A/N: It's hiatus time! Which means I shall now start multi-chapters that I will hopefully finish? *shot*

This is the product of a vague idea, writer's block, and too many pirate fanmixes on 8tracks. Character relationships and backstories have been slightly fiddled with for this AU, as have the dynamics of the Enchanted Forest world.

Everything was going horribly wrong.

Emma swore as she sprinted through the dark, winding streets of the city. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her boots slipping and sliding across the damp cobbles. Rain was coming down in sheets, soaking her through, the lashing wind catching in her hair and her cloak, cutting across any inch of exposed flesh like a cold blade.

And behind her, the shouts of the guardsmen echoed, their heavy footsteps growing louder by the minute. She didn't dare look behind to see how close they were.

The streets were nearly empty at this time of night, courtesy of the strict curfew imposed by the Baron. The corpulent, corrupt Baron who now lay dead in his bedchamber, thanks to her knife in his throat. That had gone according to plan.

What had not gone according to plan was her escape. Somehow – what had happened, what had happened? – somehow, David and Snow had failed to pull through. They should have been waiting by the window, ready to sound the alarm if any of the Baron's home security noticed their presence. They should have been there to back her up.

But they weren't, and she had had to break a window and jump out – the sharp edges of the glass in the sill cutting a painful gash in her leg that even now she was struggling to ignore – and now she was running, pursued, frantically trying to reach the rendezvous point.

Somewhere deep inside there was panic – what happened to them? – had they skipped out on her? Surely they wouldn't. Not David and Snow. Don't be silly, don't be foolish-

But hadn't she trusted Neal?

With a screeching whinny and the loud clatter of hooves on stone, a horse suddenly cut around the corner in front of her. She bit back a shout of surprise, stumbling back, and that was enough for her leg to give out under her with a white-hot flare of pain that had her crying out.

She landed on her back in a pool of rainwater, struggling to scramble back up when she was suddenly surrounded by soldiers, swords pointed in her direction from all sides, the sharp tips wavering perilously close to her flesh.

"Halt!" the man on the horse cried, dismounting and striding towards her. She squinted up at him, shaking damp strands of hair from her eyes, as she struggled to see in the dark – he wore a doublet of deep red, which gave her pause. The King's crest was emblazoned on the shoulder. This was not one of the local lawkeepers.

The guards who had been chasing her grabbed her by the arms, fingers digging into her painfully tightly as they hauled her to her feet. Emma yelped as she tried to avoid putting weight on her injured leg. Everything in her was crying out to struggle, to escape – but there were too many of them, too many swords far too close to her face, and she forced herself to remain still.

"Stop," the man said – but he wasn't addressing her, he was turning towards the guards, and she watched as one of them stepped forward, obvious confusion crossing his face.

"This woman is under arrest! She's just murdered the Baron!"

"This woman," the man in red said coldly, "Has had her presence explicitly requested by the King himself." He turned, gesturing at the crest on his shoulder. "I think you'll find that rather overrules your petty murder."

The King? Emma thought. Her head was spinning – whether from the adrenaline-fuelled panic of everything that was happening or the blood loss, it was rather hard to tell.

"The King?!" the guard cried, echoing her thoughts.

"That is correct," the man replied. "The King. So if you'll kindly hand her over to me?"

The guards looked at one another before one of them tore Emma's sword from her belt. She glared at them as she was roughly frisked for other weapons – hissing her annoyance as they managed to locate the two other knives she had hidden under her cloak and the one in her boot – before she was shoved towards the King's man, stumbling slightly. Though she kept her silence, her gaze darted across the soldiers that he had with him, measuring and calculating whether there was any possible way she could escape, but the man laid a hand on her shoulder, fingers tightening threateningly as he leaned in close to her ear.

"We have your two friends, my dear, so you'd do well to come quietly."

She froze, shoulders stiffening – so that's what happened – how? – why? – where are they, what have they done to them –

He gave her a push towards the horse, and she stumbled, catching herself against the saddle.

"Come on then," he said. "The King is waiting."

Emma had no idea what was going on.

That the King should know her name – should even know who she was – was concerning in and of itself; the services she and her friends provided were supposed to be low key; an underground industry of quietly disposing of those who deserved it, whether it be hunting down the bounties of wanted criminals or performing assassinations of the corrupt and the unjust.

Even their clients seldom knew who, exactly, they had employed.

With no idea what was happening, she had little choice but to sit tight as they rode.

The fief the Baron had occupied was directly outside the capital city, where the King's castle rose from the tiered town in an impressive series of turrets and arches and high, whitewashed stone walls that gleamed even through the darkness of the rain and storm clouds.

She was shivering in her damp clothes by the time they thundered across the drawbridge and into the inner courtyard, where she was escorted at sword-point into the grand hall.

Emma had been inside all manner of castles, manors and mansions before, usually uninvited and often with intent to kill. She was difficult to impress – and King George, who sat up in his throne as they approached, was not a man who had ever earned her respect. Not when poverty and corruption were rife in his realm and he continued to pick wars with the surrounding kingdoms. For the sake of self-preservation, she didn't quite spit at his feet, but neither did she bow her head, staring up at him with all the defiance she could muster.

Which, admittedly, was disappointingly little when she was soaked to the bone, her hair hanging in limp clumps around her face and the wound on her leg still sluggishly leaking blood where it was starting to grow cold and numb.

"Your majesty," the guardsman said, with a low bow. One of the soldiers grabbed Emma's head, fingers tangling in her hair, and forced her head down until she reluctantly bowed as well. "We have brought you Emma Swan."

"I can see that," George said drily. He flapped a hand. "Leave us."

All the guards exited the room, though some remained standing at post at the door. Emma eyed the king with an undisguised mixture of confusion and distaste.

"Your majesty," she began, and then coughed and tried again. Her mouth was dry from her earlier sprint, her muscles starting to shake from exhaustion and nerves. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Emma Swan," he replied. "The fearsome assassin. I've heard a lot about you."

"I can't imagine where," she said with a frown. "I did think to pride myself and my friends on the discretion of our activities. Seems I'll have to revise that."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It was not easy finding information about you. But I have my ways."

"What do you want from me?" From where she was standing she had to tilt her head up slightly to make eye contact, which she wasn't particularly happy about.

George tilted his head. "You're a hired sword. You kill people for the money."

"Only those who deserve to die."

"A mercenary with a moral code. How novel. I have a job for you."

Emma blinked a few times, taken aback. The King wants to employ me.

...Okay.

"A job," she repeated, slowly, and George nodded.

"From what I've heard you're efficient. Reliable. And loyal to your own convictions. That sounds like exactly the sort of person I need."

"My convictions do not necessarily align with yours," she said, before she could quite stop herself, and then grimaced. Gods, Emma, don't run your mouth. Are you trying to get yourself executed?

"In this instance, I think you'll have no objections." He rose, then, and descended from his throne to stand in front of her. Emma held herself, meeting his gaze squarely. If he was irritated by her disrespect, he didn't show it.

"I need you to kill somebody."

"I would have thought you have people for that. Knights."

"We are about to go to war. I can't spare the men. What's more, the man I need you to hunt down runs in particular circles that it may not be easy for a... nobleman, or a lawkeeper, to gain access to. You, on the other hand..." He raised an eyebrow.

Emma shifted her weight. "Who is it?"

"A pirate," he said, with a wry smile. "Who recently stole something very valuable from me. It's not the first time he's robbed me. I need you to retrieve the object and bring him to me alive, so he can tell me where he hid the rest."

"What did he steal?"

"It looks like a box."

"That's... not very specific."

"A cube. You'll know it when you see it. It has magical properties. Powerful magical properties." He flapped a hand impatiently. "He'll keep it on his person. If you have him, you have the box."

"And what's this pirate's name?" Emma asked.

Another bitter smile. "He goes by Captain Hook."

Emma froze. Hook.

She had heard of him, of course – who hadn't? He was one of the big names, someone you hoped never to encounter and rarely survived if you did. Or so they said, at any rate. She'd seen bounties out for him, of course – often and with increasing value each time. None of them worth risking her small band for.

"And if I say no?" Emma asked, slowly.

George's smile vanished. "I am not going to execute you, Miss Swan, or your friends, if that is what you are thinking. But tonight you killed a member of authority, not to mention I can likely tie you to several other prominent deaths over the last few years. If you would like to rot in a jail cell for the next decade, be my guest."

He paused, then added, "I will pay you, generously, if you complete this task successfully. But more than that, I appeal to your principles; this man has stolen items that are necessarily for our kingdom's survival. Items that can be used as weapons in the upcoming war, that could save innocent mens' lives – and items of such great power that they can transcend realms."

"Transcend realms?" Emma asked, and he nodded.

"Yes. Think of what we could do with the ability to travel to other lands. The trade opportunities – the discoveries we could make – advancements in healing, an improved economy. The benefits would spread to all."

Emma was no fool; whatever Utopian picture he was painting was just that – a picture. She'd heard of world-jumpers before and in her opinion it caused nothing but trouble.

But still – she'd killed people for less. And she wasn't particularly patriotic, but pirates in any way, shape or form were generally bad news – both for the kingdom and for innocent people. Captain Hook in particular was not exactly beloved.

Not to mention she was also not particularly inclined to condemn herself, David and Snow to years in the dungeons, so she gave a stiff nod, seeing no other choice.

"Fine. I'll catch you your pirate."

King George gave a smile that was more of a leer. "Excellent. I'll have your friends returned to you then."

"We have a policy," Emma added with a smirk, "That if our employer can afford it, they're required to pay for all expenses incurred during the job."

He flapped a hand in her direction. "Of course. You may have lodging on castle grounds for the night and can inform my steward of what you will require in the morning. I expect it will take you some time to hunt him down."

"That will depend on where he is."

"Just remember. I want him alive."

Emma nodded. He turned back to his throne and, assuming that she had been dismissed, she gave a half-bow before striding out of the room.

Her leg was throbbing, her head was pounding, and worst of all, she had absolutely no idea what she had just gotten herself into.

"We're going after Captain Hook?" Snow asked, eyes wide.

The rooms they had been given were simple by Royal standards, but still far more extravagant than anything Emma had ever lived in. It wasn't as though they lived in squalor; the mercenary business paid well, after all, and for her adult life, at least, she had always had a solid roof over her head and a firm mattress to sleep on. But these chambers were all plush carpets, tapestry covered walls and far more objects of furniture with clawed feet than was really tasteful.

Emma nodded, and winced as David pressed a little too hard on the wound on her leg that he was cleaning out. It wasn't as bad as she had thought, just painful, and he glanced up at her with a slightly apologetic smile as he laid aside the damp cloth and reached for a roll of bandages.

"Apparently," she replied, and tilted her head back, letting out a huff of breath. "Didn't exactly have much choice. Can you believe it? The King asking us to kill somebody for him?"

"It'll certainly be one for the records," Snow replied. "And we're... going to do it?"

"What do you mean?"

"We could run," David pointed out. "Pretend to take the job and then move to another kingdom."

Emma bit her lip, considering it.

"It's an option," she said. "But... this is Hook. We'd have taken the bounty on him ages ago if we thought we could do it."

"What makes you think we can do it now?"

"Royal funding?" she pointed out with a grin. "We never considered it seriously. I think we can do it. We'll be rich, the kingdom will be down one heinous villain, and we'll probably be safe from Royal arrest for the rest of our lives. Besides," she added, only half-seriously, "Don't you want the chance to save our country? He's supposedly threatening national security by stealing whatever it was he stole."

Snow and David exchanged glances, and Emma blinked.

"Wait, you seriously want to save the country?" she laughed. They had always been rather more patriotic than her, but she'd found it amusing more than anything else.

"It is our country," David pointed out. "And if there is a war coming – we should do what we can to help."

"For God's sake, David, we're not heroes."

"But we do try to help people," Snow pointed out, with the sort of earnestness that always made Emma wonder just how she had ended up a bandit in the first place. "We're not... we're not bad people. We take down the bad people. I think we should definitely do this!"

"At least we're all on the same page then," Emma said. She stretched her leg experimentally. The pain had dulled a little now, after a generous coating of expensive healing balm courtesy of the King's physician, and she shot David a grateful smile. "So we're settled then. We'll track him down and bring him back here. How hard can it be?"

"Just hard enough that no one else has caught him yet," David pointed out, but smiled. "Should we call the others back in?"

Emma paused, thinking about it.

Their little group of mercenaries – organised enough that they were almost a business, if anything – consisted of five members, herself the unofficial leader.

It had used to be six, but they didn't talk about Neal.

Ruby was currently out hunting down a doctor who had been said to be stealing bodies and performing terrible experiments on them, and Robin was away doing his usual picking off of rich lords who bullied the peasants around Sherwood Forest. Both of them were far enough away that calling them back in would take up valuable time and likely cause their current targets to slip away.

She shook her head.

"No. We'll do it just the three of us. Small, fast, efficient. Just like the good old days."

Killian Jones stood at the helm of his ship, staring at the small box he held in his hand, tapping it gently with his hook. The cube certainly looked like nothing special, but he could feel the evil within it, that tingling off-ness that seemed to permeate everything magical.

He shoved the object into his coat pocket and leaned against the ship's rail, shoulders hunched as he stared down into the dark, churning water below.

So close. I'm so close now.

He squeezed the rail tightly with his hand until his knuckles ached, dug the metal of his hook into the wood. The anger was like a flame that had been hot and wild for so long that by now it had burned itself out, little more than dull embers in his stomach. And now that his revenge was in grasp – it felt like he should feel something more, but somehow he couldn't, nothing but a dull numbness that pervaded his whole being and sometimes made him question whether he was even still alive anymore.

He moved his hand to his heart, reassured himself that the steady thump was still there.

"Captain?"

The voice made him jump, and he spun around, irritated with himself for getting lost in thought to the extent that he couldn't notice even Smee sneaking up on him.

"Smee," he snapped. "What do you want?"

"What was that?" Smee asked, head tilting. "That box, the one you stole, what is it?"

He pulled it out again, ran his hook over the symbols carved into the side. Alpha and Omega. The first and the last. Well, the 'last' part is certainly appropriate. This shall be the last damn thing the crocodile sees.

"This, Mr Smee, is Pandora's Box." A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "And the weapon that I shall use to get my revenge."

"What are you going to?" Smee asked, with a boorish laugh, "Stuff the Dark One inside? He'll hardly fit!"

Killian scowled as he tucked the box away and strode towards the cabin, smacking Smee upside the head as he passed.

"It's magical, you troglodyte. Is there a reason you came to bother me?"

Smee nodded vigorously as he scurried after his Captain. "Yes – yes, actually, I just received word about that thing you wanted."

Killian stopped in his tracks, whirling around. Smee nearly crashed into him, catching himself just in time.

"You located it? Where?"

"A woman is selling one. A town on the East Coast. She's willing to trade."

"Perfect," Killian replied.

A cold smile spread across his face as he moved back to the till and slowly spun the ship East.

Soon. Soon he would have all the pieces he needed.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it and reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.