A/N: This story borrows the concept of dæmons from Philip Pullman's brilliant His Dark Materials series, which features physical manifestations of ones soul in the form of animals. You don't need to have read HDM to understand it, but if you're from that fandom it should greatly improve your experience.
Currently rated T, rating my be adjusted accordingly.
It's not the blade at his neck that throws him off nor is it the absolute fierceness lighting her jade-green eyes as she makes demands of him that would impress him if he hadn't felt that – that moment of spark and warmth that rushes through him as Meara collides with another dæmon, her dæmon,intentionally.
He shudders, just as she does, bringing their own bodies a fraction closer as a shocked gasp makes itself known somewhere to their right.
"What the fuck…" Emma begins, but Killian's not paying her any heed as he turns his neck (blade biting sharply into his skin) as he watches in fascination and horror as Meara snuggles with the golden-maned wolf, whom reciprocates by curling in around her in what is clearly an affectionate gesture, before pulling apart abruptly.
"Meara!" he admonishes, confused, but his beautiful peregrine falcon merely blinks at him, a clear, imperious 'What?' on her features as if this behavior is completely normal.
"Okay, I have no fucking idea what's going on here," the blonde says, tone of voice attempting to regain control, "but you've got three seconds to tell me the truth before I put this knife into your neck. And," she leans to whisper in his ear, raising a flurry of confusing sensations, not the least of which is slight eroticism (he's Captain Hook, he's allowed to be turned on by this interesting display of violence and intimidation), "my special power is being able to spot a liar."
Finally, Meara raises her neck, angry screech making herself known as she digs her talons into the wolf's neck. Interestingly, the wolf growls but makes no discernible motion. Emma too, shows no outward reaction.
"I've told you the truth!" Killian protests, to which Emma responds that he is lying, almost immediately, and his eyes dart to Meara to see if she's given the plot away, but she's imperious as ever.
Bloody hell, maybe this Swan girl does have some kind of gift after all.
…
It's sometime later, as they walk towards the giant's beanstalk, with Meara tied to him by a long piece of string, perched gently on his shoulder, nipping his hair and talking lowly, does Killian put together some of the pieces that make Emma Swan.
"What was that about?" he asks, finally, after being unable to generate any insights of his own.
"Sann Kärlek is familiar," Meara says far too nonchalantly, voice quiet, an admission just for him.
"Familiar how? The Lady Snow seems to view the wolf like a wildling animal…"
"It's complicated, Killian."
"What aren't you telling me?"
"Remember what Cora said? The savior breaking the curse after 28 years? Well, people in the land without magic don't have dæmons."
Killian jerks to a stop in shock, unable to even comprehend how terrible that must be, to lose your soul, to be alone, in every sense of the word, alone in a way he doesn't understand, to be an abomination without a dæmon. Even Neverland has dæmons…
"Hey! Hey, what's going on here?"
Whatever hushed conversation between Snow White and her daughter is broken by said daughter marching up to him, prodding his back and moving him along.
"What're you trying to do, Hook?"
Killian turns slightly to look at her, eyes darting between her and the golden wolf, who must understand on some level what Meara has divulged because he raises his jaw, teeth glinting and fur standing in irritation.
"Come along, Sann," Snow White's Sperantas says, the snowy white owl throwing Meara a glare that Killian sees mirrored by the queen herself.
Sann ignores them all, trudging along ahead without a word that has bothEmma and Snow sighing.
It's then that the information in his mind slides and clicks into place.
Emma Swan is not just an abandoned child turned woman – it's her bond, or horribly awkward lack of one with her dæmon that makes him realize she's grown up without Sann Kärlek, treating him more like a pet than part of her, growing angry and irritated when he inadvertently exposes her feelings or thoughts because neither one of them knows how to behave around each other.
It's nothing short of a freak of nature; she's nothing short of a freak of nature, because people without dæmons are just wrong, but he can't help but think she's also the most captivating (beautiful, intelligent, cunning) person he's ever had the pleasure of meeting – blade to neck and all.
And so he probes, undeterred by her silence and standoffish attitude as they climb the beanstalk.
…
"That went swimmingly well, didn't it?" Meara says, sarcasm dripping from her tone in buckets, as Killian tries to maneuver his hand out of the heavy chains.
"I'm not the one who cuddled with her dæmon," he retorts in irritation, the rough metal cutting into his skin doing no favors to his mood.
"A mistake," Meara says, and that stills him, making him look where she's perched on the railing before him.
"Are you admitting that you were wrong?"
"He felt familiar," Meara says, a downtrodden repeat of her earlier words, and the betrayal in her tone is matched tenfold with the one he feels, because as angry and hurt as he is, he'd recognized something in Swan, a look, a history, a chance of a partnership… and now it's all gone, destroyed by whatever her problem seems to be.
'I can't take a chance that I'm wrong about you'.
"What did you and Sann even talk about?"
"I told him I felt like I knew him. He said it wasn't possible, because he'd lived alone, tethering on madness and loneliness in that land, inside her consciousness, but because he'd been corporal before, it was madness," she says, affected, voice breaking and flies directly into his waiting arms.
Killian hugs her tightly to his chest, kissing the top of her head as his hooked hand brushes her feathers gently.
"He only responded to me because he's never been touched by another until two days ago, and he craves warmth."
"I love you," he tells her, repeating I love you, I love you, because every little bit of Swan he uncovers leaves him less angry and more heartbroken. It's not an emotion he can afford, not one he's felt for another person in centuries, and will do him no good in furthering his life's purpose.
"Doesn't matter now though," Meara says, echoing his thoughts, "they are not our problem anymore. We've got bigger things to worry about."
"Aye. Getting out of here, getting the bloody alethiometer back, so deceptively called a mere compass, goddamn, getting to Storybrooke, all while trying to appease Cora."
Meara shivers in his arms, clearly in no hurry to cross paths with Sournois, whose stunning speed has left her debilitated one time too many. If anything, Killian mirrors her sentiments, as Cora is notably temperamental and difficult to please, and just as deadly as the black mamba who has no qualms about exposing his venom near Meara's neck.
"Best to get this over, then," he mutters, nudging her away as he begins to clang the chains against anything he can, making a terrible racket.
…
Meara doesn't dare express herself with Cora and Sournois so near, but she's railed against him enough since the episode with Aurora's heart, shriekingbecause 'how could you, Killian, have you forgotten', but he'd snapped at her that they had no choice, and doesn't she want The Dark One dead already, isn't that what this is all about, who gives a fuck how they do it as long as they do?
Still, the way her wings beat restlessly above them before coming to dig painfully into his shoulder, repeating this pace ad nauseam is telling enough of her current mood towards him, but Killian's done giving a fuck. Swan deserved whatever she got, and wasn't quid pro quo something Meara herself had taught to him?
Besides, he's certain the princess brigade will figure something out. It's not like they'll die in those cells. It is not his problem.
…
"They're going to be here," Meara reminds him, about 3 miles before reaching Storybrooke.
"So what? Our plan doesn't involve them," he says, manning the helm as Cora emerges from below deck, making her way languidly to them.
"You can't seriously believe it'll be that simple," she says quietly, her own beady eyes watching the black mamba draped around the older woman's neck, who is almost invisible in the inky blackness of night.
"Get in, kill the Dark One, and then figure out our next move. Nothing to it," he says with confidence in a tone that brooks no argument, before turning to the approaching witch.
"Good evening, mi'lady, Storybrooke awaits. As does your daughter."
"And your crocodile, Captain."