangs and creepy long fingernails danced through her head. She refused to be somebody's dinner. Not now. Not ever. "Killian! I said let him go!"

"Smart bird, you are." Spike applauded sarcastically and, finally released, strode to meet the oncoming pack, facial muscles coiling back to reveal the monster within. Almost as an afterthought, seconds before he tore into his first victim, he tossed an object from his coat, fastening his amber eyes on her.

Vampire.

Emma caught the stake, bewildered.

"Welcome to Sunnydale. And just in case, pet. Aim for the heart."