Heartache to heartache we stand; No promises, no demands.
Emma Swan, mother, savior, leader, and lost girl, sits on a boulder in a small clearing and stares into the dirt. She has an empty basket beside her and a cutlass in her hand. Admitting who she really was–an orphan–had left her emotionally drained, and she fled the crowded camp with the excuse of picking berries. Now she is alone with her own thoughts, away from her parents' concern, Hook's prying, and Regina's frustration.
She looks at the way her steel blade glints in the starlight. That this is her life—magic and swords and children's stories brought to life—is still something of a marvel.
When she'd imagined Neverland as a child in a foster home, it had been a bright and happy place, not dark, dirty and oppressively hot. But then again, she had also thought Peter Pan to be a courageous hero and Captain Hook a curly-haired, villainous coward. In reality, Pan is an arrogant, murderous teenager, and Captain Hook—well, she isn't sure exactly, but he isn't quite a villain and he certainly isn't a coward. The pirate had changed since he'd handed her that bean on the Storybrooke dock; his leers and innuendoes had slowly been replaced by earnest looks and supportive statements. The look of pride when she unlocked the map and the quiet insistence that he wants to know her better weren't what she had come to expect. With a sigh, she closes her eyes.
"It's unwise to stray from the group." Hook's deep voice sounds much too near and she jumps. Her adrenaline spikes and she covers her pounding heart with annoyance.
"Shit! Hook. Don't sneak up on me like that."
He gives her a small smirk and she rolls her eyes.
"I don't need you to babysit me. I'm fine. Pan has had his fun and I have protection." She lifts her sword and waves it for emphasis. "So just go drink your rum somewhere else." It's not the most charitable thing to say, but she wants to be alone and being rude has always been the quickest way to achieve that.
His jaw clenches but he transitions it quickly to a half smile.
"Pardon me, Savior." He emphasizes the newly learned title and she colors. "I merely thought that given your limited ability with a sword, it would be best not to tempt fate."
"Limited ability…are you saying I can't fight?" she pushes off from the boulder in indignation.
He gives a slight bow and his eyebrow quirks.
"I killed a dragon. I beat you! And I did fine against the Lost Boys." Emma doesn't mention how much she hated fighting those kids, even if they were more Lord of the Flies than Swiss Family Robinson. Hook nods and gives a little hum.
She raises her sword and steps toward him.
"Do you want another go?" As the words fall from her lips, she realizes that physical activity is exactly what she needs, a way to drain off her nerves and adrenaline. His wide grin as she approaches makes her think Hook has goaded her into a fight on purpose.
He pulls his sword with a graceful flourish and rotates it lazily. "If you feel up to it, Swan."
She lets her sword answer him. She lunges, throwing all her power into a downward swipe. His sword meets her with a dull clang that reverberates up her arm, sending a shockwave through her body. He turns her sword and slashes down with his own. She blocks it with a grin and he smiles back as he flicks his wrist, neatly disarming her. Her sword flies across the little clearing and lands in the dirt.
"First rule, love. Hold on to your sword." His voice holds a trace of merriment and her thoughts jump to their last swordfight. He had disarmed her then, too, and she'd lunged at him. When she looks at him, the quirk of his eyebrow tells her he is remembering the same moment. With a huff, she walks over and retrieves her sword.
She rises swiftly and flies at him, hoping to catch him off guard. He neatly deflects her sword and sidesteps her body, tapping her behind with his blade as she stumbles pass.
"Engage with care. I could have run you through if I'd had the mind to."
She turns to him, her blood pounding in her ears and coloring her cheeks. Anger and embarrassment mingle together but she forces herself to calm down. Her instincts are screaming at her to charge; instead, she hefts her sword and forces herself to wait.
Killian continues his lecturing. "Keep your weapon at the ready. Point it at my eye or throat so I have to go through your sword to get to you." Emma raises her sword a little higher and he takes a step and hits her blade lightly. She resists the urge to attack. "Good," he smiles.
He hits her sword over and over, coming from slightly different angles each time. She shuffles back and focuses on blocking his attacks. His grin grows wider and she assumes that she must be improving. She waits for him to be lulled into security, then makes her move: she steps forward and, gripping the sword with both hands, she sweeps it down towards his shoulder. He raises his own sword, blocking her blow, and uses her lack of balance to shove her back. She stumbles over a large root and goes sprawling to the ground.
The embarrassment hurts more than the fall.
"Pay attention to your environment," he grumbles as he stands over her. "Don't use two hands with a cutlass and don't over-reach when you strike. It's important to always maintain your balance."
"Yeah. Thanks. I'll remember that," she says sarcastically as she stares at the sky peeking through the jungle canopy. Hook leans into her field of vision, his sword lazily slung over his shoulder.
"While this is fun darling, it's not the proper way to learn swordsmanship."
She rolls her eyes. "Are you saying that was my first lesson?"
"I am saying," a note of frustration creeps into his voice, "that if you want to leave Neverland alive, then learning how to fight properly would be a good idea." He offers his hook to help her stand.
She looks at the cruel point sparkling in the moonlight and beyond it to his earnest face. He is a walking contradiction, all sharp steel and soft eyes. A few days ago, he was causing havoc and hell bent on vengeance; now he was guiding them through Neverland and offering her sword fighting lessons. It gives her mental whiplash thinking about it, but her gut had insisted since the beanstalk that she trust him and this time she is inclined to agree with it. He's right; if she was going to survive in a land with no guns, she needed to learn how to defend herself.
With a small sigh, she wraps her hand around the cold steel of his hook and lets him pull her up. She misses the brief but genuine smile that flicks across his face as she brushes the dirt from her jeans. She looks at him expectantly.
"So, Obi-Wan, what now?"
His forehead crinkles at the title but he lets it pass. "You need to learn proper form." He sweeps his own sword off his shoulder. "First, you need to relax. A tight fighter is a slow fighter." He rolls his shoulders and she takes note of his relaxed stance. Emma jumps in place and shakes her arms. Hook lets out a low laugh.
"What? I'm relaxing!"
With a grin, he waits for her to stop her bouncing and to look at him again.
"Now place your feet shoulder width apart." Emma does as instructed. "Raise your sword." She lifts her sword up and he shakes his head. "No. Keep your elbow bent and close to the body." He demonstrates and she copies him. "Excellent." he nods his approval.
"Now, this is your basic blocking drill." She watches as he swings his sword from right to left then up and down. He does it slowly, talking her through the movements, then he props his sword on his shoulder and gestures to her with his hook.
"You try." He watches critically as she goes through the sequence. He stops her, corrects her form, and she tries again. He makes her do it over and over until he is satisfied. Then he moves on to a new drill and they repeat the process. They run through several of them before her head starts to spin. As if reading her mind, Hook calls a stop to the lesson.
"That's enough, love. You're a quick study, but even you can't become an expert overnight." There is pride in his voice and she can't stop the blush that rises to her cheeks.
"You're a good teacher." It comes out huskier than she intends and she clears her throat. "I mean, for a pirate."
"I wasn't always a pirate, Swan. Believe it or not, I was once an officer in the Royal Navy and I taught many a young sailor."
"Really? You? In a uniform?" She scoffs. Looking him up and down, she tries to imagine him in anything but black leather and can't quite picture it. "And what, they called you Captain Jones?"
"I was a Lieutenant, actually," he says softly, giving her a tight half-smile. His eyes flash with vulnerability. She blinks in surprise and the look is gone, replaced by a smirk. She almost wonders if she imagined it.
"But I prefer Captain. Though you can call me whatever you like, darling." He purses his lips and raises his eyebrows. Emma knows he is deflecting and, with a start, she realizes she wants to know why. She wants to understand his past and how he went from Lieutenant Jones to Captain Hook.
She pushes away her curiosity. Trusting him, learning swordplay, that was all necessary to saving Henry. Bonding with him—well, that could only end badly.
She rolls her eyes and sheathes her sword.
"Thanks for the lesson, Hook."
He nods in acknowledgement and drops his flirting demeanor.
"It was my pleasure." He gives her a bow. "Will you be returning to camp?"
She thinks of the looks her parents and Regina will give them if they return together and realizes she doesn't want to deal with their judgement.
"Give me a minute. I'm going to collect some berries." She gestures to the empty basket on the boulder, her original excuse for leaving camp.
He pauses, searching her for a moment, before nodding and sauntering off into the woods alone. Her heart skitters and she knows that sword fighting isn't the only deadly and dangerous thing she has learned in this clearing.
—-
Do I stand in your way, or am I the best thing you've had?
Emma runs her hands through her hair and wishes for the hundredth time that she had brought a hair tie to Neverland. The heat is almost as oppressive as the mood around the campfire. The weight of exposed secrets hangs heavy on everyone. Mary Margaret is pointedly ignoring David's pleading looks while Neal is watching Emma carefully from beside the fire. He had told her his secret outside the cave, so she couldn't be sure it was his darkest secret, but he was sincere; he wanted to fight for her. She isn't sure what that means or even if she wants it. There was too much history with Neal, both painful and good. If she were willing to push through the pain, could they be happy? Could she trust him? And did she owe it to Henry and herself to try?
Her thoughts run in circles as she makes up her bedroll and she feels his gaze on her. He wants to talk. It's strange how she can still read him. The thought makes her want to run. She doesn't want to talk; she needs to move. She smooths out her blanket and stands. Her parents are lying on opposite sides of the camp, their backs turned to each other, and it pulls at her heart. The secrets of the cave are ripping them apart—just as Pan wanted, just as Hook said. Her mind catches on the image of Hook's face in the cave and she shakes her head; she can't think of that, or him, right now.
She definitely needs a distraction.
"Emma…" Neal calls from the fire.
She raises her hand to ward him off. "I just need to be alone." He nods and she tries not to let his hangdog expression bother her as she spins on her heel and heads into the woods, her mind jumping to a clearing and the chance to let some tension out with sword practice.
In the last few days, she has used the mind numbing practice to help tire her out or clear her brain. It was almost zen-like, running through the drills over and over. As she walks, she draws her sword and flicks it back and forth absently, the motion starting to become automatic. When she steps into the clearing, she is surprised to find Hook already there.
They haven't been alone since they kissed. They haven't spoken directly since the cave. If talking with Neal was daunting, talking to Hook seemed impossible.
His back is to her as he takes a swig of rum. She takes a step back, trying to get away before he notices her. Her foot snaps a twig and he sits up straighter.
"If you've come to gloat you can bloody well sod off you…" his voice is rough as he stands, drawing his sword and turning, but he falters when he sees her. "Emma?" He breathes, his tone softening as he lets his sword drop. He feels something for her. Something beyond flirting and sex and now that she knows, she can see it written plainly across his face. The way his eyes glitter as he looks at her, how his mouth pulls a little at one corner as though suppressing a smile. She takes a steadying breath, fighting down the urge to run.
"Sorry, love. I thought you were Pan."
She nods, his outburst suddenly making sense. Emma avoids looking at his face, worried he will take advantage of their solitude to have a heart to heart.
"Are you practicing?" He gestures to her drawn sword and she hears a hint of pride in his voice.
"Um, yeah, I have been." She forces herself to meet his eyes, but he is looking past her shoulder, into the trees beyond.
"Well, I will leave you to it." He over enunciates the 't' and it sends a shiver down her spine. Emma had never thought herself susceptible to accents but Hook proves that theory wrong. He sheathes his sword and steps away. She blinks quickly as he brushes past her. She is grateful he isn't forcing her to talk, that he's giving her space, but suddenly she doesn't want to be alone.
"Wait." She turns toward him.
He turns around, his shoulders slumped, mouth in a thin line and brows raised questioningly.
"I…um. I could use a sparing partner." She shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.
He stares at her for a long moment and then gives a curt nod. With a faint zing, he draws his sword and closes the space between them. Emma breathes and lifts her sword. Keeping her feet balanced and her elbows in, she focuses on keeping her sword level with his throat. He taps her blade lightly with his, as if asking if she is ready, and then attacks. Her muscles react automatically, twisting her wrist and blocking his thrusts with ease. She smirks as he backs away.
"You have been practicing," he praises, and her smirk blooms into a smile. When he doesn't attack again, she moves forward. She lets her muscle memory take over as she attacks at the various points. It's exhilarating how fluid her movements feel. Slicing through the air was nothing compared to the clanging of the metal and the vibrations shooting up her arm with each clash. She advances a little and he gives ground. Pressing her advantage, she slashes her sword down only to have him turn it neatly in a disarming move. She tries to hold onto her hilt but the motion pulls her wrist and rips at her fingers; with a cry, she lets it go. The cutlass flies up and away.
"Ah!" Emma shakes her hand and bounces from foot to foot, trying to work through the pain. Killian sheaths his sword and steps closer, his eyes on her hand.
"Sorry, love. Are you okay?"
Emma glances up and her breath catches. He is too close.
"It's fine," she mumbles.
He reaches for her hand to examine it himself. She knows from experience that he takes his first aid responsibilities seriously and holds very still. He bows his head as his thumb slides along her wrist and then kneads her palm. When his fingers wrap around hers, she gives a small gasp that makes him glance up at her through his long lashes. Her heart bursts to life so loud and so fast she is sure he can feel it in her wrist. Her eyes roam over his face as he stares at her hand, bright pink high on his cheekbones, blue eyes glittering. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips.
"No permanent damage," he murmurs and his thumb runs lazy circles over her palm as he looks up.
"You said to hold on to my weapon." She curses inwardly at how breathy she sounds.
He nods slowly. "Aye. But when there is pain, you let it go. It's not worth holding on to something if it is going to leave you maimed." Emma gets the feeling he might be talking about something other than a sword and it's all just a little too intense. She yanks her hand away and he takes an abrupt step back. She doesn't want to talk or examine their feelings. She needs action.
"Can you show me that disarming move?" She asks as she crosses to where her sword lies and picks it up.
She turns back to him and his face is carefully arranged in a neutral look she is beginning to recognize.
"Of course, Swan. But it is quite an advanced technique."
She rolls her eyes. "Just show me."
For the next few minutes, Emma thinks only of mastering the move. It's a weird rotation and flicking of the wrist. Killian has to show her several times in slow motion before she can even attempt it on her own. She thinks she is doing pretty well, but when she tries to disarm Killian he is easily able to hold on to his weapon. She lets out a huff of frustration.
"What am I doing wrong?"
"Let me show you."
Hook drives his sword into the dirt and walks toward her.
Emma drops her arm and fixes him with a cold stare.
"Hook, I swear, if you're using this as an excuse to cop a feel I am…"
"Cop a feel?" He looks genuinely perplexed.
"You know, feel me up?" she offers hoping she won't have to spell it out for him. His eyebrows shoot sky high and the mischievous smirk she first discovered on the beanstalk appears. He steps closer, his hips leading him to within a few inches of her body. He leans into her space.
"Are you interested in me filling you up?" His voice is sinfully low.
Her eyes widen and she pushes at his shoulder. He chuckles and takes a step back, but his grin remains. Flirting with him shouldn't feels so comfortable, but it does, which makes her want to stop.
"God no. That's not what I meant! I was talking about you…." She tries to think of a way to explain what she meant, but every option seems likely to end in more innuendo and smirks. He is waiting with his stupid grin and she huffs. "It doesn't matter. Just show me how to do the damn move."
He inclines his head and she turns away, lifting her sword. He moves so he's standing perpendicular to her and grabs her wrist with his calloused hand. She ignores the spark the touch sends through her, the way it is starting to feel familiar. He leans in and his chest brushes her bare shoulder. The jungle seems to heat up; suddenly, she is very aware of the buzz of the insects and the call of a bird. He is barely touching her, but he is so close she can smell leather and rum and her lips tingle in memory and anticipation. His breath blows hot over her neck, leaving goosebumps. She gulps and concentrates on his voice as he explains how the blade should be an extension of her arm and guides her through the drill.
"Like this?" She repeats the movement but resists the urge to turn her head, knowing how close their lips will be if she does.
"Close."
He does the drill with her twice more and then releases her wrist and steps back. She has to stop herself from swaying toward him. Just like the beanstalk, her reaction to him sends alarm bells echoing through her head and rippling down her spine. Still refusing to look at him, she runs through the drill on her own. This attraction—and her desire to give into it—was the reason she'd left him there, afraid to trust a pirate she barely knew. But here, in this godforsaken jungle, she can't run, and trusting him is vital to saving Henry. She grits her teeth and does the drill faster.
Wordlessly, Hook steps away and retrieves his sword to begin again. On the third try, she manages to send his sword into a glittering arc.
"You are bloody brilliant."
Emma feels flushed with success, her worries momentarily suppressed. She grins in triumph as he bends down to retrieve his sword. Her eyes linger on his backside and when he straightens, he catches her look and gives her a wink.
"Disarming a skilled swordsman is no easy feat." He twirls his sword as he steps closer. "Though, for the record, darling, I always feel disarmed in your presence." He lifts his eyebrow suggestively. Emma chuckles, though she knows she shouldn't encourage him. Even though things are falling apart, he has made her feel strong and happy, and for a second she wonders why she wants to run from him.
He steps up to her, his mouth opening in what Emma is sure will be another innuendo.
Neal's voice cuts through the jungle. "Emma?"
Emma glances toward where the sound came from and contemplates meeting him on the path. She doesn't think she can deal with his reaction if he stumbles upon her with Hook. She turns back to the pirate, but he is already backing away, his smile gone, the light in his eyes extinguished.
"I think I'll go find some firewood."
—-
Will you turn me away or touch me deep inside
A cold wind snaps across the harbor and ruffles Hook's hair. He looks out onto the glittering lights of Storybrooke and takes another sip of rum. He'd consumed several celebratory beers at Granny's earlier, but rum always helps him think.
Much has changed since he first sailed into this strange town. Back then, he had been filled with a vengeful spite and so close to ending his centuries-long vendetta against the Crocodile, his heart as dark and rotten as Belle had claimed. But now, he feels hope and possibility, the promise of a life as part of something. With the shadow on his sail, the Jolly could travel to any realm, but Hook is surprised that he feels more inclined to stay securely moored in the harbor.
He turns at a clatter on the main deck, another Lost Boy attempting to stow away.
Hook groans. The boys have been arriving sporadically for the last hour, seeking out the familiar in the strange town. Hook understands their unease; the electricity, running water, loud noises and strange automatic carriages take some getting used to.
"You there!" he calls and the boy freezes. There is a lot of history between him and Pan's minions and he can sense the boy's fear.
"What's your name?" He asks as he strides across the deck.
The boy looks up through his mop of dark hair. "Curly," he replies with a squeak, and Hook has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.
"An apt title, Master Curly. How may I be of assistance?"
"Uh. I wasn't looking for trouble. Just a place to sleep." The boy steps back as though he will flee, but Hook snakes his hand out and grabs his shoulder.
"A few of your compatriots are already down below in the crew quarters. You are welcome to join them as long as you rise early tomorrow and help with the ship's chores."
Curly's eyes go wide and he nods."Yes. Of course, Captain."
"It's a pirate's life for you." Hook smiles and claps the lad on the back, sending him toward the main hatch. He watches as he scurries below and then shakes his head. He wonders just how many of Pan's boys might stick around to learn how to become sailors. The Jolly needs a crew and he could do worse than eager, clever, lads in search of home and family.
"Really?" Hook turns at the voice.
"Swan!" He can't mask his surprise at seeing her golden hair and lithe form stepping down onto his deck. He hadn't dreamed he would see her tonight, assuming she would be too busy with her boy, her parents, and Bae. He had promised Bae not to pursue Emma; then again, he hadn't counted on her seeking him out. She grins easily as she approaches his position near the mast.
"Are you running a halfway house now?
He crinkles his forehead, her words as unfathomable as her presence.
"Sorry." She stops a few feet from him and tries to explain. "A halfway house is a place where criminals sometimes stay after they get out of jail. To help them get back on their feet. It's not always a house, though. It can be lots of things." She is gesturing with a nervous energy and her eyes are not quite meeting his. "When I got out of jail, I…" she pauses, her eyes flashing to his as she catches herself. He cocks an eyebrow. There is so much he doesn't know about her, but the idea of her behind bars in some brig makes questions dance on his tongue, questions he knows she wouldn't answer.
She shakes her head. "You know what? It doesn't matter. That's not why I'm here."
"Why are you here, Swan?"
It's a simple question, but she hesitates and wraps her arms around herself.
"My…uh…. sword. I left it here."
Hook nods. "Of course. It's in my cabin." He turns and leads the way, listening to her light footfall on the deck behind him.
He had found the cutlass when he had done a sweep through the crew quarters. It had hurt to see it lying there on a shelf, forgotten. Emma no longer needs a reminder of Neal, no longer needs an archaic weapon to protect herself. The cutlass had held great sentimental value before he had given it to Emma but now it feels like a priceless treasure. He had placed it with care on a shelf in his cabin next to a little square of leather with a gold insignia.
"You would have liked her, brother," he'd murmured before leaving to join the festivities at Granny's.
The cabin glows orange with the light of the lanterns. He walks straight to the sword, lifting it and turning around to hand it to Emma; only, when he turns around, she hasn't followed him to the shelf. She's stopped near his bed, her eyes roaming over the room and taking in the possessions that make up his life.
Her hand falls to the bed and the old red blanket lying atop the mattress. Milah had purchased that blanket in a market at Agraba. For a moment, he remembers the stubborn set of her jaw as she had haggled down the cost and the sparkle in her eyes when she got the price she wanted. He smiles at the memory, surprised at how little pain he feels. For so long, everything connected to Milah had felt like a gaping wound—sharp and jagged and painful. But recently, the pain had ebbed, and now it seemed he could think of her with happiness instead of anger. It was a gift that letting go of his revenge had given him, the ability to finally move on from his pain. Incongruously, he thinks how Milah would have liked Emma—her tenacity and her fearlessness, but mostly the way she had opened his heart again.
Emma looks up and catches his thoughtful smile. She offers a small smile back.
"What?" she asks.
He shakes his head. Emma isn't ready to hear such thoughts and he isn't ready to share them. He plasters on a smirk and steps toward her with a bounce in his heel.
"I was just thinking how good you looked in my cabin, by my bed."
Emma places her hands on her hips. "Don't you ever think of anything but sex?"
He licks his lips lasciviously. "Is there anything else?"
She laughs at him and he grins back victoriously. They are good at this game, throwing about words while dancing around their true thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, though, the game turns dangerous—a little too serious. Determined to keep things light, he executes an elaborate bow and offers her the cutlass with a flourish.
"Your sword, milady. Unless you would prefer mine?" He shoots her a wink.
"Oh my God! You never quit."
He chuckles as she grabs the cutlass from his hand. She rolls her eyes as she slings the belt over her shoulder. A comfortable silence falls between them and Emma looks around his cabin a little more. He can see questions forming in her eyes but knows she won't ask any of them. He is contemplating volunteering a few stories when she speaks.
"So, listen. I was thinking that maybe we could keep our sword fighting lessons going?"
He struggles to contain his surprise. "Really?"
"Yeah. I enjoy it and you did promise some fun after we defeated Pan."
She smiles as she speaks and takes a bold step closer to him. He curses her sudden interest. He had promised Bae only a few hours ago that he would stop pursuing Emma and he had meant it. Bae deserved the chance to put his family back together. Watching him on the deck the night they left Neverland as he promised Henry he would be there for him had made Killian realize that he couldn't stand in his way. He had destroyed Bae's family once, he won't do it again; of course, he had never dreamed Emma would seek him out.
He clears his throat and takes a step back from her. She frowns slightly and he looks away, focusing on the carving of a mermaid above her left shoulder.
"Aye. I did promise some fun." He glances at her perplexed face and then away again. "However, now that we are out of Neverland I hardly think you will be needing sword skills in Storybrooke."
"That's what Neal said." Emma speaks slowly, as though she can't quite understand why he isn't jumping at the chance to spend time with her. He scratches behind his ear.
"Bae always was a bright lad. I understand you are meeting him for lunch tomorrow," he offers, trying to drain his voice of all emotion.
She doesn't reply and he dares to look into her eyes. He sees confusion and something suspiciously like disappointment. His heart cracks at the sight.
"Yeah." She breaks eye contact and glances around the room, color flushing her cheeks. She opens her mouth and then closes it, whatever she was about to say left unsaid to torment him. "I should go."
She takes a step to the door and he has to use all his self-control not to follow her, to pull her back and ask her to stay and agree to teach her anything, do anything for her. He nods, keeping his clenched fist behind his back.
"I guess I'll see 'ya around, Hook."
"Aye," he croaks, but she is already turning away, her feet picking up speed as she flees.
He releases his fist and immediately pulls out his flask, draining it in one gulp. He turns to the half-full bottle of rum on his table and sighs. He hopes he can procure another because he is going to need every drop to drive away the twisting of his heart.
—
But I'm trapped by your love and I'm chained to your side
Emma lies awake on Granny's hard mattress, Henry's warm body and deep breaths beside her. Morning light filters through the threadbare curtains. It's their third day back in Storybrooke; after the bustle of New York City, the intense quiet unsettles her. She strains her ears but all she can hear is the chirp of a bird, the clatter of dishes in the diner below, and the low grunts and yells from outside.
She rolls onto her side to look out the window. Unsurprisingly, Hook is in the courtyard below. He has been there every morning, in just his pants and black shirt, running through drills and forms with his sword, getting ready for a fight. Each morning she watches him, admiring his speed, his grace, and accuracy and the flex and pull of his muscles. She has known since the day they met that he was an attractive and dangerous man, but as she watches him, she sees more than just the devilishly handsome pirate. She sees a man who came to New York to get her, who promised he would think of her every day they were parted, and who she had trusted even when she didn't know him.
As she continues to watch him, she begins to get angry. He is too attractive with his sleep-mussed hair and smudged eyeliner. She knows he was hurt that she was with Walsh, but she hadn't asked for him to pine after her or to show up at her door and rip apart her simple, peaceful life. She hates that she feels guilty; she doesn't know what to do with his longing looks or his barbed remarks. Every interaction with him has become tense and charged with unspoken emotion and it's just one more thing she doesn't want to deal with right now.
He bangs into a table while executing a spin move and the resulting crash has Emma jumping out of bed. She pulls on her jeans and a t-shirt before storming out.
He is halfway through a blocking drill when she arrives.
"Hey! Some of us are trying to sleep," she calls, her hands planted on her hips. He stops and turns.
"Swan." His look of mild annoyance does nothing to calm her anger.
"You know, there's a park down the street where nobody is sleeping."
He shrugs. "I wasn't aware I was disturbing your slumber, love."
"Typical," she huffs.
"If you are looking for a fight, Emma, I suggest you procure a sword." His voice sounds weary and he turns back to his practice without a trace of a smile. But his suggestion strikes a nerve, so she goes back into Granny's and does just that. One of the odd features of living in a cursed storybook town is the preponderance of readily available archaic weaponry; Granny has several swords near the fireplace by her crossbow. Emma grabs the sharpest looking one and heads back outside.
She storms past Hook. "Come on," she grouses, and isn't surprised when he stops his practice and follows her. She is beginning to think he will always follow her if she only asks.
Once in the open grass of the park, she spins and gets into the guard position, waiting for him to catch up and join her. The weapon is slightly heavier than she is used to but more balanced than her practice blade. She grins a little as she realizes that Hook has no idea that she has been taking sword fighting classes for the last ten months.
They had been in the city for two months when Emma had stumbled upon a pair of men sparing in Central Park. The clang of the swords, out of place in the modern, busy city, had captured her attention. She had felt a strange urge to join them; eventually, she had. She took a class and make sword fighting part of her daily routine, like other people do with running. The drills and forms had come easy at first, her body remembering what she had learned without Hook's memory potion.
In New York, she hadn't understood why sword fighting had felt so natural and so important. Now, she feels a surge of anticipation as she wonders if her subconscious was just preparing her for this rematch with a centuries-old pirate.
Hook advances with his sword raised and makes a few slow thrusts that she blocks easily.
"You can do better than that." She bites out the words.
He darts in again, a little quicker this time and she blocks again.
"Hook. I've seen you practicing. Quit toying with me."
"I'm hardly the one toying, love," he grumbles.
She replies by attacking. Her months of teaching take over and she throws herself into the fight. He doesn't speak but his shock is clear as his weapon flashes in defense. She loses herself to their sparing, relentlessly seeking a flaw in his defense. Emma was one of the best fighters in her club, but Hook is on a different level. Her breath comes ragged as she struggles to keep up with him. A small part of her admires his expertise, but mostly she is just frustrated that he has been hiding the full extent of his skill.
She resorts to backing away from him, giving up on attacking and just trying to keep up her defense. As he surges forward again, she takes a step back, only to have her foot hit water; they have reached the edge of the pond. She feels herself falling back towards the water, her arms flailing for balance. Then his hook is around her wrist and he pulls her from the edge. She falls into his chest and for a moment she doesn't understand what's happened. She feels the hardness of his chest, the rapid rise and fall of their breath, and the heat blooming between them. She blinks and shoves at him. He releases her and she steps back, shaking her soaked foot.
"That's cheating!"
"Pirate," he reminds her with a smirk as he sheathes his sword. She scowls and takes another step back and his smirk falls. "You have excellent form," he remarks, his eyes flicking to hers cautiously.
She hates the way her heart leaps at his praise.
"You let me win," she says through clenched teeth.
He crinkles his forehead. "Nonsense. You didn't win. I did."
"No. Not this." She throws out her arms and he jumps back from her swinging sword. "In the Enchanted Forest, when we were fighting over the compass. You let me win." He looks down, his eyes darting away from her. After seeing him really fight, it seems so obvious that their fight by the lake had been a farce. He could have killed her several times. Instead, he had let her win.
It made no sense. Then, he had been a villain; he'd sworn he was done with her. If he'd thrown that fight, that meant that even then, even with the fresh betrayal of the beanstalk and his revenge in sight, he had put her first.
He meets her eyes and steps closer, a challenge in the quirk of his eyebrow and the set of his jaw.
"And if I did?"
Her blood is pounding in her ears as his eyes drill into hers. She can't do this right now. She doesn't want to think about the implications of this latest revelation. She doesn't need one more thing to be grateful to him for. She breaks away from his gaze.
"I need to get back before Henry wakes up," she mutters and then brushes past him without looking back.
—-
You're beggin' me to go then makin' me stay
The morning after Zelena is defeated, Emma is alone in her bed at Granny's. Henry had slept at Regina's the night before and she hadn't wanted to sleep in the loft. Returning to her old bed felt like too much of a commitment. Why get comfortable there when she was planning on leaving? After all the excitement, she had slept soundly, but her body now refused to let her sleep in. She is awake and hears Hook quietly leaving his own room and heading down the stairs.
She knows he is going to practice. While she had avoided crossing swords with him for the last two weeks, she suddenly feels that she deserves a little light sparing and flirting. They have defeated the witch and she feels like celebrating.
She pulls on her clothes, grabs her sword, and heads to the park.
She finds him in the area near the pond and leans against a tree to watch him. He is going through a complex drill at lightning speed and she can't help but admire his skill. He really is an expert swordsman—but then, with hundreds of years of being a pirate, he could hardly be anything else. He turns deftly, executing a complicated spin move that is both elegant and cocky. It's the same move he did on the shores of the lake. She grins. He finishes the drill and turns, stopping abruptly when he notices her. He offers a tight smile and a nod.
"Those are some pretty fancy moves, Captain," she teases.
He bows his head in acknowledgment and, after a slight hesitation, walks toward her. She fingers the hilt of her sword in anticipation of their sparing.
"Think you could teach me that spin move?" She smirks, her mind darting to their lessons in Neverland.
He shakes his head. "Apologies, Swan, I am just finishing up for the day."
Emma doesn't need her superpower to know he is lying. She knows he usually practices for thirty to forty minutes. He's pushing her away like he has all week, except now he doesn't have the excuse of having cursed lips. She stares at him and he meets her eyes, daring her to question him.
"Okay. Well, I'll just have to try and figure it out on my own, then."
"Aye. Or perhaps your teacher in New York will be of assistance." A note of challenge creeps into his voice and realization dawns on her. She doesn't want to talk about leaving because she isn't going to change her mind. And while she knows he wants her to stay and make a life for herself in Storybrooke, she had a life in New York, and it was a damn good life before curses and witches and a pirate had brought it crashing down. She was happy in New York, and she wants to try and be happy there again.
She shrugs. "Yeah. I'll ask him when I get back to the city."
"As you wish." He gives her a curt nod and walks away. She watches him go and something rips inside of her. She spins and buries her blade deep into the tree.
—
We are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong
The morning mist, a strange result of the town being surrounded by an ice wall, is burning off as Emma drives through the quiet streets. With a prisoner in the cell, she had decided to go in a little early. She slows as she nears the park and smiles wide when she sees Killian warming up with his sword. He is in his jeans with his blue button up rolled up to his elbows, exposing the hair and muscles of his arms. She wonders how he would look in a t-shirt and when she should introduce him to the concept of workout clothes.
She parks the car and watches him with a smile. Their date the other night had been near perfect. Initially, she had worried things would be awkward between them without monsters to fight or a timeline to fix things; she couldn't have been more wrong. Their conversation had flowed easily and the night had slipped away until suddenly she was standing at the door, wearing his coat and kissing him. She isn't sure if she will ever tire of kissing him.
She climbs out of the car, wishing she had her own sword so they could spar.
He sees her as he turns and stops in the middle of his downward slash. He sheaths the sword and walks toward her with his usual swagger.
"Emma! To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She contemplates kissing him in greeting but the relationship is still new, still uncertain, and she hesitates too long. So she smiles wide and steps close to him instead. He lifts his hook and slips it through her hair as he bites his lip and she wonders if he wants to kiss her too.
"I was just heading to the station and saw you."
"Ah. Anything I can assist you with, love?" He sways closer and she smiles.
"No, just checking on Will."
His forehead furrows and Emma wonders if he might be jealous. She reaches out and strokes his shoulder, sliding her hand down to tangle with his. Killian steps even closer and Emma looks up into his ice blue eyes.
"Did you want to practice with me?" he asks, his lip quirking. She realizes then that she doesn't really have a reason for stopping. She just wanted to see him, to talk to him, but she can't tell him that—not yet.
"Um. Actually, since I'm no longer going to New York, I was hoping you could show me that spin move." She tilts her head playfully.
"Hmmm…teaching that move will require a lot of time. Weeks, months maybe. Perhaps you could join me tomorrow morning?"
Her smile grows wider. "That could be arranged." They stand there, staring at each other and swaying closer and closer. Emma realizes that if she doesn't leave soon, they will probably start kissing—which she isn't opposed to, but it really isn't the time or place.
"I know you're going sailing with Henry this afternoon, but could you maybe come by the station this morning? Elsa and I are going through some records, looking for more clues." It's an excuse to spend time with him, but she can't help that she wants to be around him as much as possible.
"Of course. I would be delighted to help." He is so sincere in his excitement and she thinks maybe he wants excuses to spend time with her too.
"Well, I should probably go." She looks down reluctantly at their joined hands.
"Aye, love," he whispers, his breath hot on her cheek. She looks up and on impulse kisses him quickly and then pulls away before he can react.
"See you later," she murmurs before turning and beating a hasty retreat. His deep laughter follows her back to her car and she doesn't stop grinning until she gets to the station.
—-
And when all this gets old, will it still feel the same
It's amazing the difference a few weeks of peace can make. She and Killian have settled into a routine. They meet each morning to practice sword fighting, sometimes doing solo drills, sometimes sparing. Emma has learned his spin move, picked up his tricks and developed some of her own. Sometimes Charming joins them, and watching Killian and her father spar is always entertaining. They argue like an old married couple and it makes Emma grin. Henry has talked about joining in, even attended a few sessions, but the mornings are too early for him. Even the lure of learning sword fighting isn't enough to shake him from his bed. Emma has yet to convince Killian to wear exercise clothes, though he always runs an appreciative eye over hers. This morning, it's just them; after lots of solo practice, they've started sparring.
Killian feints and she blocks. They dance around each other fluidly and it's exhilarating to him to watch her skill level so advanced, her movements so seamless. Killian suddenly speeds up his attack and Emma is hard pressed to keep him at bay. She knows he is backing her against the tree, a favorite tactic of his and one that usually ends in her defeat and them kissing. All and all not a bad way to end a workout. As he advances, Emma catches his smug grin as he anticipates the coming victory and she finds that she wants to wipe it from his face. She waits until he is about to make his final push—then, using the latest bit of magic she has learned from Regina, she makes her move.
She disappears in front of him and he stumbles into the tree. With a grunt of frustration, he turns and is met by Emma's sword point at his throat. He smiles broadly.
"That was bloody brilliant. When did you learn to do that?"
Emma grins. "The other day. Regina says it's weird that I don't have any smoke when I do it."
She lowers the sword and steps close to him. Her hand falls to his chest and she feels the reassuring thump of his heart and the thrum of her magic that tells her it is safe. Killian wraps his arm around her and pulls her close, dropping a quick kiss to her lips.
"You never cease to amaze me, darling," he says as he leans his forehead against hers. She blushes at the honest praise and admiration in his gaze. Will she ever get used to how completely and totally he adores her? Does she even want to? She brushes their lips together again.
"Get a room!" They turn to see Leroy passing by on his way to Granny's with a disgusted look on his face.
"Oh, shit." Emma realizes that if Leroy is on his way to his morning coffee, then she is late. "I'd better go." She pulls away. "I probably won't have time to eat breakfast at Granny's. Maybe we can catch lunch?"
"Of course. Shall I grab you some coffee to go and meet you on your way?" He pushes away from the tree and she flashes him a grateful smile and kisses him on the cheek.
"Thanks Killian."
It's only when she sees him leaning against the bug, coffee in hand, that she realizes how good it feels to let someone take care of her, even if it is just a coffee when she is running late.
—-
And if your heart surrenders, you'll need me to hold
Emma is fighting with a fierce anger and it is taking all Killian's skill to keep her at bay. A lesser swordsman would be seriously injured from her onslaught. The sting of her parents betrayal is still gnawing at her. She isn't ready to talk so he lets her release her frustration with her blade. He understands the comfort in the familiar and violent activity. In her anger she slashes wildly and her defense is sloppy. But he doesn't have it in his heart to take advantage of her missteps. She notices and snaps angrily.
"Killian, fight back!" she grunts as they break away. He grits his teeth but does as she asks and neatly disarms her with a quick attack. She looks disbelievingly at her sword lying in the grass and then turns back to him.
He watches, expecting her to yell or to storm to her blade, but she sighs, her shoulders sagging. He sheathes his sword and steps forward. Tears are sparkling in her eyes and he wraps his arms around her.
She sags against him, taking a shuddering breath. He rubs a circle on the small of her back and wishes she would unburden her heart. He knows how darkness can grow and fester in a heart and he can't bear to see her struggling with this pain. He knows the only way out is for her to forgive her parents but it's a truth she isn't ready to hear.
She pulls away and cups his cheek, her thumb running over his scar.
"Thank you," she says and presses her lips to his. The salt from her tears leave a tang in his mouth and he wishes he could do more to protect her heart.
"Anytime, love."
There's no way this will die
Killian had fallen asleep with the dagger—her dagger—wrapped in his hand. His fitful sleep had bled into an early morning that was too bright when the only light in his life was gone. He stares at the sword lying on his table and decides not to break with routine. He heads to the park with measured steps, fighting the feeling of helplessness threatening to overtake him. As he approaches the park, he is surprised to see a figure experimentally sweeping a sword—Emma's sword—in the clearing.
"Henry?" he calls as he approaches.
The lad turns and Killian can see that the boy got about as much sleep as he did.
"I…uh….I thought I could practice with you. Maybe you could teach me a little?"
Killian pauses, staring at this boy that had somehow became a young man. He can see Baelfire's determination in the set of his jaw and Emma's stubbornness in his eyes. He doesn't say why he wants to learn. He doesn't have to. It will take everything they have to rescue Emma from the darkness. He nods and draws his sword.
"Aye. Let me show you some drills."
When David arrives a few minutes later, a look of acknowledgement passes between them, but nothing more. They are going to find Emma; when they do they will be ready.
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