Author's Note: I'm not really sure where this came from, but it's semi-inspired by the Brother's Grimm fairytale The Riddle. Plot holes and errors are prevalent, and for this I'm sorry, but my mind was sort of elsewhere and I just love me a good distraction from life. :) If you like this story enough, I'd be more than happy to continue it.
Also, I've received the sweetest messages from several of you, and I'm just so grateful. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading these stories borne from my unkempt imagination. It means the world.
Subtitle taken from Major Lazer's Cold Water.
Riddle Me This
i will jump right over into cold, cold water [for you]
"You stupid, moronic, brain-dead pirate," she sputtered almost incoherently. Her hands were balled into angry fists around the lapels of his jacket as she shook him. "I can't believe you did that. What in the hell is wrong with you?"
"All part of that devilish charm, love." She scoffed and glared at him, releasing her hold before stomping off, leaving him lying, cold and wet and dispirited, on the deck. As soon as he heard the door to the captain's quarters slam with livid finality – he'd been certain she'd come to her senses within seconds after yanking him aboard – all desire to keep fighting fell from him.
Bloody pointless was what this entire mission was. Forget heroic or daring – it was not even remotely logical. Regina, while stubborn and crass and rude, was very rarely plain wrong, and blinded as he was by love, he'd gone along with Swan's genius plan of seeking out the only maiden in the realm that could solve the riddle against the former Evil Queen's admonitions.
It started out as reasonably harmless – the whole purpose behind this quest – but it soon became apparent that much funny business had been running on in the sky when, of all things, the birds began acting strangely. Black thrushes and crows started dive-bombing into the ground, townspeople, and glass doors of businesses only to perish in a cloud of dust as they hit the surface. Blue jays and mockingbirds squealed and screeched from the branches before dissolving into black sand.
Eerily enough, the feathers were all that disintegrated, and soon piles of bird skeletons littered the sidewalks and traumatized the children.
It wasn't until small scrolls of parchment began appearing underneath the pillows of unsuspecting civilians that Emma took it upon herself to find the reason why, the solution to the riddle writ in shaky scrawls across the pages.
So there he was. Burned and aching and poisoned and stabbed and utterly wretched, collapsed on the deck of his ship with a woman too bloody headstrong to admit that mayhap there are some problems one cannot solve by willpower alone.
Perhaps that was why he loved her more than the sun and stars and moon in the skies.
But it would take more than love to get his sorry carcass back to Storybrooke alive. His strength was waning – trembles and quivers worked their ways up and down his spine, and it wasn't just from the cool night air and sopping clothes.
Whatever had been in the acid lake – and he didn't understand the physics behind that peculiar monstrosity, since the acid left his clothes untouched but seeped into his skin with burning agony – coupled with the poisoned wound from the dagger was wreaking havoc on his body.
His insides writhed like an upturned nest of eels, stomach gargling loudly the entire time as nausea built on his tongue. A ragged cough broke from his throat that seemed to slice his esophagus to ribbons with every breath taken thereafter, and he curled inwards on himself in a useless attempt to stave off the cold, the sickness rising in his gut, and the inability to name the emotion of being in such a state while the woman he loved seethed below deck, completely unawares to his misery.
It was only after a particularly painful fit of coughing that left him wheezing and struggling for breath that Emma made her reappearance in as dramatic a fashion befitting for the Savior – swimming in a cascade of sparkling gold curls and butter-soft red leather.
Good gods above, what a bloody beautiful creature.
When she saw that he hadn't moved an inch from where she'd left him over half an hour ago, a frown welled up on her brow and concern darkened her eyes. Or at least, he thought it was concern. He was never 100% anything when it came to deciphering the magnificent enigma that was Emma Swan.
How wrong he was.
"I should have left your – how do you say it? – bloody brainless ass out in the water, you dimwit."
"You sound so shocked to find that my ass has no brain… Is that another nuance of your world I've yet to imbibe? Your arses have brains?"
He couldn't breathe and his vision had grown blurry around the edges and he was pretty sure the warm wetness spreading along the wood beneath his stab wound was blackened blood from the poison in his veins and he knew he had no business teasing her when he so obviously needed her help – and yet, he couldn't resist riling her. Not when her cheeks flushed so elegantly and certainly not when her laugh of hostile disbelief pulled her lips away from her teeth in so perfect a shape.
God help him.
Terrified fury swept through her body and if she hadn't turned away when she did, he would be dead – not a single doubt about it. A flick of her wrist and she'd never have to tolerate another sassy retort or goddamned innuendo again. She ran a hand through her hair, deciding whether or not to search for a comeback to his previous statement or toss him back into the lake, where the ghouls of the acid could strip the skin from his bones. Of all that idiotic things he could possibly do… Why am I not surprised?
She'd just about made up her mind to whack him to his demise with one of the spoons from the galley when she saw him shiver violently against the floorboards, wincing as the movement caused an unseen torment to stir within.
Her anger disappeared, collapsing away from her like a cloak being ripped from her skin only for it to be replaced by chilling fear.
If he died and left her alone in this godforsaken realm where mosquitos were the size of fists and acid rain poured from blackened clouds and the food served at the local taverns was poisoned with raven dust… she didn't know what she would do. She needed him alive. There was no alternative. She would not be the reason the universe stole him away after 300 years.
Not her. And not him. Oh, God, please, no.
She fell to her knees before him, felt the fever's heat pouring from his skin. "God, Hook," she whispered, smoothing sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. Wide, glossy eyes outlined in red blinked open at her touch and crinkled in the corners in a smile that was more of a grimace.
"No need to worry about me, Swan. I'm a –"
"If you even think about saying that word, I swear to God I'll dump you right back into that damn acid water and call it good."
He shut up long enough for another round of wracking coughs to seize him, and his eyes closed, a shaking hand coming up to press against his chest.
In the dying light, she saw the gray pallor fall over his skin, and her heart staggered. The day was quickly slipping further from the horizon, and she knew the terrors that awaited them if they lingered on deck. They had no choice but to move, and in Hook's weakened state, that might serve as a challenge.
But challenge was her middle name – she winced at herself for even thinking it. She winced at herself again when her eyes caught the small puddle of blood pooling underneath his prostrate form.
"Come on, pirate, we gotta move. Up you go," she said, rising from his side and pulling him away from the floor. He had frighteningly little strength left if the way he swayed was any indicator at all, and she had to tuck herself against him to keep him from falling.
What color he had in his face drained away as soon as she made to take a step toward the hatch that led to the stairs, and he gave a queasy lurch forward, groaning weakly. "One moment, love," he panted. "It's all spinning on a wheel."
"Easy there, tiger. Just breathe for a minute. I've got you." She wasn't entirely sure where she dredged up these soft-spoken words of comfort, of reassurance, of gentleness, and she prayed the earthquake splitting her soul so far open wasn't too obvious to him.
She waited for him, easing one hand over his abdomen in soothing circles while the other wound around his back, underneath his arms. His head hung low, chin brushing his chest with every ragged inhale.
"Better?"
He shook his head, swallowing hard. "S-sorry, Swan," he whispered slowly, voice broken. She shushed him gently, blinking back tears, wishing she had never tried tackling this endeavor with a single companion. Her stomach ached for him, clenching painfully around her other organs, and she felt so fucking tired. Tired of being the strong one, she implored the gods that her mother and father would magically appear at her side to help her shoulder her burdens.
Oh, how she ached.
Her pirate turned slightly in her arms, still hardly able to keep his balance, and rested his cheek on the inside of her neck while she tried to focus on something other than the way his warm breath slithered over her skin, the way his palm gripped her hip, the way she could feel the expansion of his ribcage against her own.
She thought about her many regrets instead – how he wouldn't even be here if she hadn't allowed him to come, if she hadn't been the Savior who was too selfish to turn his love away when she knew she held his heart in her hands.
A horrifying shriek pierced the air, and she knew that they were out of time. "Killian, we have to move. Just lean on me, okay? You'll be just fine; you hear me?"
"Emma," he begged, tensing, a shudder running through him. "It hurts."
"I know it does – just, like, five more steps, okay?"
Where's my brave, fearless pirate? Will I lose him first, then be forced to watch as the rest of him leaves me as well? God. I can't. God! You listening to me?
Each step felt as though it lasted a separate eternity. She soothed him when, after the third one, he stumbled suddenly, reaching for the railing as his body heaved, his stomach finally rebelling against the effects of the poison and acid. By the time he was finished, tears were trailing miserably down his cheeks, and the gurgling in his belly had quieted not a whit.
She protected him when a ghoul came just a tad too close for her liking, pulling her arm from around his waist to unsheathe her sword and slash upwards until the figure retreated with an enraged holler.
She tried to bring smiles to his lips in unusual, bold ways – even going so far as to flirt with him – but her attempts only seemed to add more wheezing to his already panted breaths. Needless to say, she'd given up on that rather quickly.
She held him close when an especially agonizing wave of pain seemed to scream through him, touching her lips to his forehead and ticking jaw, smoothing her palms over his back and chest.
But to her utter horror, the obvious pain the man was in wasn't the worst part.
It was the silence. For a cocky, centuries' old pirate with an all-encompassing flare for dramatics, to have him limp and suffer mutely was unbearable. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed the constant teasing, the ever-present knowledge that he was there, that he hadn't abandoned her, that – despite dampening every single one of his ludicrous advances – he still thought her beautiful.
At last – fucking finally – they made it to the underbelly of the ship. Hook was sweating from the prolonged exertion, and her cheeks were wet with tears at watching him deteriorate and sway madly before her eyes.
She eased him gently onto his bed, where he sat, blinking blearily up at her with heartbreakingly beautiful blue eyes. When she took her hands from him, he crumbled forward, narrowly catching himself with a hand to his knee.
"Lie back, you stupid idiot," she muttered, lightly pressing him down and onto the pillows.
He didn't make a sound, simply grimacing at the pressure she added to his chest before relaxing with a soft exhalation when she moved away to search his cabinets for bandages.
All she could find was a bundle of gauzy cloth and rum – no surprise there – and she nearly fell into hysterics at the predictable tendencies of such an imperfectly perfect man.
A man – a pirate captain and what even is her life – currently bleeding out on his bed in a world where the dimensions twisted themselves into something unrecognizable while she stood in tears, cackling at how completely unbelievable her life had become.
She took a breath to steady herself and wiped at the dampness on her face. Turning back to him, she felt for the buttons on his rough shirt. Even the clothes of this realm muddled her, and though they bore resemblance to those of the Enchanted Forest, they were hardly the same. Every fabric was gray swirled with black; her starchy dress scratched at her skin, and she could only imagine how Hook's injury fared underneath the prickly vest and shirts he'd manifested through the portal in.
As colorless as the world was, the hot blood spilling from the gash on his torso startled her with its intensity, angry and ravaged and poisoned. The flesh encircling the wound was bruised and shimmered dimly with magic of some sort over the burst capillaries.
Helplessness paced at the doors of her heart, and not for the first time that day did she find herself wishing that her mother was there. Snow knew how to care for wounds such as this, was far better at soothing aching souls, and would remain calm and collected through the crises of worlds.
But her mother was not there, and Hook's breathing was hitching in pain again, hand grabbing for the mattress beneath him, and her attention was yanked back to her predicament.
Emma's meager knowledge of this dimension limited further her first-aid capabilities, but even so, she knew it would take more than rum and her unskilled fingers to heal the foot-long cut in his side. And without the assistance of magic, he would undoubtedly die. As it was, she'd only just managed to teleport a mug of hot chocolate without spilling it to the other end of the room. Healing someone with this caliber of an injury was hardly an ability at her disposal. Regina was the only one she knew with powers strong enough, and she was universes away from here.
Emma was all he had.
She set her teeth, unstopped the bottle of rum, and fought to force her magic into her fingertips. Perhaps she could transfer the energy thrumming through her palms to the alcohol. Perhaps it would be enough to at least ward off the poison's effects long enough for them to get the hell out of there, riddle solved or no.
At least she knew dumping the bottle's contents over the gash would burn far less than the acid he had stupidly drenched himself in, and that knowledge carried with it a modicum of peace.
"Killian, hey, you still with me?" she asked, coming to sit alongside him. His eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion and pain, and she wasn't sure he was even close to conscious anymore.
But he coughed once, sharp and gasping, before nodding his head, and a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding gushed between her lips. "Okay, good. That's good," she was saying as she reached up and touched his overly warm forehead. "Okay, well, this is gonna sting for a minute, but I tried enchanting the rum so it should help. Ready?"
A small whimper came from the back of his throat – the first voluntary noise he'd made since they'd started their journey down the stairs – and another piece of her heart broke off, settling heavily in her stomach.
She needed to get this over with, preferably before she lost her nerve completely.
She'd barely tipped the vial, a single drop already hovering on the lip, when a voice ripped through the tension in the room.
"Emma!"
Strangled and frantic and pained – but it was real, and then she was up and running above deck toward her father's voice.
The shout came again as she stumbled to the railing.
One name. Her name. Two syllables. Two familiar faces peering up at her from the small lifeboat paddling against the Jolly's flank and she was going to collapse if the world insisted upon twisting over what was supposed to be its axis.
"Dad! Regina! Wait, what the hell are y'all even doing here?"
"Just let us onboard first, please, Miss Swan. My arms are about to fall off from rowing this damn boat upstream."
It took a monumental amount of effort pulling them aloft with just a rope and rusty pulley, but David had hardly set foot over the railing before she was tugging him to her. The relief coursing through her bloodstream almost left her sobbing into his shirt – luckily she caught herself before doing something so stupid as to catapulting into Regina's arms – but Hook was still struggling in distress downstairs, so she couldn't fall apart.
Not yet.
Not when there was still business to tend to.
But she needed to distract herself because she was falling dangerously close into the category of caring for the be-damned pirate, and that scared her as much as the ever-increasing chance he was going to perish on her stupid mission.
"I just can't believe you're actually here."
"Emma, you've been gone two months. You should have known we'd come after you," David told her as they followed her to the captain's quarters, and she nearly tripped over her feet.
"Two months? We've only been here a few days, Dad."
Her father shook his head, about to reply, but at that point they'd arrived at Hook's bedside and he fell silent when he saw the state the pirate was in.
"It doesn't matter right now," she said quickly, turning to Hook as he moaned into the pillow. Tremors raced below his skin, and he cringed further into the mattress. "It's just damn good to see you. Both of you."
Regina hadn't said much, and Emma wondered if it had something to do with the hideously industrious brown dress the queen was wearing, as if her confidence depended on the pride she took in her senseless pantsuits. The queen was staring – was that concern? – at Hook's wound, a frown ruffling her brow. "You should be damn pleased to see me," she quipped. "He wouldn't have lasted through the night if I hadn't shown up. You owe me big, Swan."
Emma didn't care about the cost to her, but she couldn't reveal that to herself, let alone Regina. "Can you just heal him already?" she asked, attempting to put a bite of annoyance in her tone and failing.
Regina rolled her eyes but nodded. "David, help her hold him down. The magic is buried pretty deep, so I'll have to dig for it. Get ready. This won't be pleasant for any of us."
The next several minutes passed agonizingly slowly.
As soon as Regina brushed her fingers over the wound, Hook began to squirm, pulling desperately against the hold she and David had over his arms and shoulders, trying to keep him as still as possible. She calmly pressed deeper, sticky blood coating her nails as she searched the wound for where the magic was strongest.
Emma couldn't help the soothing words falling from her mouth, couldn't help the tears streaming down her cheeks at his whimpers, couldn't help sending small spurts of calming magic into his mind. In those few moments, he settled marginally, gulping deep breaths of air in panicked relief. His eyes would meet hers for a few fractions of seconds, the blue bright and glassy underneath the layers of pain. "Emma," he whispered once or twice. "Swan." He pleaded with her name, an invocation against the anguish.
She broke a little more with every breath.
She wept a little harder with every clench of his hand in hers.
But her heart soared a little higher when it was finally over and he had the strength to reach for her. Her soul flew when her bones turned to water and she kissed him softly at the corner of his mouth and cherished the love pulsing in a second heartbeat all the way through her.
When he finally felt the undeniable rightness of her love running through him to the tips of his toes, well, he simply pulled her closer.