Chapter 1

Holy. Mother. Of Zeus. That hurt.

Of all the positions in which a person could regain consciousness, sprawled on a beach with one's hook embedded in a thigh rated among the worst. And Killian Jones should know; in fact, he might be considered an expert on the whole "body meets ground" thing.

Clumsy fingers brushed his forehead, spidering roughly along his jaw before coming to rest against his throat in poor approximation of seeking a pulse. Gritty with salt and sand, Killian's eyelids were slow to respond; truth be told, the same could be said of the rest of him, or he wouldn't still be prone, his metal appendage digging an agonizing trench into his leg. With effort, Killian gathered the appropriate obscenities to slur into the sand, most of which came out as muffled grunts. Which quickly became choking coughs when newly-expanded lungs needed to expel the seawater that had collected at some point.

All of this was familiar to him. But… storm? Shipwreck? Killian did not remember any of it.

The hands had shifted, a fist now inexplicably resting against his lips as though attempting to politely stifle the hacking. Killian lifted a trembling arm to bat away the nuisance, managing a hoarse, "Sod off, Smee," before succumbing to another painful bout of coughing.

The answering voice was decidedly not Smee's. Unsure, unfamiliar, but with a similar accent to his own. A woman.

"You're… awake? My captain?"

Gulping, clearing his throat several times in quick succession, Killian fought to get the spasms under control: each convulsion of his chest drove the hook a little deeper into the damaged limb. Still weak and dizzy, he finally managed to flop over onto his back, releasing a small whimper in the process. Killian winced and scrubbed at his eyes with sandy fingers. That didn't help anything.

"Water," he groaned, holding out his hand. Delicate fingers threaded between his as his companion mimicked the request.

"Water," she said, as if agreeing. Definitely not catching on. Who was this lass? Killian shook his hand free and fumbled for his pocket. These days, his trusty flask often contained water over rum. Although perhaps not, if he'd been sailing... had he? By himself? Or… gods, had Emma been with him? Henry? A spike in panic made removal of the lid more difficult than usual, and his mysterious helper offered no assistance.

"P-please, was there anyone else? Anyone washed up, further down the beach, perhaps..." He took a whiff from the flask: undeniably rum, which would be useful in its own way, but would not solve the issue of obstructed vision. Killian took a mouthful as he suppressed more coughing.

"No; only the two of us. We're quite safe."

Again, less than helpful. Killian tucked the flask beneath his brace, gritting his teeth at the jostle to his wound. Then he used the other sleeve to wipe at his eyes: sand was less likely to stick to leather, even sodden as it was. He had to clear his vision; had to see the hook where it penetrated, how deep it was, which direction to pull it out. He shuddered. And not that he didn't believe the woman beside him, but he needed to see for himself that they were alone. That his Swan wasn't lying somewhere nearby, turning blue as she awaited only that small nudge to get her breathing again, and if he delayed…

Terrified of what he would find, Killian wrenched his eyes open, the grit burning and scratching, tears blurring even as he cast about wildly, trying to get his bearings.

Beach. Calm sea, clear sky. No one immediately caught his attention, but he needed to be certain. Bracing himself, Killian took a breath and lurched into a seated position, hissing in pain and nearly blacking right out again. At his left, a blur of movement, a hand on his back to steady him.

Killian gazed painfully up and down the lonely stretch of sand and spotted nothing out of the ordinary. No bodies, no wreckage, no ship on the waves, row boat, or any sign of civilization. Either Emma was safe at home, or…

No, he could not think that way; right now needed to be about survival. Killian squinted inland, deciding immediately that he did not recognize their surroundings. Putting off the first glimpse of his wound and the inevitable shock it would bring, Killian turned to study the only living soul anywhere nearby: the woman at his shoulder. Bloody hell - the naked woman at his shoulder. Killian glanced up at her unfamiliar face before looking away.

One problem at a time.

Distinct stirrings of nausea accompanied the sight of curved steel protruding from his leg. Prickles all over his face, pressure behind his eyes, vision narrowing - the usual, in other words. Killian swallowed a groan and sought the calming horizon.

Once reasonably sure he wouldn't be expelling the contents of his stomach, Killian trained his gaze back on the injury; he felt the pain intensify now that he could visualize the impalement, the blood that had soaked through his jeans and started its own collection of rusty sand clumps on the denim. Following a rent that started just above his knee, Killian gingerly wiggled his finger into the tattered fabric.

"Your hook. It's stuck?" The woman still rested her hand on his back. He could feel slight tremors in his muscles, though he couldn't be sure of their origin.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he grunted, pulling at the tear. He wasn't confident in his ability to rip the heavy denim one-handed, but definitely needed a better view to assess treatment options. "Are you cold, lass?"

"Cold?" she parroted and didn't reply. Given her state of undress and apparent communication difficulties, Killian began to wonder if she weren't a bit mad. Grimacing, the pirate dug into his pocket, looking for his phone. But the blasted thing was nowhere to be found. Probably dead, anyway: he'd learned from personal experience how averse to water the devices were.

"Just determining how much of these damn shivers belong to you, or if they can all be explained away by shock." Not just a reaction to his anguish, the strain in Killian's tone was also a sure indication of his rapidly dwindling optimism. Stranded, no way to call for help, no means of transport beyond his own two… one leg. And his solitary companion hardly seemed fit for providing first aid.

Sighing, Killian closed his eyes for a moment as he pictured what had to be done. "What's your name, love?"

"My name?"

"Aye. What do people call you?"

"I'm called many things, by different people. The one I like best, though, I… it escapes me at the moment."

"O...kay." Killian opened his eyes and glanced sideways at her distant expression. "Your given name, perhaps?"

"That would be Jewel, I suppose; though I haven't gone by that name in many years."

"Jewel, then. Killian Jones." He reached his hand out, careful not to shift his weight too much in the process, then he winced as he caught sight of the blood staining his fingers. He quickly wiped them on his jacket. Awkwardly, Jewel clasped his hand with her left, thumb inside his grip, remaining fingers wrapped around the back.

"Oh, I know," she said as he hesitated, then rotated his wrist and brought her hand to his lips for the briefest of greetings.

"You… do. Brilliant." He released her hand and gestured at his wounded leg. "I hate to ask it, lass, but I'm afraid I'll require some assistance, here."

"What can I do?" She didn't sound intimidated in the slightest.

"I'll need to free the hook from its attachment. Do you think you can provide some stability?"

Jewel moved forward on her knees, nodding. "Show me."

Killian kept his eyes firmly locked on the problem at hand, though the auburn-haired maiden appeared completely unabashed.

"Just… a steady grip here." Killian guided her hand to the graceful curve of steel, just beyond where it disappeared into the brace. He sucked in a sharp breath as she took hold of the hook, the contact inadvertently wiggling the tip within his flesh. Regaining his voice, he added, "The less motion you allow, the better."

"I understand." She wrapped her second hand around the first, and Killian set his jaw.

Removing hook from brace tended to be easier than the other way around, which was why he needed his hand free. Without an external grip on the brace, achieving the sharp twist required to unlock the steel would be difficult, as his forearm tended to merely slide within the leather, seriously reducing its external rotation. Internal flexibility was a necessary design feature: he would be useless at climbing the rigging if the slightest twist of his arm caused the hook to pop free.

With that in mind, Killian carefully wrapped his hand around the end of the brace, rehearsing in his imagination, making sure he would be applying traction in the correct direction. He definitely did not want to be fumbling around while the steel pierced his leg, no matter how strong of a grip Jewel could provide.

Swallowing, Killian took a fortifying breath. "Get ready."

"Aye-aye," said Jewel seriously; he could see her knuckles whiten with pressure.

He couldn't delay any further, or he'd lose the nerve. And this was just the first step…

With a brutal yank on the leather, coordinated between hand and opposite wrist, Killian rotated the brace counterclockwise, away from his body. As he heard the snap of the locking mechanism being released, he growled a curse at the sharp flare in his thigh. But the hook was loose, and Killian quickly pulled his brace free. Panting, he allowed himself to fall back onto his elbows, his head dropping back, grimace pointed heavenward.

"Love?" called Jewel from her position by his hip. "What now?"

The pirate drew three slow breaths through gritted teeth before responding. "You can let go now… thanks…"

The hook twitched just slightly with the release of her grip, and Killian winced again. Then, on shaky arms, he sat back up, growling and fighting dizziness. Salty sand filled his mouth as he took his right sleeve between his teeth. Making a face, he worked the arm free of the jacket, then turned his attention to the other side. As he wiggled his brace through the hole, careful not to allow any of the material to brush against his leg, he asked,

"Just where are we, Jewel? Anywhere near Storybrooke, Maine, by chance?"

Jewel sat with legs folded beneath her, naked hip almost flush against his, merely watching as he shed the jacket. "My apologies. I don't know."

"General idea, then?" prompted Killian, finally emerging from the leather. He tucked hand and brace beneath the collar and held the garment out toward his companion, who looked at it quizzically. "Can't have my only source of assistance exposed to the elements. Put it on, love."

Jewel blinked at him as the offer sank in. As she carefully grasped the jacket, glancing down at her unclothed form, her nude state seemed to register, yet she still held to a naive lack of shame. She slipped her arms through the sleeves just as they were… meaning the garment was on backwards. Killian lacked the will to correct her.

"An idea?" she responded to his earlier query. "Of position?"

"Aye," said the pirate, beginning to work on the buttons of his shirt. He glanced over to catch a flash of dismay in her vivid blue eyes.

"I… couldn't say. Oh, my dear, there was magic, and a portal, and that's all I know. No stars to guide the way, not yet, and we're anchored in a barren reef with a receding tide-"

"Hey, hey, love; steady there." Pausing in the struggle, Killian reached across to catch her agitated fingers as they ran roughly through her long tresses. His jacket already drooped lower on her shoulders. "No need for panic, all right? Just… tell me as much as you can recall; think you can do that?"

Glancing at his hand on hers, Jewel caught sight of the waves off to Killian's right, and her features stilled. She nodded and he released her wrist. The final button undone, he began to strip off his shirt. "You saw a portal? Are you certain?"

"Aye, Captain. I would recognize one anywhere."

Killian swore softly. "Then what realm is this? Don't tell me I've landed in the bloody Enchanted Forest… again."

Her face tightened, the fear lurking. Killian considered her as he pulled his brace through the sleeve. "You aren't from here, I take it."

"That's a… complicated question."

"Naturally." Killian sighed. He really didn't need to know the woman's backstory, or even why she was so peculiar. His immediate concern was survival. "Would I assume correctly that you have no clue as to the direction of civilization?"

She looked stricken, and Killian was overcome with the absurd urge to pull her into a reassuring embrace.

"I… don't recognize this coastline. Never sailed past here, to the best of my memory." She hung her head; the jacket slipped further down her chest and arms. "I've failed you."

"Bollocks," scoffed Killian, crumpling his shirt into a ball beside him. "Hey. The only thing you've failed at is putting that coat on properly. Allow me?"

The pirate leaned sideways, which earned him a fiery stab from his thigh. Pasting on a strained smile, he settled the collar once again in his arms, holding the jacket as a curtain between them. Jewel met his eyes, a question in her own.

"Other arms," explained Killian gently. Briefly balancing the fabric on his brace, he indicated a twirl with his hand, and the woman finally caught his meaning. She pulled her arms free, twisted to put her back to him, and fumbled the jacket on correctly. "That's it, darling. Feel better?"

Jewel turned back toward him; he released the collar and showed her how to work the fastenings. Then he began to unbuckle the harness securing his brace. "Now, then. Here's our course of action. We'll get this blasted hook out, do what's necessary to prevent me bleeding to death… seek shelter. Locate a settlement. Then we concern ourselves with our return home. What do you say, love? Agreeable?"

"You're the captain." The words sounded like a gibe; like a taunt regarding his current lack of a ship to captain. But her tone and demeanor were deadly serious. Killian flashed her an uncertain smile.

"Aye. That I am." With only slight hesitation, he removed both harness and brace. Jewel didn't so much as flicker an eyelash at the sight of his scarred, attenuated limb.

"Tell me, Jewel, do you know how to build a fire?" Killian asked as he began to gingerly wind one of the longer straps around his upper thigh. The woman recoiled visibly at the question, her face draining of color as pure apprehension widened her eyes. All she could do, it seemed, was shake her head, mute.

Killian pulled the strap tight with a grunt, the makeshift tourniquet just barely able to wrap around twice before folding securely beneath itself. "No matter; if you'd be so kind as to gather whatever bits of driftwood you can find, the drier the better, along with any seagrass or anything else you think will burn. Fetch it here, and I'll do the rest. All right?"

Jewel nodded understanding and got to her feet. A puzzled, uncomfortable look crossed her face then, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Killian was grateful he'd chosen to wear the longer jacket that day: however unconcerned she may be about her modesty, the length of the leather at least eased his mind a bit.

"My feet feel different," commented the lady unhappily.

"Aye? Have they gone all tingly?" Killian asked, not really paying much attention. He had once again worked his thumb into the tear in his jeans and was trying to unstick the bloodsoaked material from his skin.

"Is that what you'd call it? Tingly?"

"I'd wager you sat on them for too long, restricted the blood flow. Have you honestly never done that before?"

"No. I don't like it."

Killian grimaced. The denim's tug on his skin pulled at the furrow carved by his hook, which sharpened the constant anguish from the injury. "Give it… a few moments… it'll go away eventually."

He released a tense breath as the last of the fabric came free and he could slide his whole hand into the rip. Jewel limped in a quarter turn, intent on following his instructions. But Killian stopped her.

"Wait. Speaking of feet, you should help yourself to these boots. Prevent you slashing yourself on shells or barnacles."

Jewel turned back and Killian nodded at the boots on his feet. She crouched again, but not before looking back and forth between his gaze and the proffered footwear to be sure of his intent.

Killian wiggled his right foot insistently. "Sorry to be of such little assistance, but I seem to be pinned in place."

His attempt at making light of his situation was undermined by the pain apparent in his voice. Jewel reached down and clumsily tugged the boot off his right foot, then set it aside and moved toward the other. The pirate set his jaw and clamped his hand just above the knee, intending to provide stability and lessen the need to use the skewered muscle. It still hurt. The boot caught on his instep despite attempts to relax his ankle, and Jewel froze when he hissed in pain.

"Don't stop," he implored her tightly. "You're nearly there."

The lass gave one more jiggling yank and the boot slid free. She almost lost her balance, but Killian was too busy cursing his hook to notice her struggles. When she had shoved both of her feet into the too-large footwear, she stood up, and Killian panted a nod. On wobbly legs, she went off in search of flammable materials… and Killian noticed that she walked as if compensating for a world gently tilting back and forth.

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AN: This is a CS-friendly fic; however, it is very Killian-centric. Emma appears in maybe 1/3 of the chapters. Just fyi.