So, this is a little six-shot based on the song 'Six Degrees of Separation' by The Script. Every chapter will have a stage woven into it - and for those of you silently admonishing me for starting another mini-fic while I've still got two in progress, you are absolutely right and I apologize but my muse hates me. So there.
First, you think the worst is a broken heart
Emma had experienced a lot of pain in her life.
She knew well the feelings of heartache, where her chest seized up and her breathing came in rapid, hollow gasps. She had experienced hurt, where her stomach formed intricate knots at the bottom of her abdomen and her eyes prickled with tears. There wasn't much that she hadn't experienced in the domain of unfortunate sentiments – every world, from the Enchanted Forest, to reality, to Neverland, had dealt her near-fatal blows.
Emma Swan knew how to deal with despair and yet, as the Jolly Roger bobbed up and down on the unseasonably rough waves, she felt a tiny part of her reserve break. It had been a month since Henry's abduction; a month spent roaming Neverland's dark and death-laden realm.
Gold's enchanted globe only gave them general co-ordinates and it seemed the Lost Boys were sporadically changing position – as though they could anticipate every time the ship grew close. David and Mary Margaret were steadfast in their determination, and Emma wondered if it was for their own sake or for hers. Her mother had made numerous offers to talk, tentatively suggesting that she might benefit from venting some of the pent up tension that curbed her shoulders and stiffened her neck.
But every time, without fault, Emma had refused. She couldn't talk to the young woman who was somehow her mother. It didn't logically work – and the blonde still had trouble bending her perceptions to accept the fact that her mother was not only her age but the one and only Snow White.
She loved her mother – that was unquestionable. But, being raised independently, it was ingrained in Emma that when times got tough, the only person she had to rely on was herself. Too many times she had entrusted her feelings with others only to have them trodden on.
So, natural instinct dictated she keep her grievances to herself; letting them slowly eat away at her insides until she collapsed.
And it seemed the one-month anniversary of her son's abduction was the prime moment to collapse.
Emma clutched the banister on the side of the ship, leaning over and breathing in the cool night sea air. Her breath came out in small white wisps, floating up into the black, starlit sky. The only light aboard the Jolly Roger was cast by three lanterns: two either side of the entry to the decks below and one hanging by the mast.
The rest had been extinguished upon their party's retire to bed.
She really had tried to sleep, but, evidently, no amount of fatigue could make her forget the duration of time they had spent in the dangerous land; the anniversary like a blow to her assurance.
Her blonde hair flicked around lightly in the breeze, occasionally impeding her vision with a golden strand. But she didn't care, she wasn't looking at anything in particular. She just needed a moment - only a second to gather herself before she would retreat below deck and force herself to sleep. Because she needed to be at her best for him, she needed to preserve what little energy she had.
Thoughts of Henry swirled in her mind, images of him flashing mockingly behind her lids every time she blinked. Emma felt her knuckles go white with the amount of pressure she was applying on the banister, gripping it as though it were a lifeline in the tsunami of emotions threatening to swallow her whole.
She closed her eyes, pushing desperately at her mind's conjured images of her son; cold, alone, afraid, hurt. Despite her best efforts, Emma felt a lone tear trail down her cheek, burning her cheek in a humiliating track of wetness. Her lip quivered ever-so-slightly and she bit down on it hard, almost drawing blood as she forced herself to think of anything else.
It seemed her mind had chosen tonight as the night to slay her with images of her failings because more visions replaced Henry's face. But this time, they were of Neal; watching him get shot through bleary eyes, fighting off Tamara with fury-infused adrenaline, the portal opening, gripping tightly at a hand and feeling the tendons in her hand protest, tapping into every last reservoir of emotion in a frantic scramble to save him, Neal falling into oblivion. Another tear slid down her cheek and Emma looked down at her tightly clenched hands.
She kept failing.
The sound of metal hinges squeaking in meek protest snapped her to attention and Emma hurriedly wiped at her cheek, taking a steadying breath before spinning on her heel to confront the unfortunate soul who dared interrupt her. She blew out her breath in a sigh when she saw who it was, exasperation almost immediately tinting her flushed face.
"It's late, princess. What are you doing up here?" Hook asked, his eyes doing a quick once over of the deck before landing on her again.
He walked towards her and stopped a short distance away, his icy stare surprisingly tentative. He appeared to be treading on glass shards. Good.
Emma really shouldn't complain – he had been uncharacteristically docile in the past month. She could count on one hand the amount of times he'd taken the opportunity to jest her; a fact that both comforted her and perturbed her, though she'd never admit it.
He hadn't been treating her with kid gloves, but he'd kept his distance. When they spoke, it was always with purpose – discussing the safest way to get through a certain area of the Neverwoods, how best to approach a group of scantily clad mermaids for information, what plants were safest to consume. She'd scarcely had a conversation with him that hadn't revolved around getting to her son. And something about that resonated deeply in Emma, that he was focused entirely on the exact same goal as her.
Though it still confused the hell out of her – he didn't, after all, benefit in any which way from their arrangement. In fact, if anything, it was costing him a whole lot more than was logically reasonable.
She could see in the way he observed the land, the look of mixed apprehension and discomfort. Something about this land made Hook uneasy and it had something to do with his past. Curiosity pricked at Emma's nerves constantly, but she smothered the feeling with determination to get to Henry. In his presence now though, as his eyes left her to briefly scan the sea surrounding them, she wanted to know.
What did he ask again?
Emma stayed silent, wrapping her arms around herself and looking in the direction he had, out towards the black sea.
Hook raised an eyebrow, "What are you doing up here?" he repeated his question.
She shook her head and shrugged, "Just getting some air."
He levelled her with a strangely appreciative look, "Couldn't sleep?"
Emma nodded before her defences could kick in and tell her to withhold the information. Inability to sleep typically signalled weakness and any show of weakness was intolerable in the pirate's presence – especially when he already knew how to read her without her willingly revealing a thing.
Hook nodded and walked to stand at the side of the ship, never moving closer to her. She wondered if he did it purposefully, fearful that he might set her off if he amplified their proximity.
The sea breeze ruffled his raven hair and he inhaled deeply. Emma found herself studying him and before she could help herself, she asked, "Why couldn't you sleep?"
He turned to her, leaning on the banister as he appraised her, "What makes you think I couldn't sleep?"
Emma shrugged, "Why else would you be up?"
Killian nodded with a small mirthless smirk and began to pick at his appendage, his eyes snapping onto it as he answered, "Touché." There was silence, the only sound the soft lapping of the waves against the side of the ship. Emma waited for him to answer but he didn't make any move to speak.
"Well?" she prompted, taking a miniscule step closer.
He looked up to meet her gaze, the cerulean blue enchanting in the dim golden light cast by the lanterns.
"I'll tell if you do," he replied, a challenging lilt in his voice. Emma's eyes narrowed fractionally as her mouth smoothed into a thin line. And so the game of cloak and dagger began without the slightest bit of fanfare, neither acknowledging the tension that began to seep into the frigid air between them.
Emma didn't reply and he nodded, silently conceding her refusal to answer.
"Where are we going tomorrow?" she asked, weakly attempting to change the topic to something a little less delicate. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, a white wisp of air from his nostrils the only indication he'd made a feint snort of amusement. Hook stood up to his full height, the smirk a little dark around the edges as he stepped closer towards her.
Despite the glint in his eyes telling her he was thinking something completely different, Hook responded, "The crocodile's globe indicated your boy is on the South end of the Island, near Skull Rock. Luckily the wind is on our side so we'll be there by midday."
Emma nodded and once again silence descended. She wanted to leave, but something profound and unidentifiable kept her rooted to the spot, facing him. The noiseless moment extended for a long second and then he cocked his head to the side, his eyes darting from her eyes to her cheek.
"You've been crying."
Emma's hand twitched with the sudden urge to wipe her cheeks futilely and he saw the movement, frowning unsurely. She didn't know how to answer, so she finally let her protective instincts take over and began walking towards the door that led below deck. She had just passed by him when she felt a soft grip on her upper arm.
Emma turned to face Hook, whose face betrayed the faintest hint of concern as he let his arm drop.
She looked up at him expectantly, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to speak.
"I know it's been a month," he eventually said, looking down with… shame?
The words fell from his mouth like dead weights, landing on the deck with a guilty thud. He was embarrassed. He knew how long it had been.
Something strange occurred to Emma, and it was as though she could finally translate a page of the eternally obscure book that was Killian Jones. The scrawled writing stood out clear to her, taking her off-guard with the implication laced indiscernibly into his words.
"That's why you can't sleep, isn't it?" Emma asked quietly.
Hook didn't answer but she could see it – feel the way his eyes avoided hers. He felt like he'd failed and that notion touched her, a puzzle piece shifting into place as a small voice grew marginally louder in the back of her head, prompting her to realise something just out of her reach.
"Same," she said, her voice cracking a little as she spoke.
It was an admission of weakness and one that her natural instincts roared at in objection, scolding her for such idiocy. But there was another part of her, soft and light, that brightened slightly when he lifted his head to meet her eyes. Mutual understanding shaded the exchange as she felt something strange and small bloom in her chest. Something that reminded her of the first time she'd given Henry a sliver of information about her past.
As the air grew too dense, Emma nodded, breaking the spell that surrounded them and meeting his eyes for a second more before spinning on her heel and heading towards the door that led below deck. She had nearly reached it when a strange sound ran clear and shrill through the night air.
It sounded like something akin to a screech, and yet the tenor of the voice was oddly beautiful, albeit haunting. Emma's brows pulled together as she turned around, gooseflesh erupting across her skin as the high-pitched keen extended. She searched the deck for the source of the noise, her ears beginning to prickle uncomfortably as it raised a decibel. It sounded as though it was coming from the side of the ship, and she walked quickly in that direction.
As she took a step, her eyes absent-mindedly landed on Hook, whose stance was suddenly rigid. His gaze met hers, and she felt her insides constrict at what she saw: a strange mixture of dread and fear, something she'd seldom seen on the pirate. Even throughout their time in Neverland, he always maintained an air of indifference, his expression constantly schooled so as not to convey whatever his true feelings were towards a situation or threat.
Their eyes still locked, he walked in the direction she was heading so that they both ended up at the side of the ship. The inky black water revealed no answers, though Emma was sure the noise came from its depths.
She scrutinised the waves, peering desperately into the reflection of the stars.
There was a flicker of movement, the briefest glimpse of something shimmery, before she felt Hook grip her arm. He jerked her roughly backwards as he too stepped away from the banister.
Emma immediately turned to him, a question forming on her lips.
But she was silenced by the look of pure unadulterated fear that flickered briefly in his cerulean irises. He recognised whatever it was that was making the noise, and he was very obviously disturbed by what it entailed. Hook's jaw clicked as his eyes hardened, the icy blue solidifying into something darker.
"Get below deck, get your parents and tell David to grab the special weaponry I told him about. Grab yourself a sword too, do you understand?" the words were a rushed command, demanding but at the same time confident that she would execute the order without question. He pushed her roughly towards the hatch she had previously been heading towards and turned around, unknotting a seemingly pointless rope.
Emma stumbled for a second before springing quickly into action, the high-pitched screech still ringing across the deck.
She ran below deck, her footfalls heavy as she entered the room they were all sharing. They were all already getting out of bed, the sound from above deck having travelled into the cabins. Her parents levelled her with a groggy look of incredulity.
"What is going on up there?" Mary Margaret inquired with a sigh, just before she finally seemed to register the way Emma appeared slightly panicked.
"What's wrong?" David quickly interceded, his demeanour significantly changing as the air shifted around them.
Regina and Gold had also straightened up and Emma let Hook's instructions flow freely from her lips, "Something's coming, I don't know what but Hook told me to tell you to get the special weapon he told you about?" she directed that towards David and then turned to the rest of them, "Get some weapons and get above deck."
She didn't wait for them to respond, running out of the room towards another cabin she knew held some swords and other weapons. Emma snatched a sword, feeling awkward despite her father's vain attempts at teaching her, and began running back above deck.
As she broke the surface, she heard as the screeching abruptly stopped and an eerie silence encased the ship.
Sword held aloft, Emma locked gazes with Hook who stood across the deck, his hands busy with the ropes. She jogged towards him, her eyes darting around the ship as she did, and watched his continued ministrations.
"What are you doing? What's going on?" she asked breathlessly.
"I'm pulling up the sails," he answered absent-mindedly, now pulling harshly at one of the ropes. A clanking sound made her eyes snap heavenwards and she saw as the white sheets began to retract. It should have been impossible for one man to do – but Hook had already explained previously that the ship was enchanted and thus able to be controlled by one man.
She turned to him with wide eyes, "What? But won't we lose speed?"
His lips pulled into a thin line and he nodded once before glancing grimly up at her, "Better we move slower and fight than fast and have them torn to shreds."
Hook let go of the rope he had been fiddling with and strode to the other side of the deck where another rope ran in a simultaneous pattern to the one he had just disassembled. Emma followed him, feeling her nerves spike at the connotations of his statement, "Wait – what? What do you mean 'torn to shreds?' What are we fighting?" Her fingers tightened around the hilt of the sword, her arms holding it surprisingly steady. Hook didn't respond for a long moment, his concentration focussed on the thick rope in his deft hands.
Finally, though, as the smaller sails pulled upwards, he looked up through his lashes, the ice blue burning into her with an intensity she wasn't yet used to.
"Mermaids."
His answer was punctuated by the sound of the shaft opening and Mary Margaret, David and Regina joining them above deck. The prince held what appeared to be a large black cylindrical device with a strange bracelet in the centre. He walked confidently to where Emma and Hook had stood at the side and she watched as her father attached the strange weapon to the golden banister, fastening some kind of lock and checking it was in place before assessing its manoeuvrability.
It appeared to be some kind of small portable cannon and Emma was distantly aware of the admiration that swelled in her chest. Evidently, Hook knew what he was doing – a notion she still found herself swallowing with difficulty.
Mary Margaret had a bow looped over her shoulder and a sheath of arrows strapped diagonally cross her back, while Regina simply stood, rubbing her hands together. Gold entered after them, walking towards the Evil Queen to stand beside her as he too began rubbing his hands together and occasionally flicking outwards.
"Is it loaded?" Emma heard Hook yell to David, who gripped the handles of the cannon tightly.
He nodded and the blonde turned to face him, letting the sword drop fractionally.
"When the fighting starts, stay away from the edge of the ship – try to stick as closely to the main mast as possible and never leave your back unattended. And do not underestimate them at any point in time, I don't care if it looks dead; you skewer it to make sure." His words hung in the air for a long moment as Emma processed the instructions, already turning so her back faced the centre of the boat. She looked out to where David was situated and felt worry shoot through her hot and fast.
"What about David? Shouldn't he be back here?" Emma asked, glancing between her father and the pirate.
"He knows what he's doing," Hook replied without antagonism; he wasn't suggesting that she didn't know but rather that somewhere in the past month, the two men had discussed such a situation. Emma was oddly disconcerted by the idea of her father and the pirate captain having any private conversation, but brushed it off as her mother approached.
Mary Margaret had already drawn an arrow and positioned it in her bow pre-emptively.
Hook addressed her as soon as she was within earshot, "Get to the Quarterdeck. The railing and height makes it harder for the mermaids to mount it straight up, so they'll be diving onto the main deck first. Set up there and shoot anything that boards the ship and don't let them get to the Quarterdeck. If they get near the wheel, they'll destroy it and make it near-impossible for us to get around the island."
To Emma's surprise, her mother nodded and levelled the blonde with a look that encompassed concern and what she could only interpret as, 'take care of yourself.'
She nodded, returning the expression as the petite woman started jogging to the Quarterdeck.
"What are you going to do?" Emma asked suddenly, giving him a curious glance.
The sky was just beginning to lighten with the dawn of a new day, though the stars still twinkled in the greying expanse. He unsheathed his sword and turned to her, a strange look glinting in his eyes.
"Man the deck."
She pivoted so her back was facing Hook, and moved into the fighting stance David had taught her, sword held high and to her side, eyes habitually roaming her surroundings for any signs of intrusion. The entire deck was encapsulated in silence, the tension mounting to such a point that she was sure even a dull knife could slice through it. The waves continued to lap at the hull, the calming sound a strange contrast in light of whatever they were about to face.
Emma glanced briefly behind her to Hook and though she could only see his back, she could see the relaxed way he held himself – even preparing for a fight.
Suddenly, a loud shriek filled the air, and Emma turned around to face her side of the ship.
Hook's voice boomed through the brisk air, "Come now, ladies! It's rude to keep a man waiting!"
And then, like a whip cracking, the eerie moment broke and Emma felt the adrenaline begin its course through her body, rushing through her veins and crackling in her nerves. She gripped the sword tighter still, nearly dropping it in shock when she heard a colossal boom behind her.
Emma allowed herself a short second to steal a glance at the source of the violent thunder and was shocked to see her father shooting the cannon into the ocean. Water splashed up in response, soaking his shirt and wetting the deck.
Another boom sounded as David pulled some kind of trigger on the weapon and a primal and gut-wrenching roar gurgled up from the depths of the water.
Vaguely, she heard a dull thud behind her.
And then there was screeching, and it was coming from her side of the ship.
Emma turned, her eyes snapping quickly onto the strange metallic creature writhing around on the deck. Its skin was a strange gold-white, scales that looked like diamonds covering the lower half of its body. Her eyes roamed the creature in a second, taking note of the way the fin made scratches along the ship's wooden deck; the flimsy appearance of the strange iridescent flesh evidently a façade.
It had white hair and yellow eyes, the claws and teeth silver and sharpened to pinpoints.
Though terrifying, Emma wouldn't deny the mermaid had certain elements of beauty there, laced intricately into the petrifying features.
Water pooled around where the mermaid had landed and it immediately began slithering along the deck towards her, surprisingly fast for something with no legs – almost like a snake. Emma felt a small part of her shrivel up in fear but, in true Swan style, she suppressed it, shoving it down into the crevasse of emotions she didn't need or want.
Emma lifted her sword to strike as the mermaid approached, scratching roughly at the deck with its tail and claws, teeth snapping like a rabid animal. But before it could reach her, there was a soft whirring sound before an arrow sank into the mermaid's temple.
Emma turned to where her mother had already rotated to Hook's side, firing off two more arrows.
It was then that Emma noticed the two other mermaids that had jumped aboard on Hook's side. One with shocking pink skin and the other with deep blue scales and both lay dead on the deck, black blood seeping from their fatal wounds and onto the deck.
With the three mermaids dispatched, Emma sighed and lowered her weapon slightly.
Hook looked at her when he heard her breathy exhale and smirked mirthlessly, "Oh don't lower your weapon yet, darling. That was just the preamble." His sword glinted in the fading moonlight as he spun back around, ensuring his back was to her. She mirrored his movement, giving Mary Margaret a brief nod of appreciation as she did.
And he was right – ridiculously so.
Three bodies arced out of the sea, landing flat on the deck on a neat line. They eyed Emma scathingly, their hisses clear and potent with wrath. The middle one moved first, using its black claws and tail to propel itself forward. The other two followed in quick succession and Emma took a deep breath. One of the latter ones spied Regina and Gold and split off in their direction, sliding effortlessly across the deck towards them.
Emma only just had enough time to call to the two sorcerers before the black creature reached her,
"Regina! Gold! Your left!"
The mermaid lifted its upper body into a position that strangely resembled the yoga pose, 'cobra.' Its teeth bared and upper lip pulled back, the mermaid raised its chest up, puffing up like a bird. She jumped just in time to avoid her legs being sliced as it flicked its tail around in an attempt to maim her.
Emma briefly glanced behind her to check Hook hadn't been dealt the blow she'd evaded, but he had moved closer to the edge of the ship, duelling three of the mermaids at once as David continued to fire into the water and Mary Margaret shot arrows left right and centre.
Emma turned back and swung her sword down and around, missing when the mermaid leaned awkwardly to the side. The one following her slithered up to its side and all at once, both mermaids were jumping at her.
She dodged and struck, simultaneously covering herself and delivering a number of blows. It was only when she finally landed a deep gash to the chest of the other one that it dropped to the ground with a sputtered breath and repulsive gurgle.
The black one noted its fallen comrade and screeched furiously, flying at Emma with more fervour than before and catching her arm. Its claws carved through the soft white skin on her right arm like silk, creating four deep gashes that elicited a cry of pain from the blonde. Anger bubbled up in her, a primal response to being dealt injury, and she backed towards the mast, her sword held straight out in front of her warningly. There was another thud and splash to her right, and from her peripheral vision she could see another silver mermaid had jumped aboard, automatically carrying its body in her direction.
The black mermaid still facing off with her smiled cruelly and hissed, a low sound that made the hairs on the back of Emma's neck stand up.
Blood seeped from the wound on her arm and she let herself glance at it, immediately regretting the decision when she felt bile rise up in her throat. Emma rolled her shoulders, ignoring the pain that burned her upper arm with the movement of her muscles, and made a faux step to the right, swinging her sword around her left to catch the mermaid as it lunged for where Emma had falsely been headed.
The metal slashed into the black mermaid's side and, without hesitation, Emma brought the weapon down again on its new companion, hitting the newly arrived silver mermaid on the shoulder.
Unfortunately though, while the wound was of comparable depth, it ensured her blade became lodged in the damp flesh. Emma tried to pull the sword from the silver mermaid's shoulder, wincing when she felt the sickening sound of metal grating up against something unidentifiable.
The black mermaid saw the opening and, with the blonde momentarily occupied, jumped at her. It nocked Emma to the ground, landing on top of her and disarming her in the process. Its ebony scales bit into her skin, pricking her legs as she held them on the flat underside of the fin, hoping desperately that the mermaid wouldn't think to flick it down onto her ankles, knowing that doing so would leave her without feet.
Its black eyes burned into her with unparalleled hatred, and she could feel the dark blood from the wound in her side seeping onto her shirt.
Emma heaved up, a futile effort as the mermaid crushed her with its surprisingly heavy weight, holding down her arms securely with its claws latched into the wood. The mermaid bared its teeth, the sharpness of each tooth abruptly registering in the blonde's mind.
Even without its tail and claws, the mermaid could still kill her – and Emma had no doubt that the creature had no qualms about tearing into human flesh with its own teeth.
The mermaid reared its head upwards, opening its mouth wide.
There was a sickening squelch and watched as the black head descended down, though now the mouth was slack. Noting the way the weight was suddenly limp, she pushed roughly at the scaly body, watching as it rolled off of her lifelessly.
Emma scrambled up, internally blanching when she felt her shirt stick to her stomach.
Her eyes flickered up from the shiny black body of the mermaid with the knife in its back to where Hook's hand was still slightly outstretched, having thrown the weapon. Their eyes locked and she saw him nod once before turning around to dispatch a pale preen mermaid that had jumped aboard.
Emma walked shakily over to the dead black mermaid, pulling out the knife and holding it deftly in her hand. Strangely, she felt more comfortable holding the smaller weapon and, shaking off the fear that still resided from her close encounter with the scaled creature; she turned to find a new foe.
Regina and Gold were sending bursts of purple magic at the two mermaids that attacked them, holding them off in the hopes that Mary Margaret would target them soon. But, as Emma noted, her mother was greatly preoccupied by the four mermaids battling David and Hook.
The blonde ran towards the two sorcerers, running parallel along the side of the ship to come up behind the mermaids. It was risky, especially with their razor-sharp tails, but she'd rather have the element of surprise than take a side-on approach. When she was a metre away from the two mermaids, Emma jumped up and landed on the flat side of the left mermaid's tail, planting her feet firmly on each side of the fin as she threw the large knife down. It hit the creature just under her shoulder blades and Emma shoved the blade downwards until it went limp under her.
She turned just in time to lean backwards, avoiding the angry swipe of the other mermaid's tail as it swished dangerously through the air.
It would have hit Regina and Gold, but both sorcerers shoved back with a burst of purple magic, forcing the tail to stop as if it had hit some kind of wall.
Emma pulled the weapon roughly out of the dead mermaid and stood up, watching as it slithered away from the two sorcerers and followed her across the deck. She was nearly at the mast when a dull thus sounded to her right and she gasped at the closeness of the latest intruder.
This mermaid was red and gold, its tail reminiscent of flames licking up to her waist. Emma had no time to react as it purchased a strong grip on her ankles and pulled her down hard. She fell, crying out in protest as she hit the deck. Her head landed on the solid surface with a loud bang and everything was suddenly hazy as she loosely felt the thing pull her along the saturated wood. Despite her grogginess, Emma knew she had to get out the mermaids grip and so began pulling at anything and anything in her reach to stop herself.
She even sliced her hand grasping the sharp tail of one of the fallen mermaids.
"Swan!" Hook's voice bellowed through the air, and she tilted her head to watch upside down as David heaved the cannon around and aimed for the mermaid following behind them. The cannonball shot through the air and exploded on the mermaid trailing Emma and the scarlet one.
The latter creature screeched, its ruby coloured eyes narrowing at the leather-clad man now running across the deck towards them.
Emma felt herself pulled roughly towards the edge of the ship, cold thin arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her up so that she sat in front of the mermaid as it balanced precariously on the golden banister, back facing the cold Neverland Ocean. Hook was still sprinting towards her with David following swiftly behind, Mary Margaret now attempting to aim an arrow at the red mermaid as it used its tail to shove the deck away.
And for a terrifying second, they teetered on the edge of the deck, Hook's icy blue eyes the last thing Emma really locked onto before she felt herself falling backwards through the air.
The arms around her waist never relinquished, even as they hit the frigid water and she stiffened at the painful pricking of her nerves. However, while the oceans ice water stung her skin, it proved an adequate method of sobering her dazed mind, sharpening the cloudy thoughts to a pinpoint as she registered with painful clarity what her situation was and what it might entail if she didn't get out of it.
Emma immediately began to pull and scratch viciously at the mermaids fastened arms, digging her nails into the strangely tough flesh and ripping in an attempt to undo them. Just near her ear, she heard a sweet, melodic and patently cruel voice.
"Stop fighting, sweetheart, or I'll rip your heart from your chest."
She turned her head to the side, and felt her eyes widen when she realised the voice had come from the red mermaid holding her.
Other voices perked up around her as the mermaid crushed her to its chest, still moving languidly down through the water.
"Why didn't you just kill her on the boat, Andromeda? What have I said about playing with your food?" a pale blue mermaid purred as it glided up to float beside Emma. She could just feel the beginnings of pain in her lungs, a sensation of bloating encasing her head at a rapid and aching pace. Emma shoved backwards at the mermaid holding her, ignoring the prior threat and nearly gasping in surprise when it let her go.
She swam backwards and away from the two mermaids, fear creeping up on her as she noted their cruel grins in the dark water. The glow of their skin lighting up their faces so, even in the dark depths of the ocean, they could be seen.
The red one swam forward first, gripping her ankle and pulling her back down with such force that water was all but forced up Emma's nose.
She coughed and vainly attempted to retain as much oxygen as she could, but her breath was already spent, and she felt the water begin to cloud in around her. Her head felt like it was about to burst.
"I would say I'm sorry about this, but I'm really not," the mermaid droned in amusement, opening her mouth and gripping Emma's shoulders.
She closed her eyes tight, images flashing before her eyes with a myriad of emotions: her parents, Henry, her friends, Hook, Henry, Henry, Henry. She felt pain and grief well up in her chest, crushing it as she realised she would not save him, she'd never even gotten close. She only hoped that their group would go on, that her parents would understand that it was what she wanted them to do.
Emma finally opened her mouth, allowing the water to enter her lungs as she waited for the sharp teeth to puncture her skin and tear.
It was surprisingly painless as the salty water filled her mouth and moved into her lungs, filling them and preventing her from breathing in anymore. The pounding inside her head subsided and she felt the nerves of her fingertips become numb. It didn't occur to her that the mermaid hadn't yet bit into her, nor did it strike her as odd when she felt a softer, warmer grip on her upper arm. A broad arm wound its way around her waist, holding her gently and firmly all at once. She didn't know what happened after that, because everything was dark and numb and warm. It was a long moment of pure, blissful nothingness.
And then a heaving pain in her desiccated lungs, a soft and continuous pumping on her chest, warm lips pressed against hers as air was forced into her, the feeling of retching as water made its way up and out of her mouth.
Emma felt the spinning world come to an abrupt halt, settling into place as memories flooded her mind. She coughed violently, opening her eyes briefly to icy blue irises and damp black hair. But as she continued to heave, the arms around her changed and when she opened her eyes again, it wasn't ice blue eyes that welcomed her, but soft leafy green and powder blue. Mary Margaret and David were both dripping wet, their eyes red from something other than seawater. She felt a strong hand move to her wrist and grab her hand, as she was lifted into a more inclined position.
The water came up through her throat with each cough and splutter until her throat was ragged from the effort.
She looked around the deck to where the bodies of the mermaids still lay, their lifeless forms sending a shiver up Emma's spine as she recalled the melodic and twisted voices that belonged to them in the water. Her eyes eventually drifted around to Regina and Gold, who were both engrossed in conversation, and then to Hook. He leaned on the banister of the stairs leading to the Quarterdeck, his eyes locked onto her form with and emotion she couldn't quite place.
"We thought we'd lost you," Mary Margaret said, relief flooding her tone.
Emma smiled tightly, "Not just yet," she replied, shakily pushing herself into a sitting position. David helped her to her feet, and she looked down at her saturated grey singlet, the black stain from the mermaid's blood covering the lower left side of her shirt.
She shivered, aware that though the sun was now making an appearance on the horizon, it was still brisk in the early morning air. Footfalls sounded to her right and she turned to see Hook approached, shrugging off his heavy black coat. David quickly stepped forward and took the coat from the pirate, turning around and draping it over Emma's shoulders.
It smelt like rum and spice and salt water, and she resisted the urge to nuzzle into the still warm fabric. She pulled it tighter around her, ensuring her expression was unfazed as she did so, even though her mind hummed appreciatively at the body warmth that still radiated from within the coat.
Hook's voice drew her from her thoughts and she looked up to watch him heading for the helm.
"We need to get moving – the mermaids are vengeful creatures and they won't take long to re-group. We need to get to warmer waters," he said, moving up towards the great wooden wheel and grasping it with what could only be described as familiarity. Emma shrugged her arms into the sleeves so it wouldn't fall off as she followed the pirate up to the Quarterdeck.
"What do we do?" she asked.
"Get David to let the sails down, we're going to try to outrun them to the Easter shores. Mermaids hate warm water so they won't head that far East. Get everyone else to help you throw the carcasses overboard," he ordered, pulling his appendage back to the wheel. Emma nodded and jogged to the main deck, imparting the command to her father and moving with her mother to the nearest body.
"Watch the fins – they're sharp," she commented, grasping under the arm of the blue mermaid they had chosen as her mother mirrored her movements on the other arm. Mary Margaret nodded and the two women dragged the body across the deck, shoving it over the edge and into the deep blue ocean with a resounding splash.
The wind around them picked up as the ship picked up speed and Emma looked up to see that David had lowered the sails, the white material arcing outwards as the wind pushed the vessel forward through the waves.
Her father immediately began assisting them with pulling the mermaids' bodies off the deck. When the main deck was clear of fleshy debris – save for the scattered black blood stains and sharp indented lines from the tails – Emma headed back up to where Hook was steering the ship with a look of concentration etched into his features.
"How much longer until we're out of range?" she asked, looking out at the ocean as if it were a stalking predator.
"With the wind on our side? About half an hour," he answered stoically, shifting the wheel ever-so-slightly to the right. Hook glanced at her from his peripheral vision and he sighed.
"You should get below deck and treat your wounds. I'll inform you all when we're in the clear," he said. Emma realised rather brusquely that her wounds were still bleeding, looking down at her upper arm and her hand where bright red blood was beginning to seep once again. She nodded, pivoting on her heel and heading below deck with her mother.
Exactly half an hour later, Emma sat in one of the unoccupied cabins. Her clothes were dry and the warmth of the day was beginning to take its toll, having forced her to take off Hook's coat and set it down beside her. A white bandage encased her right upper arm, wrapped tightly around the four claw marks. Mary Margaret had cleaned and dressed the wound, promptly moving on to David who bore a number of scratches on his arms and legs from the mermaids.
She pulled her hands together in front of her, clasping them together gently and hissing when she realised she'd forgotten to show her mother the deep cut on her left hand from where she'd attempted to use a mermaid's tail as leverage – a bad decision, really. Her blonde hair fell in a curtain around her face, dangling down as she sighed. Her throat still felt raw and her lungs still ached – all in all, the aftereffects of drowning weren't great.
She touched her lips faintly, recalling the feel of them being pressed against someone else's. She hadn't asked her parents if either of them had conducted the CPR, partly because she didn't want to know if her mother or father had put their lips to hers and partly because she felt like she already knew the answer. She vividly remembered waking up the first time and seeing ice blue eyes and raven coloured hair.
It made sense that he would have been the one to do it – after all, he was a pirate. She could only assume that he had lived on the seas for most of his life. Such a life surely entailed certain skills; such as CPR.
So why were her lips still tingling every time she remembered the feel of the soft lips pressed firmly against hers?
She looked up when she heard the wooden floorboards shift under weight and her gaze landed on Hook's form in the doorway. He walked in, his arms folded across his chest as he looked down at her with something resembling concern.
"We're out of range. I'm going to take a look at the maps and discern a new route to Henry's destination," he said, turning and moving to walk away. He hadn't even taken a step when she called him back.
"Hook."
The pirate revolved on the spot, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Yes, princess?" his voice was slight strained, his stance less relaxed. He almost looked indignant.
And she couldn't remember why she'd called him back – if there even was a reason.
He sighed impatiently, "You realise that I actually need to form a new route if we're to find your son."
Her eyes narrowed and she momentarily stammered, "I know – I just… forget it."
Hook's face softened and he took a step closer, his eyes drifting down her form to her hand where he frowned. She was rubbing the bloodied area around her palm, carefully tracing the skin around the gash.
"I thought I told you to get those wounds dressed," he commented, already moving to one of the cupboards behind Emma. He leaned over the chair and pulled out a small wooden box, kneeling in front of her and opening it deftly.
She shrugged apathetically, "I forgot."
Hook's mouth pulled into a tight admonishing line and he set the box down beside him and pulled out a flask of amber liquid. Emma winced pre-emptively, remembering the beanstalk when he had done near the same thing. However, rather than simply pop the lid and pour it on, he pulled pulled out a piece of white cloth.
"Wet this with that," he instructed handing her both items and turning away to pull out a roll of white linen. She did as she was told and handed him the damp cloth.
He reached forward and grabbed her wrist, placing it gently on his knee, palm-up. She watched his face carefully as he began to dab at the raw skin, wincing and hissing when the alcohol touched the bloodied flesh beneath her skin.
"Well this is Déjà vu," Emma commented lightly, indifferently, her eyes flitting down to her clean skin. A chuckle rumbled somewhere deep in his chest and he unrolled the linen, holding it half with his teeth as he wrapped it the first time around her hand. He continued the ministration until the bandage was secure around her palm and, just like the last time, used his mouth to help tie the knot.
As his breath brushed the skin of her hand, Emma felt her breath catch in her throat momentarily.
Finished, he put her hand back in her lap and stood up, grabbing the wooden box and taking something out before placing it in the cupboard again. Emma saw that he'd kept the flask of rum out and watched as he picked it up.
"Need a drink?" she asked, distantly aware that she was the only one attempting to make conversation for some unknown reason.
"You have no idea," he sighed, picking up the flask and lifting it to his lips.
There was silence again and Emma found his refusal to respond slightly aggravating, her hackles ruffling marginally in the tense stillness that followed. He took a long sip of the alcohol, clearing his throat when he lowered it and his eyes landed on her.
"Are you upset with me?" she asked abruptly, her expression betraying nothing but idle curiosity.
He didn't bother lying, "Yes," he answered as he took another long swig of the rum. Emma stood up and pulled the flask away, holding it behind her as a frown marred her forehead.
"Why?"
"Give me back the rum, darling," he replied simply, reaching around with his hand in an attempt to grab it but she held it at arm's length, eyes flashing as she silently demanded his attention. When his ice blue eyes locked onto hers, she was surprised to see unrelenting anger hiding just beneath the irises, currently shrouded by a façade of boredom.
"Why?" Emma repeated.
"It's been a tough day," he sighed nonchalantly.
"Lie."
"Give me the rum."
"No."
The anger seeped slowly into his face, tinting the handsome features as he reached behind her again in an attempt to snatch the flask. But Emma held her ground, stepping back with the flask so he couldn't grab it.
"Bloody hell Swan, just give me the fucking rum," he growled, stalking forward again and reaching for it.
"Why are you angry at me?"Emma nearly yelled, leaning closer to ensure he heard the fervency in her voice.
She could almost feel the tension snap.
"Because I told you to stay away from the edge and you didn't bloody well listen!" he roared, uncaring if the rest of the ship heard. He took a step forward as he continued speaking, forcing Emma to step back until her legs hit the bench lining the wall. She heard more than saw the flask of rum fall from her hand in surprise, landing on the wooden deck and spilling the auburn contents onto the floor.
"I told you not to leave your back unattended and the amount of times I saw you with your back out in the open just waiting for a willing mermaid – you nearly died, Swan! Do you have any idea how that might have affected this entire mission?" he boomed, his mouth opening as if he were going to add to the question but then closing as he decided not to. His hand and hook landed on either side of her head so she was trapped in his presence, his blue eyes wild and furious as they raked over her face.
"I didn't do it on purpose! I was trying to help –" she tried, her voice rising with anger.
"Getting yourself killed isn't going to help anyone!" he countered in a resounding boom.
"I know that!"
"I doubt you do!"
Emma groaned loudly in frustration, "I'm the one who nearly died – why are you the one getting upset about it?"
"Because I care!" he responded, his words hanging in the air as his breath danced across her face. Emma frowned, her eyes darting between his in search of something to hang on to.
"Why would you care whether I live or die?" she asked, quieter this time as the tension began mounting again, making the air between them almost too dense to breathe. He barked out a mirthless laugh, shaking his head slightly as he dropped his arms from where they'd leaned against the wall behind her.
"I spent more time than I care to recall trying to leave this place and kill Rumplestiltskin. And here I am sailing back into its heart with him as my guest of honor. Would I be here if I didn't care?... For someone who's supposed to be observant, you're bloody oblivious sometimes."
He turned around and she expected him to leave, but he walked to a small cabinet beside the door, opening it and taking out something wrapped in brown cloth. Hook turned back around and approached her again, unwrapping the long thin object as he walked.
When he finally took it out and handed it to Emma, it appeared to be a sheathed sword. But it was shorter – similar to the one she'd handled whilst fighting the mermaids.
He nodded down at it, "I noticed you were more comfortable with the saber."
She shrugged, the sudden change in direction of their conversation giving her mental whiplash as she struggled to catch up to his train of thought.
"Yeah – yeah, no, I liked it better than the sword," she murmured, scrutinising the delicate crafting of the sheath before pulling out the curved metal blade. It glinted in the soft golden light from the gas lamps and she looked up to meet his eye just as he spoke again, his rueful gaze locked onto the blade.
"Keep it. It was Baelfire's," he said gently, his deep voice raspy.
"What?"
"Henry's father. That saber was his," he repeated pointing at the weapon in her hands with a half-hearted motion. She looked down at it again, noticing the way the red sheath was covered in a complex pattern of gold and green lines that swirled and curled their way up the shaft. There was a short strap hanging from the side of the sheath where she could attach it to her belt, she supposed.
Emma gripped the handle, extracting it from the scabbard and studying the blade as it glinted threateningly in the lamp's light. Her eyes lifted up to Hook's and she noticed he was watching her as she put the weapon back into its case.
"Thanks," she finally said, still holding the blade but pulling it closer so it sat in her lap.
His response came in the form of a curt nod, his eyes betraying nothing but a spark of nearly unreadable emotion. It almost looked like he was trying to hold himself back, restrain an urge to do or say something. His eyes dropped down to her side and she followed his line of sight to the tangled black mass that was his leather coat. She put the saber down on her other side, picking up the soft material and looking up at him.
"Thanks for that too," Emma said, offering it to him with outstretched arms.
He met her gaze briefly, taking the coat off her hands and draping it over his left arm. Silence descended in the room as a noiseless game of cat and mouse was played out in the air between them, neither knowing what to do in the very sudden very stifling atmosphere around them. She felt like his admittance of care was something more, like something had inadvertently snapped between them, bringing something new and alien to the forefront of their complex relationship. The spark had been brought forth, igniting embers inside of Emma that she was sure she had stamped out the second Henry went missing. But, as they continued the silent exchange, she felt the blackened char glowing orange and a feeling of... what was it? She couldn't place it, and something small inside of her told her she didn't want to.
Because things couldn't change. She had to stay focused.
Emma stood up, grabbing the blade as she did and stepping around Hook.
"Let me know when we're closer to the island," she murmured over her shoulder, leaving the pirate alone in the room.
Had she stayed, she would have seen as he bent down and picked up the opened flask, fiddling with it for a long moment as his own thoughts strayed to the Swan girl, and rubbed his forehead exasperatedly.
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